Got two doctors appointments today. One for just the regular ole annual physical, and one to do an oxygen analysis thingy. Two directives: don’t eat after midnight and discontinue all breathing-assistance meds for three days before appointment. So now I’m starving and I feel like my throat is closing shut. Lovely.
It’s the weekend of Matthew and my anniversary. Went out to eat yesterday at Harmony, a Buddhist restaurant that sculpts fake meat out of textured vegetable protein and gluten. Yummy.
Received a “not right for the magazine” form reject from Artemis. I thought it was a long shot, but you can’t win if you don’t play.
And a “no grabby” from JJF of F&SF. Didn’t even get a “there’s nice writing here but . . . ” to salve my ego. Dammit.
So, in a fit of despondency, I decided not to wait the extra three weeks and am sending one of the folk tales I’ve been sitting on to Cricket. Hope I’m not shooting myself in the foot giving them so many things of mine to consider at the same time.
And finally: New words? What’re those? @#!$*^&