Couldn't sleep, so I got up at quarter to six and cleaned the kitchen. I spent at least five minutes standing and admiring it afterwards. (I even vacuumed the floor, all the way out to the utility room and storage closet, but I didn't get around to mopping it. Later.)
This, of course, is nearly primally goofy, since I'm driving out to spend the day with elflet at Folsom Street Fair. So more than five hours of sleep would have been smart. Except I'm too excited to sleep.
Next week, we're flying to Boston, on all of seven days' premeditation. Neil Gaiman and Harlan Ellison are doing a talk at MIT, along with Peter David. I am a shameless fangirl. One day I may finish and post the essay about having dinner with Neil about this time last year, but don't hold your breath. I fell in love [no, not with Neil] over that weekend, which complicated the writeup quite a bit.
Life is good. Writing resumes bites. I'm going to organize myself and Sable out the door now.