In which Rolanni is under the weather

The trees of Maine have initiated their annual assassination proceedings.  The good news is, if I manage to outlast them, as I have for the last twenty-three seasons, I’m safe from their nefarious attentions for another year.

Catching up yesterday, for those who don’t do Facebook:  Steve and I arose at an Unreasonably Early Hour, went to the lab and saw the echocardiogram done.  The promise from the tech was that the doctor would read the results that day, and if there was any problem, would call us immediately.  Otherwise, we should get the results in two to three days.  (Jumping ahead — there was no immediate call from the doctor, so — yay.)

That chore out of the way, we retired to Eric’s for breakfast, thence to the post office, where a royalty check for slightly less than the cost of breakfast awaited (my last such check from Fictionwise), and finally to the grocery store.  Arriving home, I found the galleys for the Ghost Ship mass market paperback my inbox, with a turnaround time of before we leave for Kansas City next week, so that’s what I’ve been putzing along at , with frequent breaks for naps.

In my spare time, I’ve been reading The Prestige by Christopher Priest.  I can’t recall the last time the structure of a novel has annoyed me so much.  Happily, Mr. Priest writes a clean hand, so I don’t doubt I’ll finish reading, but I suspect that this may be one of those very rare cases where I prefer the movie to the novel.

Tomorrow, we again arise before dawn, this time to take Socks to the vet for his post-dental-work check-up and, hopefully, his rabies shot. We’ll return to the Metropolis later in the day to get haircuts, which,  in my case at least, is about three weeks overdue.  Got a definite hedgehog look going…

In between those two necessary events, I’ll be right here, reading galleys.


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