still no word

I'm getting a little antsy about Brazil.

I was up way too late writing an essay about race and childhood. Well, to be totally honest, I was up way too late alternating Spider Solitaire and paragraphs of essay. I wasn't totally committed to finishing the latter, but eventually I figured what the hell, do it. You've been thinking about it long enough. If it gets chosen for the anthology, that's a hundred bucks and a couple of contributor's copies, and (more importantly) my name in print in another market. This is going to be the year I collect some scalps; I'm aiming for twelve new markets (roughly one a month) so I can list something on my resume besides "has also written for Hinduism Today."

Hippo came up from the south for lunch, and I introduced him to chorizo. I was probably way too jagged to be any fun, but he seemed okay with my wackiness. I have not, however, gotten the nap I was hoping to take before modeling tonight, and I can tell that my burrito has made me an entirely different shape. I feel like a python that has just swallowed some massive lagomorph.

Kern's apricot juice. Cold fingers (Mama Bear still has not managed to get PG&E out to turn on the heat; I am about to hire someone myself if that's what it takes) and nose tip. Off to work.