We called the vet. Since we'd just recently taken him off his anti-nausea drug, we thought there might have been a relationship to his lack of interest in eating, so the vet called in a refill of that to our nearby pharmacy.
I fidgeted at work, worried about the little fuzzwit, and then at the end of the day when I walk in the door, what is the first thing Hobkin does? He meanders out from under his hutch, and starts eating his lunch.
He didn't act sick for the rest of the evening. He ate his dinner, with appetite, and was playful and affectionate. And everything stayed down and processed normally through his little body. Silly, exasperating critter.
Me, I'm still queasy. 'Nuff said.
I'm also having emotional pendulum issues. The beast of procrastination has me in its teeth and is dragging me through the mud, and I don't care. Except I do care that I don't care, which is a little maddening.
Motivation is down. Mood is blue. Generally feeling rather unhappy with the world. Coffee is not helping.
0 new words. Zero. Dammit.
Received my contrib. copy of Tales of the Paranormal. Egads it's HUGE. It's a trade paperback that has the same dimensions as a standard hardbound. Big.
Vestal Review sent me a "Dear Writer" rejection.
Up to 33 critiques of the current story I have in the Critters queue. The comments are still high on the positive spectrum, which is nice. But I'm still having problems processing my @#!@# MPC for this week to bump my novella up. Technical difficulties suck.
Also trying to figure out the best way to mail 100+ pages of manuscript. I think the Priority Mail Flat Rate envelope is the way to go, but I’m not sure if the whole thing'll fit. Only one way to find out, I guess . . . *stuff stuff stuff*