the final final final frontier

Hiding out in the basement trying to finish another edit. When this project is finally all finished with, if I never hear the word 'space' again, I might be ok with it. Long ago, just after I finished defending my dissertation, I remember lying on a floor drunk somewhere, telling someone who probably wasn't listening that if I never had another thought about anything connected with the topic of my PhD research for the rest of my life, that would be about three lifetimes too soon. I feel much the same now, only more so. How do people do this over and over again? I had a beer yesterday with a man hard at work on his second book. He looked a little unwell.

My brain is sucked dry.

Silly brain too small to write books.

Must. Nap. Now.