Argh, Pix-- well, I hope it's not too terrible going home, but then again, I've driven LA rush hour traffic. I'll be crossing things for you.

IOmeN, after putting it off as long as I possibly could, I just had to write a substantial check to the Publisher Who Will Not Be Named, paying them back for canceling the book that became STARS. While intellectually I know I'm in a much better place now, with a much better publisher, it still chaps my ass monumentally that I have to pay the original publisher back at all, considering I worked my ass off on that manuscript for over fifteen months, doing revision after revision at their behest, and they then decided it didn't fit what they wanted.

I had to include a copy of the termination letter with the check and it's amazing how it still fills me with HULK! SMASH! RAGE! that I had to sign a letter that claimed I'd failed to produce an acceptable manuscript.

I'm in such a terrible mood now and on the verge of tears. This is so stupid.

All in the game, Barb. In West Baltimore, I think you could have your crew beat the shit out of them, though. (It's surprising how often I console myself with that same thought...I think the mystery of why the greeting card company never got back to me is solved, however.)

{{Barb}} They suck, you don't.

Sorry, Barb. Like ChiKat said.

They suck, you don't, and when the book is a fabulous success you can wave it in their faces.

umm, not that I'm at all petty or vengeful.

when the book is a fabulous success you can wave it in their faces

Oh, I so would.

Leo is home! He seems mostly his usual self, he's eaten a little, gotten petted, and is checking out the house. Percy sniffed him suspiciously, got freaked out presumably at the smell of "hospital", and is now sulking under the table. I'm "cooking" a cheapo pizza and settling in with a diet coke & black cherry vodka. Vet said to expect Leo to have diarrhea tonight, so I'm bracing myself.

Barb, what a PITA.

I've spent pretty much all day on the couch with a raging headache to accompany my nasty mood. And I slept through therapy, which I will likely have to pay for anyway.

Not the best day ever, really.

I've spent pretty much all day on the couch with a raging headache to accompany my nasty mood. And I slept through therapy, which I will likely have to pay for anyway.

::snuggles with smonster on the Shitty Monday couch::

Thanks for the hairpats, guys. Like I said, I know intellectually, I'm better off, but damn... it just hits me like a punch in the stomach every time I have to look at that goddamned letter.

I mean, you'd think the fact that I've "proved them wrong" by selling the book again would be enough, but... not quite so much.

At least not yet.

Probably because in the back of my mind I'm thinking that it only proves them wrong if it becomes really, really NYT, suck-it A-Rod successful and let's face it, the chances of that happening are right up there with three dudes wandering by saying "See a star, dude?"

Fuckers.

Gah, smonster, I am so sorry for your day. I hope in whatever way possible it picks up for you. I know that when I have days like that, I can sometimes spiral, and it's not pretty.

Sometimes I have to literally jog myself out of it.

I am sorry for the rough day, smonster. I would share my snuggle couch but I'm sick so maybe not. But can I snuggle you from afar?