Elizabeth Bear (that's me), Debra Doyle, Steven Gould, James D. Macdonald, Laura J. Mixon, Patrick Nielsen Hayden, Teresa Nielsen Hayden, and of course the rookie instructor, John Scalzi.
Also, you know, it's a week on Martha's Vineyard at the end of September. Which is a really nice thing all by itself.
Shockingly, there was no running today. It's already 82 degrees out there, and the heat index is supposed to hit 108 today, and so I missed my window by sleeping in to the decadent hour of 7:30. I have rearranged my apartment for summertime, which means, more or less, that the bedroom is storage and I am living in the living room, because that is where the A/C is.
There will, however, be climbing tonight, and possibly running tomorrow, if I drag myself out of bed at 5 am to do it. Gah. Is summer over yet? If I could just live in a nice cave until mid-September, I would be okay with that.
In the meantime, I need to do laundry. And go see if the cans of cat food I left in the trunk of the car yesterday exploded. Then I can come back inside and hide from the heat, and continue my attempt to catch up on six months worth of back Scientific Americans. Which is one of those things that is work, even if I never remember to count it as work.
Tomorrow, I have to find someplace to get the (replacement) cheapass CD player installed in my car. And I need to buy a suitcase. And get ready to go away again, for two weeks this time.
Next year, not so much traveling. Like, maybe, none, other than WisCon.
Because writers lead lives of unparalleled glamour.
I can pull a rabbit out of a hat.
I can pull it out, but I can't put it back.