<= 2003.03.10

2003.03.12 =>

homer was right

Finite universe! Finite doughnut-shaped universe! I certainly hope so—infinity makes my pineal gland hurt. Ah, I hear the melodious strains of the cat vomiting down the hall.

Spent all day at the computer, except for a late and bleary drive out for drivethru Mexican. In the car, one of the novel's last puzzle pieces fell into place—or rather, I determined where the piece needs to go. It's not yet there. Writing this thing is sort of like constructing a jigsaw puzzle from 500-pound granite blocks; even after you figure out how to arrange it, there's a lot of hauling to do.

Now the emetic cat is trying to be my friend. Go away; you smell bilious.

 

<= 2003.03.10

2003.03.12 =>

up (2003.03)

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