*Serena from Sailor Moon will illustrate my head spinny scream now.*
I had to end the madness somehow, but I have a box spring to get out of my kitchen. Alas, this post will have to hold me over until my kitchen is box spring-less and my bookcases are reassembled and refilled with my lovelies. (I feel like a bad foster parent keeping them locked away in suitcases this long.) Okay, that's my last parenthetical passage. (They're comforting. I can't help it.) Until then, wish me luck and tell my manuscript, computer, cat, hair, wardrobe, REM cycle, etc. that I'm not mad at them; just bogged down with reality.
P.S. Reality sucks! I want back in the pseudo reality of the Writertorium.