Too much to do, too little time in which to do it.
Fiorella's been working every minute since she got home from the conference, not even pausing to watch Big Bang, and she had a minor breakdown last night when she learned the joint birthday celebration she and daughter had planned would have to be rescheduled, which means that Fio will miss Friend Ashley's one-year-old's birthday party. Fio has already missed last Sunday's dog training session and the Palace Theater's production of the Will Rogers Follies because she was thinking the writers' conference ended on Friday rather than Saturday, and she has to work out a medical appointment conflict. In the meantime, she's supposed to be gathering documentation for a lawsuit and figuring out how to pre-publicize her book and writing, writing, writing.
At least, although it took hours to pull the separate chapters together and format them, Fio got two of her other oeuvres off to the divine Liza. And she's caught up on the newspapers. And she's unpacked and done her laundry. And she made it to the pre-set meeting with Friend Joan in south Austin. And she wrote out her biography for the Georgetown Library writing classes she rashly agreed to teach.
And despite not having any Neosporin with her in Atlanta, her wounds are healing well, even the emotional ones.