Hmmm.
Was plugging along, making edits, when I decided to tear off on a cleaning spree. Midway into it, got an email from American Short Fiction. A rejection. They’d held the story for two years, nine months. It was an apology of sorts, and believe me, I’m sympathetic to the workload they shoulder. But two years and nine months? I suffered through a marriage that didn’t last two years and nine months.
That’s why they invented the gym, I guess.
High point in day? Got to see my buddy Scout.
Not going to try and figure out what the low point was.