I resurrected later than usual this morning, and am still exhausted. I love meeting readers and signing for them, it was just so busy. The time passed in a blur of old friends, new faces, books I’d almost forgotten I wrote, and my hands shaking just a little with the fear that I was going to mess up and say something strange or dissolve into a puddle of nerves.
Social anxiety is a bitch.
I met Annie Bellet, and Curtis Chen who I believe I already knew slightly from Cover to Cover’s old Writer’s Mixers. My fellow Dame Devon Monk was in attendance, as well as the lovely and gracious Diana Pharaoh Francis. There were many others, but it was so busy I didn’t get much of a chance to say hello. Thank you to everyone who came out (especially Mecca of the lovely hair and the Armadillo, who is three weeks away from finishing her own personal marathon) and, as well, a gigantic thanks to the Powell’s employees who made everything go so smoothly, especially Peter H.
There was bad traffic on the way home–two accidents, and many snarls. Consequently, I arrived chez Saintcrow utterly exhausted, and could barely drag myself out of bed this morning. Coffee is helping, but not nearly as much as I’d like. I’m hoping the deep, chesty coughs I’m having occasionally are just bodily housekeeping instead of incipient trouble.
And that is it for today’s post, my friends. I’ve some administrivia to get through, wordcount on Afterwar, some posting for my Patreon peeps, and perhaps, if I get really wild and crazy this afternoon, a nap!
…that’s it, you know, I have officially become an old lady. It’s about damn time.