The other night, Taryn and I were texting about murdering people (murdering me, to be specific). She asked me if she should send her manuscript to a certain (female) editor. I responded with this:
"What's wrong with him?"
I don't remember sending this text. In fact, I was fully unconscious at the time it was sent, which means I pulled a pretty awesome stunt by texting in my sleep. Judging by the nature of the message, I'm pretty sure my subconscious is currently pissed off at the entire male species.
That, or my brain is just fried. The latter seems more likely. Which is why, dear readers, I'm not going to burden you with a post of incoherent fry-brained nonsense.
It's been a crazy week. I love you all. Especially Liesl.