Well, not so much. Because when I finally fell asleep at 9am, I didn't wake up until 4pm. So that's one of three days left to work on the prospectus gone.
I promptly fell into an abject spiral of despair that resulted in spending too much money on a not-quite-rare-enough filet mignon and drinking Scotch (TALISKER!) to forestall an impending crying jag. But I ended up weeping all over long-suffering Boy Roomie, anyway.
Somewhere between the wish to simply wink out of existence and this morning, I thought, "Ah, what the hell. Honestly. Whatever. I seriously give up. This is just not going to be a particularly good prospectus. I am going to stop worrying what other people think about it and work on it until I'm satisfied that I've done all I can possibly do, under the circumstances. Which aren't good. And if anybody complains, I'll just tell them that, if they can do better while combatting a particularly vicious and ill-timed sinus infection, they can go on and do it. Otherwise, they can shut the hell up."
So there. And I'm gonna do it, too.
Okay, well maybe I won't say the last bit quite like that if one of the committee members complains.
Meanwhile, something very odd is going on over at the Making Fiends site. It seems that Amy's left a fiend in charge while she went out of town. I hope it's a short trip . . . .