Whoops.

30 miles on a stationary bike + a seven mile run the subsequent day = a run that Michael and I have agreed to never again speak of.
Holy crap.  I need to get in better shape.
On the plus side, finalizing a short story that I will send out because I haven't submitted anything for publication since 2010, apparently.
Neat things happen when you stop drinking copious amounts of wine to blot out reality, it would seem.
In other news, "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"?  Seriously?  You read this thing and think 1716?  1816?  But no, it's that heavy handed and overwrought in 1916.  What a long winded and overly dramatic way of eschewing the church and opting for a more liberal and less guilt ridden life.
I hated "A Confederacy of Dunces", and I must say that I am surprised that the Modern Library ranked "A Portrait" as the third greatest English-language novel of the twentieth century.
But who am I?
UPDATE: I submitted my story.  The upside about books like "A Confederacy of Dunces" is that at some point, some idiot will snap up something.
Hooray for dunces!