When I was visiting my friends Zack and Pam we watched the "Accession" episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and two bits moved me: a poet discovering that his work is still read, two hundred years later, and a boss telling his employee that no, she's wrong, it will be hard to replace her. So I'm still insecure and need validation that my work is and will be appreciated by others -- got it!

Today I rewatched "Emissary" and read an Onion piece about coping with the foreknowledge of death and loss (along with random other comfort TV while trying to get over this consarnèd cold).

Isn't it just befuddling how absolutely disconnected one's external and internal situations can be? In the past several days I gave a good talk, I had fun and edifying conversations, I had a wonderful visit with Pam and Zack, I found out that our anthology a few years back practically launched a prominent speculative fiction author's career when he'd given up hope, and friends of mine at Strange Horizons got nominated for a Hugo, and so on and so on -- I have lovely good things in my life. But then little things get me down, especially little things that I'd feel undiplomatic or churlish or embarrassed to complain about, and I lose my resilience.

I hate being sick.