homer was right
Finite universe! Finite doughnut-shaped universe! I certainly hope so—infinity makes my pineal gland hurt. Ah, I hear the melodious strains of the cat vomiting down the hall.
Spent all day at the computer, except for a late and bleary drive out for drivethru Mexican. In the car, one of the novel's last puzzle pieces fell into place—or rather, I determined where the piece needs to go. It's not yet there. Writing this thing is sort of like constructing a jigsaw puzzle from 500-pound granite blocks; even after you figure out how to arrange it, there's a lot of hauling to do.
Now the emetic cat is trying to be my friend. Go away; you smell bilious.
