Well, a day-and-a-half can be just enough rope to hang yourself with, I am coming to realize. I forgot that the mind moves far too fast (up into exhilaration, down into despair) to make that period of time seem safe. Ahh, the joys of paper-writing. Apparently even good sleep and Sydney’s good cooking can’t make this process a sure and steady thing. Off to beat back the demons . . . and gear up for writing a page an hour tomorrow.