Just finished up a lot of homework kinds of things and was thinking of starting into rewrites of A History of Lightning when "I've got mail!"
The fine editors over at Goblin Fruit sent me a very nice rejection email for "Scrimshaw Man." Sent a thank you note (the rejection was very nice and I think it was close). I took a few rounds through the poem to see what I could refine. Deleted a word, added another word. And then I went to go look for resubmission while I pondered other edits.
That's when my brain sort of went, "sprung!" There was a fleetingly short burst of information across the synapses, a detailed plan of what I needed to do to find another market. Then blankness. The shoulders slumped. As I tried to recreate the process of resubmissions I didn't so much hit the wall of sleep as it came crashing in on me.
I've been burning the candle at both ends and having the emotions/expectations played to a limit for the past few days and it's caught up with me. Time to go to bed. Heck, I might even read a little (it's been over a week). Then go comatose until tomorrow morning when I need to get up even earlier than normal.