In the end a three-day virtual vacation was a little more than I could handle; in planning it out, I never took into account how long it would take to actually write the thing, especially while alternately writhing in pain and gooned on Advil. Still, I did get a magical day out of it (even though it took three slightly less than magical days to write). So I came home, humbled once again by how much bigger my ambition is than my talent; waking up, I was no longer in room 1220 of the St. Francis Hotel, but in the equally magical (if more sorely in need of housekeeping) Pop Culture Institute.
I won't promise I'll never do it again - after all, I got four comments out of it, which is four more than I ever get out of writing about the minutiae of life at the court of Elizabeth I - but if I do it again, I'll be better prepared ahead of time. Someone once said (I forget just who) "It takes a big man to admit when he's beaten"; right at this moment I feel like Rodney King, but I'm not going to let failure stop me, but simply learn from it what I can and move on.
Now without any further ado, I've got two days of catching up to do in just under three hours...
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