So much for spring, it was fucking hailing earlier today.

I spent most of this afternoon watching the entirety of Russian Doll instead of working on a story submission that's due at the end of the month.

And now I'm sitting here, staring at this story, and the little bastard tells me it's perfectly happy being 1,400 words and doesn't want to be expanded to 3K, the minimum for submissions to the antho I've got my eye on.

I gotta write something, but I'm so fucking tired. And there is nothing to eat in my apartment that doesn't require preparation, which is by far the worst part of Pesach for me. I keep saying "I'll make" and then not making anything.