I had a dream last night that my book tested positive for COVID. I was extremely irritated but I rolled over and went back to sleep.
In unbound galley format, it made a few calls, scheduled a handful of dubious meetings, and walked out the door, sans mask. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Sleep cycle number eight (it was a rough night) came to a tragic end when I found out the book was the keynote speaker at a Stop the Steal fundraiser which became a super spreader because my book can't seem to keep its hands to itself (I didn't know it had hands either). I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Thirty seconds before the second alarm went off, the book tapped me on the shoulder.
"I'm not your mother. Get back in your box."
"Mom. While you've been sleeping, I've been in the ICU at UVM and I don't think I'm insured."
"Your medical debt is not my problem. Get back in your box. I just hit the snooze button."
"But it's OK now. I just wanted to let you know."
"That's nice. Do you have a vaccine appointment?"
"I'm sorry. I can't do that. I'm concerned about fertility issues down the road. And also, you can't make me."
"Get out of my bed."
I expected better of my first, first edition and I'm hopeful that an outside line editor will be enough of an intervention.