...At least for a little while. You see, according to my calculations, which are never wrong (ha!), the earliest that a certain special manuscript could arrive at a certain special publisher's office in NYC is tonight. Which means, in reality, the earliest it could be dumped into the slush pile to be ignored by editors, to be used as a coaster for coffee, or to finally be sneered at, looked over, and/or read by some assistant would be tomorrow morning.
Realistically, it'll hit the pile and stay there for many moons until someone deigns to pick the dang thing up and look at it (it's a mighty big package - 857 pages). But with the earliest possible chance of anyone putting their publishorial hands on it being tonight or tomorrow, I am saddled with the knowledge that my last frayed edges of sanity are going to go bye-bye.
I'll be a nervous wreck for weeks, at least until I'm distracted by enough bad things, good things, or frustrating things that I'll have pushed it away and am able to think of something else. Don't get me wrong. I won't stop worrying about Heroes until I hear from them, for good or ill, but in a few weeks, I'll be able to contemplate the joy of a simple sunset, the perfection of a tasty barbecue rib (Kansas City-style, of course), or the happiness I feel at the thought of hurling a mindless functionary through a window. Ah, yes. To be sane again. I'll look forward to it.