I have a notorious record of catching childhood ailments much later than I should, first established with my seventh grade bout with chicken pox.  And thus it should’ve been no surprise that I awoke this morning — with pink eye.  Pink eye.  Seriously.  Pink eye.  Ah, well. Such are the breaks of a life in the classroom.

There was, thankfully, a very kind “enjoyed these” rejection slip in the mailbox, as well as a care package of Happy Fresh Cola Haribo from my dear Austrian friend.  And I have an enormous stack of submissions ready to be assembled, folded, and stuck in their envelopes.  Do not worry, literary magazine editors of America — I am using a great deal of hand sanitizer.