Also my head is still kind of metaphorically vibrating with a scene on The True Tale of Carter Hall, which I'm not writing, except maybe this scene to get my head to stop vibrating. It's the reverberating kind of vibrating, where it's not echoing any more but the aftereffects are still there. Very satisfying in its own way. That one doesn't need to go away. Oh, and before haddayr got to the Tea Source last night, I figured out what SF short story I'm writing next, and I even outlined it. I rarely do anything so formal as outlining a short story, but this one is structure-y. Practically overflowing with structure. So the outline is a goodness, and now I can write it, and this is good.
The dog, it turns out, is desperately fond of cornbread. She sits and gazes soulfully up at the person eating it: see what a Good Puppy I am? See how nicely I sit? Doesn't it make you want to share your cornbread with the Very Good Girl? She is also mad keen on cool fall mornings -- half the time she noses my leg on her way out the door and looks up at me: are you sure you don't want to come with? Are you sure? The only thing she's not so keen on about fall so far is that I'm sometimes covering my knees and elbows, and those are the best places to shove a wet puppy nose to get a monkey's attention.
There was something else, but it'll come wandering back later, or else not.