Exhausted, jet-lagged and writing.
I have no idea what this will be like. Somebody will read it and wonder what the author was thinking. I can't answer, sorry. It is just happening. Much of my best writing happens like this, when I stop trying to be clever and just dig deep into the forgotten resources of my mind. I am not sure that this is one of those occasions, though. Only the reviewers will know.
Deadline tomorrow. I'll get up at 6 am and finish. Part of me wishes I'd have stayed home. The other part knows I can never work as intensely and intently if I don't go away.
Done. And I am done. And it is done. Tomorrow I will definitely not write.