Rain, drizzle, and fog made it a fine night for potato pancakes with fresh guacamole. If only the Brewers had managed to win the Wild Card game too. I like listening to Bob Uecker do the call, plus the Brewers have fine (by which I mean silly) local radio commercials for things like sausages. Last night's absurd jingle for Speedy Metals will be hard to top. Tom and I laughed very hard. But unfortunately the Brewers lost to the Nationals, so excellent radio is over for the season, unless I grit my teeth and listen to the Yankees announcers . . . which I probably will. But Yankees. Ick. Go Twins.

Enough of this baseball maundering. I've got a sinus headache this morning, and I'm wishing it would go away. My editing stack is enormous, but I need to dig out some real writing time this week so I don't lapse into automatic word pilot. That's the danger of editing: it's like playing scales and etudes over and over again--lots of practice without any adventure. And my imagination gets skittery, and then I have to tamp it down, and then I get gloomy and resigned, and who needs that?