A melancholy evening. Just sent out a big batch of "no thank yous" for No Tell. The biggest group of "close but not cigar" to date and there's still a bunch we haven't yet responded. Some editors don't mind sending out rejections. I do when the work has merit, but for whatever reason we don't go with it. I find it more difficult than receiving my own rejections. The only time I get upset about my own work's rejections is when I've deluded myself into thinking it was a "sure thing." It's never a sure thing. Since editing No Tell I rarely get upset when an editor decides not to take my work. Sure, I might mutter "whatever pig fucker, your loss", but I don't get upset.

What I don't mind is rejecting work that doesn't follow the guidelines. If you're only sending three poems, you don't read No Tell and I don't care if your feelings get hurt. I also stop feeling bad when after the "no thank you" the poet freaks on my ass. Don't freak on my ass. I never ever forget an ass freaking and that is something I take personally.

Chris just admitted the "Gideon First Cheerios" pictures are lost forever. He downloaded the pictures onto his computer and suddenly *poof*. Searching for the forgiveness in my heart. Those pictures were adorable.

There's no ice cream in the freezer.