We've just finished with The Cure (which actually cured nothing), and are now onto The Clash (Give 'Em Enough Rope). Along with the third cup of coffee I've just poured, this should alleviate my pains. God, I'm getting old. My back feels like an arthritic old lady shoehorned into a trans-Atlantic economy class airbus. We've been bent over the coffee table for God-knows-how-many hours, typing, correcting, snipping, glueing, sniffing, editing.... argh. Taryn is proofreading the last long prose piece before we lay it out like Thanksgiving dinner. We are so close. SO close. I can smell the finish line. I love the smell of victory at 3.30 in the morning. It smells like... napalm.