My plan for today: brew and drink coffee, write, and pet Chiana a lot. So far so good.
On Sunday, I managed to submit my story (and its accompanying documentation) to an anthology I'm trying to get into. It'll be couple of months before I hear back.
On Friday and Saturday, I worked on the story a lot. I kept thinking it was done and then I'd find something to tweak. I was lucky to have some great readers provide feedback, and I was able to tighten the weakest parts. This story... It began as 5,000 words. And then I asked the first readers to read it, and it was not conveying what I wanted at all. So I started again and wrote a brand new 3,600 words, which morphed into the 4,100 story I submitted.
It's better than it was. So that was my process. Write and then rewrite until I lost all perspective.
It was a pretty rough weekend all around, and I'm certainly not over it, but I will refrain from talking about it too much. It is likely you understand what we're going through--most of you will have lost a pet yourself. It is hard and it hurts and you wait for it to hurt a little less, until one day it's not the first thought you have when you open your eyes. It doesn't mean you miss him less, it just means you've absorbed the experience and it's an integral part of you now.
Yes, I just compared the mourning process to the Borg. You say pota-toh, I say pota-toe.