"I am the smallest In the crowd."
Can the day actually have anything worse to offer than an hermaphroditic "skunktaur"? No, I don't think so. In that respect, I should like to believe I've seen the worse this day has to offer. But I know I haven't.
But someone owes Pepé Le Pew an apology.
The weather has turned chilly.
Okay. Announcement. I've been invited to be a Special Guest at San Diego Comic-Con 2014 (!!!), and I've accepted the invitation.
On Monday, I finished writing "Pushing the Sky Away (Death of a Blasphemer)." I now have new fiction for two issues of the digest, #91 and #92, and, except for some unspeakably distasteful tying up of loose ends that has to be done today, there's not much left, work-wise, that I can use as an excuse for further delaying my returning to work on Cherry Bomb.
Though, maybe I can invent a few dozen if I try very hard.
Monday, after work, we headed down to Spooky's parents place in South County. They're in Wisconsin, and we needed a night out of the city. We had bad pizza (bad in a good way) and played with Spider the Cat. I read. Spooky sorted through old boxes of clothes and photographs, stuff from her college days. You can hear insects down there, and you can hear winds in the tops of trees. I got a good night's sleep. We got home late yesterday.
There's been three good night's sleep, actually. But only with the help of Seroquel, which is not on my list of Good Drugs. But, when nothing else will work, Seroquel makes me sleep. There's often a serious day-after rebound. But after weeks of not sleeping, it's worth it. Also, please don't tell me what sleep aids/pills/home remedies work for you. Thanks.
Some photos from Monday and Tuesday:
Spider!
Spider!
Don't trust the flowers. They clearly think it's April in Alabama.
You might recognize this road from the trailer for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. Only, in the trailer (and the still photos by
kylecassidy) it was raining cats and dogs.
All photographs Copyright © 2013 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
There should be a name for the sinking feeling that accompanies the realization that the percentage of your life you've squandered is likely far, far greater than the percentage of your life remaining to you.
Fear the Mighty Skunktaur,
Aunt Beast
But someone owes Pepé Le Pew an apology.
The weather has turned chilly.
Okay. Announcement. I've been invited to be a Special Guest at San Diego Comic-Con 2014 (!!!), and I've accepted the invitation.
On Monday, I finished writing "Pushing the Sky Away (Death of a Blasphemer)." I now have new fiction for two issues of the digest, #91 and #92, and, except for some unspeakably distasteful tying up of loose ends that has to be done today, there's not much left, work-wise, that I can use as an excuse for further delaying my returning to work on Cherry Bomb.
Though, maybe I can invent a few dozen if I try very hard.
Monday, after work, we headed down to Spooky's parents place in South County. They're in Wisconsin, and we needed a night out of the city. We had bad pizza (bad in a good way) and played with Spider the Cat. I read. Spooky sorted through old boxes of clothes and photographs, stuff from her college days. You can hear insects down there, and you can hear winds in the tops of trees. I got a good night's sleep. We got home late yesterday.
There's been three good night's sleep, actually. But only with the help of Seroquel, which is not on my list of Good Drugs. But, when nothing else will work, Seroquel makes me sleep. There's often a serious day-after rebound. But after weeks of not sleeping, it's worth it. Also, please don't tell me what sleep aids/pills/home remedies work for you. Thanks.
Some photos from Monday and Tuesday:
Spider!
Spider!
Don't trust the flowers. They clearly think it's April in Alabama.
You might recognize this road from the trailer for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. Only, in the trailer (and the still photos by
kylecassidy) it was raining cats and dogs.All photographs Copyright © 2013 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
There should be a name for the sinking feeling that accompanies the realization that the percentage of your life you've squandered is likely far, far greater than the percentage of your life remaining to you.
Fear the Mighty Skunktaur,
Aunt Beast