"The time will surely come when all is blown undone."
It's annoyingly ironic that here in the last full week of the journal as a day-to-day journal I really don't have much to say. It wasn't supposed to be that way, but the world does conspire. I'm sitting here all day finding the final piece of this book, Cherry Bomb, and I'm not doing much else. I'm not going out of doors, except that token step Outside so that I can say I did leave the House. It's a dull life. I find myself angry at the thought that anyone would want to be an author. This was my Plan B, and, as such, it's worked out very well, but it wasn't how I wanted to spend my life. And I find it not the least bit interesting to write about. It's monotony elevated to a ballet.
This time last year I was wrestling with a resolution to Pink Delicious, and one year later I'm in the same dreadful mess with the final book in the last series I will ever write, aside from comics.
I am within spitting distance of THE END.
There was far too much email yesterday.
Today is overcast. Currently, it's 54˚F, and we still have a forecast high of 62˚F. We'll see.
And I got up late, so that's all I have time for now.