Last night was the sixth night of not sleeping very much, of lying awake, of watching the sunrise. It's taking a toll, this bout of insomnia. Nothing is helping very much. It's beginning to feel normal.
It's 55˚F here in Providence. Yesterday, we managed to reach an unbelievable (as in I'm not sure I buy it) 77˚F. I didn't even try to work. My left foot was screaming bloody murder, and I was, at best, half awake, so Kathryn and I went to Newbury Comics in Warwick for Record Store Day. I was able to go out in just a T-shirt and jeans, and it wasn't uncomfortable. It was, however, strange. Hardly a speck of greenery anywhere in the trees. Brown-grey fingers scratching at a too-blue sky. Anyway, for the next week or two we'll be paying dearly for the unexpected warmth of yesterday. The forecast is much cooler and much wetter.
Next year, in theory, I'll get to see spring again.
I took Seroquel at 5:00 a.m., and to say I'm groggy is a massive fucking understatement.
Kathryn just reminded me that I should mention eBay, just in case anyone who desires to buy a book and who can afford to buy a book is reading. There, I've mentioned it. I'll mention it in more detail tomorrow.
I'm going to assume it's fairly obvious that I didn't write yesterday.
Returning to the subject of Record Store Day, my thanks to Thom Jones in Portland, Oregon for scoring me a copy of the special red-vinyl edition of Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. By the time we made it to Warwick, none were left. We did, however, pick up the Pogue's If I Should Fall From Grace With God (clear vinyl), Nick Cave's Push the Sky Away* (clear vinyl with a smoky black swirl), and a special extended version of the Decemberists Picaresque (red vinyl). I always forget how much better vinyl sounds than CDs, how much warmer, how much more dimension there is to the sound. We spent too much, but fuck it. After we got home, I took two Vicodin and lay on the floor of the front parlour, listening to records, soaking in sound, and being grateful that there are things that dampen the pain. Here is the balm of my yesterday:
In the comments section yesterday, corucia posted some musings on the relationships of all the Dancy Flammarion stories to one another, and so I figured that, today, I would, quickly, give my take on it. In short, I see three Dancys: 1) the Dancy of Threshold, who inhabits a slightly different worldline than 2) the Dancy of the Alabaster prose stories, and neither of these are to be mistaken with 3) the Dancy of the comics, who inhabits her own separate universe. And while there's a lot of overlap (for example, the events of "In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers" are mentioned in both Threshold and the comics), you can't reconcile various inconsistencies and contradictions to force these three incarnations of the character to exist in a single fictional space. For that matter, I'm pretty sure that the short stories don't even quite sync up.** And all of this is fine by me, because that's how I built the world/s.
So, there you go, the three Dancy's. The Dancy of "Dancy Versus the Pterosaur" is most definitely #2.
Maybe I'll actually be able to write today. If I don't manage to get my shit together, the deadlines and bill collectors will devour me alive.
* From which my 2013 story "Pushing the Sky Away (Death of a Blasphemer)" takes its title
** I won't, today, get into complications created by my recent Dark Horse edit of "Bainbridge," in which I ruthlessly chopped out everything that linked Dancy to Silk and Murder of Angels (because it was an embarrassingly dumb thing to have done, that's why).