I feel very slightly better today, though, once again, I hardly managed to sleep.
No work yesterday, aside from email with ST Joshi and Centipede Press, Chris Morey (Dark Regions Press) and my agent. The day was spent mostly on my back, coasting through waves of aches and chills, queasiness, watering eyes, snot, cramps, serious anxiety, and mild headachiness. The chills are the worst of it. And the stark cruelness of sobriety. As of tonight, it will have been three days. Which is the longest I've been clean in...years. Some part of me questions the wisdom of writing about this in public, for the public, but if you read my fiction, and if you follow the blog, there should be no surprises here. And it is one of the few up sides of being a freelance author that no one's gonna give me a bad reference next time I apply for a job. There's no shame here.
"Our national drug is alcohol. We tend to regard the use of any other drug with special horror." ~ WSB
Late in day, Spooky and I worked on an Edward Gorey jigsaw puzzle, and then I passed out, and she worked on it alone. Right now, sleep is my friend. It just seems to be a friend who wants to keep its distance.
I have a few photos from yesterday and last night. Just before sunset, the sun broke through the clouds, that low-to-the-southern-horizon, highish-latitude sun, and set the treetops and rooftops on fire:
All photographs Copyright © 2016 by Kathryn A. Pollnac and Caitlín R. Kiernan
“The story goes on and leaves the writer behind, for no story is ever done.” ~ John Steinbeck