Yesterday was another very, very bad day, an ugly day, a day of rage and suicidal fantasies, in part because of the hellish winds that blew from morning until dusk, ~60 mph gusts, and it was pretty much a long sustained gust. The wind works its way underneath my skin, and it scrapes my nerves raw. The temperature reached, I think, 67˚F, but I had no wish to be out in that wind. We may reach 66˚F toady, with rain – but then winter comes galloping back to New England, and it isn't likely to leave until at least mid April.
But I have to get back on the horse. I've lost two days, and there's nothing I can do about the shitty weather or about Cold Spring or about not being able to afford to move back South. I can only do what I can actually do.
Sounds like shit when you say it aloud.
On the to do list over the next week:
1. A vignette for Sirenia Digest #122
2. Settle on ToC for Dear Sweet Filthy World
3. Begin assembling ms. for Dear Sweet Filthy World
Which is more than enough for one week.
Fuck it.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
But I have to get back on the horse. I've lost two days, and there's nothing I can do about the shitty weather or about Cold Spring or about not being able to afford to move back South. I can only do what I can actually do.
Sounds like shit when you say it aloud.
On the to do list over the next week:
1. A vignette for Sirenia Digest #122
2. Settle on ToC for Dear Sweet Filthy World
3. Begin assembling ms. for Dear Sweet Filthy World
Which is more than enough for one week.
Fuck it.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
- Current Location:Providence, RI (Drearyland, USA)
- Current Mood:trying
- Current Music:Editors, "You Don't Know Love"
Comments
I'm enjoying my freedom. I'm glad that you have your Patreon too. That's a gift from people who care about you.
You're a great writer. I know it's work but not everyone has the GIFT!
Just acquired Jame's Lee Burks book, "House of the Rising Son.", and had to leave the house so I wouldn't drown reading it. Burk's Dick Tracy description's of people, ghost and, pornographic love of violence have always fascinated me. What has prove the most difficult to understand is the southerner's ability to take offense to others comments, and their hatred for the cold. I'll read Burk's work, and his characters will start to slaughter each other over an insult. I will go back, and reread the passage, and I still can't find the insult. Must be the truth is obscene to the southern mind set. The cold thing, I assume, is they don't know hell is cold, but they do have moments of clairvoyance.