I'm so, so far behind. Back before the trip to Alabama, I'd finally gotten myself back on schedule, after what essentially amounted to a two-year slump. But then there was the trip, and then there was Hubero's death, and then I'd just begin to get my feet back under me again when, in mid June, my teeth went ballistic, and the self doubt came back. And I spent most of July flailing. And here it is the first day of August, and I'm very behind again. But I have to shake it off. I have to get something started for Sirenia Digest No. 138 today. I have to get that done so I can start a longer work. But there's also stuff that needs doing for the John Hay exhibit and Centipede Press, and there are probably still two new sections of Black Helicopters to be written. I have to work around of and in spite of the pain in my mouth, because I have months of dental work ahead of me, and I do not have the luxury of not working during that.
I used to be so on top of things. Day before yesterday, I sat at my desk for all afternoon, listening to music and crying. That sort of sums it up.
Today, Dread Pirate Lydia comes to live with us. Photos to follow.
Yesterday, I learned that Sam Shepard had died, and it was also the thirtieth anniversary of The Lost Boys. Spooky made spaghetti for dinner, which I was able to eat by cutting it up very tiny. These days, protein shakes are my friend, but they cause my body to manufacture and excrete excess nitrogen, which irritates my urethra. Ain't this fun?