This thing on Wednesday, the reception at the Hay, is coming at me at me like a freight train, and I do not know what it would be appropriate to feel. But it's likely not the mixture of fear and confusion and anxiety that I feel. And the question that is playing in my head on an endless loop, "What the fuck am I supposed to do next?" At age 53, an Ivy League university has accepted my papers and there's to be a four-month exhibit. Whatever I was trying to prove, I've proven it as well as I ever will. And yes, I was trying to prove something to a lot of people who could see me only a a loser. Actually, it took so long a few of them died before I got this far, so fuck them. Regardless, if I am to continue, there has to be some new motivation, and it has to be greater than the need to keep the bills paid. Add to this the frustration that comes from getting this sort of recognition but still struggling just to keep those aforementioned bills paid. "We will celebrate your fascinating, culturally significant life and your work, Caitlín R. Kiernan, and we apologize if you wind up on the street with your rotten teeth because no one buys your books. Rest secure in the knowledge that all this junk of yours will be preserved for generations to come." Right, so, that's where I am today.
Spooky's mom came by early in the afternoon yesterday. She brought me this brightly painted lizard thing from Santa Fe. I put it on a shelf in my office.
Also, no more news. No more Twitter. No more politics on my Facebook. New rules. I have to write & get well. I cannot save the world.
Last night, Twin Peaks and Game of Thrones. Cherry pie. I read "Cyclotosaurus naraserluki, sp. nov., a new Late Triassic cyclotosaurid (Amphibia, Temnospondyli) from the Fleming Fjord Formation of the Jameson Land Basin (East Greenland)," and I read "Leiokarinosuchus brookensis, Pholidosaurus meyeri, or Anteophthalmosuchus hooleyi? What is this croc?" I got to bed about 4 a.m.
Today, I hope, work, if the chaos can be kept at bay.