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A cold but mostly sunny day. I think our high was about 45˚F. Currently, it's 37˚F.

A strange day, though. I spent it trying to find my way back into the writing, back into the work, in part by reading three of the stories in The Dinosaur Tourist – "Untitled Psychiatrist No. 3" (May 2017), "Ballad of an Echo Whisperer" (June-August 2013), and "Elegy for a Suicide" (July 2013). I rarely ever read my own work after it's published, unless it's to revise for reprints, and it always puts me in an odd mood. And I also read portions of one of my handwritten journals from 2007, and a good bit of the blog entries for that same year, which added to the oddness.

And there was a trip to Target for pajama pants and blue cheese. I'm sure that didn't help.

It's almost inexplicable, my skill at feeling intense nostalgia for places I absolutely loathed when I actually lived there. In this case, the house on Mansfield Avenue in Atlanta (December 2004–May 2008). At the time, I thought I was miserable.

Last night, Spooky made an apple pie (well, it was a frozen pie from Da Oink, but she cooked it).

Later,
CRK




10:24 p.m. (last night)

Comments

( 2 comments — Have your say! )
Marc D. Goldfinger
Jan. 26th, 2019 01:52 am (UTC)
Dwelling Place Nostalgia
Shit like that happens to me. I have dry spells for writing too.

I look at it like this--sometimes I'm on Intake--other times I'm on Output. Usually after an exceptionally dry period, I write something really good--and dark.

I'm just saying, that's all.
sirena73
Jan. 26th, 2019 02:38 am (UTC)
I was having this precise feeling tonight; nostalgia for places and times that I loathed in the moment. I'm sure there's a German or Japanese word for exactly that.
( 2 comments — Have your say! )