I tried to work, but I got very little done.
I do not know if I'm sick, or if I'm just sick of the world. We have a world of 24/7/365 manufactured outrage, and it has broken so much of me, the constant barrage. COVID-19 and what it has done has broken so much of me.
I was saying to someone today how I grew up during the Cold War, with the omnipresent specter of nuclear apocalypse. Somehow, what is happening in America now is far worse. I long for the seventies and the eighties, when all I feared was fire. It would have been a more merciful ending. It certainly would have been a cleaner ending.
I have utterly blown the feedback I'm supposed to be giving Vince Locke on the illustrations for Vile Affections, and I want to publicly apologize to him. Most days, I'm almost too depressed to get out of bed (but only almost, because inactivity would be the very end of me), and I'm letting a lot of important stuff fall by the wayside.
Enough of this. Have some sloth poop. Sloth poop sorta sums up the day. Candy-coated sloth poop.