Not gonna talk about COVID-19.
I was almost entirely useless today. Fighting the despair and depression and anxiety, all that shit don't count as work, because it neither pays the bills or adds anything of value to the world. It only burns energy I cannot spare.
Today is the 131st birthday of H.P. Lovecraft, and I hope a goodly number of folks were kind enough to visit his grave today and leave a few tokens of their appreciation. Happy birthday, Uncle Theobold.
Oh, I did talk with Geralyn at Subterranean Press about endpaper and cloth binding colors for Cambrian Tales and Vile Affections, and that sort counts as a speck of work. Plus, I destroyed a new bit on the Dremel.
The afternoon's comfort film was James Gunn's Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 2 (2017).
Last night, Kathryn and I began watching Nine Perfect Strangers, and we made it through the first two episodes. Still not entirely sure what I think, but there's a great cast, including Nicole Kidman (utterly eerie), Michael Shannon, Luke Evans, Melissa McCarthy, and Samara Weaving.
Later Tater Beans,