I made major progress on the Winifred block today. That is the only part of the day worth of being remembered. The formic-acid approach was good idea.
That said, it occurred to me this afternoon, talking with Kathryn, that COVID-19 has done to me, I think, what Hurricane Katrina did to so many people. Maybe what 9/11 did to people before that. And I have not even contracted the virus. But it has broken me in new ways and forever changed the world, and the way I live my life, and what my life means. It destroyed opportunities that had only just emerged and made it impossible for me to get up, dust myself off, and "try again." At this point, I need to write at least one or two more novels, I need to get Kathryn back to Rhode Island and out of the suppurating hellscape that Alabama (and most of America, honestly) has become, and I hope I can hang onto some scrap of what I have gotten back in paleontology. But that's optional.
I cannot even imagine writing a novel after all this. I cannot write about what has happen. If I am lucky, I can find a way to write about whatever is left afterwards, but I cannot never write about the thing itself.
I have survived a lot of evil shit and come out determined to rebuild. Not this time.
I just have to survive long enough to do those things and expect no more of myself than that. And if anyone reading this disapproves of anything I have said here, well, that is not my problem.
We have eBay auctions. Spooky's added a couple of new items. Take a look. Thanks.
Later Tater Beans,