"The sun ain't gonna shine anymore..." (363)
Sunny and hot, but not fuck-you hot. Our high was 92F, with a heat index of 96F.
I had a 10 a.m. doctor's appointment, that was nerve wracking, and it kind of ate the day.
Paul Reubens has died, and this one is hitting me hard. He was 70 years old.
I am entirely, self-loathingly aware that I have spent most of the past two months malingering, becalmed in a super-sargasso sea of stagnation. Other than one short story and the trip to Tuscaloosa, I have gotten precious little done. Mostly, I've been reading and pretend it counts as work. It fucking doesn't. Now, yes, I have my reasons why this happened. But fuck my reasons. Beginning tomorrow morning, it ends, the stillness. (And it's not like I have been fucking off and doing "fun" stuff instead of working. I've just been sitting here. Tomorrow morning, I will begin a new story, and this week Kathryn and I are reading back over all that has been written on The Night Watchers.
No days off for good behavior.
I need to make a post about the "climate crisis," as I am seeing it called in headlines. That is, the point that those among us not in denial, those of us who trust science (and understand science), and those who are not to obstinate and/or stupid to reach, that point we all knew as coming. I half believe that 2023 is going to stand in history as the long-feared tipping point.
Anyway...
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Thanks.
Later,
Aunt Beast (push me)
10:57 p.m.
I had a 10 a.m. doctor's appointment, that was nerve wracking, and it kind of ate the day.
Paul Reubens has died, and this one is hitting me hard. He was 70 years old.
I am entirely, self-loathingly aware that I have spent most of the past two months malingering, becalmed in a super-sargasso sea of stagnation. Other than one short story and the trip to Tuscaloosa, I have gotten precious little done. Mostly, I've been reading and pretend it counts as work. It fucking doesn't. Now, yes, I have my reasons why this happened. But fuck my reasons. Beginning tomorrow morning, it ends, the stillness. (And it's not like I have been fucking off and doing "fun" stuff instead of working. I've just been sitting here. Tomorrow morning, I will begin a new story, and this week Kathryn and I are reading back over all that has been written on The Night Watchers.
No days off for good behavior.
I need to make a post about the "climate crisis," as I am seeing it called in headlines. That is, the point that those among us not in denial, those of us who trust science (and understand science), and those who are not to obstinate and/or stupid to reach, that point we all knew as coming. I half believe that 2023 is going to stand in history as the long-feared tipping point.
Anyway...
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Thanks.
Later,
Aunt Beast (push me)
10:57 p.m.