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I can almost see the sun from here.

I made a point of getting to bed early last night. I was asleep by 2 a.m. But then the cat woke me at three, and I didn't get back to sleep until five. I am presently of the opinion that eight hours with nightmares is better than five hours with nightmares. Others may disagree.

At least yesterday was a somewhat productive day. I began and finished the preface for Alabaster. It is now almost a complete ms. It wasn't easy, though, sitting down and summing up my history with Dancy Flammarion, all my feelings for her. Who she is to me. Who she is of me. In the end, the preface came to 1,426 words. Much time was spent going back through both my blog and paper journals, which is never a healthy thing to do, looking at all those days that have come and gone, all those people who have come and gone. But my memory seems not to be what it once was, and it took me about two hours to figure out for certain which I'd written first, "Les Fleurs Empoisonnées" or "The Well of Stars and Shadow." Turns out it's the former, which is what I'd thought; the story was written in the summer of 2001. But I still couldn't remember when I wrote "The Well of Stars and Shadow." With some help from Spooky, I finally determined it was written during the last ten days or so of October 2001, about a month before I began keeping an online journal. Oh, and I wrote in Trilobite: The Writing of Threshold that "The Well of Stars and Shadow" was written in "late 2000." So, whoops. This fading memories thing is very disturbing.

Today, I'm going to do my best to write an entire vignette.

This morning, I was reading Poppy's LJ and a bit of it stuck with me. She wrote, "But I've never seriously doubted that New Orleans was my home and the place I needed to be..." Never in my life have I felt that way about a city. Never in my life have I felt that way about any place. When I was twenty one, I almost felt that way about Boulder, Colorado, but I knew I couldn't stay there. And once I'd left, I knew that I could never go back. I've certainly never felt this way about any part of the southeastern US. And I think it's pretty frelled-up, having been alive this long and never once having felt truly at home. I wonder if psychiatry has gotten around to pathologizing this particular sensation yet? Geographical dysphoria, perhaps?

A thank you to David Kirkpatrick, who has offered to send me a copy of SimLife, which I must admit I've never played.

The auction for letter Z of Frog Toes and Tentacles will begin very shortly after I've completed this entry. Once again, it's being offered with a handmade "cozy," designed by Spooky. I cut the fabric. She did all the stitching, including the embroidered Z. Crushed black velvet outside, red silk inside, to match the cover of the lettered edition. Here are the photos (behind the cut). I'll add a postscript to this entry with a link as soon as the auction begins:

I think that's it for today. At least, that's it for now. Somewhere, there are words, and now I have to find them.

Postscript: Here's the letter Z auction page. And here's the general auction page.


( 6 comments — Have your say! )
Jan. 17th, 2006 05:46 pm (UTC)
"But I've never seriously doubted that New Orleans was my home and the place I needed to be..." Never in my life have I felt that way about a city. Never in my life have I felt that way about any place.

I had never felt that before I had lived in Montreal for a couple of years, which would make me about thirty-one, and I really never thought I would feel it, before that home was always a set of people scattered across the English-speaking countries of the world; maybe that sense of home as a place is still to come for you.
Jan. 17th, 2006 06:38 pm (UTC)
Geographical dysphoria, perhaps?

If you don't mind an observation from a stranger?

Some people find their anchors in a place, some in a person, and some in themselves. Yours may be elsewhere.
Jan. 17th, 2006 07:10 pm (UTC)
Sorry to break off-topic here for a bit, but you mentioned body modification a few days back and based off of previous conversations in ol' phorum, I figured you might be interested in this:

Deano Cook in March 2k6 Tattoo magazine.

Scroll down until you see the photo of the turtle. The website doesn't really have good photos, so you'll have to endure a trip to your local B&N or some other place that has the mag to look at the work they display. I'm not fantastically impressed with the work, but at least it's someone who has experience in inking sea life and they're based in GA.

Best of luck with vignettes and geographical dysphoria (though I suspect you're actually suffering from galatic dysphoria).
Jan. 17th, 2006 07:13 pm (UTC)
(though I suspect you're actually suffering from galatic dysphoria).

The thought crosses my mind more than is healthy.
Jan. 17th, 2006 08:40 pm (UTC)
I saw this episode of Farscape last night that was so surrel it made me feel like I was on some sort of hallucinogen.
The one where John was kidnapped by a Scarren and they were tryinig to break him so they could get his secrets?
Jan. 18th, 2006 07:15 am (UTC)
I don't feel at home here, though honestly I've been to many places I've liked, no one place has said "Yes. This is It. This is Home." I do feel very much at home while roadtripping and being on the move. I've no idea what that means.
( 6 comments — Have your say! )