May 18th, 2005


So, Jung and Skinner go into a bar...

I did a respectable 1,421 words on Chapter Three of Daughter of Hounds yesterday. I should be able to finish the chapter today, as planned. The last couple of pages yesterday left me with that old, sick feeling, that sense that my job is to create people and then visit every imaginable horror upon them, like some distant, sadistic god. I frelling hate that feeling. On the one hand, it probably indicates that my characters are alive to me, but, on the other, it shows that some part of me thinks I should treat them better.

I once had a Jungian analyst, whom I'd been seeing for several years, tell me that, whereas most people she'd worked with needed to get past the barrier of their conscious ego to deal with problems posed by the repression of their shadow selves, there was little to me but shadow, as far as she could see. She's also the one who convinced me to write The Five of Cups and Silk as psychotherapeutic acts. Anyway, yeah, I kind of feel that way a lot of the time, all shadow, and pity the poor entities trapped in universes of my creation.

Very bad dreams last night and the night before, and hence there's been too little sleep, which is probably why I'm babbling about Jung and my misadventures in therapy.

It is from the all-uniting depths that the dream arises, be it ever so childish, grotesque, or immoral... — Jung

Also yesterday, Vince Locke sent me the rough sketches of the illustrations for Frog Toes and Tentacles, and today I need to get back to him about those. Maybe I'll ask permission to post one here.

Only eight days left until the dratted birthday. Gods, I'm tired of these things. Especially the way there seems to be increasingly less time between each one. If I could ask Stephen Hawking one question, it would be, "Why does the distance between my birthdays decrease year by year?" He'd deny that it does, of course, and mutter some frippery about relativity. But I know the Masons and the Rand Corportaion keep him from telling the truth about such things. *sigh* Maybe I'll stay in bed all day this year. I asked Spooky if I could have whores for my birthday, but she only scowled that scowl that I know means No, and don't ask me that again. But, on the bright side, I do have an Amazon wish list. Sadly, there are no whores upon it. Now, I'm gonna go calculate the time between birthday -1 and birthday -2. I'm guessing it's down to about 8.5 months. I wonder what happens if you live long enough that the space between birthdays can only be counted in negative numbers?
  • Current Music
    The Decemberists, "The Bagman's Gambit"