December 23rd, 2013


"I have waited with a glacier's patience."

1. Today I am beginning to step down from my current Lamictal dose. I need to stop taking this shit. It's made a mess of my memory. It's hurt my writing.* It's made me clumsy. And I'm not even sure it's still working. So fuck the stuff. I only wish it wasn't going to take me a month or so to get off it. So, today I cut my dose by one quarter, and next week I'll cut by a third, and the next week a half.

2. I am fairly certain that I'm ending this journal – as a journal – with the 4,000th entry. This is the 3,971st entry. I'd continue to make announcements about new books, eBay, Sirenia Digest, public appearances, etc. here, but probably not much else. This was my twelfth year as a blogger, and a very conservative estimate places my cumulative word count at around two million words. That's more than double the word count of all my novels combined. Mostly, I'm tired, and I'd like to go back to the way things were before, when I read in the mornings.

3. Not much of my early childhood survives. Toys, books, pretty much everything was misplaced, left behind, sold at yard sales. So I always surprises me when I realize I have the birthday gifts my Aunt Pat (my mom's kid sister) sent me in 1971 and 1972. She was in Louisville, Kentucky, and we were in Jacksonville, Florida. The zebra ('71) was made in Africa, and the little croquet or roque player ('72) was made in Italy. Gifts from 42 and 41 years ago, respectively.

Thank you, Ramey. I am grateful they were not lost.

4. No writing again yesterday. The weather was warm and wet and wretched. And the inside of my head was worse. We spent hours driving aimlessly around Providence. There was nowhere I wanted to stop. Nowhere I wanted to walk, no building I wanted to enter. I didn't want to be in the car, either, but at least it wasn't this house. At least it wasn't that. Obviously, I didn't write. I have about two weeks to get the next issue of the digest out, write a short story, and get Cherry Bomb started again. I lose many more days and I'll be well and truly fucked. Again.

5. As I have said, far too much watching lately. I've been trying to read a Diane Arbus biography, and Spooky's began reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane to me. But my concentration is shit, and mostly I just watch. We blew through Alpha House (thumbs up) and Betas (thumbs down). We watched H.C. Potter's Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), which Spooky had never seen and which I'd not seen since I was a kid. We watched, on Kid Night, Peter Strickland Berberian Sound Studio (2012), which was brilliant. It has given me one of the creepiest single lines of prose I've heard or read in ages: "It must have been the magpies." Our second KN feature was an utterly horrid SF film with Christian Slater – Roger Christian's Stranded (2013). I know I'm old, because I remember when Christian Slater had a career.

And that's all for now.

The Day Before the Day Before,
Aunt Beast

* I'll write more on this difficult problem tomorrow.