November 10th, 2015

The Red Tree

"There ain't language for the things I've seen, and the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams."

This has to be fairly quick, as it's already 12:40 p.m., so look sharp, Beast. Out there, beyond the windowpane, it's overcast and 55˚F. At least this means the house painters can't work today, as, likely, it will rain.

I've passed through the worst of the gabapentin withdrawal, with the aid of Spooky's patience, and a lot of magnesium and Vitamin D. I'm dealing with some pretty grim insomnia, though. It would be nice to think it's related to the withdrawal (insomnia is a symptom), but I fear it's just my usual winter inability to sleep, which isn't all that different from my difficulty sleeping the rest of the year. Night before last, I slept only about two hours.

Anyway, I've lost about ten days to this mess, and now I have to get two short stories written before December 1 (one for an Ellen Datlow anthology, one for Sirenia Digest). I've set the screenplay aside until, probably, after the first of the year. With luck, I'll finish it in January.

We had a nice walk yesterday morning, me trying to escape all the dust and shadows in the house. It was warmish and sunny. Kathryn and I both took photos, including shots of the ugly, decaying mugs of our lingering jack-o'-lanterns:

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Later,
Aunt Beast