April 6th, 2016

The Red Tree

"Blame it on the satellite that beams me home."

Despite getting seven hours sleep last night (I've only been getting six), I'm very much not awake today. The snow out there isn't helping. nor are the dreams. Night before last, something awful that I was trying not to see, something black and mercifully indistinct that I only just managed to keep always at the periphery of my vision.

I'm sitting here in a T-shirt and cut offs, doing my best to pretend that the snow piled in on the roof outside my window is anything at all but snow. There was only a little melting yesterday, as the temperature barely rose above freezing. The low last night was somewhere in the low 20s˚F. Currently, it's sunnyish and only 37˚F. There's talk of heavy rain tomorrow, and a high in the forties, so hopefully that will wash away most of it. By next week, we might have temperatures in the sixties again. The fruit trees in New England have taken a beating from this, and I expect produce will be shit this summer. Me, I just want to see some green, please.

Yesterday I wrote 1,052 words on...something. I kept the title "Pillbug" from the false start of April 2nd, but tossed out the rest.

Last night, too stressed out to think, I settled for television, the latest episodes of Better Call Saul, Vinyl, and Shameless. I read a little.

Latter, just before bed, I posted the following on Facebook:

I don't think there's been this much bullshit stress in my life since about 1992. Health, money, work, this lunatic presidential election, fucking weekly bombings and mass shootings, the South's determination to undo every bit of progress it has made in the past fifty years...I've just about had enough of it all. And through it all, I'm supposed to keep on telling fairy tales.

I have nothing much to add to that.

Aunt Beast