January 9th, 2017

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Four Vicodin

No photograph today. It just didn't happen. Maybe that's because I'm still not well, though I spent yesterday trying to pretend that I am. Or maybe it's because it's only 15˚F outside, with a 5˚F windchill. Last night, the low was 6˚F, with a windchill below zero. This impresses no one who lives in Ontario and Quebec, but my ass is from Alabama. So.

I was trying to wake up enough to write yesterday and decided to pack up a bunch of short-story files for storage. An hour later, one box of files later, I was breathless and drenched in a cold sweat. And there was no writing. Which was me realizing I'm not quite yet well. Today I have to either crack the resistant outer shell of the new Dancy story or move onto something else. I lost a week to this bug, and that means I lost a week that could have been spent finding my way into this story.

Spooky made molasses cookies last night.

Happy birthday to Morgan M. Page, my daughter in another worldline.

Resistance, Peace, and Compassion,
Aunt Beast