I can see things that I could never hope to describe, much less describe with any semblance of art.
Oh gods, there's that word again.
I need to take steel wool and hyrochloric acid and scrub that useless word from my mind.
There were other bits and pieces to yesterday, though none of them seem to warrent recollection. There were storms. Those were good. I have nothing ill to say about the thunderstorms. I lay in bed and tried to hold just one moment of deafening thunder in my head and keep it there, so I could always have it, whenever I needed it, but it dissolved as the moment dissolved.
There was a long conversation with Spooky about how hard it is just now, how hard it's been the past two years, the writing, the indeterminate, unpredictable Audience, the weariness. I might have saved my breath. Conversations like that are born of too many years wasted in therapy, years that ingrained in me the mistaken belief that talking helps. Talking only underscores the futility and the aloneness.
Oh. Yesterday, I also heard an absolutely awful cover of Tom Waits' "Yesterday is Here" by Cat Power. I think Cat Power has only ever impressed me with one song, and that song really did impress me, but the rest of it...feh.
I have to put it all out of my mind, all the rest of it, everything that isn't the next novel. All the distractions. All the uncertainty. None of this matters anyway.