I think my skull needs an enema.
Looking at the calendar this morning, crossing off the day, I realized that I've somehow managed to lose almost an entire month. You'd think I were a rich woman, behaving like this, frittering away time that might have been spent writing. You'd think people were churning out unwatchable made-for-TV movies with my name plastered upon them.
Tomorrow night, we leave for Kingston, and there's so much to do that hasn't been done.
And I still have to proof the galleys of "Night Story, 1973."
This morning, the baby thrashers are wiggling about in their nest, and Spooky got this shot of a young cardinal in a bush outside the livingroom window:
They've got guest biographies up at the Fiddler's Green website. Jean-Pierre, the Existentialist Snail, is so pleased we were asked to be a part of this convention.
We had a wonderful couple of thunderstorms yesterday.
And I'm prattling on, aren't I? Disconnected thoughts. Random paragraphy.
Leh'agvoi (aka, setsuled) just sent me a new Nar'eth pin up, which I hope I'll have time to add to Nebari.net later today, or maybe tomorrow morning. Inspired by my recent difficulties with Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time, it's sort of a collision of Hindu weaponry and Nebari anatomy. I'm pleased. Now I should shut up and make myself some semblance of useful...