Filthy fucking weather out there. The sun did not rise this morning. I lay on the chaise in the middle parlour and watched the sky turn a lighter shade of lead. Currently, 48˚F.
Yesterday, I don't know. I worked until one ayem proofreading and attending to other details on Black Helicopters and the Big Manuscript that it accompanies. Then, no sleep. Up at five, when I made that last entry. Then work on an introduction. Then another failed attempt at sleep. I finally surrendered at about seven ayem and worked another four hours on the mss. until Spooky woke about eleven. Numbers, numbers, numbers; blah, blah, blah.
If we're lucky, there's no more than six or seven more hours work remaining on these things, and then I can make them go away.
I'm ill. I'm pretty much delirious. And I have to focus and think clearly.
Red Pen Strokes,