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No sleep. Literally, no sleep. I've been awake now for ~25 hours. And now I have to stay awake until at least midnight (~37 hours), or this one lost night will spiral into several.

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,
Aunt Beast

Comments

sovay
Dec. 17th, 2012 07:23 pm (UTC)
Filthy fucking weather out there. The sun did not rise this morning.

We're having a miniature ice storm. I appreciate this aesthetically in that it allowed me to look at rowan berries encased in ice as I walked home half an hour ago, but I'd rather not have been out in the damp and freeze in the first place.

Want a second pair of eyes on Black Helicopters?