I remember sleep.
Sleep was nice, wasn't it? Sleep was my good and snuggly friend, and wanted to love me forever. Oh, sleep, why did I tell you to go? I'm sorry, sleep, I'm so sorry...
But seriously, when I have Vixy demanding to know whether I ever go to bed, I should maybe consider taking a few minutes to close my eyes and think of absolutely nothing. (I finished a short story yesterday, called "The Tolling of Pavlov's Bells," which may be the most disturbing thing I've written in a while. I also learned that when you sit around giggling about the cholera, people don't sit next to you on the train.) And I will, I promise, just as soon as I finish the ninety-seven things I still need to do.
Amy arrives tomorrow. Chris is coming over today. I need to get through another three chapters in The Brightest Fell, finish the "Sparrow Hill Road" story for July, and make some adjustments to the manuscript for Blackout so that it will be more amenable to my actually, I don't know, ever writing the book. Feed came out on Tuesday, and I'm mostly trying not to think about that too hard, because if I did, I might never sleep ever again. Oh, and I'm about to finally get back to work on "Velveteen vs."
Lilly perches atop the pumpkin-fucker orange cat tree and looks upon me with disdain. I think she's tired of all the yawning.
I am not yet at the end of my endurance, but I have a better idea now of what that end looks like than I've ever had before. That, too, is fairly tiring. Please do not jab at me with sticks, as I might well keel over, and then you'd have to clean up the mess made by my pathetically discarded corpse. Plus, The Agent might come for you with a hammer.
Tired now.
But seriously, when I have Vixy demanding to know whether I ever go to bed, I should maybe consider taking a few minutes to close my eyes and think of absolutely nothing. (I finished a short story yesterday, called "The Tolling of Pavlov's Bells," which may be the most disturbing thing I've written in a while. I also learned that when you sit around giggling about the cholera, people don't sit next to you on the train.) And I will, I promise, just as soon as I finish the ninety-seven things I still need to do.
Amy arrives tomorrow. Chris is coming over today. I need to get through another three chapters in The Brightest Fell, finish the "Sparrow Hill Road" story for July, and make some adjustments to the manuscript for Blackout so that it will be more amenable to my actually, I don't know, ever writing the book. Feed came out on Tuesday, and I'm mostly trying not to think about that too hard, because if I did, I might never sleep ever again. Oh, and I'm about to finally get back to work on "Velveteen vs."
Lilly perches atop the pumpkin-fucker orange cat tree and looks upon me with disdain. I think she's tired of all the yawning.
I am not yet at the end of my endurance, but I have a better idea now of what that end looks like than I've ever had before. That, too, is fairly tiring. Please do not jab at me with sticks, as I might well keel over, and then you'd have to clean up the mess made by my pathetically discarded corpse. Plus, The Agent might come for you with a hammer.
Tired now.