"I wouldn't mind leaving, but I got so far to go."
Summer finally found Providence. It's currently 80˚F, with a heat index of 87˚F. And we're having the usual trouble keeping the house cool enough for habitation.
And yeah, it's been a few days. But I've been through a rough patch, trying to work, not being able to, struggling with the usual depression and anxiety, and having trouble motivating myself to keep this journal going when it's readership has plummeted so dramatically the last few years. The age of the blog is forever over. The age of "tl;dr" is upon us. Even tweets are deemed too wordy for these days. We can dig our heels in and say "Not here! Not me!" But that doesn't change the idiot momentum of history.
I've finally found the story I was looking for, and yesterday I wrote a little more than 600 words on Agents of Dreamland, the very loose sequel to Black Helicopters, which will be included in Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales.
Thursday night we watched Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation of S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders (1983), which I'd not seen since it was in theaters, the years after I left high school. I'd forgotten how much I love that film. Friday night we followed it with Coppola's adaptation of Rumble Fish (1983), which I also hadn't seen since it was new. It's really the better of the two films.
Yesterday, after I was done writing, we drove down to Moonstone Beach. On the way down, the traffic headed north was appalling, all the people headed back towards Providence. There were too many people, which is unusual for Moonstone. The sea was a little rough. There were plovers and terns and gulls, and we spotted an osprey. Afterwards, we drove over to Narragansett, planning to have dinner at Iggy's. Unfortunately, there were about a million people standing in line. So we drove over to Galilee to try George's, but it was at least as bad. Fucking tourons everywhere. See, we know better than to go to the shore on a weekend. But we did it anyway. Finally, we gave up and headed back towards home, had dinner at Five Guys in Wakefield. At 9 p.m., the traffic was still monstrous, so we stopped by Spooky's parents for a little while. It was late, but luck was with us and her dad didn't go for the shotgun when he heard unexpected guests approaching up that long, dark driveway. I dozed as we drove back to the city, Sigur Rós playing on the iPod.
Here's four photos from the beach (I managed to get a few without people):
All photographs Copyright © 2015 by Caitlín R. Kiernan
The auction for the Brazilian edition of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir ends in about two and a half hours. Don't forget.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
And yeah, it's been a few days. But I've been through a rough patch, trying to work, not being able to, struggling with the usual depression and anxiety, and having trouble motivating myself to keep this journal going when it's readership has plummeted so dramatically the last few years. The age of the blog is forever over. The age of "tl;dr" is upon us. Even tweets are deemed too wordy for these days. We can dig our heels in and say "Not here! Not me!" But that doesn't change the idiot momentum of history.
I've finally found the story I was looking for, and yesterday I wrote a little more than 600 words on Agents of Dreamland, the very loose sequel to Black Helicopters, which will be included in Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales.
Thursday night we watched Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation of S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders (1983), which I'd not seen since it was in theaters, the years after I left high school. I'd forgotten how much I love that film. Friday night we followed it with Coppola's adaptation of Rumble Fish (1983), which I also hadn't seen since it was new. It's really the better of the two films.
Yesterday, after I was done writing, we drove down to Moonstone Beach. On the way down, the traffic headed north was appalling, all the people headed back towards Providence. There were too many people, which is unusual for Moonstone. The sea was a little rough. There were plovers and terns and gulls, and we spotted an osprey. Afterwards, we drove over to Narragansett, planning to have dinner at Iggy's. Unfortunately, there were about a million people standing in line. So we drove over to Galilee to try George's, but it was at least as bad. Fucking tourons everywhere. See, we know better than to go to the shore on a weekend. But we did it anyway. Finally, we gave up and headed back towards home, had dinner at Five Guys in Wakefield. At 9 p.m., the traffic was still monstrous, so we stopped by Spooky's parents for a little while. It was late, but luck was with us and her dad didn't go for the shotgun when he heard unexpected guests approaching up that long, dark driveway. I dozed as we drove back to the city, Sigur Rós playing on the iPod.
Here's four photos from the beach (I managed to get a few without people):
All photographs Copyright © 2015 by Caitlín R. Kiernan
The auction for the Brazilian edition of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir ends in about two and a half hours. Don't forget.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast