"Nothing lasts forever. That's the way it's gotta be."
I m fucking exhausted. I've hardly slept for two nights now.
Our high today was 59F, after a nightly low of 29F. Sunny and cold.
I was up at 4:30 a.m. I tried to start something for Sirenia Digest, but I could not settle on an idea that I liked enough to really get started on it. I spent an hour prepping two marine gastropods from the Bashi Marl site. I read and waiting for Karhryn to wake up. I took a photo of the sun rising over Shades Mountain (below). Later, I sent what there is if The Night Watchers to two of my first readers, Sonya Taaffe and Christopher Wilde.
Here's something I posted to Facebook and Twitter today: My highpoint of 2023, describing two new species of the mosasaur Ectenosaurus, from specimens collected in Alabama and Kansas. Years of work coming to fruition. And I have begun, with a number of other investigators, yet another mosasaur study, and this will be a BIG one, involving yet another new species. Add to that the publication of Bradbury Weather and Living a Boy's Adventure Tale, and, well...you'd think I would not feel as if the year were such an utter failure. Any sane person would feel a sense of achievement.
I mean, I will likely never have a better year than that.
Maybe it's the dread of the teeth that have to be pulled soon. Maybe it's the impending move in June. Maybe it's always being fucking broke. Maybe it's the near certainty of a second Trump presidency and what it will mean for America. Maybe it's...I can go on and on and on and on.
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. People ask me, "How can I buy your books so that all the money goes to you?" Well, this is how. The only way.
I keep falling asleep sitting here in my chair. At least I made myself leave the house today, for the first time since December 7th. I walked down the stairs and stood barefoot on the ground for just a few seconds, then came back inside.
I know.
I'd say fuck off, 2023. But I fear 2024 is gonna make it look like a kitten.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
6:19 a.m.
Our high today was 59F, after a nightly low of 29F. Sunny and cold.
I was up at 4:30 a.m. I tried to start something for Sirenia Digest, but I could not settle on an idea that I liked enough to really get started on it. I spent an hour prepping two marine gastropods from the Bashi Marl site. I read and waiting for Karhryn to wake up. I took a photo of the sun rising over Shades Mountain (below). Later, I sent what there is if The Night Watchers to two of my first readers, Sonya Taaffe and Christopher Wilde.
Here's something I posted to Facebook and Twitter today: My highpoint of 2023, describing two new species of the mosasaur Ectenosaurus, from specimens collected in Alabama and Kansas. Years of work coming to fruition. And I have begun, with a number of other investigators, yet another mosasaur study, and this will be a BIG one, involving yet another new species. Add to that the publication of Bradbury Weather and Living a Boy's Adventure Tale, and, well...you'd think I would not feel as if the year were such an utter failure. Any sane person would feel a sense of achievement.
I mean, I will likely never have a better year than that.
Maybe it's the dread of the teeth that have to be pulled soon. Maybe it's the impending move in June. Maybe it's always being fucking broke. Maybe it's the near certainty of a second Trump presidency and what it will mean for America. Maybe it's...I can go on and on and on and on.
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. People ask me, "How can I buy your books so that all the money goes to you?" Well, this is how. The only way.
I keep falling asleep sitting here in my chair. At least I made myself leave the house today, for the first time since December 7th. I walked down the stairs and stood barefoot on the ground for just a few seconds, then came back inside.
I know.
I'd say fuck off, 2023. But I fear 2024 is gonna make it look like a kitten.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
6:19 a.m.