This cold snap isn't making anything easier. Sunny, sure, but the low last night was 35F, and the high today was a paltry 66F.
I'd move to fucking equatorial...anywhere...if I had the money.
Somehow I did a little work today. But this was after the (at least tempirary end) of days and days of hardly any sleep. I must have slept at least eight or nine hours and did not get up until 7:30 a.m. I managed to read back over the introduction for Bright Dead Star, discovered, as I suspected, it needs a good polish, so that will be tomorrow. This may mean I junk the idea for the afterword, which likely would only have gotten me in trouble anyway.
The world has a knife to my throat.
I have to get to work on the digest again.
Today was my mother's birthday. Happy birthday, Mom.
There is anger today, and it's so vast it leaves room for very little else.
I did go with Kathryn for Selwyn's vet visit, keep up with his parathyroid issues. It at least got me out of the house. I saw a little house that I imagined maybe we could afford, for rent. You never see houses for rent. They want almost $3,000/month, so forget that.
And so it fucking goes,
Aunt Beast
3:29 p.m.