The day after the day after the day before yesterday.
Right now, time feels that way. I'm been fighting the same low-grade headache for four days.
Headaches and insomnia and my rotten stomach.
Our weather was very, very hot today, August in June. Or it seems that way to me. The birds going quiet in the heat, the a violent late afternoon thunderstorm that was likely spawning tornadoes somewhere. Our high was 97F, with a heat index of 102F.
And...we might have a new cat. He's a rescue tha's been living with my sister out in Leeds for a time. Spooky drove out and got his this morning. If he gets along with Selwyn and fits into the household, we will call him Mars. We're pretty sure he's something pretty close to purebred, probably an Oriental shorthair. An odd little alien man.
I woke not long after dawn this morning and sat in my office chair watching the sun rise over Shades Mountain, and I was struck with an almost overwhelming sort of terror. It's not an emotion I have a lot of expereince with. I have ofteb dealt with horror and dread, but nor terror. It must have taken an hour to fade. On the one hand, I've no idea what precisely set it off, but, on the other, there are so many possibilities it's meaningless to speculate.
I am trying very hard to work.
This afternoon I watched a NASA documentary on the possibilities of FTL travel (don't hold your breath) and an episode of Nova about the failure of the NSA in the year prior to the 9/11 attacks, most notably their failure to share crucial data with the FBI and CIA.
Tonight, still chasing the host of John Hughes, we watched Pretty in Pink (1986) and Some Kind of Wonderful (1987), both written by Hughes, but actually directed by Howard Deutch. Anyway, after three nights, all the teen romance is beginning to feel trite and thin. At least, it feels that way tonight.
Fuck.
Please visit the shop. Spooky's birthday is impending, and we're broke, and yeah, that sucks. I'll sign anything you buy. Thank you.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
1:02 p.m. (Mars)
Headaches and insomnia and my rotten stomach.
Our weather was very, very hot today, August in June. Or it seems that way to me. The birds going quiet in the heat, the a violent late afternoon thunderstorm that was likely spawning tornadoes somewhere. Our high was 97F, with a heat index of 102F.
And...we might have a new cat. He's a rescue tha's been living with my sister out in Leeds for a time. Spooky drove out and got his this morning. If he gets along with Selwyn and fits into the household, we will call him Mars. We're pretty sure he's something pretty close to purebred, probably an Oriental shorthair. An odd little alien man.
I woke not long after dawn this morning and sat in my office chair watching the sun rise over Shades Mountain, and I was struck with an almost overwhelming sort of terror. It's not an emotion I have a lot of expereince with. I have ofteb dealt with horror and dread, but nor terror. It must have taken an hour to fade. On the one hand, I've no idea what precisely set it off, but, on the other, there are so many possibilities it's meaningless to speculate.
I am trying very hard to work.
This afternoon I watched a NASA documentary on the possibilities of FTL travel (don't hold your breath) and an episode of Nova about the failure of the NSA in the year prior to the 9/11 attacks, most notably their failure to share crucial data with the FBI and CIA.
Tonight, still chasing the host of John Hughes, we watched Pretty in Pink (1986) and Some Kind of Wonderful (1987), both written by Hughes, but actually directed by Howard Deutch. Anyway, after three nights, all the teen romance is beginning to feel trite and thin. At least, it feels that way tonight.
Fuck.
Please visit the shop. Spooky's birthday is impending, and we're broke, and yeah, that sucks. I'll sign anything you buy. Thank you.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
1:02 p.m. (Mars)