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Three-Day Lag
Aug. 15th, 2011 10:24 amMan. The weekend went by in a blaze, and not because I was having fun. On Saturday night, for example, I had the most odd and detailed nightmare I've had in a while, about being stalked by people bent on robbing our apartment (except it wasn't "our" apartment, so much, as an AU version of an apartment Steve and I might have had if we got married back in my twenties; elements of my life were similar, what with the books and the quote-quote "fame", but friends I haven't seen for years were intimately involved, and Cal didn't seem to exist). I think the most disturbing part was when I called "the cops" to complain, only to have the guy on the phone with me say: "Well, that's interesting, because we've been hearing lots of stories about you from your neighbours..."
"What do you think that's about?" Mom asked. "Because it's always the feeling of a dream, not the contents."
"That I fucked up somehow, and everybody knows it?" I replied. "That I'm going to lose everything I have, no matter what I do? That I deserve whatever happens to me? Stuff like that."
Otherwise, I did actually manage to put four pages of the current section of A Tree of Bones in order on Friday, so that's something. Love to elaborate on that. And I have, as ever, genuine work to do: A guest post to write, an essay to write, an introduction to potentially write. Need to evaluate two manuscripts for an author/CZP, and send those evalutations off. Need to mail some letters containing fairly essential documentation, one of which should have gone out two weeks ago. And there's some potentially good news that would be great if it came to fruition, but who knows if it will. Etc.
Anyhow. I need to eat, get dressed, get myself looking presentable. Mom wants to meet and check out a shop we both like that's going out of business, Wearable Art, this incredible jewelry place full of one-of-a-kind work by an Israeli artist. Then I need to be back around here in order to do BodyFlow at 1:15 PM, to stave off the effects of five and a half hours of sleep preceded by hours of paralytic, teeth-grinding insomnia.
Whatever's going on with me, it needs to stop.
"What do you think that's about?" Mom asked. "Because it's always the feeling of a dream, not the contents."
"That I fucked up somehow, and everybody knows it?" I replied. "That I'm going to lose everything I have, no matter what I do? That I deserve whatever happens to me? Stuff like that."
Otherwise, I did actually manage to put four pages of the current section of A Tree of Bones in order on Friday, so that's something. Love to elaborate on that. And I have, as ever, genuine work to do: A guest post to write, an essay to write, an introduction to potentially write. Need to evaluate two manuscripts for an author/CZP, and send those evalutations off. Need to mail some letters containing fairly essential documentation, one of which should have gone out two weeks ago. And there's some potentially good news that would be great if it came to fruition, but who knows if it will. Etc.
Anyhow. I need to eat, get dressed, get myself looking presentable. Mom wants to meet and check out a shop we both like that's going out of business, Wearable Art, this incredible jewelry place full of one-of-a-kind work by an Israeli artist. Then I need to be back around here in order to do BodyFlow at 1:15 PM, to stave off the effects of five and a half hours of sleep preceded by hours of paralytic, teeth-grinding insomnia.
Whatever's going on with me, it needs to stop.
