I find it strange how writing makes me feel all happy and normal, considering the bizarre nature of my subject matter. Yet, it does. I am writing every day and feel so much better. My house is gross, of course. And my office looks like a fire trap with books and papers scattered everywhere. Research! I love research!
Yesterday I worked until mid-afternoon (yes, outside in the rain and this makes me happy because I have that gloomy Irish temperament) and then I came home and wrote for a couple of hours and gave myself a monster migraine. I popped a bunch of Advil and and napped for four hours thus losing the rest of my day, but technically, I was still *productive* I woke up and made a batch of veggie fried rice with broccoli and carrots and red peppers and lots of garlic and ginger and it was yummy. Z and I watched the X-files and then I fell asleep again. Have I mentioned that my kid is awesome? He is.
I still have a gigantic piece of gingeroot and I'm thinking about fresh ginger cake or maybe some stir-fry noodles. Seriously, this thing is the size of my entire hand. I couldn't resist it.
I woke up a 4:30 this morning and took the dog out and attended a meeting for work at 6 a.m. and then I went home and I wrote some more. I have to go back later on today and be nice to people and still I want to cook all kinds of crazy things when I get home tonight. I'm going to run out of steam eventually. I know this.
I am participating in this fabulous project and feeling stoked about it because I love the tarot and have cool ideas for collage.
The Chicago Poetry Brothel is less than two weeks away!! I need new fishnets. And I must prettify my journal for the reading.
Wow. I sound really hyper in this post. Also: I want brownies. I might make some. Later.
Random Things On My Mind: Harpies, A Cheese Omelet, Striped Stockings, Norse Mythology, Skeletons, Steampunk, Rain
New Poet’s Market, and a new house?
7 hours ago