Friday, May 09, 2003
Okay, I'm a big liar. I didn't get the copies of Trilobite: The Writing of Threshold and the Embrace the Mutation chapbook up on the Cat Crutches Auction last night. I finished a day of Rather Significant Work and was too exhausted to even think about such things. I made quacamole and chili (with chicken sausage, portabella, lime, and tequila), and after dinner, Spooky and I watched The Muppet Show on DVD. It's such things that keep me alive. But, we'll try to get the books up tonight.
As to the dullness I spoke of yesterday, well, it's still here. I awake to it. By bedtime, I've usually forgotten about it, or I'm half hopeful that the next day will find it vanished. But it lingers. It doesn't just linger, it gathers. It's not like The Wall. It doesn't stop me. It only makes all progress seem futile, and all work utterly unsatisfying. It doesn't stop me. It slows me. Which, in the end, I think may be somehow worse. I want to go back to the eager workaholic that I was six or seven years ago, instead of having to live with the reluctant, indifferent workaholic I am now. Oh, never mind. I'm tired of listening to myself whine.
The pit yawns before me, all possibility and too-familiar drudgery.
Maybe I will spend the day hanging pictures, instead. It's almost as infuriating as writing, so I wouldn't feel like I was slacking off. The equity of quanta of tedium. Quanta of, as I've mentioned recently, what John Gardner called "the worst pain." I might get lucky and hit my thumb with the hammer.
Hey, you should have to live with me. The blog only gives you the watered-down, sanitized, filtered-for-my-own-protection Cait-Lite, not the hardcore shit. That stuff will grow hair on your palms. It'll take the skin off your tongue. It'll send you screaming into dark and rainy nights. Blah, blah, blah.
That's enough for one morning, surely.
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