Tuesday, February 15, 2005
There's not much worth saying about yesterday. It was one of those Very Bad Days that writers have to accept as inevitable, unavoidable, part and parcel of the whole gig. It was a day of Grand Disappointment. The sort of day that the villains (Boo! Hiss!) in the story of my life gloat over "in bitter watches of the night." But now it's done, that day, and I have to move on to the next thing, so I can get to the thing after that and so on. Yes, I'm being very vague. I'll try to be more specific tomorrow.
I'm in much less pain from the guiche than I was this time yesterday. The healing is going well so far. No sign of infection. No regrets.
Spooky and I visited Fernbank yesterday (I did limp a bit) to see the new frog exhibit. That was nice, a brief respite from the Very Bad Day, even though much of the exhibit deals with the soaring extinction rate among frogs. But I already knew all that, about the recent mysterious disappearance of entire species and the role of UV light from the damaged ozone layer and so forth, so I was prepared for the downside.
I need to be writing, but, after yesterday, I need a little more time yet. It's a shame, because Sunday went so well, and I thought I was clear of the wall.
There were a couple of things I was going to write about today: Algernon Blackwood and the unfortunate way that contemporary fiction has been forced away from displays of earnestness; how annoyed and sick-unto-yacking I get over people who whine and whimper about how VNV Nation and hair extensions have "ruined goth," because, you know, Heaven forbid a scene should actually evolve, that it might be a very different, but equally valid thing in 2005 than it was in 1985. Stuff like that. But I'm not up to it now. Maybe later. It's actually warm outside, and I think I'd rather be out there than in here, snarking on LJ.
1:19 PM
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