Hobkin woke me up at the ungodly hour of 7AM this morning. How did he wake me up? By hitting me in the face with his tail, and then using my breast as a launching pad to the floor. Ooof. I think that’s going to leave a bruise.
My mood appears to have leveled out to a point where I can ignore it or deal with it, as need be. I’m very fortunate that my depressive episodes tend to be brief, and mostly manageable. I assume it helps that I can recognize the symptoms in myself so quickly and usually head things off before they spiral out of control. ‘Course I haven’t had to deal with truly severe depression, which I doubt my coping mechanisms would be able to handle as well. But that’s what psychotropics are for, right?
I expect to have a couple job interviews this week. I’m in a good situation with both of them, in that if they don’t offer me the position, I’m okay with it. I’m not sure how long I can afford to maintain that sort of cavalier attitude, but for now, it’s a luxury I’m indulging in.
Did a Critters critique, my first in longer than I can remember (for your story, britzkrieg). I’m very behind in writing reviews of Strange Horizons for Tangent. For some reason, my enthusiasm for the exercise is down. I don’t know why.
I was admiring the artwork for “The Storyteller’s Wife” (see this post to view it), and I just can’t get over how much the illustrator, Heather Hudson, got the “Hobs” character to look like Hobkin (which, of course, he was inspired by). I’m just tickled. Makes me grin every time I look at it.
Detail of illustration.
And, for comparison, a couple pictures of Hobkin: