Groggy and red-eyed today. I blame Hobkin. He kept hopping up to snuggle with me last night, and then a short while later deciding that he wanted down, using whatever of my body parts was convenient as a springboard (and thereby waking me up). And the spot he eventually picked to settle down on was my throat. Seven pounds of skunk draped like a scarf over my neck. I dreamed I was being slowly strangled. And now I’ve got a crick in my neck. I must somehow persuade him tonight that my neck is not his own personal cushion. Silly beastie.
3000 more words on the new fantasy piece. I stuck a fork into it, but I think it might need more oven time before I can call it properly done. I put “The End” at the bottom of it in the place that I think the ending should be, so technically everything here on in is “editing” or “re-writing.” Hurray?
This one’s weird. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say with it, or if I’m saying something at all. But it’s not an adventure romp either. It’s, well, weird. Possibly existential, but only “existential lite.”
Or maybe it’s not as weird as I think it is and I just haven’t had enough sleep.