My issue of Shock Totem just arrived, and it is absolutely stunning. Mine has a special addition of confused, foul-mouthed crows on the inside front cover (Thanks, Ken!), and everything is shiny and glossy. I put it out of the children’s reach, and I can’t wait to pour through and read the stories. That will be my reward for surviving the day. It really looks beautiful.
My insomnia has kicked up again, and I’m not content simply to wander the house at night, but I’m also wandering outside. I spent some time on the swings in the backyard last night, and I thought about how often I used to do that when I was a little girl. I suppose some things never change.
There’s a slim chance that I’ll be spending tomorrow and part of Saturday alone. My husband has a huge family reunion going on, and while I adore his family, I’m easily overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. There’s a possibility that he’ll take the kids and leave me to write and rest, which would be the best thing that could possibly happen. Silence? Renewing solitude? It sounds mouthwateringly lovely. I’d watch Pan’s Labyrinth, which I’ve been meaning to get to. I’d work on a story about…let’s see…loss and stardust, a woman with a torn dress and a man without a head.
Or perhaps I’ll go and see everybody, which could be fun in its own way.