Kage Baker tried earnestly to write constantly. She managed it an amazing amount of the time, to a quite inhuman degree. I have tried to emulate her sterling example, but I have run into some problems she never encountered.
Granted, she died during this noble effort, which eventually put a stop to her output: as soon as I had run through the easier of the notes she had left me. That took about a year, during which time I also managed to start and establish this blog. I also attained a steady, if slower, production of other stories, made up out of more of the errant static in my own mind. That was going along pretty well, until (from my viewpoint) I also died.
It was a bummer, Dear Readers. The year of 2020, which I largely spent in a nursing facility, was as a season in hell. For many months, I despaired of ever escaping, either. But I did – and have spent most of 2021 returning to a semblance of humanity. I am a piss-poor imitation of my former self, but I am alive and no longer in hell.
However, I still have bad days. I seem to have caught a little cold. Since I have all the respiratory stamina of a corn dolly, I’ve spent the last few days sneezing (which hurts everywhere between my sinuses and my waist), dripping, aching in every joint, and more or less drowning in my own skull. And, alas, every hitch in my breathing brings on a panic attack; they can be overcome, but try to imagine how hard it is to calm down when you cannot take a deep breath.
Anyway. Not to be a whiny crybaby, but I have really not had a great weekend. I have a real blog partly written, but it will not be ready until tomorrow. I have to find where I put some necessary notes. No place safe, I hope – I’ll never see them again, if I did …
Anyway, here is a little visual impression of my last several days. Consider her a spirit animal making a guest appearance.
And tomorrow, Dear Readers, will be better.