I hope that folks come to the Birdhouse today. Never read in Knoxville, don’t really know what to expect. We are meeting for brunch at 1:00, then the SAFTA reading is at 3:00. Knoxville is only a little over an hour away so the trip won’t be long and it should be fun, driving up, just me and Dale, if my mood will hold. I think the key is not to talk talk talk to no good end about my mood my pain my blah. So. I. Won’t. Will just steer clear of the shit echo chamber of boo hoo today.
Did not write a thing yesterday but did blog. Not much energy left in the afternoon. Watched Belle and Maleficent last night. Belle was very good, Maleficent broke my heart. Both are very fine films. Belle is well-done and a good dose of history that I knew not much of; Maleficent is brilliant in its revisioning of a classic, the stepsister story of Cinderella, but with a better song. It was so lovely lovely.
I am tiring quickly as I went to sleep too late to arise at 5:30. But that’s when I woke up and so I got up which is better than going back to sleep and waking up in more pain.
Because I am dipping so far below the mood equator, I don’t want to write, don’t hear any words. There are ideas, voices, but very faint. When my head clouds over it fills with a cotton fog and the words and people and things that want to get to be to grow are behind lost caught up trapped in that foggy London street.
But the mood will come up. It may require more med. We will see.
I am getting an increase on my reading glasses (1/2 diopter) so reading will be easier. And before the day is out, I must have Dale move the full-spectrum light beside the bed and set a trap for the poor mouse Gus Gus. Maybe he will find a catch and release trap.
Hair is not purple enough, but it is okay. Will doll up the girl for today. I have an adorable knit cap and a très chic feather hat and all sorts of things to wear. And I will wear them. With boots. Which the uber cute youngster at Ankar’s Hoagies loved. As he has loved my hair.
Should not an aging authoress take a young lover at some point? So as to salt the inevitable memoir?