A terminal for all blogs coming in or going out. A view into my life. |
Started July 1st 2019 for contests, etc. as other blogs are filling up and have other purposes. I'm starting a new blog because
I'll be linking to
I've started an appendix (I no longer have one personally) to keep track of my Space Cadet journals for Space Blog. It's a work constantly under construction. Mind the mess.
I needed to start a folder for contests as there are so many deadlines and details to remember.
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41 degrees at 4:01 a.m. I finished another book. Liminal space that place that doesn't exist if you look at it, that transition, that threshold between realities. Child of a Rainless Year by Jane Lindskold explores that no-place that seems unreal but exists. I enjoyed the read and wanted to finish it before falling asleep. Supposed to rain. 40 degrees and dark skies at 8:50 a.m. People wonder why I don't submit my work ... it's expensive after awhile. Plus, it's emotionally difficult for me. Not the rejection ... other issues. But undocumented poets have it worse. Why didn't I know? This article explains: https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/thanks-to-undocupoets-poets-don-t-need-papers-... Fell back into a restless nap. It's 1 p.m. and 44 degrees. I'm listless. This weeks Ghouls: 1. Finish as many challenges as possible and submit to contests. List them here: 2. Buy milk, soup, potatoes. Seem silly? Don't even want to leave my room. 3. Read. I'm catching up, so now's a good time to keep it going. Clashes with #1 & #2 though. 4. Catch up on washing clothes. 5. Open the windows! Air the place out. Burn incense. Something. It's a mix to keep me from drowning in black motes on bound white paper. I have no interest no energy. Is this lethargy? I'm listless. I should be checking into travel plans but until I get the vax I'm stuck here and even then... may have to call KLM to check on 'cancel' and 'covid-cancel' policies. I saw very cheap flights to Lisbon and Oslo. But... what guarantees? I'm temporarily deeply-depressed in a year of general-depression. Probably not-wise to listen to Reba. Memories of 1989 and Robert who adored Reba. I never knew exactly what happened (memory hole 87-89). Apparently he was bashed with a brick outside a bar and died two weeks later. I blame Bri. She offered a ride to the grocery store. 5 lbs potatoes, 12 cans of soup, buns, pork, mayo... It's raining! And yes, one window is open and a pot of water with spices is steaming on the stove. 39 degrees and steady at 6 p.m., so I may have to close the window before I go to bed. |