Revisions and Frost

I thought my coffee was taking too long this morning. It was, because I had failed to turn the stove burner on.

Also, I just had to get up and walk out into the kitchen to make sure I’d turned it off, and I am dead cold sober, for God’s sake. Probably going to have to check more than once today, too.

I spent yesterday eyeball deep in revisions on Damage, which isn’t a bad little story. At least, I have enough distance to see if for the trees now, even if I’m reading it as a relic. There’s not a mask or social distancing to be found in the entire thing. Of course, it’s a love song to a particular Matthias Schoenaerts movie, so it was a pleasant respite from the state of the world.

Another day should see the revision done; then there’s two more to get off the plate and the finish for HOOD to write, not to mention The Black God’s Heart. But for the moment, Chopin is playing and I have my coffee.

There was frost last night. The dogs are attempting to sleep under me, which isn’t a change, but it’s better than summer when they try it and shed heat everywhere. Waking up with Boxnoggin’s nose in my ear is disconcerting, but no more so than seeing a toddler loom by the bedside in the middle of the night.

There are Post-its festooning my entire desktop. Quotes, lists, reminders; it’s almost time for a harvest. The trouble is there’s so little energy to address the reminders, because keeping my head above water is taking the lion’s share. I’m tired, dispirited, and long to walk into the sea.

But the dogs need their walk, and the kids need the house. There’s no choice but to continue. I have often been in the position where no surrender or retreat is possible; I don’t like it. I’m sure nobody does, no matter the concomitant relaxation–after all, if one has no choice, one finds oneself doing difficult things as a matter of course.

I’m also watching videos about Civil and Napoleonic War battles while thinking a lot about the Silmarillion and the Fall of Gondolin. I’m not quite sure what that will give rise to, but it’s what the Muse wants and as long as she’s demanding food, it means she hasn’t abandoned me yet.

At least there’s that small mercy.

So we brace ourselves for Tuesday, my beloveds. One more day should see me through Damage, and then it’s HOOD and going through The Bloody Throne to look for bracket notes. Heaven knows there’s a lot of those, and I’m going to be cursing my past self with a vengeance each time I trip over another one.

If I’m working, I’m not weeping. Another small mercy, I suppose, the only kind granted these days.

Stay strong. Survival is victory. You’re probably tired of hearing me say it, but I have to.

If I repeat it enough, I might even believe it myself. And I need that today.