I got all my cardio before coffee this morning so I’m shaky and sweating, crouching on the new (well, not new anymore) office chair and sucking at coffee hoping for a sedative effect. There’s also a mini heatwave (90F+, apparently) today and tomorrow, so that’ll be pleasant, I’m sure. At least all the nonsense is now out of the way early–unless there’s more waiting as soon as I decide what the hell.
…I just sat and stared for at least half a minute, unable to figure out what I had hazily planned to write. There’s a round-robin of songs playing inside my head, as if my mental radio can’t quite decide which station to settle on. It doesn’t usually do that unless I am super disturbed, so I suppose I just wait for the silt to settle. After a bit of brekkie things should calm down a bit, and then I’ll make decisions about running today. I know exactly what the day’s work entails otherwise; I’m back to juggling three projects at once and couldn’t be happier, though it does mean I am not allowed to do more than glance at the news.
I’m struggling with not looking, though. Part of it is the hypnotized stare of an animal watching something terrible creep closer and closer; I also suspect it’s partly like watching an avalanche one has foretold move with majestic, deceptive slowness down a mountainside. None of this is surprising, it was always depressingly obvious, nobody listened, why should I bother with further witness? Cassandra has done lost her voice.
At the same time, I have always felt that it’s a writer’s duty to bear witness, not to shy away. Still, I can’t do my own work effectively while watching the (predicted and predictable) collapse. It’s a quandary. I still have to hit my deadlines and care for my household, not to mention my small tribe, as best I can. So the system lurches on.
Another thing I’ve been thinking about lately is the Tamam Shud case. It reminds me of Goddard’s In Pale Battalions for some reason. I’m sure the explanation is prosaic, but the mystery endures. We love a good conundrum, us humans. I think we like the questions more than the answers, because of the possibilities–at least, many of us do. There are some who dislike ambiguity, who want everything cut-and-dried.
I am not the writer for them.
My pulse has returned to its usual pace, though I’m still a bit shaky from adrenaline. A run probably is necessary to purge all that, then I can rinse off and settle to the day’s work. In Hell’s Acre I need Avery Black and his boyos to prepare for a certain event, the second Sons of Ymre needs the transition to the second act, and the Tolkien Viking Werewolves, while given a good start, needs some serious word count and worldbuilding. It’s good to have clearly defined goals for the day–but breakfast first, and maybe just a wee bit more caffeine.
Purely because it seems a good idea, mind. Not because I’m putting off having to run with the promise of heat dragging at my limbs. Certainly not that…