I talked to my friends Amy and Conan last night (the honeymooners). I interrupted their Sunday night movie to take a break from things, and I hope I wasn't too bothersome or scattered (I always get so scattered when I get on the phone, why I don't know). I've been pretty lonely the last couple weeks. It's so odd to be alone in grief when your entire family is hurting, but everyone withdraws into their own hurt, and it's been so cold and snowy, just snowed in. Since I'm absolutely broke, I'm not able to distract myself with any books or films (not that I could, easily, since our theater won't open now until May, maybe) or any of the usual ways I do.
Holidays, Mondays, they're always so blue anyways. I will make the effort to go see King Kong, treat myself maybe. The writing, I'm just tired. Too tired even to do that now, which must be a first, or sign of some disturbing vitamin deficency. I am excited about all things downtown, though. I have designs on doing a lit zine still, and some readings, and something else I'm cooking in the back of my head.
Scientists have discovered how cancer spreads.
New Aimee Bender at Nerve.
Pretty hard-core take on short story collections and their general purpose. The author seems to support them in general (I think). I love short story collections. Some of the best fiction I've read this year has been in collections, by Kelly Link, Aimee Bender, Maureen McHugh, M. John Harrison, the Chabon edited Best American edition.