I'm going to have a big post soon about my trip yesterday to Chicago to see Queen + Paul Rodgers at All State Arena, as well as my way too brief visit with Lisa and Matt, but since I'm so tired I can't sleep:
Sugu sent me this. Maybe it would have made more sense 15 years ago when 5 million people cared.
99 Red Balloons! For an hour!
I'm not happy with any of my writing lately. I'm not even excited to sit down and work on it. Some stories come, and I have ideas for some, but I spend less and less time with the novels. The irony is, it's by design. I really wanted to be creative outside of slavish, monkish devotion to endless writing, and now that I have, editing the zine, doing a little photography, I feel like I'm having a nic fit or something. Maybe I need to be 100% devoted to the writing, or else it suffers. A person can't be, though, which is why I started asking for some space. There's life, too. You can't spend all your time living inside your head. But maybe you don't have a choice. You do what you're meant to do. If you turn your back on it, it leaves you, and you understand the meaning Mephistophilies gave Hell.