Well, that's it. Almost flipping another calendar shut, almost turning over a clean page. A day in between the years, staring back, balanced on that high and narrow wall - expanses of time either side, blurry horizons. Pleasant vertigo, summer breeze.
I didn't sell any more stories this year, but I did write some fanfic. No one died (or rather, plenty of people did, they always do, but none of them were mine). I'm mostly either reconciled or completely fallen out with anyone I've had tensions with these past few years. And fuck, the years are flying, and I'm old enough for that cliche. Don't really want to think, or reflect just now. Just want to be, really, for a day.
I'm off to sit on the crumbling brick wall in my back yard and drink tea until the evening comes and carries me off some place.
Wishing y'all a superlative one - take whatever opportunity the day presents, and let it take you where it will. Drink deep, should you chance drink, dream far, should you chance to dream.
Me? I'll still be here when next year comes. Clillin' with Dante and Machiavelli and assorted dead Florentines and sundry saints, in between some pages in what free time I get. Working a lot, sleeping a bit, drifting as I do.
Listening to: Jazzy cafe music and traffic
Reading: Niccolo Capponi's biog of Vellikins
Drinking: Not yet