Not the seriousness of the situation, but the sensation of being pulled down, to my knees, to the floor, to sink in and let my mind bleed out my ears into insensate despair.

I am fighting.

I am not yet losing, but it’s real fuckin’ close.

The kindness thing I can do for myself today is breathe. Continue to breathe.

I’m not sure what the trigger is – probably the monstrous headache I suffered through all day yesterday, and the copious amounts of Advil required to stave off the smallest part of it, plus all the stress of getting everything ready to go away for a week, which should be joyful and peaceful, but is often too busy and people-filled to be so.

Would that I could live in the woods, and release books for free.

Or hide them away, to be discovered after I’m gone, and released to posthumous brilliance.

To the floor, it be, then.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 2383 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Faded Sun: Shon'jir, C.J. Cherryh (perhaps it's just the knowledge of my inferiority)
Comics: Noble Causes 37, Brit v2 9, Invincible 55, Dynamo 5 18
Music: Freaked Out And Small, The Presidents Of The United States Of America (but hopefully, not this last one)