Things are highly meh right now. Everything is a bit off.
My desk is a mess and I've been out of my fitness habit and now my dog has been gone for two days so I've been talking to an empty house. Adrian decided to make applejack while I was gone last weekend and now our kitchen smells nasty, which he claims is normal.
It gets dark at 5:00 and I want to go to bed.
I'm waiting for some kind of lightning bolt revelation to come about this revision project. It's not coming. At least not as a lightning bolt. Just in bits. I wake up and think, Yeah, take that detail out. No one needs to know that. But only in bits will this kind of thing come. The most promising idea came while I was panicking on the airplane from Las Vegas. The idea of an approaching storm of sadness and uncertainty. How the night sky looked to me over the wing of the plane. How I feel anxiety to be, me just seconds ahead of my doom.
But even that was just a bit. I don't know the answers. I wish there was a goddamn handbook for this. How To Make Your Specific Unpublished Novel Really Good. And Done.
I wish I was in Las Vegas with my friend Melinda's dogs on my lap.
I wish I had five new pairs of jeans.
I wish somebody wouldn't go hunting this weekend and would stay home and paint the parts of the bedroom I couldn't reach and feed me.
I wish Pablo to heal up quick and fall in instant love with his plush dog bed which Adrian thinks is a waste of money.