November 10th, 2004

Fog

Prose of the Canned

So, unemployment’s interesting. For one thing, my sleep cycle is totally screwed, since I’ve been staying up to four, five a.m. and then crashing till past noon. For another, I’ve been doing...well, nothing much, really, since I finished pimping Sherlock Holmes at crack_van. Went to a Halloween party as D.O.C.!Martha Stewart and volunteered at the WFMU Record Fair, but otherwise, bupkis. I’ve sent my résumé to a few people but haven’t received any replies, never mind interviews. My plans to clean the apartment and sell some of the surplus books and CDs on eBay have thus far come to naught. And as for writing...nope, uh-uh, nothin’ doin’. (Funny typo as I wrote that last sentence: hope instead of nope. Subconscious cheerleading?) Part of the problem is that I’m just finishing my yearly dip into Lovecraft, so at the moment all of my ideas involve tentacled horrors from beyond the sun. It’s probably just as well I didn’t sign up for NaNoMo; the last the world needs is another bad Cthulhu Mythos pastiche. (Though it might be fun to try one, just for the hell of it. Fthagn!)

Clearly, something’s gotta give.

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PS—Thanks to penknife for letting me swipe her pithy userpic.