How long, dear reader…how long?  How many more of this 18- to 20-hour days can the human body take?  What about the mind?  That’s the real question.  Physically, I’m tip-top.  But mentally…well, I’ve been running on reserves for some time now.

The good news is there are only about 8 more days until this rotten summer is officially over.  The best thing about it will be seeing it in the rear-view mirror.

I was sorry to hear about the death of Eddie Money today.  He seemed like a good guy, and had an interesting career.

I’m going to try to get another page or so down before I collapse.  I hope you’re doing well.

N.P.: “Peter Gunn (feat. Duane Eddy) – Art of Noise

Kinda hatin’ everybody today.  Various reasons…all of which are, of course, dear reader, very valid.

The fucking air conditioning is broken, again, at Hotel California.  If things don’t improve soon, I shall have to seek more suitable accommodations elsewhere.

Which I might have to do regardless.  California has sucked for a while, now, and it’s only getting worse.  Between the chronically homeless and rampant idiocy, it’s become a miasmic shithole that needs to be purged.  Ablated.  Expunged.

Time to hit the whiskey and make some chicken.

N.P.: “Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun” – Beastie Boys

Happy birthday to Mary, who would have been 51 today.

Today was interesting in that it was the first day in a while that I got multiple bits of news that wasn’t bad.  Added bonus, got to watch a forensic psychologist to the Toe of Satan challenge.  He did it, but there was so much drool and snot.  I have photographic evidence for professional extortion purposes down the road.  Heh.

Got a few pages on the book down.  And few pages on the other book.  Just one page on the screenplay.  Not bad, all things considered.  Now for what I believe is a well deserved slug of night whiskey and a collapse into the arms of Hypnos.

N.P.: “Whole Lotta Love” – Hollywood Vampires

I’m apparently developing an increasing tendency to find myself in situations where fairly careful plans have been made, seeing one thing go slightly wrong, and then just going totally Leroy Jenkins on the whole thing.  Not sure what, if anything, that means.  Doesn’t matter.  But it’s kind of fun.  “Leeeroooooooooooy Jeeeeeeeeeeeenkins!”

I’ve had this feeling that I’m on the verge of either a breakthrough or a breakdown, particularly with The Book.  It’s been as planned out as it can possibly be (which is really pretty vague planning, but still, it’s a plan), and I’m getting closer to completion every day, but there is an increasing pressure I’m feeling, and I suspect I’m just going to yell “Leroy Jenkins” and go totally sideways on the thing, or at least in an unplanned direction, and see what happens.

“Thunder Kiss ’65 – JDevil Number of the Beast Remix” – Rob Zombie

The weather in Fecal Creek this weekend was pretending it was fall.  But only just pretending.  Still, I’ll take it.

Working my ass off.  Like, my whole ass is gone.  Not sure what I’m sitting on right now.  Time for Night Whiskey.

N.P.: “Welcome to Bushwhackers” – Hollywood Vampires

Busy AF, dear reader.  Draining this pen of bitter ink, and settling many old scores.  But fear not…I’ll be giving you my full attention again very soon.

N.P.: “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) – Sly & The Family Stone

I think it’s gonna be a late night.  Working on all 3 projects simultaneously.

N.P.: “Shake That” – Eminem, Nate Dogg

Idiots keep telling me to “get out of my comfort zone.”  This is a terrible idea.  Why would I do such a thing?  My comfort zone is, kind of by definition, someplace where I very much want to be.  But what is especially insipid about this trite advice is that it assumes I am in a comfort zone in the first place.  I haven’t even seen a comfort zone for about 14 years.  Saw a couple of illusions, but just when I was starting to stretch out and relax, they disappeared.  So no, I don’t need to get out of my comfort zone.  I need to find it, and then I need to fortify it and stay in that bastard as long as I possibly can.  I ain’t leaving unless I’m overrun and dragged out.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this busy, reader.  Holy monkey.  19 hour days.  At least I don’t have time to ruminate and brood.  I may or may not have started dreaming again.  One last week, and maybe a couple over the weekend.  It’s very strange.

Ugh…I’m delirious.  Must sleep.

N.P.: “Dear Mr. Fantasy” – Big Sugar