I’ve been dealing with insomnia for a very long time, dear reader, as you well know, but lately, it’s gotten quite out of control.  Last night I just gave up around 03:00 and decided to read the collected works of Poe.  I realized we are all presently living in the Fall of the House of Usher.
Anyway, I did manage to get to sleep, finally, thank Christ, but eventually I woke up and got out of bed.  Which was probably a waste.  Today was completely nondescript.  Let’s hope tomorrow is more remarkable.

N.P.: “Cut Me Down” – Ryders Creed

Another fine day.  Caught up on some sleep, re-upped on liquor, explored an abandoned mine shaft.  Didn’t write shit, really.  But that’s what tonight is for.  I have some new ideas to get down, plus work to do on the books.
I hope all is well with you, dearest reader.

N.P.: “Two Horned Crown” – Cryptex

Tied my shoes today for the first time since March 25.  Thinking back on it, I probably didn’t really have to tie my shoes today.  But it’s good to know I still can, I suppose.  It had been a while.  But yeah…still got it.

Some dude wrote an article expressing his complete bafflement at his roommate wearing jeans every day during quarantine.  It was weird.  “I’m not angry, just concerned.  Why are you wearing jeans when no one can see them?  Clearly it’s not to impress anyone, given that no one can see you below the waist.  It’s likely that pulling on your denim, even in times like these, provides you the ‘keep calm and carry on’ coping mechanism for weathering this situation as you try to cling to remaining threads of life as you  previously knew it.”
What kind of armchair psychological horseshit is this?  Okay, it seems his issue is not really with someone in quarantine wearing denim, but with anyone who would wear pants at all.  Because, his reasoning apparently goes, the only reason anyone wears pants is to…show off the pants to other people?  Doesn’t matter…where we diverge is at the fundamental reason people wear pants.  I can’t speak to this guy’s world view, but apparently to him, pants are a sort of penance one must endure if one expects to go out in public or in any way deal with other people.  But it is not that way with me.  The reason I wear pants every day has nothing to do with anyone else.  I need someplace to put my keys.  My wallet.  My phone.  Various weapons.  And you never know when you’re going to be in some fight to the death with…spiders, burglars, priests, whatever…regardless, the fight will go a lot better for you if you’re wearing pants.  And I spontaneously fry things, like bacon.  I’ve been to places like nude beaches and Burning Man, places where clothing is very much optional…ya know what I did?  Yep…one leg at a time.  If I was the last person on the planet tomorrow morning when I wake up, I’m pulling on some pants.
Maybe it’s just that for some of us introverts, nothing has really changed for us.  It sure as hell isn’t a coping mechanism.

N.P.: “Lightning Riders” – AWOLNATION

Oh man am I in a foul mood, dear reader.  Holy shit.  Everything sucks today.  As a last resort, I tried to take a nap, and that didn’t even work out.  I think I’m starting to go a bit sideways.  I spent today wearing a smoking jacket, cowboy boots, no pants, chain smoking out of a 6″ cigarette holder, sipping whiskey from a snifter, and inexplicably speaking with a southern drawl.  I have also developed romantic feelings for Marie Osmond and as well as several local newscasters.

N.P.: “Isolation” – The Tea Party

I so hope the lockdown never ends: literally everything is better when the extroverts are confined to their weird dwellings.  The world is quieter.  The air smells better.  We’re not forced to listen to the inane blathering of The Herd

Before my surgery, the anesthesiologist offered to knock me out with gas or a boat paddle…it was an ether/oar situation.
Okay, sorry…that was bad.

Word count is up.  Started this whole new section on the slasher novel.  I gotta say, if you’re a writer that’s at all “edgy” and you occasionally write something that you’re really on the fence about publishing because it may be Over The Line and bring the villagers marching to the castle gates with their torches and pitchforks, it’s extremely convenient to have a murder novel in progress that you can just drop weird shit into and have it fit perfectly.

N.P.: “Apocalyptical” – Puscifer

I went to the gas station and it occurred to me that I hadn’t been there since March.  I almost had to think about what I was doing.  It was weird.  The price of gas has dropped quite a bit.  And there was nobody else there.  All in all, a fine visit to the gas station.

Got a cheap new mic to use for dictation.  It’s pretty cool…I can pace around the room wearing a wireless headset and mic, and just kind of talk my book, and watch the words roll out on a large monitor on the wall.  This works really well for me.  This process of writing this way is really close to what it’s like recording music: you sing into a mic, your voice is digitized, and then you can edit and manipulate it on the screen using a mouse and keyboard.  To that end, I’ve now combined the writing studio and the recording studio in one room.   I’ve been spending a lot of time in that room.  I really like that room.

N.P.: “When the Shit Hits the Fan” – Circle Jerks

Big breakthrough, dear reader…record number of words down in the last 24 hours. We are pleased.

N.P.: “Send/Receive (Mind)” – Wand

The only real writing I’ve done so far is a bunch of bitching into my journal.  I have some hope for one of the books this evening.  We shall see.

I read an account of what it’s like to be stung by a murder hornet.  We really need to destroy these things posthaste.

N.P.: “Are Friends Electric?” – The Dead Weather