I have loads of genuinely important things to do. I also have some severe tendon pain right now and no desire to do anything but sit and stare at my year of mixtapes like it’s the most profound thing I’ve ever read. Then, I read a book, which involves minimal use of my hands. The side effects drugs to fix one thing harm another, namely tendons. Poor tendons, they were so happy before. Life is hilarious.

Then I did some whining to Dr. Birdcage about how slowly my NaNoWriMo novel, tentatively titled The Art Show, is coming along. It’s coming along slowly, partially because I haven’t been writing. Mostly because I haven’t been writing. Fine. Entirely because I haven’t been writing. I wrote 1200 words on day 1 and wandered off. When I picked up my laptop this afternoon I typed a couple of sentences because I realized my main character had just summoned demons to eat the other characters, or the annoying ones anyway, so I strongly believe things are looking up. Still, things will not look up entirely until someone, someone who resembles me, starts typing.