Every day I think Oh, Im doing OK, but Im not. Every waking minute Im certain Ive forgotten something crucial, something I must do NOW, but havent. Dreamt of being displaced to another comics institution where Im supposed to teach, but I cant understand how I got there, why Im not at The Center for Cartoon Studies, and why this youthful, urgent Frank Miller is intent on my teaching HERE instead of where I know Im supposed to be. Awoke afraid I wasnt really fully alive, needing comfort, shaking terribly. Not thinking straight: worked out an entire prose piece yesterday, one Id worked on off and on since September and now almost to completion, and failed to send it out on time (luckily, the editors extended a grace of a day or two more). Bought two cartons of milk last night, placed the bag on the counter—and just now, feeding the cats, realized the milk was out all night, in the bags, on the counter. Were heading north today to pick up the very last of my fathers furniture. Im both looking forward to and dreading the completion of all this. Im doing OK. But Im not. Soldiering on.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 12:43:34 +0000
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