you know, cupids and hearts and shit

This morning, the full discomfort of what I have done to myself — this time — is making itself known. I feel as through a glass spike studded with sewing needles as been shoved deep into my rectum and given a few good twists. Thanks for sharing, I know. You're welcome. Anytime. Of course, the possibilty exists that what I'm experiencing right now is not the full discomfort, not the fullest discomfort. Let's not dwell on that.

Yesterday, two glasses of Mari Mayans absinthe did what all my vain attempts at concentration could not. What my determination was entirely unable to do. I wrote an amazing 1,594 words on Chapter Three of Daughter of Hounds. I also managed to salvage, after extensive rewrite, the 152 words from Friday, so the total for the chapter so far stands at 1,716 words. The discrepency is accounted for by the rewrite. Anyway, what came yesterday felt right, and Sadie and Emmie wound up playing Scrabble after all.

Today, I won't be writing anything. Today Spooky and I have plans.

There's some good news for Farscape, and good news for those people who wanted to watch it but didn't have the Sci-Fi Channel or access to the DVDs. Beginning this fall, Farscape will go into syndication on Superstation WGN (Chicago), which reaches some 65 million homes in the US.

Okay. That it's for today. Happy Potentially Most Depressing and Sappy Holiday of the Year Day.