Project X Places

One thing I have to do before the big artist meeting is to pull together some photos of all the people and places in the book. I don’t have to do this. I should say that I really, really want to do this. Hence my driving around in the rain on Saturday.

I’m excited and nervous about this.

I’m also excited about getting back to the TSLA, where Tom Wood tells me I can now search the archives of all of the 19th century Nashville papers. I’m drooling in my mouth a little to see what I can find.

I guess, obviously, I’m drooling in my mouth. Drooling from one’s elbow, say, would probably be a medical condition.

Family Visit

My parents came through last night on their way to drop the nephews back off at their homes. I was looking forward to their visit, but it also felt strange that the Butcher wasn’t there. Which made me tired and sad. They want me to get up there to see the new house. I want to get up there to see the new house. We’ll have to see how soon that happens, though.

I also think that I’m going to have to get a dust mask for when I clean out the litter boxes. That had me sneezing like a plague victim. On the other hand, the cats appear to do most of their pooping outside (or, and let’s not think about this, the dog has managed to get past my impenetrable barrier more than I realized.). So, the smell was only terrible in one regard.

But at least I explained to my parents that money was very tight and why money was very tight and they seemed to understand. But then they were all “You should sell your crochet baby dresses! People would pay $50 for those!” I sincerely hope no one would pay $50 for a Red-Heart yarn crocheted baby dress, first of all. But, second of all, it would be just my luck if the key to my salvation was crocheting baby dresses.

Oh, yes, fate, let me sit around my house having to clean the litter box and make baby dresses so that I can sometimes go visit my parents, while I continue to not be able to write anything that sells. I’m absolutely sure that would be a motherfucking picnic. The motherfucking secret to my ongoing mental health right there.