it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

  • Mood:
  • Music:

with the thoughts you'd be thinkin' you could be another Lincoln

Yup, there it is. The post-novel (post-novella?) ennui has settled.

Couldn't fall asleep last night until well after one, despite an attempt or two, and this morning I am logy and unresponsive and dull, stumbling about the house trying to find something to eat and remember how one makes tea. I feel as if somebody has stuck a bendy straw into my frontal lobe and selectively sucked out every bit of glucose, leaving me with The Dumb. Never let anybody tell you that intense mental activity isn't exhausting.

In honor of my physical limits, my to-do list for today will be short. It involves feeding myself, making that tea (these things are in process), showering and putting on clothing, returning my Netflixen, paying the rent and a credit card bill, cleaning the catbox.... and doing something about this pile of email, some of which dates from June.

Other than that, I think I will sit here and drool. Evenly, out of both sides of my mouth, like a level-headed drummer.

And I should probably touch my guitar at least once this week, shouldn't I?

jmeadows suggests at this point that it's been so long, maybe I should take a page from her slush reading and submit form letters to my email correspondents. Together, we arrived at the following:

Dear Friend or Former Friend,

I'm sorry I haven't answered your email. Due to the high volume of email I receive, I find it impossible to respond to everyone's emails personally. This has no reflection on you or our relationship. I have become a pretentious and self-absorbed internet celebrity and can't be bothered to answer emails from people I knew before I won a Hugo.

We wish you better luck in placing your email elsewhere.


Elizabeth Bear

...yeah, maybe not.

The problem is that I tend to triage out the ones that aren't immediately work-related and which require an answer longer than a sentence or so, and then they sit there in my inbox, colored an accusing shade of red, and never get handled.

*Whimpers at pile of email*
*Pile of email glowers back*


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