only held by gravity

songs for Monday: hummingbird, the weepies; you’ll never leave harlan alive, red molly; it happens every day, dar williams; don’t shoot me santa, the killers, i know where you are, girlyman, how will he find me, deb talan.

The city is spectacular and perilous in the snow. I am so glad Christmas is over that I don’t even really care that I’m stumbling around in drifts that are literally taller than I am (which, admittedly, is not very hard). I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there is only so much time I can spend on the couch watching crime drama before I start to get restless and freaked out (serial killers-they’re everywhere!).

My brain in winter feels  a lot like being stuck in a jar with a stubborn lid. I have two paragraphs of fiction which felt hopefully yesterday and not so impressive today. There is somewhat of a trajectory that I need to not lose in the next 13 days. Also, several impending deadlines. I could use a large cardboard wall to punch through. That sounds like it might help. Anybody have one?


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