It's that time of year again, the three weeks before the Winter Solstice, and then the three weeks afterwards, which are the darkest time of the year. Since I came back from the convention I've been, as the famous poem might say, a slithy tove these days, struggling with a stomach-upset virus and an unusual amount of disorganization for me. I've been feeling mimsy and I haven't got an ounce of work done other than at the day job. Even there I've been frumious and have been seen to outgrabe at even moderate provocation. So I sit in uffish thought trying to get my act together.

My studio is filled with bits and pieces of things I must do: bills, CD's, papers all over, books to categorize and put away, things taken home from work, art supplies, sketches, my physics text open to a set of problems, my laptop sitting cold and unused on the desk, catalogs and magazines, boxes, plastic bags, packing materials, tote bags, toys, and a lot of dust. There is also a small pile of money, which I think I got at the convention from print sales. There is mailing-off to be done. In short, it looks just like the studio of any other bohemianoid you might name. Probably a good bit neater, in fact. But where is the production?

I've got to take my vorpal sword in hand again and get back to the art and the physics. I have no taste for holiday shopping, so I won't do it. I'm planning to go away to the South again this Christmas-New Year week, if I can get the time off. There is a silence around this time which I don't want to break with icky Christmas carols.

Posted at 3:24 am | link