Ugh. I have today off, and that’s a good thing. And I’ve already been ‘productive’ this morning. Sent out some emails and went through some more submissions for bowwow. But now I’m stuck thinking about my book. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know if there’s anything to do right now. I feel like I’m procrastinating, like I should already have a clear-cut step-by-step plan for what to do next. Self-publishing? Find an agent? I don’t know. So i’m just kind of brooding over it. But I don’t think I’ll do anything about that today.

The Ellington trio version of “Lotus Blossom” from 1967 is just so wonderful. It’s on “And His Mother Called Him Bill …” which I bought a few days ago. I’ve been listening to it on repeat for a big part of the morning. It’s heartbreakingly lovely. I had it playing & tried to write something but I couldn’t write anything good. My day off, pumped up on coffee, and writer’s block. Just that kind of morning.

I’m awfully glad to have the day off. I think Andy & I are going to see “Storytelling” tonight. It’s gotten some very nasty, very PERSONAL reviews, ones really raging hard against poor Todd S. Ray Pride’s review in New City ends like this: “Fuck Todd Solondz.” That makes me want to see it more. There’s something about a film that ticks off lots of critics all at once that can be really galvanizing.

Still in pyjamas. It’s worth it to get up early & get stuff done & then have empty time at 10 in the morning. I think it’s supposed to be fairly warm today. Can’t really explain it, but why do I have this topsy-turvy feeling? It’s been around for a week maybe. Why this half-hearted angst coupled with a vaguely ethereal POV?