I think I'm burnt out on screens. 

32 hours left in Jarnsaxa Rising's Indiegogo campaign. It's been a learning experience. I still haven't figured out the difference between annoying and persuasive. Today I did a lot of editing, and I have more work to do tonight. 

Jill was persuasive. She got Rodney Anonymous and Kyle Cassidy to re-tweet links to the campaign. We also got 32 new likes on the podcast's Facebook page in one day. 

I have more work to do, so I need to get off the internet and do some more work before I get tired. But, here is some other news. 

This exists, and has a program at a prison in Philadelphia:

New Leash On Life

There is a possibility that we might, maybe, possibly, be able to adopt a dog through this organization. Vince fell in love with one, and applied. We won't know if we get this dog or not until mid-August. 

An NBC news piece about the program said, "According to Philadelphia prison stats, 41 percent of the inmates released in 2013 will be rearrested in Philadelphia county after one year. Compare that to just 14 percent of inmates from the canine program." 

If our application is accepted, we do some visits, to see if we're a good fit. Because Vince is an employee of the District Attorney's office, the city covers our adoption fee (as an incentive to adopt).  All I can say right now is that this means we might have have a big, young, trained dog by fall. 

Ok. back to work. 

This has nothing to do with anything and there are many more exciting things you could be reading right now. Supreme court decision, ISIS attacks, go read something more interesting. I'll wait. 

tall, and tan, and young, and lovely, the girl, from Ip-a-nema goes walking and...

Oh, good, you're back. OK. 

The other day, I was thinking, "hey, shouldn't Benedict Cumberbatch and Sophie Hunter's kid should have been born about now? they must have named it." 

Google... news... yep, born. Name? Nothing. 

On the one hand, it's good that a celebrity couple is keeping their kid's name and image out of the media spot light. 

On the other hand, come on. Please tell me that the kid's name is Sophedict Huntabitch, and that its middle name is Danger. 

Saturday was a Life Peak Experience.

Jenn and I went to a fundraiser at Laurel Hill Cemetery, their Soulstice party. It was basically a cocktails and nibbles party, and because the weather report was threatening rain, not that many people were there. We had a nice wander around the tombstones. The music was provided by DJ Scopitone, who plays early-20th-century music on two antique Victrolas (Victrolae?). They are no joke. You can get a fake victrola with a fancy horn that plays vinyl record albums, but these really depended on hand crank technology. The music echoed off of the tombstones like something in a dream. They had balloons holding glow-sticks hanging from the trees, and a little tent with a cocktail bar. It was lovely. After dark we went for a longer walk around the outside trail of the cemetery, where it was darkest. Looking down the hill, the sky was heavy and marbelled reddish, black trees silhouetted against it, and then the white spires of the obelisks silhouetted against that, and then fireflies were dancing in the air; it looked like a fairy city. and some jazz music and a nasal-voiced singer, echoing around from all directions. 

I have to start painting or drawing again. It might almost be worth going back with a camera that has a huge lens and a tripod and picking up as much light as I possibly can, but my memory of it might be better than the reality. When I got home, Vince was already asleep, and I tried to tell him about it. He seemed slightly lucid at the time. The next morning, he said, "Did you tell me that last night you were taking photographs on another planet? It was a city of white stalactites and black trees under a red sky, with little glowing creatures flying around?"  

I had my tarot cards read. the girl who did the reading was really sweet and cheerful. I said, "I've invested a lot of time, effort and money into my MFA, but I don't have a job and I'm disillusioned." she said that I'm definitely on my right career path, this is what I'm supposed to be doing, but I have to self-promote myself like a flame-thrower. She also said that more disappointment is coming, but that I would find balance soon. She also said that I have a big strong man to help me. which is good. 

Anyway, like I said: life peak experience. 

New pages today. Six of notes & longhand writing, which became 5.5 typed. Pulled everything out & put it in a different environment, paid homage to BP's response to the Gulf Coast oil spill. 

New clothes washer is beautiful and it makes our clothes smell good. 

Mom tomorrow. Sleep now. 

This exists. 

Handiemail: Real Handwitten Words

And, they're hiring. At last, the day job I was born to work as a supplement to my fabulous lifestyle. Sadie Doyle would be proud. 

I completed my application, with the exception of a writing sample. I printed out their gridlines, put it under a piece of paper, and copied the sample text as faithfully as possible. It was a thing of beauty. 

I got all the way to the very end, and signed the sample letter with, 

"Handemal." 

According to their specs, this means I have to rewrite the whole thing from the beginning. 

Further hilarity: as I typed this, I spelled "faithfully" as "failthfully." 

Edited to add: Here's another thing. As I was copying the text, concentrating on my handwriting, and making sure my words and sentences fit within the line guides and so on, only checking to make sure everything matched (it's more like drawing, honestly), something sort of unlocked and woke up in my brain. It felt really good.  I haven't been able to find my magical purple journal for over a week now and it's driving me crazy.  My point is, long hand writing does something in terms of brain activity. 

I wrote a thing that was 1500 words and then I cut it down to 1000. 

My head is splitting. 

some of what I wrote depended on knowledge that I gleaned from this thing about hypertextual thinking. 

ow. 

I have no one to blame but myself. 

We all know that a) a person doesn't just get over being depressed, and b) a person can't stop mourning like flipping a switch. 

But, I'm hurting enough right now that I'm willing to try some strategies. I want to be the strong person that I need. Today I did a couple of things; wrote two thank-you emails, unloaded the dishwasher, put away some stuff. 

We're still mourning Bebe really hard. It feels like we're etherized, exhausted, wearing a hot, wet blanket. 

if you could do something for a depressed person, what would it be? I'll try it. (Non-pharmaceutical  ideas please. We're already taking prescribed meds.) 

Meanwhile, I've taken some melatonin (to shut my brain off) and I'm going to listen to mah storiez.  I've got The Girl On The Train, Disgraced, and The Alchemist. 

Thank you. 

OH. In hilarious news, I was accepted to a weekend-long artists' colony, which will only cost me a grand to attend, not including travel. 

Going to our cousins' for dinner. I got stuff to make kale-cabbage salad with pomegranate-blueberry dressing, and August: Osage County. 

I find it amusing that Julia Roberts has gone from "drink y'juice Shelby," to "EAT THE FISH, MA." 

What would happen if I just went to bed early right now? 

What would happen to the 9 zillion ideas zooming around in my head? 

What if I listened to my body and recharged my batteries? 

Will I still have the ideas in the morning? ​