I mentioned a few days ago that I took a Clonazepam the night of the election because the stress had gotten too thick to operate through, and after not touching the stuff for a couple of years it’s not impossible that I’ll decide to take another tonight. The event didn’t go well yesterday at all — or, at least, was a crashing financial disaster, although some good things are going to end up coming from it, there were literally more authors present than there were people who wanted to buy books. I’m not mad about it, necessarily, but it was a long damn weekend. Today was an immensely stressful day at work, and the majority of that stress was due to various acts of incompetence on my part that I can’t even pretend to lay at anyone else’s feet. And the rest of it, that isn’t part of that majority … well, it’s bad, and I can’t fucking talk about it right now for a variety of reasons.
The books still haven’t shipped, by the way, so Amazon’s blown past the most recent of their guarantees as of today. The site now says I’ll get them on Friday, which will be six days shy of a month since these books– which are print-on-demand, remember– were ordered.
And Stan Lee died. And … I just can’t. The guy was 95 and he’s been in poor health for a long time but Stan Lee cannot be dead right now. The last few days have been too fucking exhausting; I can’t process it.
So, yeah. It may be time for another Clonazepam tonight. After I finish typing this I plan to spend at least an hour with a kitten sleeping on my chest; we’ll see if that works first. But if not? Yeah, bring the brain pills on.