When my little cat friend went a-wandering into the bardo, I stopped sleeping. Insomnia is like the IRS: I know it’s always going to come around, no matter how badly I want it to stay away.

And I have discovered in recent years that I am really not the Suffering Artist type. If I’m going to write anything good, I require sleep, food, and a sense of safety. And, for the love of Silenus, sobriety. I may think I’m a genius during that third glass of wine, but the next day I’ll realize all the output is crap. (Or, more likely, CRRRRRRRAP!!)

It’s been a bad month for writing. It has been a great month for knitting. I actually made a tiny dent in the pile of yarn.

The new kitten arrives tomorrow. One hopes I shall stop wallowing and get back into my routine.

And, you know, maybe even sleep, before I totally crack up.