Well, I really had to force myself to take care of business last night. I've been sleeping even more poorly than usual the last few nights and yesterday was brutal by my standards -- I had class, a Digital Arts Club meeting, and then a reception for the release of the new Milvia Street magazine. It's depressing to think that even with the freedom to stand and sit at will, something that isn't even a full day for an office worker leaves me thinking that I need to refill my prescriptions. When itchy twitchy Vicodin starts seeming preferable to pain it's just not good.
But everything else was swell. There was an emergency call for large scale art for a nice gallery show out where the rich folks live -- I may or may not get in but I was all over that. And there was some swell stuff at the reading, good poetry and prose and people. My social skills did not fail me. I wasn't a jerk or a feeb or a creep.
And the Milvia Street reception gave me a very gratifying series of ego boosts. People I respect admiring my work? A genuinely good writer thanking me for how much I taught him? Getting an invitation to join an elite writer's group that has a totally different approach from my beloved Monday night mob? Getting hugs and attention from attractive women? (Not that the other hugs and attention weren't swell but there are hugs and there are hugs.) Getting gruff praise from the gray emminence behind the multimedia arts program? Seeing my work projected ten feet tall? Finding a number of readers for the novel?
My back feels like shit and my sciatica is giving me that lovely barbed-wire tickle and I am exhausted. But tell you what -- I'm feeling good right now and I'm gonna ride this mood as far as it'll go.
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