Oh Father

Tuesday and somehow we managed to survive yet another dread Monday. I was tired and not feeling well most of the day; I wasn’t completely sure whether I actually was sick or was just so damned tired that I felt sick. In either case, it was a thoroughly miserable day for one Gregalicious. I was very close to calling in sick, but I knew I had things in the office that needed doing today–I was right; we’re having site visits from our primary funders this week–so I am glad I went in, even if I felt like shit for most of the day. I was so tired when I got home yesterday that I retired to my easy chair almost immediately, and I got little done. Which was fine. I slept better last night than I did Sunday night, and feel more rested today, but will without doubt be tired when I get off work again tonight.

We continued with P-Valley, and it did pick up with the second episode of the second season. I think watching in a binge–going from the season one finale to the season two opener–was the problem. The season finale was a non-stop adrenaline rush, with things blowing up and a shoot out and fights and violence and just in general insanity; the season two opener was bound to seem a bit slow and not quite as entertaining, particularly since they had to deal with a pandemic. But it definitely picked up again, and we were quite absorbed in the story. We may be able to finish it off tonight; I don’t know how many new episodes are left for us to see. And then we’ll need to find something else to watch. Yippee.

I also am looking forward to deciding on my next read, too. I have several strong contenders, but I think I am going to dip out of my field for a change and read something different, not a crime novel. I am leaning toward Chris Clarkson’s That Summer Night on Frenchmen Street; we did the y/a panel together at S&S, and I really liked him a lot–and he’s a local; lives even in the same neighborhood, and probably not really all that far away, either. We’re going to try to get together for coffee sometime when I have I have some free time. Ha ha ha ha. Well, when I can carve out some time from a weekend, that is. This is my last weekend at home before Malice Domestic, and of course that next weekend I am going to Alabama. Heavy heaving sigh. No, it’ll be okay, methinks. I’ll be able to somehow get everything done that I need to get done; it always gets done and I have yet to collapse under the stress and weight of too much to do and not nearly enough time to do it in.

Which, of course, is absolutely nothing new in the life of one Gregalicious.

Note to self: update to-do list from last week. I actually was able to cross some things off it, which is always a pleasant feeling, but I really need to get a new one together. I hate when I am so tired on Monday, as I was yesterday as well as not feeling good; it gets my week off to a very bad start, and since I have to get up at six every morning until Friday…starting the week off tired is never a good thing. I feel better this morning–I don’t feel sick anymore, which is nice, and of course I feel rested somewhat–but I also tend to think that the reason I felt sick was because my blood sugar was low. I didn’t eat much over the weekend and so of course yesterday felt like I was starving to death at times. (Okay, that’s wrong and extreme; I simply felt hungry, and since I rarely do, it felt much worse than it probably would to someone else.)

I’ve been spending a lot of time going down wormholes when I’m tired–don’t ask, it’s mindless and a nice diversion when I’m really too tired to think–and wondering if it is indeed possible for me to write about the past, even if they are decades I lived through. New Orleans history is so rich and varied–I came across another article about the Trunk Murders yesterday, which I’d love to write about sometime; there are so many marvelous crimes in New Orleans’ past to build books around the fictionalization of; the kidnapping of that little boy, for example, whose name is escaping me at the moment, or the lynching of those Italians who were found not guilty of killing the chief of police–that would also make an interesting book. I’m kind of casting about for another Sherlock in New Orleans before the Great War story, to be completely honest; I really enjoyed visiting that world when I wrote that story and would love to do another. I don’t think I’ll ever write a gay Sherlock book, even though he’s now in the public domain and anyone can do anything they want with him–primarily because I do NOT want to raise the ire of the Sherlockians. I think I captured the essence of the character in my story, but…not being an actual Sherlockian makes the Imposter Syndrome very strong with that one.

And on that note, I should get cleaned up and get started on my day. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.