Kicking Yet, But Slowly

So it's been a week between posts. It's been a long, painful week between posts. The bad discs in my neck and the symptoms they invoke have been making me scream. The doctor said I could double my pain meds and increase the frequency so, may my liver forgive me, I did so sporadically for a few days. And while it helped the pain quite a bit, my body seemed to materialize liquid out of nowhere and sent me to the bathroom every fifteen minutes through the night.

I can't win. Are heroin addictions this difficult to manage? I have got to read that Miles Davis autobiography on the shelf.

Yesterday I didn't take and prescription meds at all. Not one handful. I did a number of spells on the massage chair and soaked in a hot bath and tried not to take off the kids' heads, even when they went through an unusual mean spell to each other. Our house guests from last week are gone, too, which means that I can let my eyes droop and my back sag and cry out loud without compromising the staid image they must surely carry of me.

This week two book reviews have come in on the first draft of the book I finished some weeks ago. Both contain very different critiques and now I have to weight the concerns before I begin the revision process, something I don't want to do until I have a better handle on the next book. Which is appearing ever more likely to be a sequel.

Which I don't really want to do but it's the book that's bubbling up most at the moment; I've written three thousand words of it and have notes for the next couple of thousand. The notes are a week or so old, though, and I haven't written the scene yet. And they say writers aren't disciplined.