Tonight I fell down a creative hole and into 1930' s Hollywood--full of aspiring starlets and mob bookies named Vinnie "The Shark: and aging actresses with substance abuse problems. Also, stakery ex-husbands and ingenues. Next thing I knew it was time to go home. It's two days until murder mystery fun and it's always a scramble. Sometimes I think it's too easy, sometimes I'm making it too complicated. There are documents to falsify and clues to plant and motives to ascribe.
Otherwise I got a good few hours in the studio with author copies, including the above lovelies, just about to debut. Tomorrow, it's a catch up on orders I am dreadfully behind on. There just seems to be this horrible slippery time thing that I feel like I have a handle on and then it's gone. Today was sunnier than yesterday, though, less windy, but still cold, but each day I'm grateful there isn't snow on the ground, because last year, there most certainly already was by now.
I have a blissful, beautiful free weekend coming up, in which I plan to do nothing but sleep in, drink coffee, and use my time as I wish (and if that means just laying on the couch and listening to bossa nova records, so be it.) There are also scads of trashy holiday movies to be consumed, and probably some cleaning before the dust balls sprout teeth and start biting. I did manage to swap out the fall clothes for the winter ones, though I am already longing for summer clothes.
No dreams last night, though admittedly I had good company and a couple drinks before I went to sleep, but it was a sort of deep, dreamless sleep that I need more of.
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