Today was actually really productive, although I’m not sure why. I got a lot done on a painting, got most of a Digger done, and then on a whim I sat down around nine, and got two and a half hours of work done on Black Dogs, encompassing a surprising number of needed edits. I am glad to get some work in on that. I can’t quite shake the feeling that I would write a better book today, but perhaps it would only be a different book. Maybe all authors feel like that. I dunno.
And this afternoon I took a nap and had seriously nasty sleep paralysis–I’ve sort of figured out how to get out of it by thrashing wildly back and forth, which eventually seems to wake me up. (The ironic thing is that you’re not actually moving–the hypnogogic hallucination is utterly real, tactile and everything, you’re writhing around like a fish on a hook in your head, but you’re not moving At All.) Unfortunately, this time I managed to move my head, and then couldn’t move any more, so I was left with my neck at a weird angle, paralyzed, and pissed off, and unable to keep my eyes open. And then I got the heebie-jeebies, and was briefly convinced that something was about to come walking in from the other part of the house, around the corner of the desk, and since I could just see the edge, I’d see its knees coming at me, but I’d be paralyzed. (I’m never specifically afraid of what it’ll do–seeing Enemy Knees would be horrific enough.) The paralysis only happens when I take naps. I don’t know why. It’s fairly recent, too–it used to happen once in a blue moon when I was young, but as I get older, they get more intense, or maybe I’m just aware of them more. I could stop taking naps, I suppose, but some things are non-negotiable.
Finally, I thought, “Crap, I have to go to the bathroom–” and WHAM. Paralysis breaks, I wake up. It appears that being housebroken overrides even the lower brain functions. Go figure. Next time I’ll avoid thrashing and just concretrate on my bladder, and maybe that’ll work.
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