1,152 and a half. And counting.

I am having a bit of a fucking moment.

I spent most of my precious writing time today churning out a pr piece for pay. But that was okay, because first, before I even got dressed this morning, I spent an hour or so on a new entry here. It wasn't a long post, but it was a big one. I had to dig deep for it.

I went back to look at it this afternoon and most of it was gone, obliterated by some gobbledygook. Blame the ghost in the machine. I am beyond frustrated.

If anyone actually read it and has it somewhere on their browser, would they be so kind as to email it to me at kyranp at yahoo dot com? It started like this:

1,153

In dreams, my poet-self borrows the face of a long-ago lover. He appears always on the periphery, maddeningly aloof. Like a wild thing on the edge of the wood. Lupine.

End quote.

I am thinking now would be a good time to try a happy pill (see below).