Death in the Middle of the Night, or Hair Nearly There

Last night at some dismal hour as I was blissfully unconscious, my subconscious poured me a tall glass of champagne with a shot of absinthe in it. Death in the Afternoon, I believe is what Hemingway called it, although this was more like Death in the Middle of the Night. I suspect such a dream slipped in because a project I’ve been writing proposals for at Uncle Walt’s has involved a 1920s theme.

Also, Lord Arux and I went to Disneyland on Sunday and I discovered that most of Disney’s California Adventure is styled anywhere from Victorian gingerbread to 1920s midway. I hear that Disneyland, like Vegas, is only as fun as the people who accompany you. That said, we had a smashing time. I went three years ago with The Frenchman, who’d not wanted to go on any actual rides or do anything that suggested the word “Whee!” So, this was a major improvement.

Still writing. Wondering when the hell I’ll produce something book length that is as publishable as my short stories. Happy that my hair is finally working its way back to Maximum Mane-age. If I had completely frivolous money, I’d spend it on hair extensions. I’m just that silly.

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