Here is my dog Frank using my head as a pillow earlier this morning.

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m at the bookshop. We’re typically closed Sundays and Mondays, but my desktop is here and I need to do some work, so I thought I’d just open everything and see if anybody stops by. Maybe we’ve been messing up all this time by now being open on Sundays, I don’t know. Outside of the summer, when Lori is back at work teaching dance, Sunday is our only mutual day off together, so that’s why we’ve scheduled the shop’s hours the way we have.

At the moment I only have a desktop, which I’ve been lugging back and forth from the shop to the house. My laptop screen imploded earlier this year and I can’t afford to replace it. I decided to keep the desktop at the shop this weekend, rather than bring it home for our days off, because our internet is currently down. Something to do with a wire outside, we’re told. Originally, nobody could come out to inspect the issue until next Thursday, but a few minutes ago Lori managed to get it rescheduled for Monday, tomorrow afternoon. So, fingers crossed it’s something simple.

It’s very hot in this shop. I just dumped the dehumidifier here and I’m desperate for it to do its magic. I get paranoid about the books curling up from the humidity. I wonder if I’d do the same, if it got humid enough. Curl up, I mean. My limbs bending back, reverse dog-ear-style. Wouldn’t that be something?

Last night we started going through the immense collection of physical media in our house, since we couldn’t stream anything. Something I’ve been wanting to do, anyway. All these discs. So much money. Feels weird how often I still just stream something, too lazy to get up and browse the spines on our shelves.

We watched the 4K uncut version of Brandon Cronenberg’s Possessor. I watched the cut version when it first came out and I liked it a lot, but revisiting it last night cemented it as a body horror masterpiece. I wish I could possess a dog like they possess Christopher Abbott in it. I wouldn’t kill anybody, though. I don’t know what I’d do. I think I’d just like people to pat me on the head and tell me what a good dog I am. I think that would be nice.

This morning, on good-ol’ DEE VEE DEE, we rewatched Rian Johnson’s Looper, which is another masterpiece, as far as I’m concerned. A stone-cold goddamn classic, really. It should also go on the list of all-timer diner scenes, along with Heat and Thief.

Now I’m at the shop, and after I click PUBLISH on this quick blog post, I am going to devote the rest of my day to revising I Believe in Mister Bones, which is finished but needs to be tweaked in a few places before I finally send it in to the publisher. It’s only…a couple months late (yikes–sorry, Ben). But man. I think it’s pretty fucking good. I’ve kind of lost my mind a bit working on it. But I think it was worth it.

I also need to hurry up and send it in so I can resume the thousands of other Ghoulish-related projects I am behind on. I don’t know how I did any of this stuff back when I was working full-time at the hotel. Time-management is not my speciality. I’m pretty confident any doctor in the world would diagnose me with ADHD if I ever had the money to see one. Would medication help this shit? I don’t know. Everything continues piling up. There is only so much time and energy. I wish I could bottle it all and expand, multiply. What I would give for the ability to freeze time–just once–and finish every little thing I’ve committed to finishing. Just one, cosmic work marathon. No breaks. No naps. Is this why people do cocaine? Where do you even find cocaine in the year 2024?

I just remembered someone offered me cocaine a few years back, at the premiere party for We Need to Do Something in SoHo. They were like, hey we’re about to do some coke, wanna join? And I laughed and was like, uhhhh nah, that’s OK. So I guess if you ever wanted proof that I am a square, there ya go.

I turned down coke at my own movie premiere. I’m not made for Hollywood. Or, I guess…SoHo?

Anyway–back to Bones…