fiction / artisanal mathematics
Likely it is of little surprise to those who follow me on twitter that I am not in a unicorns-shitting-rainbows sort of place. Makes sense. Two years in one place blahs and winter coming. But someone, via Geoff, said it makes em feel better, my little sad toasts to the world, so here I am, little sad toasting.
When I am down, I get this feeling that there is nothing inside me at all except reflecting what other people are. If I am around someone who is happy, then I smile. If I am around someone who is sad, then I am sad. Like there is nothing to me that exists outside of other people. Since I work, alone, at home, by myself, during half the day or so, I guess I'm just air then, floating, writing endless iterations of writing exercises plus faerie story.
Yesterday I slept from 9.30 to 1.45.
In 2011, I was convinced I was a good writer. I want to go back to that. Right now, I have convinced myself that I am an above-average writer, which is a far step down from good. But, in my attempt to be more positive about my writing, I ordered business cards to hand out to, who exactly? The people I stand at the school bus stop with? I'm not really sure. But I did. And here they are.
I still can't give up the math part yet. I spent ten years to get that string of letters after my name. The other side of the business card has info you can figure out from the Contact page.
So, if being successful means having business cards, then I am now successful with my business cards. Next time I see you, trust me I'll be pressing one of these babies into your hand.