Forcing myself to write today. Having one of those dips in productivity that come with a dip in confidence. Wish I had some elaborate psychological explanation for it but it’s all pretty mundane. The blogging isn’t going great. Terrible numbers, even for work like my Farage piece which I thought was pretty strong. Very little income (though thank you to the couple of people who have contributed because you’ve liked my work). And then there’s been a bit of exhaustion due to trouble sleeping. I have a dodgy muscle in my back that always gets triggered if I sit a certain way on the edge of my chair. I try to stop myself sitting like that but it’s easier to say than it is to do. I found myself sitting like that on Sunday and, sure enough, back pain Sunday night and all of Monday. Always worse when I Iie down. Anyway, about 2am this morning, I finally relented and hit it with a couple of Ibuprofen which always does the trick but they also knock me out.
I had a very solid sleep though but woke myself up because I blowing a spray diffuser in my sleep. I’d been having a Ralph Steadman dream in which I was contributing to some art project, except I wasn’t actually me but a certain Twitter-obsessed novelist I follow. I woke myself up with my blowing. Actual physical blowing. Very weird. Slightly disturbing.
Anyway, today I’ve no idea what I’ll do. Yesterday I drew some cartoons which I intend to send off to the usual place which will undoubtedly reject them. They’ll end up here, I guess. Might draw more.