As the rain hits the rooftop of my house, I can only think of the cloud that has settled over me the past few days. Light precipitation gently beating down on the top of my head, yet no matter where I turn or how many times I attempt to outrun it, there it is, as glued to me as if it were my shadow. I feel like Pigpen in the Peanuts cartoons.
The little cloud is a culmination of every negative emotion and experience I have had this year. It manifested itself into a mass that only I can see. It causes me fatigue, and I feel listless, morose.
I have begun to re-read the copies of Anais Nin’s diaries that I own. I could have sworn I had a copy of Henry and June, but I can’t find it anywhere. I just got finished Incest, the second volume of her unabridged diary, and am now almost finished with Fire. I need a copy of Nearer the Moon and I’ll probably have to wind up looking for another copy of Henry and June. I have the first three volumes of her edited diaries, and I have to get the remaining volumes of that, as well as the book of letters between her and Henry Miller. Reading her diary has made me realize that my best bet to get published is just to publish my own blog as a book. I have to do what Anais said to do; write as though no one would be reading it. Certain people and events I obviously can’t name or publish, but I will do my best to utilize creative license. I figure in seven months or so I’ll have enough for a book.