I prefer not to write autobiographical material, at all. I do, though, make a living writing, thanks to the generous support of readers. Dozens of these readers have expressed an interest in the writing process, and also in my health, perhaps linking the two.

I lost yesterday, do not know where it went. For weeks now, sinus and lung infections, loud ear ringing and severe eye pain, to include the entire right side of my head and face being numb in spots and sizzling in pain in others, have vexed writing. Wondering how bad the lungs are, I tried exercises yesterday after 12 hours sleep and found my strength at 20%. The Land Lady does not want her pet yeti dying just yet and has been buying my medicine…

The big thing is, this loud squealing siren in my ears has been interfering with my ability to write and think.

Is the alien in my brain, that permits me to write, dying?

Do I have a brain infection?

For two weeks I have been losing brain function, the tool between my apish ears less precise.

I can’t recall where I put things, wallets, the key, medicine…

I do recall waking yesterday and being unable to think. So I cleaned the house.

Holding things in my mind is becoming a slippery undertaking.

Is this the far side of the writing mountain?

I wrapped up a big history book 18 months in the works.

This journal is at an end. The text is arranged. Tomorrow I wrap up the winter writing log and generate the pdf.

There is a game design, a book of mechanical ideas for the play of minds upon a table top to simulate Black Powder Era combined arms tactics. I will do that, try and complete writing Battle. Perhaps, this places my last book in the category of my first book, gaming.

This article should post in August.

I can do writing things, such as scheduling posts.

I will try and write:

-schedule posts

-the game, Battle

-poetry, groan

-short stories, since I am too addled to write a novel

-annotate primary sources for Plantation America

It occurs to that three people I know have died in these first two months of the year, and that many of the people I know are facing health hurdles as I write. Something has changed. We are not as healthy as we were. The stuff in my chest tastes like galvanized steel and mold, like the inside of that dairy case that sickened me in January 2011, almost exactly 13 unlucky years ago.

I will try and write, hopefully, something worth reading.

Thank you.

James, Portland, Oregon, Wednesday, February 28, 2024