I’ll have a lot more to say on that tomorrow, but suffice it to say, the day is going to be a real bummer.
The anticipation is almost worse than the act itself; neither of which makes me feel anything but horrid.
I’m so sorry, baby.
Target: 1300 words
Written: 701 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Rocket Ship Galileo, Robert Heinlein
Comics: Deadly Class 43-44, Death Or Glory 9-10
Music: Warning, Green DayMy health fights my ambition.
My depression fights my motivation.
I’m not sure which is winning.
Happy goddamned birthday.
I’d like nothing more than to go back to being twelve, with the knowledge I have now, and do things the right fucking way.
Then again, would I have all this?
Or would I have opted for the easy way out that time?
Would I have followed Matt into heroin and other hard drugs?
Would I have done something even dumber than the things I already did?
It is hell to be at war, whether it’s with others or yourself.
The dichotomy must die.
Target: 1300 words
Written: 1562 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
Comics: Deadly Class 23-24, Seven To Eternity 3, Black Science 26
Music: Experience The Divine, Bette Midler (because I hate myself, apparently)Tomorrow, I’ll be forty-eight years on this earth.
And given how my neck, shoulder and stomach feel today, I have lived all of them quite poorly.
At least, in all likelihood, I’m better than halfway through.
Closer to the end than the beginning, that’s for sure.
Target: 1300 words
Written: 1307 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
Comics: Seven To Eternity 1-2, Deadly Class 22, Black Science 25
Music: Experience Expanded: Remixes & B-Sides, The ProdigyYeehaw, called in sick Monday so we could take the grandbaby out for waffles, and yesterday was a stat day, so only one day in the office.
Now, if only my laptop bag didn’t smell so horribly like cat pee.
My life is one walking travesty after another, punctuated by brief moments of joy that I can barely enjoy.
Depression’s a monster.
The black dog sucks the joy out of everything.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1888 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Agent To The Stars, John Scalzi
Comics: Black Science 10, Low 4-5, Deadly Class 9
Music: Everything Under The Sun, SublimeI still don’t like it, and there’s even more people here today.
Zero out of ten, do not recommend.
Work from home, kids, in any way you can.
Hell is other people, as a smart man once said, but it’s also the self.
Basically, we live in hell, the darkest timeline, whatever, the world actually ended in 2012, and we’re just lost in a collective nightmare where things only get worse, no one can stop it and we’re all doomed to live out our days watching things turn to shit.
This is why you don’t put the boy back at work; he’s less likely to spiral.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1121 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Infinity Concerto, Greg Bear
Comics: Fear Agent 21-24
Music: Even Flow, Pearl Jam (ahh... palate cleanser - Dirty Frank)It’s every bit as bad as I thought.
At least, I’m in a side room, not the main floor, but my boss is right in the room with me (though she’s cool – a cousin of my wife, though neither of knew the other existed prior to me starting there – she looks like a younger version of my wife).
It’s weird though, so quiet. I feel like I’m breathing too heavy, like everyone is watching me.
It’s creepy, keeping my back up.
Hopefully, I get used to it, because otherwise, the background stress of being there is going to kill me.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 702 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Infinity Concerto, Greg Bear
Comics: Fear Agent 13-16
Music: Even If And Especially When, Screaming TreesTomorrow, we start this back to week program. It’s only three days a week, but I’m not sure how that’s going to affect my writing schedule.
Weeks were I’m in now tend to be struggles to find time, because of the extra prep and travel time involved, but I had two weeks to catch up if things went off.
Now… every week, possibly three days where I’m having to get up earlier or stay up later or drop other things I need to do in order to keep up?
Or worse, postponing everything to try and shove them in Thursday or Friday, or that other time that we’re supposed to have time but don’t, a weekend?
I am fretting.
Yes. Fretting.
Okay, freaking out.
I want this life, and I’m tired of fighting myself for it; I certainly don’t need the rest of the world piling on.
The Mungk left me hopeless, fatalist.
Bad Neighbours only feeds my anger.
I don’t need any more anger.
I have always had more than enough.
Fuck.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 611 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Almayer's Folly, Joseph Conrad
Comics: Fear Agent 9-12
Music: Euphoria Mourning, Chris Cornell (god, I miss that voice)I’m taking the day tomorrow. Mostly, because we’ve been asked to take care of our granddaughter for the day/weekend (yes, sir! No problem, sir!), but because I am spiralling. I’m really not in a good place for work.
I feel like I’m behind, overworked, disorganized, putting way too much personal pressure on myself to meet standards and targets, and that’s not just work.
It’s me, fucking myself up.
Self-destructing, as always, and wanting to scrap it all and start again.
But I’ve done that too often.
I’ve come too far and I’m out of time.
After all, Donald Trump’s fascist state may invade or bomb us at any time. The psycho’s capable of anything, if it feeds his sad, little ego.
So, yeah.
Taking the day tomorrow.
Fuck Donald Trump.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1106 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Fathom v6 8, Aspen Universe: Decimation 1-3
Music: The Essential (1955-1983), Johnny Fuckin' CashAnd now, Brian Wilson?
Goddamnit.
Sly Stone I could take because I don’t have a lot of connection there, but I’ve been listening to Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys as long as I can remember (fuck Mike Love). We even saw them in concert when they (meaning Mike Love and a bunch of randoms) came to play at the bandstand in Tecumseh Park.
It was nice.
The innocence of it all hiding the troubled mind in behind… wouldn’t it be better if Brian had sang what he wanted? If he’d sang about his pain.
Wouldn’t it be nice?
For Brian Wilson to be still alive.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 798 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Aspen Universe: Decimation 0, Fathom v6 5-7
Music: The Essential, Bruce Springsteen (fuck you, you probably don't know what Born In The USA is even about, you nationalistic prick)I’m not really sure what that means other than a continued reaffirmation of the cycle of life and death, or the misconception that I had that he was already dead.
Not that I’m the biggest fan of the Family Stone, but there was some good stuff.
Death in obscurity; life in obscurity.
Death in Cheers; everyone knows your name; in life, as well.
Which end of the scale? Do we all forget Angela Cartwright and her sister? Do you know her sister’s name?
Who ran IBM in the Seventies? Who stood in front of the tanks?
Whatever happened to P.J. Soles?
There’s a strong chance I’m losing it; obscurity within the family unit has me lost.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1510 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Blackbirds, Chuck Wendig
Comics: Aspen Universe: Revelations 2-5
Music: Eponymous, R.E.M.