Category: health

not quite three

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Man, this kid.

Also, I’m simultaneously way out of shape and still surprised that I can scamper up a giant play zone to help lift her up to higher heights or rip down slides as much as I did.

I did realize my claustrophobia is starting to get worse.

Some of those tunnels were way too tight.

Also, I couldn’t help but think about Wytches and kid farts and matches blowing the Jones family onto the wall.

Birthdays are weird.

Target: 600 words
Written: 185 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: A New Earth, Eckhart Tolle
Comics: American Vampire 9-12
Music: Volumen 1993-2003, Bjork (I don't know what it is about her, but there is no female artist on the planet I connect with more; something about it - there's an innate empathy, an honesty, an innocence that's somehow all mixed up with sex and love, but in the sweetest way... Maybe it's youthful memory, but there's love in them there words)

game 7, for reals

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Today’s the day. Are we going to break the curse of the Boston strangler, or are going to Leaf it up in the Leafiest way we possibly can?

I don’t believe in curses, but I do believe in complacent cultures that think they don’t need to try as hard because they’re making money hand over fist.

I do believe in overwhelming personalities who don’t give a shit about that culture and drag everyone else along with them toward some grand dream.

One of these two teams has that. Tonight, we’ll find out who, and whether the NHL decides to screw them anyway.

Target: 600 words
Written: 60 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Universe 1-4
Music: Villains, The Verve Pipe

i go through all this

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Beeefooore you wake up.

Sorry. Bjork phase. I do like to get up early. I like the quiet. The alone time. If I can get that, and get enough things I want to get done before I engage with the world, the world and me are both infinitely better off for it.

I don’t go in rushed and angry, upset and falling behind. Frustrated and distracted.

And, the sense of peace is palpable.

That, of course, is not today. 

Target: 600 words
Written: 797 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 31-34
Music: The Very Best Things 1995-2008, Filter

nauseous

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Don’t know where it came from, don’t know where it went, but for a good two hours there after lunch (my standard lunch, nothing special or funky about it), I felt like spewing all over my desk.

Of course, everything thought runs through your head: food poisoning, the flu, an ulcer, stomach cancer, that canker sore behind my molar that swelled up and pushed my teeth far enough out of line they throbbed for two days’ straight was actually trenchmouth.

Then, it fades, and I enjoy a nice Tom Collins and pray for sweet release.

It seems like that last thing is coming up a lot these days; I suspect I’m in desperate need of a proper’s night’s rest.

Then again, who isn’t?

Target: 600 words
Written: 666 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Monstress 1-4
Music: The Very Best Of Chicago: Only The Beginning, Chicago (narrator: it was, in fact, not just a beginning, but rather, the sum total of everything they ever did before becoming little more than nostalgia.)

party people

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I used to be a party person. I could go until all hours, consume copious amounts of drugs and alcohol and make an unbearably obnoxious fool of myself.

It’s a wonder I ever had any friends at all.

Pity, I assume. I’m not blind. The cool kids all had deep connections; I was just kind of there, filling space and being an idiot.

That said, last night, I made it to midnight and today, I’m a wreck.

Getting old is the shits, which is different than being the shit.

Much, much different.

Target: 500 words
Written: 873 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 37-40
Music: Venue Songs, They Might Be Giant (an entire album of hastily composed songs about the stages upon which they played on a particular tour? Well, then. Kind of brilliant, in a way.)

cigarillo #1

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I think I’ve earned it – a first draft complete, writing up my notes for the second run? That’s not a small thing; completion is an elusive, moving target in art, particularly when you’re one of those nervous, depressed artists like myself. It’s very easy to scrap the lot and go back to scratch.

I’m saving the Gran Corona for the publication date, but I believe in the art of the small reward. Plus, The Mungk is a novella, a tiny project, and therefore, its rewards should be appropriately sized.

I don’t smoke as a matter of course – I quit cigarettes years ago, but I love the smell of a good cigar, so a cigarillo every couple of months probably isn’t going to hurt me.

My liver or my heart will give out far before my lungs, after all.

Clean livin’, y’all.

To the next one.

Target: 500 words
Written: 256 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 29-32
Music: The Velvet Underground & Nico, The Velvet Underground (& Nico)

focusin’

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I seem to slipping into the zone more easily this morning. Maybe it’s an illusion, but I killed my workout this morning, and focus seems to be top of the pops when I’m doing my morning work, my morning commute, as I would say.

Writing’s going well, I’m tuned in, tuned on, and the music flows through me without being a distraction, but a driver.

It’s nice. This doesn’t happen that often.

Maybe the funk is breaking. Hold on long enough and it will; all things pass, as they say, including the bad stuff.

Target: 500 words
Written: 365 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Art Of Non-Conformity, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: Rat Queens 15-16, Rat Queens v2 1-2
Music: Know-It-All, Alessia Cara (what can I say? I dig introvert anthems.)

dance good

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My niece is a competitive dancer; she’s pretty darn good. I, on the other hand, do a passable white man at best.

I can sort of do the Carlton (and yes, I have a couple of favourite Tom Jones songs – probably the same ones as every other white boy).

I am a basic bitch.

But she is not. She is skilled to the point where maybe it could be a career. I’m not sure dancers make careers out of it for the cash, but rather, the love of the dance, the camaraderie, possibly even the travel.

And then, of course, a school. Teaching what can be taught to the willing and unwilling alike.

But it is the love of the thing that makes it worthwhile; it is a failure of our society not to reward the arts as it would any other profession. A dancer plays a role in society, with more love than some paper-pusher. It is refreshing to the soul, ours and the artist’s.

That’s worth something, is it not?

Target: 500 words
Written: 308 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Dancing Barefoot, Wil Wheaton
Comics: Rat Queens 4-7
Music: Kiss Essentials, Kiss (judge not, sometimes, you just gotta eat some popcorn, plus God Gave Rock 'N' Roll To You is straight Tao)

saturday

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After successfully ripping off both Matt Fraction and Night Vale yesterday, I think I’ll take it a bit easier today. Laundry. Writing. Reading. Maybe some special “me” time (video games, jerks), in between a trip to the grocery store and a dog walk.

It’s funny, because all of that seems so relaxing, and yet, I think what I’d really like to do is go back to bed for several hours and then laze out all day on the couch, only getting up to pee, eat and hopefully, fuck.

What else could a guy need?

Depression and exhaustion are motherfuckers.

Target: 500 words
Written: 301 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Pride And Prejudice And Zombies, Jane Austen, probably
Comics: Rat Queens Preview 1, Rat Queens 1-3
Music: The King Of Limbs, Radiohead

when it rains

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It fucking kicks you in the nuts.

Not to belabour the point this morning, but man, between lack of sleep, body aches, creeping depression bordering on full shutdown and a near constant stream of demands, I am on the verge of collapse today.

Of course, no one cares, because this world is now savagely devoid of empathy, compassion or basic attempts at understanding the struggles of our fellow humanity.

On the plus side, Donald Trump can’t post his bond, so there’s that. I have little faith that justice will prevail, of course, because if it was going to, the fucker would have been taken down years ago.

The rich fret not about consequence; all that matters is the score.

Target: 500 words
Written: 440 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Pride And Prejudice And Zombies, Seth-Grahame Smith
Comics: East Of West 28-31
Music: Killed The Radio Star, Closet Monster