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, SublimeMan, I love this kid, but I know, I KNOW, I’m going to be sore after she’s gone.
My kids were teenagers when I came into their life, so I skipped that whole chasing after toddlers phase, which is fun, but man, running around behind one kid is hard enough.
I don’t know how my mother did four.
Younger, I guess. If I’d done it, I would have been ten to twenty years younger, which would make a big difference, I’m sure.
But now, I’m pushing fifty and well, much as I love the shenanigans and craziness and horseplay, it’s a lot.
So, Advil, be at the ready.
This is going to hurt.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 916 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Infinity Concerto, Greg Bear (I wanted to like it, because so many authors I like have such respect for Greg Bear, but man... no characterization, disjointed plotline that didn't delve quite far enough into the mechanics of the thing... I'm sure he was trying to say something somewhere, but it was almost... art is bad? I must have missed the point)
Comics: Black Science 4-5, Deadly Class 2-3
Music: Every Breath You Take: The Classics, The PoliceTomorrow, 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)Sly Stone dies and my sister lives another year. Good for her.
Not that she shouldn’t live another year. Like all the people I love, I hope she lives until I die, at least. After that, well, I hope for her sake she lives a long time, but hell, I’ll be dead. What would it matter to me?
Then again, there’s always reincarnation. Maybe I’ll come back as a vibrator.
Assuming I’m bought by a Hollywood starlet, that’d be cool, I guess.
Or a carrier of the Republican virus, in that it only targets individuals who voted Republican, and rewires their brains to be permanently set on Mr. Rogers.
Now, wouldn’t that be a nice cleanse?
Sometimes, I think the stars aligned and decided: there is something truly, profoundly wrong with this guy.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1715 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Fathom v6 1-4
Music: Equal Strain On All Parts, Jimmy Buffett (fuck you, it's better than you think)I’m exhausted, poor and in physical and mental anguish.
I just want connection.
Love.
Time alone.
Time to relax, recharge, catch up.
The most love a person could show me would be to allow that to become true.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 727 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis
Comics: Fathom v5 2-5
Music: End Of The Century, The RamonesI’m not sure the doctor was right. I’m still getting cramps in the morning, even with the doubling of the medication.
They are slightly less, but maybe it’s just covering up a larger problem?
Like pretending Trump isn’t the second biggest threat to the planet (tops being Putin, because he controls Trump and is actually trying to bring about the collapse of freedom worldwide. Trump’s just a narcissistic idiot surrounded and influenced by Nazis, grifters and monsters – which is a very dangerous thing in his position, but still, he’s not the puppetmaster. He’s too dumb for that).
Anyway.
Covering up problems.
Sweeping them under the rugs, stuffing them in closets and under beds. Ignoring the trash can out back.
I guess it’s the same in both politics and medicine.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 3257 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Casino Royale, Ian Fleming
Comics: Fathom: Kiani v2 2-4, Fathom v4 7
Music: End Of A Century, BlurThat used to be my motto for writing, or learning, exposure to different things, methods of storytelling, experiences, etc., but sometimes, it’s nice to fall into an old comfort.
Especially now, when you’re convinced you have bowel cancer or an impending appendix explosion, and the idiot doctor that just provided you with substandard care blew it off as gas.
Old comfort. New discomfort.
Familiar discomfort.
Crippling depression.
What’s old is new again. What’s new is ultimately old.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1248 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 2-4, Fathom: Blue Descent 4
Music: Empty Glass, Pete Townshend