off the rails

That’s all I can say about today. It started off with nothing going right and everything else deciding sideways was the direction to go.

And it never got better. By the time I gave up and sat down with a beer, it was too late.

It’s times like this when the oblivion of alcoholism and drug addiction look enticing.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1560 words, novel: Father Lightning

not-so-epic days

Some days, writing is a monster. You’re inspired, you do five thousand. It’s a big task and you just buckle down and gut it out for three thousand. The writing just seems easy, and next thing you know, you’re nine thousand words in (or the equivalent minutes – 1500 an hour for me, roughly, in case you’re wondering if Father Lightning is three hundred thousand words – it’s not).

And some days, it’s a couple of minutes, because you’re flickering at the wrong end of the candle wick.

Today is one of those days.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 695 words, novel: Father Lightning

back to it

Four days off would have been nice if it were really slow and chill and basically lazy as fuck.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

I love the time with my granddaughter; I like the drive a lot less.

The arthritis in my knuckles hates me for making it drive so much.

I’m not looking forward to the next drive to Florida; it’s at least a couple of years away, and my hands are only going to get worse.

Do they make anti-inflammatory drugs specifically for joints? I assume they do.

Off to the Google machine.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1828 words, novel: Father Lightning

neck ache

My work desk setup is terrible. I know it. I do what I can to mitigate it, but other than buying a whole new setup, I’m not sure what to do.

I do know I need a new chair; this chair is the pits.

I also need to lower the upper shelves of it, upon which my primary two monitors are. I’m kinking my neck looking up.

I have never felt comfortable with my own muscles or in my own skin.

Tension and stress leaves me with rock hard shoulders and constant facial tension.

I’m not entirely certain what the answer is, but I’m pretty sure it’s mushrooms, or a lottery win or something.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 2631 words, novel: Father Lightning


This shit seems to be getting harder, not easier; a couple of weeks ago, I could put out sixty reps of some exercise without issue (well, normal tired anyway). Now I feel like I’m sucking air after twenty.

Something has gone downhill, and I’m fairly certain it’s me.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 2120 words, novel: Father Lightning

i think i broke my foot

It’s been throbbing for a few weeks when I walk too much and I thought it was just a pinky toe, but after exercising this morning, there’s a definite clicking, and it’s quite painful to the touch.

So, yeah. I might have broken my foot.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1243 words, novel: Father Lightning

covid shots

Holy, did that shit ever hit me this time. It was fine on Hallowe’en night when I got it, but the next morning, my arm started to hurt worse and worse. It crawled up my neck and by about eight in the morning, I felt like I’d been run over a bus.

It wore off by about three, but still. Brutal. Longest work day ever.

Oh, and before everyone gets all crazy with conspiracy theories and whatever, I don’t get the shots because of some idealism or virtue signalling or because I’m a sheep.

I just don’t want COVID, that’s it. I don’t want to carry COVID to anyone else. That’s all.

It’s nothing more than that. Getting COVID is worse than any temporary aftereffects of the shot and if I were to be responsible for someone dying because I couldn’t be bothered to take care of myself, I’d feel horribly guilty.

I don’t want that.

So take your conspiracy nonsense and your right wing bullshit rhetoric and shove it up your ass. This is just basic logic. There’s a disease out there that can negatively impact me and the people around me. Getting a simple vaccine will help prevent that.

That’s the logic. That’s it. People being good to each other and to themselves is just straight logic. It’s nothing more than that. That’s what all you crazy Trump-loving Republicans have forgotten: cruelty is not the point.

Common sense dictates that people treating each other with respect and kindness benefits everyone; being a selfish dick does not.

That’s the entire thing, right there. And if you’d persecute me for that, all you’re doing is showing your own irrationality, which should make you question whether or not you’re really the great, intelligent thinker you think you are, since you can’t comprehend the absolutely obvious logic of that.

It won’t, of course, because of the whole selfish, irrational thing, but that’s your cross to bear, not mine. Willful blindness is a curse inflicted on the stupid, or the smart who refuse to step outside the boundaries of their self-made prisons.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1681 words, novel: Father Lightning