The infusion went well–but I began running out of steam in the early to late afternoon, and ended up leaving the office earlier than I’d planned to because I was feeling very low energy and fatigue. They did show me a demonstration-model of the device I will be using to give myself infusions (more of an infusion than a shot; it takes five minutes for the medication to be all injected into me), and so I am not as worried about that as I was. I have to attach it to my thigh or my stomach with adhesive (which comes in the kit) and it will let me know when it’s done. Should be interesting, at any rate.
I did take the new Megan Abbott, El Dorado Drive, with me to read during the infusion (two hours), and man, did I ever get sucked into the narrative! Megan’s authorial voice and the rhythm of her language choices are unparalleled–and it again reminded me of why I always leave an unread book by my favorite authors so I know I always have another to read; I am caught up on her (she and Laura Lippman, among a few others, are the only authors I am current on) and I am already dreading the end of this book. She is so sparing with her words, but the ones she uses are always perfect; it is amazing to me how she can describe a room in like an eight-word sentence and you can see it perfectly. I honestly don’t know how she does it; her voice and writing style are so distinctive, but are fresh and new with each book. She already is one of the greats in crime fiction as well as literature, and seriously, every new book from her is a gift to us all.
I was too tired to do much of anything when I got home from work yesterday, getting home before the next round of thunderstorms–which didn’t give me a lot of motivation or energy, actually. I caught up on the news, and we started American Nightmare–I vaguely remember the case when it happened, mostly because of the Gone Girl comparisons–which is interesting, but I started dozing off during the second episode, and I went to bed shortly after nine. I did sleep very well last night, so hopefully the malaise I’ve been experiencing lately will be lifted. It’s going to be a very busy day in the clinic, so here’s hoping I can get through the day and do some writing tonight–with getting to read more of El Dorado Drive as my reward.
There’s also a tropical system moving into the Gulf of MEXICO, which could develop into something of concern later this week (Dexter will be its name, which begs the question why name a storm after a fictional and popular serial killer?) , but at the very least we’ll be getting even more rain, with street flooding. Huzzah, he typed sarcastically. This weekend we need to do the Costco run, and I’d love to head uptown to see Superman at the Prytania; but if we’re getting lots of rain and street flooding, not so sure I want to venture out into inclement weather. I am hoping to get through the week with some energy left over so I don’t fall into the trap of resting and not getting much of anything done over the weekend. I can always write, and of course, the temptation to curl up and finish the Abbott novel will be hard to put off.
There are worse things, of course.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will talk to you again tomorrow morning.
Pharaoh Thutmose III, step-son and successor to Queen Hatshepsut
Well, here we are on Monday morning and I am getting my second infusion today, which means driving out to Clearview on I-10 and spending two hours in a heated massage chair as I get this stuff infused into my blood stream before heading to the office. I am already a bit groggy and sleepy/tired this morning, so who knows how I am going to feel once I am finished? I got nothing done yesterday–Paul came downstairs and turned on Wimbledon, which I then got sucked into watching, and soon enough I was no longer in the mood to get much of anything done. The chair is like a black hole sucking me in…and of course, Sparky turned my lap into a bed for most of the day as I watched the MAGA meltdown and civil war raging across all news networks and all political influencers. What can I say? I enjoyed a lot of cruel laughs at their expense (odds they’ll begin to think he’s lying about other things? Too soon to tell) last night–but while everyone not in the MAGA bubble is very well aware of the Trump/Epstein connection and have been for a very long time…I’m beginning to think they had no idea? And thought of course if your only source for news coverage is Fox or Newsmax–which would never do anything to connect Dear Leader with convicted sex trafficking pedophile–you might not have known.
Which could finally explain the shock and horror– and the outright rejection of the party line.
Could this be the tipping point? There was an awful lot of anger from the right over the weekend; even Hitler Mini-me Nick Fuentes pronounced MAGA dead and “good riddance.” Did I miss a falling out between that POS and MAGA?
And for the record, Pam Bondi has always been trash.
We did finish watching Too Much last night, and kudos to both Megan Stalter and Will Sharpe for inhabiting the main characters and their relationship. They really had great chemistry together, and Sharpe is both charismatic and handsome. He looked familiar, and I think it’s because when he was on season 2 of The White Lotus (which also got him an Emmy nomination) all the gay sites were posting shots of him from the show in his underwear, so he was kind of everywhere but not in a way that would stick in my mind (I looked him up, and once I saw the pictures from The White Lotus I knew where I knew him from). We really enjoyed the show and the romance between their characters. I don’t know if there will be a second season or not; the first season kind of definitively ended, but I can also see how they could spring a second season out of that ending.
I did do some more filing and cleaning around here yesterday, and ordered some groceries for delivery. I have to stop again on my way home from the office to get a couple of things I couldn’t order, but based on my bloodwork from the other day I probably should cut ice cream and some other high-sugar foods out of my life again. I’ve reached the weight I’d like to stay at (actually, I’m a bit heavier than my preference), so it’s time to start eating in a more healthy manner again.
I’m taking Megan Abbott’s new one with me to read during the two hours of the infusion, primarily to keep me off my phone, and get back into the swing of reading. Tonight I am going to put my editing hat back on and start tearing through all the things I need to get written by the end of the month. I’m not really sure what we are going to watch next, but I know I want to see the new Taron Edgerton show on Apple Plus; I’m a fan, what can I say? But we may have to wait until it finishes airing to stream it all at once.
And on that note, I am heading on out there. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning with a report about whether or not the infusion made me tired again.
I love Alabama, despite the way the state continually disappoints me. It’s such a beautiful place, with its kudzu and towering pines and broad rivers and that startlingly gorgeous red dirt. (Red dirt is often used to symbolize poverty and ignorance and bigotry…but it’s also gorgeous. I’d much rather have red dirt on my car or my shoes than regular black dirt any time.) Driving through the state I am always amazed at the strange range of country homes, everything from crumbling abandoned wrecks to expensive looking McMansions to trailers of all kinds and all conditions, the creeks and mimosa trees and hollers, sometimes filled with out of control kudzu (kudzu has fascinated me since I was a child) and sometimes just bushes and flowers and wild blackberry bushes growing out of control. It always inspires me when I go back to Alabama, reconnecting with my roots and where I am actually from, or, as we say in New Orleans, where my people are from. I also find myself spending a lot of time visiting graveyards where relatives are buried, while my father once again explains who many of them are (I love visiting the graves of my mother’s paternal grandparents; there’s a picture of them posing with four of their children and they are one of the most gorgeous couples I’ve ever seen; their daughters look just like my mother–and by extension, kind of like me–and seeing that picture always pleases me so) and stories about them, and I know he enjoys remembering the family history while passing it along to me. I enjoy the stories of the county, too; as we drive around the backroads and past places from his and my youth (“we took this road home from Auburn when you were just three months old, remember it?”–Dad humor, sure, but I love every bit of it) and I marvel at it all, hoping that it’s all being imprinted on my faded and dying memory. I really do want to write more about Alabama (which is what I say every time I get back from there, isn’t it?), and yeah, I do need to get back to writing, don’t I?
And some of that county and family history? Let’s just say the county is a lot more like Peyton Place than anyone from there would care to admit.
Dad also brought me a case of Grape Crush in bottles, which was so sweet and thoughtful (you can only get cans here, so Dad always brings me some from Kentucky and yes, I am very spoiled and always have been). We drove down to visit my aunt and uncle (another seven hours total in the car on Friday), so am very worn out this morning, now that I am back home; the drive back yesterday was nice but was very tired by the time I got home. I did listen to John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors in the car (more on that later), but spent the evening watching My Mother Jayne, which was very well done (I always have been interested in Jayne Mansfield) and we really enjoyed. After that, I got started unpacking and putting things away and yes, I really do regret not thoroughly cleaning the apartment before I left on Wednesday. So instead of chilling out and relaxing today, I’ll be cleaning and making groceries (ordering them, at any rate), and hopefully reading and writing some.
It occurred to me last night that I didn’t get to all the queer books I wanted to read for Pride Month, and it also occurred to me that just because it’ll no longer be Pride Month doesn’t mean that I can’t read queer books; that’s the trap of having these celebratory months–I do not only read Black authors in February, after all, so why do I only focus on queer work in June?1 But I am glad I caught that I’d not finished Hall of Mirrors–and I know how it happened. I was reading it and about to go on a trip, and I always keep the books I am reading and the ones that are on-deck on the end table near my chair. I’d gotten down several potential books to take for the trip, and after I packed the books I decided to take I put the others back, and I must have reshelved Hall of Mirrors then; I was convinced I’d read it until before this trip, when I couldn’t remember how it ended and Audible suggested it–and when I got the book down from the shelves again there was a bookmark in it marking my place. Shamefully I downloaded it to my Audible, and decided to listen to it on this trip. There were three chapters left when I pulled up to the house; I finished it after watching My Mother Jayne…and then I fell asleep in my chair.
What a glorious night’s sleep I enjoyed last night, too! And it’s always nice to be home with Paul and Sparky. I didn’t make myself sick on the trip, either–remembering to have protein drinks and to take my pills and rehydrate properly. It was hot as fuck up there, too.
But I am going to bring this to a close, so I can get things done and groceries ordered and prepare for the week. I have an ophthalmologist appointment first thing tomorrow morning that requires me to drive out to (shudder) Kenner before I go into the office…and of course, Friday is the 4th of July so I have a three day weekend this week, too. Huzzah!
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your Sunday, Constant Reader, as I intend to enjoy mine, and I’ll be back in the morning.
Staircase in the step pyramid of Pharaoh Djoser at Saqqarah
I don’t, but it seems like I put a lot more pressure on myself to do during Pride. ↩︎
Tuesday, and tomorrow I depart for Alabama and chile, I have so much to fucking do before I head out on the highway that it’s not even funny. I have to run errands after work tonight–mail, minor groceries, gas–and then I have things to do around the house all night, too, unless I want to come home to a hideous mess Saturday that I don’t want to deal with. All I am going to want to do when I get home is relax, cuddle with Sparky, and watch television. (I say that but I never ever don’t do things; I am always getting up and putting something away because I still have trouble sitting still; but it’s getting much easier now that Sparky likes to use me as a cat bed in my easy chair because I don’t want to disturb him.)
My doctor’s appointment went well. I have to do fasting labs again at some point before the next appointment (August 22), and I also got a referral for a hip X-ray. During the illness but before the hospitalization, I was losing my balance a lot and falling (or coming close to it). One day during this period, as I was walking to the gate to get a delivery I’d ordered, I lost my balance and before I could stop myself, I fell into the wooden fence hip and (bad) shoulder first. The leg has been kind of sore ever since–it felt bruised–and this weekend, noting that it still didn’t feel right, I realized that the leg wasn’t sore, but was actually numb on the outside from hip to knee. Doctor thinks when I felt against the fence I may have pinched a nerve (which is what I was thinking), or I may have an inflamed bursae (liquid filled sacs). Here’s hoping it’s nothing truly serious and can be treated simply and easily; I really don’t want to add “hip surgery” to my medical bills this year.
The great joys of getting older. Seriously, why isn’t there a handbook, for Christ’s sake?
Monday I am going to see an ophthalmologist to check me for Stargartz, a macular degeneration disease in which those who have it gradually grow blind. It’s genetic, and my sister has it, so you can see why I am a bit concerned. During the illness’ worst rampage and for a little while after, my vision was getting bad; and I’d just gotten a new prescription earlier this year…so not being able to read things on the television (most streaming apps have an image to click on for what you want to watch with very small print on it; I couldn’t read the print) or losing my corrected distance vision was concerning…but as I’ve improved physically, so has my vision, so I am not as concerned about this appointment as I was a few weeks ago. I mean, I am worried–I do not want to lose my eyesight–but it’s not as pressing as it was, if that makes sense? But…best to get it checked out. I’ll probably get my hip X-rayed on a Friday afternoon.
But last night I slept well, and am facing down everything I need to get done tonight. I definitely need to make a to-do list, for sure. I need to pack, for one thing, and make groceries and get the mail and clean up this disgusting apartment. Last night I was a bit tired when I got home, and decided to watch the last episode of The Mortician, which I’d kind of slept through on Sunday night (turns out, I only missed the last fifteen minutes). Paul came down and fell asleep on the couch, and I didn’t really want to start a new show when I am leaving tomorrow, so I just kind of let Youtube doom-play on the news and left-wing influencers, while scribbling more notes in my journal. I also went to bed relatively early as well, after doing some research on-line. It’s very weird to research a period of time when I was actually alive, and being reminded just how misogynist and racist that time was (the homophobia goes without saying because there was no gay rep, good or bad, anywhere; we were erased from the public consciousness like we didn’t exist); the commercials are almost entirely populated by white people, too. It’s nice to see how things have improved on those scores in the decades since. I suppose I should be glad that I find these things both startling and horrifying at the same time; that means I’ve retrained my brain to expect diversity, inclusion, and equity (ooooh, the DEI word!) in popular culture.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines (after getting some more coffee) for the day. I’ll check in again tomorrow, but no promises after that until I get back home!
Monday and it’s off to see my doctor this morning, woo-hoo! This is a follow-up to the blood work that said I was anemic; I don’t think it’s anything to be much worried about since I’d been sick for so long and being unable to keep much food down clearly impacted some of my vitamin and mineral levels. The bills from the illness and all of the concomitant charges have also started arriving; got a handful of them on Saturday, which was kind of staggering to see 1) how much I owed and 2) how much the original bill was. YIKES indeed. Heavy sigh. No idea how long it will take me to clear up this lovely additional financial burden, but nevertheless here we are. Dad said he’d help, so that’s a good thing for me to remember as I start trying to make financial plans for July and August.
LSU WON THE COLLEGE WORLD SERIES!!!! Woo-hoo! GEAUX TIGERS! This is their eighth championship, and their second in three years. They beat Coastal Carolina 5-3 yesterday to sweep the series and bring another trophy home to Baton Rouge. It was an interesting game–Coastal’s coach and first base coach were tossed out of the game in the first inning, which never happens–and of course, their starting pitcher was the asshole who dogged LSU in that press conference the other day. Hey, bitch, they scored five runs off your ass before you got sat down…how do you like us NOW? And you were supposed to be their star ace pitcher. Have a nice trip back to South Carolina.
The game pretty much sucked all the air out of the apartment, which is still a mess this morning. I didn’t get much done yesterday, but I did spend the morning working on some things and scribbling in my journal. I leave for Alabama on Wednesday afternoon, so I definitely need to be getting things done around here tonight for sure; I hate coming home from a trip to a messy house. I am going to listen to either Donna Andrews or Carol Goodman or Lisa Unger in the car on the drive over and back, which will be lovely–and I didn’t get much reading done yesterday either. I was drained after the game and the win, and we ended up watching The Mortician on HBO MAX, which was very interesting. I feel asleep during the third episode, and then went up to bed shortly thereafter, but I was intrigued by the documentary and what the actual guy had to say about dead bodies and corpses–“it’s not your loved one, they are gone”–was brutal but accurate? The death business in this country has always struck me as a little weird, but the death business isn’t for the dead, it’s for the living. Ironic to watch that show and have some thoughts about the death business when I’m getting ready to go visit a grave, isn’t it?
I’ll probably take Summerhouse with me to finish reading before bed every night, and next thing you know Pride Month will be over. I also need to get some writing done tonight when I get home, and since I don’t have any errands to run, that should be relatively easy. I am not in clinic this morning, either, which helps me to not feel so drained at the end of the day–I love my clients, but the interactions I have with them kind of wear me out by the end of the day–so I can come home and get stuff done. The apartment does look better than it did originally coming into the weekend, but it still definitely needs some work. Heavy sigh.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for a half-day. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again tomorrow morning.
I had a crush on young Andrew Stevens in the 1970s and it’s easy to see why.
Saturday! Sparky didn’t let me sleep as late as I would have perhaps preferred, but I am awake now and slurping down coffee and having a lovely morning thus far. I slept really well last night, which was nice, but mostly spent my evening after our Costco run (it was bizarre; we ran into two people we know there, which rarely, if ever, happens anymore) watching videos on Youtube about a) the 1970s for another project and b) World War II (for obvious reasons) before I fell asleep in my chair and had to finally go upstairs to bed. I did get a lot of chores done yesterday, which was lovely; the dishes are all done, and there’s a load of clothes in the dryer that also need to be finished and folded and put away. I have to run to the mail today, get gas, and make some groceries (while having others delivered1), and the floors need to be vacuumed, but other than that, I have a nice restful day at home planned. LSU plays game one of the National Championships tonight against Coastal Carolina at six tonight, but isn’t anything college baseball related going to seem anti-climactic after the ninth inning of the Arkansas game the other night? Probably.
I decided to read The Crying Child by Barbara Michaels as my next reread; I did some poking around on-line about Myra Breckinridge and apparently I missed a lot on my two previous reads of the book, so I am going to have to spend more time with it when I read it, and right now I am not feeling the bandwidth in my head to do that kind of critical reading of it–while trying to finish Summerhouse, which is my goal for this weekend. (Next up for my new-to-me read is going to be Mia Manansala’s y/a debut, methinks.) I am also thinking I may rewatch Surviving Ohio State–I was doing things and reading during my first watch, so wasn’t paying as much attention as perhaps I should have, and I’d like to write about it more in depth.
I missed the deadline for the short story I’ve been working on, which means I can now talk about the story and the market without jinxing anything; I was so fatigued this past week from the infusion I lost track of dates and thought the 20th, for some reason, was Monday. Nope, it was yesterday and so I missed the deadline and still didn’t finish the story. I will have to put it aside and finish it later–I think going forward, to keep from having so many story fragments, I’ll finish the story anyway rather than just putting it to the side and forgetting it. For one thing, I kind of got wrapped up in it and the main character. Anyway, the anthology was about sea monsters–anything below the surface of any water, really. When I was in the hospital, I had an idea for a new book–and realized I could use an old unfinished manuscript and its characters to graft onto the new idea (the old idea didn’t work because of its setting), which actually got me a little excited, and when I saw this submission call, I thought, oh, I can write something for this that will be an excerpt from this longer novel. So, that’s what I was trying to do with the story I called “The Lake Must Be Fed.” The original manuscript was called The Enchantress, and was set on the coast of the Florida panhandle, but it never really worked for there; the actual terrain was too different from what I imagined. I’ve also always been interested in the concept of “drowned towns,”–places that were evacuated to make way for a reservoir after a river was dammed. Scott Carsen’s last book that I read was one of these (completely different from my idea), and of course, the primary inspiration for moving it from the panhandle to northwest Alabama is Georgia’s own cursed lake, Lake Lanier. I’m sorry I didn’t finish the story, but I’m not putting it on the back-burner just yet; I have other things I need to write at the moment, but when I get stuck on the front-burner stuff I can work on “The Lake Must Be Fed,” which I think is a great title. I don’t know where it’ll get published, if ever, but it would be nice to have it finished and ready to go.
That’s the thing with short stories. I love the form, I love writing them (even as I always struggle with them), but the problem is there’s not many markets for them and you have to get really lucky with a specific submission call to say “oh, I have something for this!” and not have to write something new…which is partly why I have so many partials and unpublished stories in my files. Heavy sigh. AH, such is the writer’s lot in life, is it not?
I also managed to finish and send out another newsletter yesterday, and I also realized that I don’t have to finish and send every newsletter about my queer life during Pride, just like I don’t just read queer fiction during June, either. I do make more of an effort to talk about these things during Pride Month, when it’s more likely the straights might read it and reflect on what I’ve said (whether they agree or disagree with the points I make), but I’m not just gay during June; I’m gay all the rest of the year, too, and it’s just as important to speak out all year rather than just in June. I am writing one now about Overcompensating, and extrapolating that out to other shows/movies about queer people–and how you can pretty much tell when something queer is made to “play in Peoria” as opposed to being something authentic queer people can relate to other than just the sexualities being portrayed. (For the record, Overcompensating seemed authentic to me; but was it, or was it just something I could relate to? This is why I generally don’t do criticism–because it always feels like you’re speaking for the entire community, and I am uncomfortable with that, always having to make certain people understand I only speak for myself and not others, certainly not for the queer community as a whole.)
Well, my coffee certainly is working its magic on me this morning, isn’t it? This is fairly long already, and I don’t think I’ve covered everything that I want to as of yet? Let me get another cup of coffee and the next stage of my breakfast before I continue on here, shall I? Let’s shall.
1 do love me some honey-nut Cheerios. I started craving them when I was sick, and have been having them for breakfast almost every morning since I was able to start eating normally again. I’ve never been a breakfast person, choosing to use the time I’d spend getting breakfast together and then eating it instead staying in bed longer. That changed a bit when I started having to get up early every day, but now I eat so much breakfast that I’m really not all that hungry the rest of the day. And if I don’t eat a lot in the morning, I am starving by mid-afternoon. And I am also eating in the evenings; my dinners are usually lighter than breakfast, but I’ve been making dinner since I came home from the hospital. Again, I am generally not exhausted every night when I get home from work, and do not always repair to my easy chair to be a Sparky bed and relax from the day the way I used to; I can generally get some writing and reading and cleaning done every night, which is kind of nice. I don’t feel as defeated as I did before I got sick, either. I am suspecting that before it erupted into full-scale illness it was already affecting me physically before the lower intestine/colon went into a full revolt.
All right, I should probably bring this to a close and get to work this morning. I need to do some reading and cleaning and possibly some writing, this morning. I also need to do some editing, which I always seem to hate to do because it means more work. But I also always put it off, which is a mistake. So I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and no worries–I’ll be back no later than tomorrow morning.
I always wanted to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, among other sites. Egypt has fascinated me since my childhood, and I’ve always wanted to write about Egypt.
Remember the other day when I was talking about not having a day job but would have to leave the house to run errands? I forgot about having things delivered! ↩︎
Yesterday was lovely, really. Sparky let me sleep a little longer than normal, and I felt good when I woke up, although unsure as to whether or not I would be fatigued and foggy-brained yet again for the day. But breakfast and morning coffee were marvelous, and I started doing some chores while watching coverage of the game from the other night. I also was basking a bit in the afterglow of that insane final two innings and the insanity of the win–going into that bottom of the ninth, and two outs from Arkansas winning? Apparently, Arkansas has never won the College World Series and is also 0-5 overall playing LSU there. That, and the fact that errors cost them this game, has got to be galling for their fans. I’m sure it doesn’t go down any easier since the Razorbacks also see LSU as one of their major rivals. It’s also kind of weird–and nice–to see LSU fans on-line congratulating and talking up the Razorbacks since the game; we all felt bad for those kids suffering through such a heartbreaking loss. I was glad to see it wasn’t just me; the finals will seem almost kind of anticlimactic now. I hope the Arkansas players–especially poor Charles Davalan–are feeling better now. And now I kind of feel like I should root for them in the future when they aren’t playing LSU. Well done, Arkansas baseball team–you’ve made Arkansas a secondary team for me to root for, which I would have never thought possible.
It’s never dull being an LSU fan. That game was intense.
Anyway.
I also watched Surviving Ohio State–Jim Jordan should be behind bars–while finishing The Dark on the Other Side, which was a lot more interesting than I remembered. All of Barbara Michaels’ work is good, but this one isn’t quite as good as the ones I consider her best (Ammie Come Home, The Crying Child, Be Buried in the Rain, House of Many Shadows, and Witch); but she is an excellent Gothic writer, and probably a much bigger influence on me as a writer mysel than I’ve probably ever realized; the Scotty books are actually kind of similar in tone to some of her Elizabeth Peters novels, which are also delightful. I am debating what my next reread will be; I was thinking about another Michaels that I’ve not revisited in a while (The Crying Child) or, since it’s Pride Month, perhaps Myra Breckinridge? I was thinking about Gore Vidal the other day, which reminded me of the book, and wondered how it would hold up to modern scrutiny. I will not lie; I’ve read it twice at different periods of my life and didn’t know what to make of it–and with the current day trans community under relentless attack, I thought maybe try it again? I do remember how it ends, and I am not entirely certain how any reading of the book could make the ending not problematic–but the thing about Vidal is he never gave a shit; I can only imagine how vitriolic he would be about modern times and social media and trigger warnings…he died before social media became the monster it did, and when someone came for him he threw acid back at them. He didn’t mind offending people, nor did he take criticism well.
Although I suppose the fact Myra Breckinridge has never appeared on any list of great and/or influential and/or important queer novels that I’ve ever seen is probably giving me my answer about whether the book has aged well or not.
Surviving Ohio State was horrifying, simply horrifying. I do not believe Jim Jordan and the head coach didn’t know what was going on, but I also can’t understand why they didn’t stop it. It was also infuriating to see how shitty people can be about male sexual assault victims (the patriarchy at work again, hand in glove with toxic masculinity), especially ones that are athletes, without taking into consideration how young and naïve so many of them were. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things we take for granted in order to function in this life and world, and one of the things is trusting medical professionals. When you’re young and have been raised to with that institutional trust (trusting doctors, and trusting that your college will take care of you and protect you from predators), and the fact that it seems like everyone knows and acts like it’s not a big deal (Narrator Voice: It was, in fact, quite a big fucking deal), what do you do? It’s horrifically corrupt, just as both Penn State and Michigan State were institutionally corrupt in how they handled their athletic staff’s predatory conduct. The documentary left me very angry, and hating Jim Jordan even more than I already did. (Of course, if I were writing the story Dr. Strauss would have been murdered, which would have uncovered his behavior–only to have the murder not be related to the abuse at all.) Unsettling, but I think everyone should watch this documentary.
Today is a work remotely day, and I feel pretty good this morning. I rested for the most part yesterday, which was nice, and slept really well last night, too. I have things to get done today–some of it very tedious, but it has to be done–for work but being at home makes it a little better for me. We’re going to go to Costco after work today, and run some other errands as well, before coming home and settling in for the weekend. I have a lot of things I need to get done this weekend, writing-wise, so hopefully today won’t wear me out too much and I can get everything done. I need to finish a short story, and I need to work on some of my other writing as well. If I miss the short story deadline it’s not the end of the world; the story is an excerpt from what I hope will turn out to be a much longer work, so if I don’t get it finished and submitted it’s not the end of the world. I didn’t anticipate the fatigue and foggy brain I’d get from Monday’s infusion, and so didn’t really plan for it.
AH, well.
And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and make my breakfast before going to work. Have a great Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later today or tomorrow morning. Until then…
Holiday Thursday, and Sparky the alarm-cat let me sleep for an extra hour this morning, which felt great. Still have no idea whether the brain-fog and fatigue will continue through today, but I am kind of feeling like today will just be a nice day for relaxing and chores and reading and maybe some writing. I’m not planning on going anywhere today–we’re going to Costco this weekend, so might as well have a nice easy stay-at-home day today.
I was still a little fatigued and brain-foggy yesterday, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been the day before, which was nice. I paid the bills, ordered groceries for delivery, and ran another errand trying to get home before the first pitch of the LSU-Arkansas game. It wasn’t a bad day at work, despite the foggy brain and slight fatigue. The groceries arrived just before the first pitch of the game, too, and I also had time to make myself a Gregalicious grilled cheese1 sandwich for dinner. The game was exciting and intense, with LSU behind 5-3 in the bottom of the ninth with two outs; one more out and the Tigers would have to play another game. Then came the Tigers’ Omaha miracle: an inexplicable error by an Arkansas outfielder2 that scored two runs for LSU–which meant, at the least, extra innings–and then big Jared Jones got up and smacked a base hit right over the second basemen (his glove grazed the ball as it went past him) driving in the winning run and LSU is in the finals against Coastal Carolina. It was very nerve-wracking and intense to watch, but now I can look forward to watching the Tigers in the finals, against Coastal Carolina. It would be amazing if they could win another title, but hey–I’m also happy they made it to the finals.
The finals are this weekend, which is awesome. I’ll have to cook out for Saturday night’s game (we tailgate at home for LSU games, sans the alcohol), which means running errands Saturday, which is fine. We’ll probably go to Costco tomorrow after work.
I want to watch this new documentary about the sexual abuse at Ohio State this weekend (maybe even today) that dropped on HBO MAX (make up your minds about your name already), Surviving Ohio State. In a just world, Jim Jordan would be in jail as an accessory, since he helped cover it all up (like the garbage human being he is), but that, alas, is not the world we live in. Maybe I’ll watch Athlete A about the sexual abuse of the US gymnasts, too; is there one about Penn State, too? A triple feature? Hmmm. I’m sure there is one.
My coffee is quite tasty this morning! I’ve already had some breakfast, and will probably have some cereal in a bit as I am still hungry. I’m not as hungry at night anymore the way I was, so I will probably be curtailing my food intake; I’ve gained enough weight back now that I feel much better and stronger, and I don’t think I need to put the rest of the fifteen-twenty pounds I am still down back on. I think keeping my weight to the 190-200 pound range is probably best for me.
I did do some chores last night but the house is a mess; I was too wrapped up in the game to get much else done, so will have to spend some time today getting the house back in order–which I then won’t have to do over the weekend, so win-win on going into the weekend ahead of things. Things have slipped around here because of the fatigue from the infusion, but I feel pretty good right now, and maybe today won’t be a fatigue day? (It probably would be if I’d had to go into the office, though.)
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Juneteenth, and celebrate the day; and if you don’t, ask yourself, why am I a racist asswipe?
See you tomorrow, or possibly later today!
Which is white bread, a pair of Kraft singles, bacon, a slice of Creole tomato, and guacamole. Quite delicious, actually. ↩︎
I felt really bad for that kid, too; he was sobbing when the game ended and as I said to Paul, “Imagine having to live with that the rest of your life, that poor kid”–yes, I wanted LSU to win, but I am capable of empathy for the other team. (Unless it’s Florida.) ↩︎
I know, right? It was only about a thousand words or so, but it was a thousand words or so more than I had when I got up yesterday morning! What a lovely Sunday it was, too. We were in another heat advisory (I have yet to check this morning to see if we’re in another one today; there’s nothing in my inbox, so that’s a good thing I suppose); and even inside with the air conditioning, I could tell it was miserable outside. I read some more of my current reads (Summerhouse, The Dark on the Other Side, Incident at Loring Groves), and did some cleaning around the house whilst also writing, which was amazing and felt even better. I also cleared up an issue with something else I am working on while I was in creative think mode, which is very awesome and cool.
I was reading Summerhouse, actually, which is setting itself up nicely for the next part of the book–I really like the voice; and was wondering if it was because the music of the words comes from the original Turkish, it’s this wonderful rhythm that just pulls you along–when I remembered the French Open Men’s final was yesterday morning, so I checked my phone to see who won–only to see that Carlos Alcaraz was up 5-4 and serving for the match! I immediately switched the television over to watch, and so got to see the thrilling end as Alcaraz was broken back to win in a tie-break that was very exciting.
LSU is going to the College World Series again, sweeping West Virginia in the super regionals. The game last night didn’t start until eight our time, because of rain delays, so I had to go to bed not knowing if there would be a third and deciding game tonight. They were up 6-4 when I went to bed (later than I should have because of the game, but I was also nervously doing some chores while it was on, so the house looked nicer this morning when I came down for breakfast) but they did end up winning 12-5, and made it back to Omaha again! Huzzah! And now on to the Jell-o Shot record set in 2023, which seems like more than two years ago, doesn’t it?
While we were waiting for the rain-delayed LSU game, we watched the Pee-Wee Herman documentary on MAX (or whatever the fuck they call it now), which was interesting and also sad (more on that later) and when we finished that, moved on to the Netflix adaptation of Jane Harper’s The Survivors, which is quite good. I’ve not read Jane Harper, but I know of her, and if this is any indication of how good her books are, I may have to give her a whirl. Just what I need, right, more to read? Sigh. But this triangular reading thing I am doing (a new novel, a reread, and a kids’ book simultaneously) seems to be working, as I am getting more reading done. (It’s also entirely possible it’s all in my mind, but…I don’t mind the occasional self-delusion…)
So, it was a good recovery weekend. I really enjoy being creative again, and getting some writing and reading and housekeeping done. I feel good for a Monday morning, and feel like this could be an amazing week for me, as long as I keep getting rest and moving forward. I need to make a new to-do list (I finished almost everything on the last one, even if it took a little longer than I’d hoped). I also started going through my recipe binder, throwing out things I’ll never make as well as duplicates; I was looking for Mom’s chicken-and-dumpling recipe, which is clearly now lost forever, which means going back to that recipe I tried the other day (and liked) and punching it up to be more like Mom’s–milk and flour, for one, to thicken the sauce–which isn’t a bad thing; Mom’s recipe was an adaptation of her mother’s, after all.
The Buc-ee’s in Pass Christian opened this weekend, too–I may have to take an expedition out there one morning on a weekend to check it out and get Paul one of their sandwiches; it would be nice to stop at a Buc-ees when I’m not on my way somewhere. Pass Christian is about an hour from New Orleans, so I could listen to an audiobook on my way over to check it out. (I always have big plans of exploring on the weekends, and then I never do anything about it…but going to Buc-ee’s, I could take highway 90 east and cross the Rigolets to Slidell, and I could take some pictures out that way, too…hmmm. I also need to cross the river and head down to the bayou parishes for something else I am writing…sure, it’s summer now here and I am recovering still, but like I said, my mind’s creative ADHD has been working overdrive lately.)
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow morning, most likely.
Monday back to the office blog, and it’s taking me a while to get my morning together. I feel good this morning; like this latest round of depression has finally ended. Not that anything happening in the world has gotten better–it certainly grows worse with every passing day; at least Germany had a fairly stable economy for a little while before things got super dark there in the 1930s, you know–but I always have to remember that I am not completely helpless in the face of the rising evil in the world, I do have a voice, and I should never in a million years allow the bastards to get me down and keep me from being tired or feeling beaten. This has been a lifelong struggle for me, and now almost every American is finding out how it feels when the government doesn’t give two shits about you–it never did, but people are finally waking up to the realization that unfettered capitalism, the ideal state for Ayn Rand, doesn’t work because her “men of the mind” always allow their greed and inhumanity to take control of things.
It was very easy for capitalist pigs to convince Americans that regulations–for their own safety–weren’t necessary. So, I guess we all needed a hard reminder that capitalists and corporations only care about money, and don’t care if they poison you in the name of profit, since some people never fucking learn and will never read history.
This last bout of depression was undoubtedly triggered by coming down from the Festivals, having to return to work, and all this horrible fears about my job and potential retirement. Thanks again, MAGA voters. But I do feel good this morning, better than I have since before the festivals, and so am hoping that this will carry me through until I get everything done that I need to get done. I have a shit ton of emails to answer and more to send. I have a lot of writing to do, and I need to get my taxes done once and for all. I need to pay bills, and I need to run some errands on my way home from work. I also feel physically better; I never really got past the Festival induced exhaustion. We’ll see how this goes.
I did manage to read some yesterday, and managed to finish the first part of Moonraker before my mind stopped focusing yesterday. It did amuse me; the entire first fifty pages or so of the book are about introducing the mysterious billionaire Hugo Drax, who has moved to England and is developing an amazing defensive weapon that could protect the UK from Soviet nuclear weapons, and has gotten deeply involved in British politics (sound familiar? That’s part of the reason I am revisiting the novel), and revealing him to the reader as a cheat at cards. He plays at M’s men’s club (ah, those last vestiges of the Empire and class distinctions!), and the manager suspects that he’s cheating, as he is quite successful. The manager and M want Bond (who became a master at cards on the job; can’t help but think of Casino Royale) to figure out how he’s doing it, and then give him a lesson to protect the club from a cheating scandal. Imagine the first part of a Bond film being about cheating at bridge! It also begs the question of just how far from the original character and his world as conceived by his creator, and how insane it’s gotten as the film got bigger, crazier and campier.
I spent more time on social media this weekend than I like to on the weekends, mainly because of the unfocused brain and my inability to focus–although social media, methinks, has had a lot to do with making my ADHD worse–and I could easily do that while watching the country burn to the ground on the news, and while watching documentaries about the Hapsburgs and how their incestuous marriages–a long-standing family policy geared to protect their money and their lands–eventually led to their downfall, I found myself getting sucked into several on-line dramas that just further illustrate divisions in the country. First up was the candle thing; turns out a gay candle maker decided to make a candle commemorating Cory Booker’s filibuster…and one of the options was cotton-scent. First of all, yikes–and then when Black women started calling the dude out for profiting on Black labor, he doubled down, and then someone came to his rescue–or attempted to, at any rate; this person (I am not using pronouns because I don’t know how they identify) was “camp callout”–I’d seen some of their videos about MAGA regrets, but…this person turned out to also be deeply problematic: long story short, Camp has a very well documented MAGA and anti-trans past; and then the candlemaker turned out to be a convicted sexual offender. Whoops!
Needless to say, they have both disappeared from social media, at least for now.
The bouncy house thing was another one of those “is this a real post or is it parody” posts, in which a white woman complained that the Hands Off protest she attended (her first protest) didn’t have any entertainment for her bored child, suggesting a bouncy house…and she got dragged for it, rightfully so. Good on you for going to your first protest, what the fuck are you thinking have you never seen a protest before? Granted, white people tend to not get teargassed or beaten or had police dogs set on them or firehoses trained on them (unless they’re protesting genocide!) because white privilege, but it was an incredibly tone deaf thing to say, given our proud history of incarcerating Black and brown protesters, along with their children. Leave the kids at home. Then another white gay man (sensing a theme) came in hard for Black women laughing at this idiot…calling them bullies. No one was bullying this woman…and tell me you don’t know any Black people without saying the words. I don’t speak for the Black community, but I do know the difference between bullying and clowning, and that was what was going on. People were laughing at her. No one was wishing her or her children harm, any of that stuff.
Maybe make some Black friends, Keith Edwards? Won’t be watching your channel anymore.
This, for example, is why Black people can’t trust white people–and similarly, why queer people can never fully trust straight people (having your bridal party go to a gay bar doesn’t make you an ally…being an ally doesn’t mean centering yourself and crowding out the people you’re supposed to be an ally of, for the record).
And on that cheery note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have as lovely a Monday as you can hang with, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.
Queer and Loathing in America 