Category: New Orleans

Shut Up and Drive

Thursday morning and all is quiet and still in the Lost Apartment. Again, I didn’t want to get up this morning, but forced myself out–the constant whining from a hungry cat for the assist, seriously; he hasn’t shut up since I got up even though I have fed him–but that’s okay. I am taking tomorrow off because of Saints and Sinners, so being tired today is okay. I’m always tired by Thursday. I wasn’t that tired when I got home from work yesterday, so I was able to get some work done, which felt great–I also realized that after today I will be over halfway finished, with an end to the revisions in sight. It’s coming along very well and I’m quite pleased with it, and very happy I seem to have been able to get back into the groove after a very difficult period. I stopped by the post office to get the mail yesterday–some things I needed and ordered had arrived–and then came home to work for a glorious couple of hours before I started doing chores around here. I also watched the second episode of Ted Lasso, which I am still loving; I’ve seen some dissatisfaction on social media about the new (final) season; I have no quibbles or concerns with it so far. The show’s heart is still there, the character relationships are just as strong if not even more poignant, and I think they are taking us on a wonderful ride this final season. I love this show so much I don’t even wonder what’s going to happen or even speculate about it; I am more than content to simply enjoy the ride for what it is without looking ahead. (I don’t want to look ahead because I don’t want it to end.)

Tonight when I get off work I get to come home, do some more work on the book, and relax. Tomorrow I’ll move into the hotel for the night–I’m going to come home Saturday night to keep Scooter company, and then will commute back on Sunday before coming home in the evening. I also am probably going to try to do some organizing and cleaning before spending some quality time with Scooter in the easy chair. I also need to figure out what I am going to read from at the reading series on Saturday; but I can think about that tomorrow morning after I’ve slept in and feel a bit more rested than I do this morning. I slept pretty well last night; I pretty much slept through the entire night but I do remember waking up around one thirty in the morning before going back to sleep. But my coffee is jumpstarting my brain and body as I type this, and I am sure I shall make it through this day without a problem. I will probably just come straight home from work tonight; I can run errands tomorrow and get things done around the house before I head down to the hotel.

I’m looking forward to this weekend primarily to see people I’ve not seen in a hot minute. Some terrific crime writers are coming in for the weekend–Jean Redmann, Michael Nava, Cheryl Head, John Copenhaver, Marco Carocari, Shawn Cosby, and Kelly J. Ford, to name a few–and so am looking forward to seeing my crime fiction family as well as the other S&S regulars. I didn’t really do much last year because I was revising A Streetcar Named Murder, but this year I’ve managed to not be as far behind as I usually am at this time of year. (Make no mistake, though–I have a lot of catching up to do before May 1, believe you me.) Maybe when I get home tonight, after working, I can start reading something new. I haven’t decided on my next read yet, which is terrible since I finished reading my last book Sunday, and haven’t started anything new. I am almost finished with my years-long reading of Robert Caro’s The Power Broker, which has kind of turned into an Afghan War of sorts around the Lost Apartment; something that’s been going on forever with no end in sight. I think I am going to read something by David McCullough as my next major-length non-fiction read; either the Johnstown Flood or the Panama Canal one; I’ve not been able to decide but I think I have about another hundred pages or so of the Caro to go anyway so there’s plenty of time for me to decide.

I can’t believe March is almost over already, either.

I need to get my taxes done. Next weekend, for sure.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday. Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Rude Boy

And we’ve made it to Wednesday, Constant Reader! Isn’t it marvelous? Paul is moving into our suite at the Monteleone today; I will be moving (sort of) down there on Friday, but will be going back and forth between the Lost Apartment and the hotel over the weekend. Scooter is going to lonely and needy and definitely not happy, but who knows how their brains work and what their concept of time is? I am going to not head down to the Quarter until later in the afternoon on Friday anyway, and I’ll probably head back home after the reading/anthology launch on Saturday night before heading back on Sunday morning. I also have to do a reading on Saturday afternoon, so I probably should decide what I am going to read sometime before then and maybe practice a little bit?

I did get some work done on the book yesterday (huzzah!) which always feels good, and overall, outside of how cold it was at work (seriously, it felt like we were working in a refrigerator at the office yesterday; my knit cap was on most of the day), was a pretty good day. Yay for good days! I’m starting to feel more like myself than I have in a very long time, which is pleasant. I was beginning to think old Gregalicious was gone for good, another casualty of a pandemic, a crumbling society, and too much change too fast in too short a time. It’s nice to have the old Greg feeling again’; one where I am not stressed and have anxiety non-stop and can actually come home from the office, do some chores and some writing, and then relax in my easy chair with a purring kitty sleeping in my life and actually not feel guilty for not doing anything.

Because you know , sometimes you just have to do nothing. And enjoy it.

I went down another research rabbit hole the other day, too–I really want to write a book set in a foster-care home or an orphanage; crime or horror or some combination of both. One popped up on Facebook the other day on one of my old New Orleans pages; I think ain’t there no more is the page. Anyway, there was a Catholic boys’ orphanage in the area (actually, it was Marrero, so on the West Bank) called Hope Haven, where the boys were emotionally, physically, and sexually abused for years. (Thank God it’s closed now.) But it hits all my sweet spots, especially with the Archdiocese and the Catholic Church as the villains of the piece. And of course it was closed down after the scandals started hitting, about ten years ago.

I slept okay last night–not the greatest; I didn’t want to wake up this morning and I feel sleepy still, which means I’ll be dragging unless coffee comes to my rescue. I suppose I should be grateful that this is the first iffy night’s sleep I’ve had in a while. A lot of it, I think, has to do with Paul packing last night. I had already gone to bed by the time he got home, and he started packing once he was here. I woke up when he came home, and then had some issues falling back asleep but finally did. But here I am, forced out of bed at an ungodly hour, gradually and slowly waking up as I slurp my coffee and hope that time will slow down so I can put off going into the office. It’s really more the getting ready and driving over there that I dread more so than actually getting to the office, being there, and working. I just wish today were Thursday already, so the weekend would be closer. I am taking Friday off, so I don’t have to worry about any working-at-home duties, and can just spend the day at home doing things and getting packed and prepared to head down there before I actually do.

And of course, Paul won’t be coming home tonight or tomorrow, so Scooter is going to be needing lots of attention, so after I get home tonight and do some work–it’ll be over to my easy chair to be a cat bed for the rest of the evening.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Hate That I Love You

Tuesday and we survived Monday, Constant Reader–that has to count for something, doesn’t it? Actually, it wasn’t that bad, to be honest. I slept decently and woke up without problem with the alarm, and didn’t feel tired for most of the day. I had a highly productive day at the office, and then I came home and worked some more on the manuscript, which I am really starting to feel good about, believe it or not. I like my characters and I like the story, and I like that it isn’t set in either Uptown or the French Quarter or–where I always go–the Lower Garden District is always the default for me. This time out I set the book in the 7th Ward, on what we used to say was the “wrong side” of St. Claude (this is also the neighborhood where my office building is now, on Elysian Fields); even now people say this neighborhood is “unsafe”; and yes, we’ve had some instances where there was gunfire outside and we went into a code and locked down the office. Maybe I just have a false sense of security–which won’t change until something bad happens to me, as usual–but I never feel all that unsafe either going to or from my car before and after work. (I also love that realtors are trying to rebrand the neighborhood as ‘the new Marigny.” Um, no, it’s not and there’s no such thing as the ‘new Marigny.’)

I also slept well last night, which is great. I feel rested and relaxed this morning, but I also have to see clients today. I’ll probably be a bit tired when I get home tonight; seeing clients can drain you a bit, which is why I don’t see clients four days a week instead of three. I got some more work on the book done yesterday, and hope to get further along today as well–no relaxing until I get my work done tonight. I had a ZOOM meeting last night so I wasn’t able to get as much work done as i would have liked–still behind, of course, as always–but I am pretty happy with the work I am doing and how the manuscript is coming together, which is always lovely. I’m not hating the manuscript as I work on it, which is kind of a nice change, overall. Maybe I have finally gotten less self-loathing about my own work, after twenty-odd years? Nah, that can’t be it! Maybe I just feel centered for the first time in a long time? That is more likely.

It’s been a time, there’s no question about that. Mom’s health had been declining for years, so that was always weighing on the back of my mind, no matter how hard I tried to not think about it or even consider the possibilities inherent in recognizing that her health was failing; there was a pandemic and a dramatic shift/change in my day job; and of course I was doing a lot of volunteering around writing and trying to keep my authorial career going at the same time. I’m surprised I didn’t have more mental breakdowns over the last few years, in all honesty. It’s no wonder I was low energy, depressed, and tired all the time. There were paradigm shifts happening everywhere in my life, and I was completely unprepared for any of them, either physically or emotionally or intellectually. I don’t remember writing the books I wrote since the shutdown three years ago; Bury Me in Shadows, A Streetcar Named Murder, #shedeservedit–I remember the young adults because I’ve been working on them for years before I sold them; but the revision process? The editing? I don’t remember a fucking thing. I do worry some about how my brain works now; one thing that has definitely happened over the last three years is a complete loss of remembering how to deal with the ADHD, so focusing is a lot harder than it used to be. I don’t know if that’s related to the ten-day COVID I had last summer, or if it’s because of all the changes and shifts, or maybe it’s even a combination of all those things. I don’t know, but I know I haven’t been functioning at full brain capacity for quite some time now, and I am starting to feel normal (or what passes for that around here) for the first time in a long time. More like myself, I should say, rather than normal; I’ve always taken great pride in not being normal–once I accepted it.

But I also don’t remember much of my life post-Katrina, either; there are years after Katrina that are foggy memories, if that. It shouldn’t come as a surprise (or a shock) that things that occur during times of trauma and stress don’t go into the permanent memory bank (which isn’t as big and powerful as it used to be). I should be used to it by now, right? But I don’t think you ever get used to traumatic events, and your brain just figures out the easiest way to get through it all without causing more trauma, and if that means not remembering things that happen, well, who am I to question how my twisted brain works and functions?

I’m just glad it’s still functioning, really, even if it is all over the place.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.

Pon de Replay

Monday and back to the office with me this morning.

I slept very well last night and woke up quite easily. The weather took a turn for the colder over the weekend (yay)–the high today is a bitter 54–which makes it harder to get out of bed in the morning, but at least the heat is working properly; it really has made a significant difference getting that new system two or three years ago. I got some work done yesterday–good work, at that–and also managed to finish reading Bobby Mathews’ Living the Gimmick, which was quite fun; a nasty little hard-boiled tale of murder and vengeance behind the scenes of professional wrestling. More on that later, but it was a fun, tightly written little story. Now I’m trying to decide what to read next–either Christopher Bollen’s The Lost Americans, or Margot Douahy’s Scorched Grace, or Ellen Byron’s Wined and Died in New Orleans. A virtual plethora of excellent options. The Festivals are of course this weekend and I have to get my weekend planned, including reaching out to my panelists (I’m moderating a panel on Sunday) and of course, there’s always editing I need to get done. I’ll be commuting, so we don’t have to board Scooter, which will be a bit of a pain, especially if it’s cold (note to self: check weather forecasts for the weekend). Scooter is being a needy kitty this morning, he’s up on my desk and purring, but every time I put him into my lap he climbs back up on the desk and then of course gets between me and the screen wanting to give me headbutts while he continues to be an out of control purring machine. (Why he doesn’t want to be cuddled up with Paul in our incredibly comfortable and warm bed remains a mystery for the ages.)

The revision isn’t going as quickly as I would like, frankly–but it’s going and it’s going well; I am starting to pick up momentum with the revision and would love to have it finished before the weekend, but I don’t think that’s going to happen, unless I really stay rested and motivated and don’t get worn out during the day at work, which happens–especially when you’re getting up at six every morning during the week. My big fear here is that I’ll be very tired when the weekend rolls around, which isn’t good. Maybe I’ll take Friday off, so I can sleep late and not have to worry about being tired? That’s the day I’ll have to take a Lyft to the hotel with my little bag so I am there. I’ll probably stay down there Friday night, come home Saturday night, and then head back down there for Sunday afternoon and then back home yet again.

We started watching the new season of Ted Lasso last night, which is marvelous (I’d already seen the first episode–impatience, of course– but was more than happy to rewatch it with Paul); it really might be one of my favorite comedy series of all time, if not the absolute favorite (Schitt’s Creek is still up there), and it’s just as charming as ever. I’m curious to see how the season goes, especially since it’s going to be the last season–but I hope the talk of spin-off series for some of the characters comes to fruition; although whether the strong characters can tentpole a show of their own remains to be seen. I am confident that both Hannah Waddingham and Juno Temple could spin off into their own quite easily; the others I’m not as confident about, to be honest….although a Sam and Rebecca (how Cheers of them!) spin-off could be quite lovely.

And we still have the whacked out, over the top joy of Outer Banks still to watch, too. Huzzah! Now if we can only live through this coming weekend and survive…

Its a bit hard to believe the first quarter of the year is coming to a close, and DAMN IT, I have to get my taxes organized and done, don’t I? Put that at the top of the to-do list for post-Festival. Heavy heaving sigh. I really should keep track every month, update a spreadsheet with the expenses for the previous month, and then at the end of the year it would all be ready to go, wouldn’t it? But why on earth would I ever do anything that would make my life easier in any way? Self-defeating, as always; I shall probably go to my grave wondering why I sabotage or undermine my abilities to succeed and/or get ahead and/or act like an adult. Ah, well, today and tonight I am going to try to get myself better organized and make a game plan for moving on with the rest of the year.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Sorry to be such a crashing bore on a Monday morning, but that does seem about par for the course, does it not? See you tomorrow!

Breakin’ Dishes

Well, it definitely is not gout, Constant Reader. The antibiotic cream prescribed by my doctor has made a remarkable difference with my toe since I started using it yesterday; this morning it isn’t even reddish anymore and bending it hardly is noticeably painful. AH, modern medicine, and sorry I doubted you, Doctor. I did get tired eventually last evening; shortly after finally finishing yesterday’s post I repaired to my easy chair where I watched a few more episodes of Netflix’ The Movies That Made Us, primarily the ones about Friday the 13th, Aliens, and Nightmare on Elm Street. It’s always somewhat lovely to revisit pop culture of the 1980’s, even though it was mostly a pretty shitty decade overall. The difference between 80’s movies and 70’s cinema was dramatic, as I learned during my Cynical 70’s Film Festival back during the early days of the pandemic when I was making hundreds of condom packs every day sitting in my living room during what I was never completely convinced weren’t the end times.

I do have some more cleaning and straightening up to do around here today around working on my book. Yes, I am definitely digging into the book today. I slept like the dead last night, and even stayed up later than usual (Paul came home before I went to bed) and slept an extra hour later this morning being a lag-a-bed until nine (the horror!). I’m feeling very well rested this morning on all three planes of existence–physical, emotional, intellectual–so it should be a great and highly productive day. It’s cold this morning–in the forties outside–and yesterday I had to turn the air on because it was stuffy in here and the clothes weren’t drying. Turn the air conditioning on and cool it down a couple of degrees and it made a significant difference. (I’m always interested in that weird range of temperature where it’s really not hot enough to need the air conditioning, but the air is thick enough so that clothes won’t dry unless it’s colder and the damp is taken out of the air; I also always sleep best on the night that I launder the bed linens) But I am going to have some coffee, do some straightening up here in the office, maybe read for an hour or so, and then get cleaned up and parked at my desk for however long I can stand it today. My coffee is tasting pretty marvelous this morning too; always a plus and always a good sign.

I also spent some time last night revisiting Vito Russo’s The Celluloid Closet in what was probably the first time in about thirty years, which is kind of terrifying when you think about it. I discovered Russo back in the day when I was discovering the rich culture and heritage of my community, when I was venturing into gay bookstores and had started reading the gay papers and magazines in search of my people and some sort of definition of what it meant to be a gay man in the United States at that time. The Russo book was the first seminal text in critiquing the entertainment industry and its participatory role in enforcing the homophobic standards of the times (if not helping to create those standards by the erasure of queer people and themes in entertainments). Russo set out to show how Hollywood’s erasure, or stereotypic rendering, of queer people served to enforce those social dynamics and mores that were suppressing our community and relegating those who identified as members of that community as outsiders, a lower caste, and separate from the dominant culture. I’d love to see a popular nonfiction version of Russo’s work that focuses on representation in crime fiction; I have neither the research skills nor the patience to write such a book myself. One of the things I enjoyed the most about the Russo book was finding out what films had queer content erased from their original source material; like the film Crossfire, about anti-Semitism in the military, was based on a book called The Brick Foxhole, which was about homophobia in the military; the murder victim wasn’t a Jewish soldier but a gay one. The alcoholic Ray Milland won an Oscar for playing in the film of The Lost Weekend drank because he had writer’s block; in the book he drank because he couldn’t handle his homosexuality in a homophobic society. The mini-series made from Dress Gray saved the reveal of the dead cadet’s sexuality for a plot twist at the end; in Lucien Truscott IV’s novel it was right there, revealed on page one and treated, really, throughout the entire book as not a particularly big deal (I’ve been meaning to reread Dress Gray; it was one of the few books I read as a teenager that didn’t treat homosexuality as a hideous moral failing, a massive sin, and/or something just revolting and disgusting, just as I’ve been meaning to reread Pat Conroy’s The Lords of Discipline–you just know there had to be a queer or two at Carolina Military Institute).

I also remember discovering queer mysteries for the first time at the gay bookstore in Tampa, and thinking you’ve always wanted to write mysteries, why don’t you write them with gay characters and themes? And thus the seed was planted–by Michael Nava, Richard Stevenson, and Steve Johnson–that grew into my becoming a gay mystery writer in every sense of the term: I’m gay, I’m a gay writer, and I write gay mysteries.

So, that’s where my mind was last night; thinking about the very limited queer rep I’d been exposed to as a reader growing up and how discovering gay fiction by gay writers about gay life and experiences–books–essentially changed my life and the trajectory of my writing. I think my writing began to improve when I started writing what I knew–the tired old trope of write what you know–because I was writing about my truths and experiences and feelings about being a gay man in a homophobic country; that was how I found authenticity and truth in my writing, and was able to extrapolate that outward into writing about other lives, other people, other experiences.

And of course, the Lefty Award banquet is tonight. I’m cheering on my friends and fellow nominees from afar. It’s a pleasure and a thrill to be nominated for Best Humorous Mystery; I never expected in a million years to ever be nominated for a Lefty and then it happened, so A Streetcar Named Murder continues on as my “first” of many things. I’m not sure which of the other four nominees will have their name called tonight, but it’s an honor to lose to any of my fellow nominees. (I also never thought I’d be nominated for an Agatha, and yet here we are; I’ve been having a hell of a twelve month period, am I not? Two Anthony nominations, a Lefty, and an Agatha; who’s a lucky Gregalicious?)

And on that note, I am going to make another cup of coffee and go curl up for a bit with a book for a little reading pleasure this morning before I go to work. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Unfaithful

Well, this would normally be a work-at-home Friday blog, but we have a staff meeting that I have to go in for this morning, so there’s that. But we made it through another week, Constant Reader, and lived to tell the tale, which is marvelous, of course. I got to sleep an extra hour later this morning, which is lovely, and I am now having a quite delicious cup of coffee. The doctor doesn’t think I have gout; rather, he thinks it’s an infection of sorts, and prescribed an antibiotic cream. I am also supposed to keep the foot elevated as much as possible, as well as to soak it in hot water and epsom salts several times a day as well as taking Advil three times per day to get the rest of the swelling down. I’m glad it’s not gout, of course, but I’m also not certain that it isn’t. But we’ll see how it goes this weekend; if it’s all better by Monday I guess he was right.

I’m actually rather excited that it’s the weekend almost; I am looking forward to diving headfirst into the manuscript and making excellent progress. I feel good this morning, too–not like low energy, or like it’s not going to be a good day on any level–so that’s a good thing. I think my body has adapted to the time change and to getting up in the morning again, which is always helpful. I think the time change is why I had such a shitty sleep Sunday night which made Monday kind of a lost day for me. I was tired after going to the doctor and had things to do when I got home–putting away dishes, laundry, etc.–and by the time I was finished I was a bit fatigued, and of course once Scooter crawled into my lap it was over. I watched a documentary about how the Kansas State football team–once one of the worst in the sport–rebranded and rebuilt itself into a winning team, something no one ever thought would ever happen. (I love when traditionally terrible football teams turn it around; I kind of have a soft spot for both Kentucky and Vanderbilt, for example, in the SEC because they rarely, if ever, succeed. I have a thing for underdogs–and no one should ever think a traditionally bad team can’t be turned around; not when you have the New Orleans Saints example right in front of you, either.)

I’m not sure how much Paul is going to be around as the countdown to the festivals continue. I know the SEC Gymnastics meet is this weekend and he’ll want to watch that, so maybe he’ll be around on Saturday. *shrugs* Who knows? But I have a lot of work to get caught up on, and of course all the chores around the apartment that I am behind on need to be done. Groceries shouldn’t be a need this weekend since Paul will be out of the house starting on Wednesday, and I am not sure when or how much time I am going to be down in the Quarter that weekend, either. I can always go hole up in Paul’s suite to write and edit, if need be, but there’s also the possibility–a very high one–of overstimulation; I’m still not used to being around large groups of people. I was never great in those situations to begin with; after the pandemic I’m not even remotely as close to being decent in those situations. I know at Bouchercon I would get overwhelmed in the bar so always tried to stay out the outer fringes of that enormous crowd. So, we’ll see how all this goes with my flagging energy and my inability to remember things.

This was also a big week for awards shortlists; the Hammett Prize, the Lambdas, and the Thriller Award finalists were all announced this week. Lots of friends, as always, nominated for awards, but my joy for Barb Goffman, who landed a Thriller nomination for Best Short Story for her contribution to Land of 10000 Thrills, “The Gift” knows no bounds. It’s always lovely when people who’ve contributed stories to one of my anthologies gets recognized for their work; primarily because it reflects well on my editorial choices and I can also take a tiniest little piece of credit for publishing the story in the first place. (Like how I am always excited when something I’ve contributed a piece to gets a nomination or a win; How to Write a Mystery‘s almost complete sweep of everything it qualified for was a bit of a thrill since I had a piece in it.) The Lefty Awards will be presented on Saturday, but I have zero chance of winning since I am not there–since attendees vote over the weekend, not being there is a hindrance (not that I would have run around begging people to vote for me anyway) to winning. (I probably would still have zero chance of winning even were I there; there are some juggernauts in the category with a strong track record of winning awards.) I do miss being there and seeing everyone, but with the Festivals coming up this next weekend and me going to Malice next month…there’s no way I could have squeezed a trip to Left Coast in this month without a complete physical, mental and emotional collapse.

Well, I didn’t finish writing this entry before I had to leave for work; the time somehow slipped through my fingers and the next thing I knew, I was worried about being late and rushed on out of here, leaving this as a task to finish after work-at-home duties. I did manage to get the prescription for the medicated gel for my toe my doctor prescribed, and it seems to be working. I’ve only used one application and the ache/pain seems to be gone, and I can bend it again without agony running up to my brain, so I guess my doctor knows what he’s talking about. I hate doubting my doctor; I’d much rather believe everything he says without question. I don’t want to be one of those patients, but when you’re a natural-born worrier with a touch of obsessiveness, well, that’s a line that I am always afraid I am going to cross with my doctor. Maybe now I can just relax and believe everything he says.

As if.

Hilariously, it’s now even later on Friday evening and this still isn’t finished or posted. I started doing laundry and pruning books and cleaning/straightening/organizing, and got sidetracked from this yet again until I sat down, woke up the computer and saw the cursor blinking here on this page, and thought, whoops, if I don’t my streak of daily posts will come to an end and so here I am , trying to finish this while still leaving things to talk about on here tomorrow morning. (I did a quick reread of The Celluloid Closet by Vito Russo, the first time in decades, and was a bit surprised at what year his book finished in; I was like, wow, I was actually looking forward to hearing his thoughts on Priscilla and To Wong Foo…more on that tomorrow morning.) I have also continued to put the gel on my toe and I cannot believe the significant difference it has made already. Definitely saving whatever is leftover in case this ever happens the fuck again, right? Sheesh.

And on that note, I am finally going to bring this to its inevitable and long overdue close. It’s been a hot minute since it took me all day to write an entry. Be back in the morning, and have a lovely evening.

Where Have You Been

Wednesday and Pay the Bills Day has yet again rolled around. Huzzah?

Yesterday was a good day. I had a great day at work getting caught up on everything around the office and seeing clients; I came home in a good mood and not exhausted, so I worked and edited for a while before blowing the proverbial end of day whistle and repairing to my easy chair to relax for the evening. It was nice, really, having a lovely day again. It has been so long. I also slept pretty well last night, too–I woke up a few times throughout the night, so it wasn’t a straight sleep through, but I feel rested and good this morning; not groggy or like my body hasn’t woken up yet, either. But the coffee tastes great, I don’t want to go back to bed and sleep some more, and I am getting my shit together. Today feels like it might be a good day; I’ve learned that how I feel when I wake up isn’t always necessarily the best indicator of how the day will go because they’ve certainly gone south once they’ve gotten underway, LOL.

Ted Lasso is back, tonight I think? Won’t be watching until the festivals are over and Paul is home in the evenings (same with The Mandalorian, and the festivals are next weekend), and of course we also have Outer Banks on deck, too. I didn’t read when I finished working yesterday–I’d wanted to–but by the time I’d finished with my editing, I was burned out and tired and just mentally fatigued, so I went to the easy chair and watched some history documentaries to pass the evening until I got tired (documentaries on Claude of France; Anne of Brittany; and several other figures from French history) and went to bed. It was very cold yesterday (for New Orleans and compared to lately) and so I had to end up turning on the heat last night. I just turned it on downstairs, figuring some heat would rise and it’s better to sleep under a pile of blankets when it’s a bit on the chilly side in the bedroom. It was nice to come downstairs this morning and not start shivering, or hovering by the Keurig waiting for the coffee to brew so I could wrap my cold hands around the hot cup. I also have been paging through Stephen King’s Danse Macabre and Grady Hendrix’ Paperbacks from Hell, which is a marvelous reference guide (I was happy to read–I’d forgotten–that King agrees with my assessment of The Exorcist and William Peter Blatty’s writing; this is another instance where the movie is better than the book) and I am not entirely sure I’ve written a post about Paperbacks from Hell? I’ll have to look, but this is another example of my memory being shot; how do I not remember whether I’d written about something or not? Particularly when it’s something I’ve really enjoyed? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to do another post (if there was an original) about the book because it really is delightful and fun.

I also paid my latest camera ticket on-line last night. I fucking hate camera tickets. I got this one driving home from getting up super-early and having blood drawn; I just brushed my teeth and washed my face, threw on some clothes and headed down there without having coffee first–coffee can affect your blood sugar levels, and as mine are getting higher with every blood draw, my doctor is monitoring that–and so of course I wasn’t really terribly awake as I drove home sans three test tubes of blood.

I fucking hate the cameras. I get at least two tickets per year, and always–always–in a school zone. (No, that doesn’t mean I see kids milling about on both sides of the street and speed up, hoping…I am not fond of children, to be sure, but I don’t want to eliminate any of them) I guess when I get to the speed limit/school zone signs I need to just slam on the brakes rather than gradually slow, which is what I usually do.

Ah, well. I hope the traffic camera tickets help pay to fix the streets or fill in a pothole or two. There’s a lot of road repair going on at the moment–Elysian Fields, Claiborne, and Martin Luther King; all main streets and all ones that are part of my daily drives around the city–which is a good thing, even if it’s a massive pain in the ass right now for me.

And tonight I have to make groceries and probably should swing by the post office and I have a prescription ready, too, so hello, Uptown New Orleans! I need to edit tonight, too. I am hoping this centered, peaceful place I’ve found myself in these last couple of days is lasting….

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Diamonds

Monday and back to the office with me. Woo-hoo!

I did not want to get out of bed this morning, either, as the real effect of the lost hour actually is felt this morning. I could have easily stayed in bed for another couple of hours, without question–it’s also a bit chilly this morning in New Orleans; we’re having a bit of a mid-March cold spell, with evening/night temperatures dipping into the forties this week. Because that will make getting out of bed easier.

Yesterday was a strange day in which I never seemed to get my gears in working order. Looking back now on yesterday, I didn’t get much done but am not sure why or how the day managed to slip through my fingers. The weekend wasn’t a good time for me, alas; this not being able to maintain iron control over my emotions and my moods is something I don’t care much for, in all honesty. I did start watching the Academy Awards last night–I had to go to bed before the final hour of the show–but while usually I find the Oscars to be a tedious, self-congratulatory bore last night’s show didn’t seem that way. The winners all seemed to be genuinely delighted and appreciative of the honor received (as well as humble), and the speeches all seemed to not last terribly long for a change (I think my favorite, though, was the songwriter for “Naatu Naatu” who sang to the tune of the the Carpenters’ “Top of the World” a very sweet series of thank you’s. One can never go wrong choosing Karen Carpenter on any level of anything). I was happy to see upon awakening that Michelle Yeoh and Brendan Fraser won their categories (I used to have the biggest crush on him during his The Mummy/Gods and Monsters/ George of the Jungle days, and always felt he was more talented than he was given credit for, and now he’s an Oscar winner! The guy from George of the Jungle!); these Oscars seemed to be the “comeback” recognition awards–Ke Huy Quan and Jamie Lee Curtis winning supporting kind of fell into that type of win as well, but Curtis has been award-worthy before and her past as a Scream Queen always, I thought, kept her out of the running for some truly magical comedic performances over the years. It’s funny, yesterday I was thinking (and posted) about awards and so forth, and I wound up enjoying the Oscars for the first time in years. Go figure.

But this morning I’ve got to shake off the malaise or whatever the hell I experienced this weekend–I suppose it counts as a low, a valley of sorts, a holler–and get back into it this week. I know I’m supposed to be being kinder to myself these days, and that something I really want to be working on for myself going forward, but it’s hard sometimes, and when I wake up on Monday morning and see the abyss of nothing the weekend was, I kind of want to slap myself alongside the head…but that’s not really productive and the truth of the matter is sometimes you need to have those downtimes, I suppose. I am kind of tired of being all over the map emotionally lately, and the depression, which is never terribly far from the center of my brain, has really got to go. But that’s also easier said than done, by a long shot–what isn’t, really–but I guess I just need to let my mind and my subconscious and my emotional self process and go through what it needs to go through to get to the end of this.

It must have rained last night, because it’s chillier again this week than it has been, and usually a thunderstorm of some sort presages and predicts colder weather. I had to turn the heat/defroster on in the car this morning and frankly, the warm air felt lovely. I think I got a “weather alert” last night before I went to bed warning of a coming thunderstorm? I must have slept through it completely; I was out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow last night, which I didn’t think was going to happen, in all honesty; I worried about the time change and getting up an hour “later” than I usually do and all that stuff; the time change day is always kind of a waste, anyway because everything always feels off and wrong, you know? It always takes a couple of days for me to readjust and get back in sync with the clock and the calendar.

I did finish watching the Caril Fugate documentary, and I am not really sure how I feel about it. It’s trying to combat the narrative that she was a willing accomplice; one that has been pretty well established by adaptations and books and so forth that have flooded the market since the Starkweather shootings…and the fact the only evidence contradicting her story is Starkweather’s statements; I’m not so sure that he was a credible witness. It did put me in mind of how horrible it would be to experience such trauma at fourteen, then to spend over twenty years in jail for something you didn’t do, and to have that haunt you for the rest of your life when you didn’t do anything is probably the worst nightmare of a life to have. I also kind of had to wonder–why was she tried as an adult at fourteen? The way the whole case was handled in the first place was all kinds of wrong; but what would such a case look like today? A circus on a much grander, broader, global stage–as opposed to the circus of the pre-cable and pre-Internet times. With the Starkweather shootings in Nebraska coming so close on the heels of the Clutter murders in Kansas (In Cold Blood), I would imagine the people in the prairie states started locking their doors in 1958.

Ah, the prairie. I should do one of those listicles at some point for prairie noir–right off the top of my head I can think of a few books that would fit into that list.

And on that note I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll keep you in my thoughts, okay?

Don’t Stop the Music

Ah, it’s marvelous having a dryer again. And it’s an upgrade from the last one, which actually cost more, so winning on chore fronts here in the Lost Apartment.

Which says a lot about how spoiled I am. My grandmother used to wash the clothes in an agitator on her back porch that she had to fill with hot water and had a ringer to crush excess water out of the clothes before hanging them on the line. IMAGINE how long that must have taken, and how long it took for the clothes to dry in the heat and humidity of an Alabama summer when it could also rain at any moment without notice. Modern conveniences are quite marvelous, really, and I don’t think we appreciate how much time they actually do save us. Granted, I could load all the laundry up in the back of the car and go to a laundromat and get it all finished in about two hours; but that’s two hours where I would have to sit in a laundromat and either read/ or stare at my phone…and it’s never really quite comfortable in a laundromat anywhere. Also, the one around the corner closed due to the pandemic so yeah, I’d have to get in the car and take it somewhere, and have coins and all that nonsense; although I suppose with all the marvelous modern technology that has sprung up since the last time I went to a laundromat (when the washing machine was broken and we were waiting for its replacement) would enable people to use electronic payments? I don’t know, and I’d prefer to never find out, quite frankly.

But you know something? Sitting at my desk doing data entry to the washing machine agitating and the dryer tumbling and heating was weirdly comforting; a return to my normal Friday routine of chores and day-job duties–almost like the world has been slightly tilted off its axis for a while and has finally settled back into the way it’s supposed to be around here. I also wound up having to run my errands after work yesterday, because I remembered (fortunately, thank you, Facebook) that today is the St. Patrick’s Day parade, which makes access to everywhere I would need to go nearly impossible or an enormous time-consuming pain in the ass. So I picked up the mail and made groceries after I finished work yesterday, and will see about washing the car on Sunday (and possibly a trip to the Fresh Market, since it’s right there). Saturday will be my day of not leaving the house, which is probably for the best–although I do need to take clothes to the dry cleaners. Hmmm. They aren’t open on Sunday. Hmmm. *adds dry cleaning to Saturday to-do list*

I had to disassemble the bottom shelf of the laundry room so they could remove the non-heating dryer and install our new one, and once I finished my work for the day I started putting the room back together again–I have framed covers of my books on the walls in there, and I had taken those down too. I started putting the covers up not remembering where they were originally and I thought well, who wants it to look the same again for the next ten years anyway and so I just started hanging them wherever. The same with the books. I had to put the shelf back and then the books; so I started reorganizing and pruning, and then started working my way through the upper shelves to make it at least look neat, if cluttered. The fun thing about doing this sort of thing is you start unearthing treasures–“oh, there that is!” and “Oh, I’d forgotten about you!” and “oh yes, I still want to write that story this was research for” and “Oh, yes, definitely want to reread that sometime” and “Oh, I am so far behind on her series!” that makes it kind of like an adventure and less like an odious chore.

Plus, making it all neater looking to the eye pleases my OCD, and I can fold my arms with a smug sense of satisfaction when I look at them. Now if only I can accomplish the same in the living room…

I slept really well last night, and even stayed up later than usual. Paul came home last night (!!!) and we watched the LSU-West Virginia gymnastics meet, which was way fun, and then this week’s The Mandalorian. I did wind up staying later than I would have preferred–not sure how that happened, to be honest–but I feel very rested and relaxed today, which means I think it will be a good and productive day. Paul has his trainer later this morning and then will head off to the office, so I have the day to myself to clean and write and read and do Gregalicious things. Once I finish this I am going to repair to my easy chair with my coffee and Cheryl Head’s Time’s Undoing, which I am looking forward to finishing–it’s sooooo good–and getting my act together. This week I am seeing my doctor about my toe (appointment on Thursday afternoon) and I need to make the ENT appointment as well as try to get my dentistry needs taken care of, and I should probably make an eye appointment, too. Maintenance becomes increasingly important the older you get, you know. The toe is much better–still hurts, but not throbbing –and of course, by the time I see the doctor, it’ll probably be all fine and he’ll think I’m completely insane, not that he doesn’t already.

Most people do, at any rate.

But the new dryer just beeped which means the last load from yesterday has finished drying, and I am going to go fold some clothes, perhaps put some dishes away (there’s a load in the dishwasher, too, clean) and then read while I swill the rest of my morning coffee. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I may check in with you again later.

Umbrella

It’s funny, but the word umbrella is now forever linked to Tom Holland in my brain because of his brilliant lip sync of it.

I overslept this morning; I hit snooze when the alarm went off and the second time, I usually turn it off and get up. This morning I turned it off and fell asleep again. Fortunately, I woke up ten minutes later so no harm to my day, other than the off-balance feeling that comes from it not being the usual get up before dawn morning. (I easily could have slept another two hours, at least.) Tomorrow my work-at-home day will be built entirely around the delivery of the new dryer; they’re supposed to call me tonight to give me my “two-hour window” period for planning purposes. On the one hand, I kind of hope it’s early so I can get it out of the way and start catching up on laundry; on the other I kind of want it to be later so I don’t have to get up early yet again tomorrow. My coffee seems to be working, though; my brain is alert even if most of my body is still relaxed into sleep mode.

I made groceries yesterday on the way home from the office, and I broke down and bought some frozen Lean Cuisines to bring for lunch, as back-ups for when I don’t want to cook anything or things get out of whack the way they have been lately. Yesterday I brought a salad and by the time I got off work was so hungry I almost felt sick; naturally, by the time I shopped and got home and put everything away the hunger had gone away. I did empty the dishwasher and refill it to run another load; I still have some dishes in the sink and so hopefully tonight I will get the dishes caught up. I’m sure deliverymen have seen apartments in much worse shape than ours, but I still don’t want it to be disgusting when they bring the dryer tomorrow (really glad I cleaned out from behind the dryer when I had it moved; I should do that more than every seven to ten years, probably). Scooter of course wanted a warm lap and didn’t really give me much chance to get things done before the howling commenced, and he pretty much spent the entire evening in my lap. I know he’s missing Paul, who is hardly ever home in these weeks leading up to the Festivals, which is yet another reason I always commute between the hotel and the Lost Apartment over that weekend.

I turned in a story yesterday for an anthology that I am not entirely sure it’s right for, but I like the story and would love to see it finished and in print at some point. I also started pulling together another short story collection yesterday–just to see how much material I had and how much new material would be needed, and lo and behold, the collection currently sits at 72, 143 words without an introduction or conclusion; the sweet spot is always between 80 and 100k words. So, apparently not much more is needed; as little as two or as many as five to six stories, or one single novella. It’s going to be called This Town and Other Stories, and I also realized yesterday that, like Daphne du Maurier, the category of fiction where my short stories fall is macabre–a combination or cross between horror, suspense, and crime. (Maybe the title should be This Town and Other Macabre Tales?) It felt good to turn the story in–even if it’s wrong for the anthology–because I also had to edit and polish it before turning it in, and it felt good to be doing that kind of work again. I want to get a lot done this weekend–going to make lists for every day to keep me on track like I did last weekend–and will probably try to get any and all errands finished on Saturday so I can relax, sleep in, and just hang out around the house working and doing stuff on Sunday. I’m beginning to enjoy my weekends again, because while yes, I have a lot to do and a lot to get done, it’s nice to not feel stressed on my weekends with the sense of impending doom just out of sight–but visible out the corner of my eye. It’s nice to get relaxing sleep and rest for a change.

The toe is still painful but now I can walk without limping or wincing. I’m aware of it, and of course the longer the days goes and the more I walk on it the more it starts hurting–I made it till almost bedtime last night without limping–but I am seeing my doctor next week. If it is either psoriatic arthritis or gout, at least there’s treatment and medication options. I already take enough medication that I am hesitant to add more to the mix…but then again, I am over sixty and have never taken care of myself so I should be grateful that there are still treatment options.

Tonight after work I am going straight home. The mail can wait until tomorrow, and I don’t have any other errands that are necessary before Saturday, anyway. I hope to put away the dishes, do another load, and possibly even start doing some laundry. I know there are at least two loads of clothes that need doing (always a joy) and I can still use the dryer in the carriage house–and since the toe isn’t so bad, walking over there and climbing the steps to the second floor isn’t as bad as it was. I want to read more of Cheryl’s book so I can write about it here (as well as start preparing for the panel I am moderating), and I need to get back to writing and editing and all of that fun stuff.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.