Category: short stories

If You Could Read My Mind, Love

Work at home Friday, with a Costco trip after I get my work done! I also have to get some blood work done today (yay! my arms will continue looking hideous before all these bruises heal at long last; good thing I am far too old to be vain anymore), but c’est la vie. Que sera sera, and all of that. I also have to run by the office–I forgot some paperwork I need to work on, and I can’t find my wallet. It’s not in the house and it’s not in the car, so the only place it can be is at the office; although I looked for it there yesterday and couldn’t find it. Sigh.

You may have noticed lately that the images I’ve been adding to my blog so there’s a thumbnail image on social media have not been muscular men. Honestly? I’m kind of bored of them, to be honest. There’s a gradual sameness after a while, and I also recognize that sharing images of impossibly built young men whose entire lives revolve around maintaining that look (that most people can never achieve) may be contributing to some toxic body image issues for some men; I know I spent years trying to be physically perfect and always coming up short because of my own body image issues (there are some pictures of me from when I was really lean that I originally saw and thought, maybe another ten pounds? but now I look at them and scream eat something bitch!). So I thought I’d take a break and start using other images that I find interesting–and I have tons of pictures I’ve taken around New Orleans over the years. Maybe I’ll go back to hot guys again, but right now I’m just not feeling that.

In other exciting news, I’ve been looking for Chapter Ten of the new Scotty and not been finding it anywhere…to the point I was beginning to think maybe I hadn’t written it after all. I FOUND IT YESTERDAY MORNING! Huzzah! I was worried, since I’ve blown the deadline and the extended deadline…which is why I am having a ZOOM meeting with my editor on Sunday. I really need to get back on the writing horse sooner rather than later. But the enforced break caused by my illness again gave me lots of time to think about things, especially my writing career, and also allowed the stirrings of ambition to start rising again. Not a bad thing, really. I have to finish this Scotty and there are two others that I want to finish drafts of by the end of the year–possible, always possible–and I also want to get back into writing short stories.

And reading. I need to get back to reading, and the sooner the better. Saturday I am planning on reading my own manuscript while working on the house, and hopefully I can also dig further into Christa Faust’s The Get Off, which is superb. Some people very kindly sent me books while I was in the hospital and they all look good: Vertigo by Boileau-Jercerac (yes, the basis for the Hitchcock film); They Bloom at Night by Trang Thanh Tran; People of Means by Nancy Johnson; On Spine of Death by Tamera Berry; The Lilac People by Milo Todd; and Disco Witches of Fire Island by Blair Fell; all of which look interesting…so I must get back to reading very intensely!

I made myself a cappuccino this morning and it is very good; the taste for coffee clearly coming back–and if not, hey, I can just make a cappuccino every morning, can’t I? Yum! I feel a bit more rested this morning–Sparky let me sleep an extra hour before becoming obnoxious. But he’s also sleeping with me now, which he didn’t used to do–mainly, I think, to track my movements in case I get up to feed him–but hey, I’ll take it.

If you enjoyed Andor, I highly recommend watching Rogue One again; the series enhances the movie significantly, and makes it even more powerful. Paul and I both agreed, and I love how the TV show flows into the movie and then into Star Wars (I will never call the original anything else). When Star Wars clicks, it’s excellent; unfortunately, it doesn’t always click, alas.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, and I’ll be back on the morrow.

Statue of Pharaoh Khafre, Egyptian Museum

When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)

Thursday! Wasn’t sure I’d make it this far this week, but here I am, wide awake and sipping coffee–the taste for it is coming back; I was rather jittery yesterday morning but am glad the taste is coming back because I’ve really missed my morning coffee. I am also getting stronger every day, which is nice. I walk around the office every hour or so, just to get my legs back under me. Eventually I hope to start walking in the neighborhood, and maybe someday I can get back to the gym to tighten everything back up again–everything just sags now. I was always afraid that I was destined, like all the men in my family, for Southern redneck body; where you look like a potato on tooth picks and have to wear suspenders instead of belts. I was never terribly worried about that outcome, as I have always had big legs and a big ass. NOT ANYMORE. My legs are all scrawny, and my ass is gone. Sigh.

Good thing I’m too old to be vain anymore, right?

I thought we’d finished Andor the other night, but was very delighted that the final three episodes dropped yesterday, so we got to finish it last night. Huzzah! (And yes, there will be more about that at some point.) I loved it–even more than The Mandalorian, which was a very high bar to clear. I think we may rewatch Rogue One tonight–which, outside of the original, is probably my favorite Star Wars movie.

I made a colossal mistake on social media the other day, but I thought it was something that bore making a comment. I read three or four consecutive threads by different “Christians” analyzing and trying to explain why people are atheists, which was kind of amusing because it isn’t that deep: most atheists believe in nothing. You’re born, you live, you die, and that’s it. It’s not about hating God or Jesus or authority. Sure, there are atheists who hate religion…but not the religion itself, but the organized version. So, I just posted It amuses me seeing Christians tie themselves up in knots trying to understand atheists. Why do you care? So, of course, “Christians” came at me with torches and pitchforks, almost every one of them assuming I am an atheist, which isn’t correct. The best description for me is something like agnostic; because I am not arrogant enough to think I know all the answers or what is true or not. It’s not for me to know, right? That’s what always bugs me about the cosplay Christians: the arrogance in their faith and lack of humility–which is kind of what your Lord and Savior was all about? Only two–two!–gave me an actual Christian response: we are taught to worry and try to save lost souls. Everyone else failed. SHOCK, I know. My own relationship with religion is complicated–I was groomed into Christianity since I was a baby by family and society, so I never had a choice until I was older: my ass was parked in a pew twice on Sundays and once on Wednesdays after we moved to the suburbs. I have, as I said, complicated feelings about religion, and I’ve been working on an essay about that very thing for a number of years now, so I may just get back to work on it for my newsletter, which has been dormant since I got sick. (UPDATE: Every day I feel better, but I am still a little on the fatigued side.)

I also realized that I am actually taking a steroid, which has made me a little more on edge than I’ve been since I started taking the anxiety medication. I got really angry in the car on the way home last night, and I was puzzling about it until I remembered, idiot, of course you’re feeling aggressive, you’re taking a steroid, dumbass. I also took some Vitamin b-12 this morning, so I am feeling very good. I still have a bit of a fatigue, but I feel so much better. I also started, of all things, moisturizing. I’ve always had pretty decent skin, but this illness has made it very dry and flaky. I commented on this when I saw my specialist last Monday, and he told me (he’s an older white man, but probably younger than me) that I was “ashy and needed to moisturize”–which took me aback, that he knew what “ashy” meant; I assumed he got it from The Real Housewives of Atlanta–so I asked some of the Black ladies I work with for recommendations (EOS lotion, and original Dove moisturizing soap) and I can’t believe what a difference it has already made! I told Paul I was going to have to come up with a beauty regimen since I’m older and can’t just coast on good skin anymore.

As you can see by the length of this, I am slowly getting better by the day. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader!

The Pharaoh Akhenaten the Heretic, from the Egyptian Museum

Lean on Me

Wednesday! Wasn’t sure I was going to make it this far, to be honest. But I’ve put in two full days at the office, have started pulling the house back together and making my life orderly again. I need to be orderly in order to feel settled enough to write, for one thing, and when my house is out of order I get antsy and uncomfortable and anxious. The house is filthy, so I am going to spend some time on Saturday cleaning and getting everything back into the kind of order it needs to be in, you know? It makes me feel more content somehow, and trust me, my workspace is an utter disaster area. Sigh. Sparky, of course, is no help.

I was going through my short story files last night, and I really do want to write another New Orleans Sherlock story–“The Adventure of the Voodoo Queen’s Necklace”–about the great hurricane of 1916. That will predate the one I’ve already published (“The Affair of the Purloined Rentboy”), so some things that come out in that story will still be unknown in the new one. I’m getting excited about writing again, which is a very good thing, methinks. I think maybe the illness was kind of the enforced slow down I needed? I was getting pretty burnt out as it was, and sometimes I just need to chill out and let the batteries recharge. I did manage to make it through another full day at work yesterday, but the fatigue level was plenty high by the time I got home from work. But I managed to get things done, which was lovely (again, Sparky was no help at all) and we then settled in to watch Andor–which is amazing. I wanted all of Kyril’s clothes. I’ll probably talk more about that sometime, how much I loved the show, that is.

I was very tired when I got home last night–so tired. I did manage to work on the kitchen and make dinner–always a plus–and yes, I’m fidgety and unable to keep still (I guess I had enough of that in the hospital), so am always getting up to do something. I wasn’t able to read last night, unfortunately, because I am getting back into Christa Faust’s amazing The Get Off (there really is no other creative force and voice in the world than hers), so maybe tonight when I get home. I have to get the mail, too, and was thinking about stopping at Yogurtland, which is near the post office; I love soft serve frozen yogurt and should stop there more often. My appetite is back (with a vengeance) so I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble getting the thirty pounds back on. My skin has also dehydrated and become ashy and flakey, so I am going to have to start using a moisturizer.

This morning’s coffee is tasting better–I was worried I had lost my taste for it this week as it’s been tasting terrible–but I also changed the filter in the Keurig and that probably has helped some on that score. I am feeling a lot better, if still weak and fatigued, which is a relief. I am eating normally again (although as I said, hungry all the time), which is great. I need to eat more healthily, but I’ll worry about that when I start gaining weight again. I’m still under 190, which feels weird and yes, I look very gaunt and skeletal. But there are worse things, and at least I am on the mend at last, right?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

David Florentine is a local photographer who takes incredible images of New Orleans. Follow him on social media!

Strong Medicine

It’s so nice to be readjusting back to normalcy–or what passes for it around here.

Sunday when I got home from the hospital, I kind of just took the day off to resettle and start putting the house back together. Sparky was sulky and made sure to let me know he wasn’t happy about me being gone for so long. All I am these days is a food dispenser anyway. But Paul and I settled into the living room and finished The Four Seasons, which we really enjoyed a lot more than we thought we would; caught up on Hacks, which is finally getting back on track this season; The Studio, about which I have some thoughts; and started Andor, which we are really enjoying–no analogies to be drawn from the show to where we are heading in the US, eh? We watched more of it last night; it’s probably my favorite Star Wars show thus far.

My mind has lain fallow for so long, but I did have a book idea while I was in the hospital (like I really need another one?). It’s a good idea, and it’s basically taking a failed manuscript and rebooting it into this one, which I really like the idea of. I also need to write that short story I came up with while sick; looking through my files there are all kinds of things I need to finish. I would like to publish some more short stories, and I have so many that need finishing or revising extensively; I hadn’t realized it had all gotten so out of control. Sigh. But this week is about getting reacclimated to my reality, such as it is, and so I need to buckle down and get to work this weekend. Paul was taking care of all the chores while I was sick, and I am grateful–but now I can’t find anything and I need to get the kitchen back under control. I worked on that a bit last night, but I was exhausted after going back to the office for a full days for the first time in weeks. I’m still a bit wobbly on my feet, so I made sure to take walks around the office every once in a while. Slowly but surely, right?

Sparky the Starving got me up just before six this morning, but on the other hand I was able to load the dishwasher and fold a load of clothes–which I won’t have to do after work tonight (huzzah!); but I noticed last night while we were watching Andor that I kept getting up to do things–which I hadn’t been doing since I got sick. So I am getting back to myself, too. (I can never just sit still and watch the TV without getting up to do something periodically.) I also have a ZOOM call scheduled with my editor this weekend so I should be getting back on track with the writing again soon. Fingers crossed!

I need to make a to-do list. And I seem to have lost my taste for coffee, which is very weird. I’ll be trying to get that back for sure!

And now it’s off to the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, Constant Reader!

Brandy

April is the cruelest month.

I started feeling off, if you will recall, during Saints & Sinners. I couldn’t shake the fatigue, but I also didn’t handle it properly, since I apparently never learn anything. I had a big physical crash and have been sick now for several weeks. Woozy, foggy-brained, dizzy, nauseous…I’ve been able to work remotely so the financial hardship has just been all the testing and Lyfts (can’t drive). and IV’s and whatever. It’s bad, of course, but I’m not going to be stressed about any of that, because it won’t do any good. I’ve slept a lot (one of the new medications for this caused drowsiness, which also made dizzy, and I fell a few times. My mind has been foggy off and on, too. But I did write a lot of essays and short stories in my head (only one of which I remember, of course), and this hard reset has also given me a chance to reevaluate, reexamine, and rethink a lot of things. I need to make some life changes, and stop just passively pass through life the way I’ve been doing. I also thought a lot about the past and my writing, and knowing I’ve been feeling defeated with my career for a while now. Don’t get me wrong; I’m doing fine…but I want to do better.

Someone also died recently, and it kind of shook me to the core. I’m not ready to talk about it yet (then why did you bring it up?) because I want their family and friends to grieve in peace without being bothered with my narcissistic writings. It did make me realize how horribly selfishly I’ve always remembered and discussed the event that brought us together, which was another slap in the self-awareness face, and it also made me think about finally writing about it, because it’s always about me, isn’t it?

I owe emails. I owe articles. Hopefully now I can start getting all that together.

What a Fool Believes

I’ve always been a fool, but my brain has always worked to convince me that is not the truth. (Spoiler: it is. I am constantly amazed at how foolish I am, or have been, which is one of the many reasons I second-guess myself all the damned time.) I often deceive myself that I handle things better than I do, and it seems I often don’t have the necessary distance from things to evaluate them properly.

I finally wrote about my friendship with Dorothy Allison yesterday on my newsletter; if you are so inclined you can click there and read it (you can also subscribe while you’re there, or not, it’s up to you). She died right after the election, and I never like to share my grief publicly (still fighting that “never bleed in public” training from childhood), because it’s personal to me. Doing the reading on Sunday, I realized I was finally in a place where I could mourn her publicly. Likewise, I didn’t want to do the last-minute reading in honor of Felice Picano because it was too soon. I’ll write about Felice one day, probably this summer, when someone or something will remind me of him and I’ll know it’s time. I hate being at the point in life when you start losing friends with greater regularity. That’s the thing they never tell you about getting old–being older means getting used to loss, and really, that’s about it.

Yesterday was a decent day. It was slow at clinic so I got a lot of my admin work caught up, but I wasn’t all there, if that makes any sense. I wasn’t tired, but just felt…drained. Not sure what that was about, so I came home and did chores, watched LSU win the regional semifinal by breaking 198.00 again (GEAUX TIGERS!), so they’ll be competing in the final tomorrow, and we started watching The Residence, which got off to an interesting start before I went to bed early. I feel pretty good this morning, have some work to do here, and then later will run errands. I mean, I feel as good as I can giving the fact that retirement is beginning to look like it won’t be an option for me ever–and what is most likely is involuntary retirement because of funding cuts. Thanks again, MAGA voters, for giving me another reason to despise you with every fiber of my being–and other people might forgive you at some point, but I never fucking will, and I’ll go to my grave hating and despising you fucking racist and homophobic pieces of shit. The only thing that is getting me through this stress is the grim satisfaction of knowing they’re suffering even worse and they know it’s their own fault. I will never stop belittling and mocking them as long as I have breath in my body. Staying positive in the age of negativity is definitely a challenge…especially now that Wall Street has cratered and we are on the brink of a world-wide depression that is no one’s fault but our own.

I also realized that today’s title really works, because I still cling to the belief that somehow we’ll survive this illegitimate regime and it won’t get that terribly bad. I’ve been bankrupt before, I can live through it again, I suppose. But this is what the Republicans have been pushing for since the Reagan misadministration, which I’ve been saying for fucking decades, only to be dismissed as lightly as Cassandra on the walls of Troy (I really would love to write from her perspective; I can imagine no curse greater than being able to see the future only to have no one believe you. No wonder she went mad)? There have been few, if any, good Republicans since the party was overhauled when everyone who’d really experienced the Great Depression1 was dead and couldn’t remind everyone of the policies that led to that disaster. And here we are, almost to the hundred year anniversary of the stock market crash and the depression that followed.

Americans never learn from their history and always repeat it. We are not a nation of smart people.

And on that truly sad note, I’ll head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I will definitely check in on you either later or tomorrow.

  1. Worth mentioning that the collapse of our economy led to the same thing, only worse, around the world, which led to the rise of fascism. In true American narcissism, the Great Depression is always taught as an American issue, rather than a global one–another way history is taught incorrectly. ↩︎

Knock on Wood

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. I can go in a little later than usual this morning, so I am sipping my coffee and eating my morning slice of marble coffee cake (from Rouses, and I love it) and slowly trying to get it together this morning before I hit the road for the office. I did some work last night, and some chores when I got home, but feel a little tired this morning–moving kind of slow here at the junction–but I can come straight home from the office tonight and I am going to get some work done tonight. Tomorrow is my work-at-home, and I have a department meeting to get through also. I can live with it. I think we’re also going to Costco this weekend (got to stock up before prices start rising uncontrollably, thanks again, MAGA trash voters), and I really need to pull it together for myself. The auction is still making money (the auction is closed but the donate button is still active), which is super-awesome, and very uplifting. Obviously, it doesn’t mean everyone who donated and everyone who bid are actually allies through and through, but it’s something, and I am not going to be cynical about raising over 300% of our goal. Woo-hoo, way to go, everyone! A bright light shining through these steadily darkening times.

It was very windy yesterday and we are having high winds again today, which is odd. It’s also much warmer than it usually is around this time of year, which is also odd, and definitely problematic for the looming summer. Sigh, and everything is going to be more expensive, including power (thanks again, MAGA!). The two grocery runs I made this week came out to over $140 combined, and I didn’t really get all that much, which completely sucks. I was tired when I got home from work yesterday, and wrote for a little while until I got stuck. I still got in over a thousand words, so I am calling that a win.

This week, a recovery from the festivals week, also involved the auction–not to mention the easy to see it coming second Great Depression–so it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster and now that all the adrenaline has died off, I am a bit worn down, which is why I think I am physically tired and a little mentally fatigued. The day is going to be relatively easy, overall; we’re not busy in the clinic today and I should be able to get a lot of paperwork and admin stuff taken care of, and I get to go home an hour early, which is terrific. Sparky will certainly appreciate it, and I want to get some chores done tonight. I need to do another load of laundry, and the dishes, pick up around the apartment, and take out garbage and so forth. Sigh. We also have a department meeting tomorrow morning that I can join remotely. Sigh.

I also have to get back to reading my current reads. I was enjoying both The Get Off and Moonraker, so I want to get them done soon. Moonraker is more interesting in the juxtaposition between the tone and tenor of the books vs the silliness of the movies. It is very much of its time, and the whole “gentlemenly” approach to the spy genre is snobbish. classist, and yet still interesting in a weird, classist elitist kind of way; the whole gentility thing they still have across the pond is something we’ve never quite adapted completely, which isn’t a bad thing. It’s been tried before, obviously, and some are still trying; the Boston Club and other organizations like it dot New Orleans–because of Carnival krewes. Carnival krewes were, from the very beginning, nothing more than an extension/adaptation of the men’s clubs in London, which I will definitely need to talk about when I write my essay about revisiting the novel.

And on that groggy note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Thursday be free of drama and full of joy, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back on the morrow.

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers

You don’t sing me love songs…anymore.

I had been waiting to hear about an anthology I sold a story to (they asked me to keep it quiet until further notice), but had never did so I could never mention it. But it was announced; they just hadn’t tagged me. Anyway, the anthology is Celluloid Crimes, and will be released this summer from Level Best Books. My story is “The Last To See Him Alive,” which actually now is the first, revised chapter of Chlorine, which, if you’re wondering, I’ve never stopped thinking about or working on since I first brought it up on my blog six or seven years ago. Over the weekend, I did confess to someone that I have about six or seven novels currently in progress; Chlorine is definitely one of them. In fact, taking Chapter One and turning it into a stand-alone short story also triggered some creativity in my brain, and that helped the entire novel take shape, and now I know what the middle part will be, and the end will become even more poignant and noir-ish with these necessary changes to the story. Huzzah! More about the story and the anthology as it nears its publication date.

The auction for the Transgender Law Center concluded last night, and we raised over $58,000! I have to admit being enormously pleased and proud of the organizing committee as well as all the people who donated items and those who bid on them. Well done, everyone! This project began two or three years ago (it was before my arm surgery, I do know that much–I have no grasp or concept of time anymore–but other than that? Pfffft.) and it’s kind of hard to believe it’s over and done with at last. I didn’t do that much–the driving forces were truly Susanna Calkins, Sandra SG Wong, Ellison Cooper (Jen Dornan-Fish), Cheryl Head, and Ed Aymar. The group was exceptionally fun to work with, despite my on-going issues, and I didn’t contribute nearly as much as I ordinarily do when I am volunteering because of my on-going issues, but my fellow organizers were so efficient and on top of things I didn’t need to, which was lovely. It was truly a great group, and our advisory board (including spokesperson Robyn Gigl, Brenda Buchanan, and John Copenhaver) were also amazing and hard-working. What a lovely experience this was indeed.

I did get some writing done last night, but not nearly enough. After driving uptown to get the mail and then making groceries, I was pretty fried by the time I got home, so wasn’t really able to resist Sparky’s meowing insistence that I get in my chair and let him sleep in my lap, so I did. We continued watching Mid-century Modern, and you know, not every joke lands nor does every scene necessarily work, but all the actors are clearly having a good time with it, and Matt Bomer is absolutely perfect as the beautiful, former Mormon flight attendant who is actually very sweet and a little like Rose from The Golden Girls, completely without guile and literal. Nathan Lane can be a bit histrionic, but he’s Nathan Lane; always charming and likable. Such a shame Linda Lavin died, because she’s terrific as Lane’s mother–and was probably going to at least be nominated for an Emmy. But Nathan Lee Graham steals the entire show as a former fashion editor who is very quick-witted in that bitchy sarcastic way that so many of us develop as a shell for self-defense. It’s also refreshing to see a show about older gay men who, like The Golden Girls, still are vital and have sex lives and embracing life rather than sliding into self-pity or caricature. These characters would have been easy to play as one-dimensional stereotypes, but it’s a tribute to these actors’ skill that they have heart and are real people. I’m sure it won’t thrill some queer people–nothing ever does, we are notoriously critical of things about us–but it’s nice to see gay men as realized characters on a traditional style sitcom, and definitely a progression from Will and Grace.

I feel better today than I did yesterday; another good night of sleep was had, and this morning I don’t feel any brain fog or exhaustion like I did yesterday. I think I am now acclimating back to my life, which is nice because I also need to get my act together and start getting things done again. This weekend will most likely be restful and lovely as well; and perhaps time to start working on household projects (like cleaning out the attic) so the house can be sort of presentable and livable again. Stranger things have happened, you know. I started writing a tribute to Dorothy Allison for my newsletter, triggered by the tribute reading I did Sunday, as I have been remembering how much she and her work have always meant to me. It’s kind of hard to believe such a force is gone from the world.

Sigh. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Heart of Glass

Monday morning and I am exhausted. I slept very late this morning–my legs and lower back are still a little achy–but it was needed. I was on fumes by the end of dinner last night, so much so that I literally waited eighteen minutes for a streetcar because my phone had died (again) so I couldn’t summon a Lyft, and there was no way I was going to make it home again on foot. It was also achingly, annoyingly humid all weekend, and so my socks were always damp with sweat, which makes me uncomfortable because I feel gross. Lesson from the weekend: you need to go back to the gym and take walks more, so you can be in better condition for weekends such as this. I can’t remember the last time I felt so dried out and exhausted and as just a husk of a human like I do this morning. But…probably it was last year’s Festivals. Maybe next year I should just stay down there and not commute because it’s so exhausting. Who knows?

I woke up late to a marvelous thunderstorm and downpour, one of those lovely New Orleans storms where you start to imagine what it was like when the rains for Noah’s flood started, and since I took the day off (wisely, as it turned out) I could burrow back down into the blankets and stay there, warm and snug and comfortable. (I did spare a “sorry” thought for all those flying out from New Orleans, as flights were probably delayed, before drifting off again.) I stayed there until Sparky’s desire for breakfast became so overwhelming that I felt bad for how hungry he must be so got up. I did some laundry and walked to Walgreens to get a few things, before deciding “meh, I can make groceries tomorrow on the way home from work and I can get the mail then too” and went back to the easy chair with Sparky to rest for a while. I watched the gold medal performances for the US Figure Skating team at Worlds (the US for the first time in a long time–if not ever–won three golds; ice dance, men’s, and women’s), which was fun and exciting, and then Paul came home and we talked and caught up for a while, so now he’s upstairs making sure there are no smoldering embers that need snuffing out from the weekend. I remembered I hadn’t finished this, so decided to walk away from catching up on the news–it’s so disheartening to come out of a lovely bubble of writing and publishing and friends and talking about books and writing with likeminded others to the harsh reality of this unpleasant time-line we’re in, seriously–and came back into the kitchen as the last load of laundry from the weekend tumbles dry.

Damn, I am tired.

It was a lovely weekend, though, despite being tired and sort of mentally foggy from overstimulation, I think, from Friday night on. I laughed a lot and talked a lot and gossiped a lot, drank more than I usually do (which is none at all), and ate out more than I ever do. (I had fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade twice, and am determined to learn how to make this at home; I’d never had the tomatoes in a regular frying batter before; it was always corn meal, like with fried okra; regardless, this reminded me that I really like fried green tomatoes.) It was kind of nice, and the weather was more humid than I would have preferred all weekend, but things were good. My panels went well, I think, as did my reading in the Dorothy Allison Tribute and my congratulatory message to the finalists of the short story anthology–and that reading was lit, as was the poetry reading at the closing reception. I’ll probably talk about the whole weekend more as the week goes on, but it was marvelous spending time with people whom I have a great affection for, as well as meeting some new people who were equally marvelous. I did do a lot of walking, so it’s no surprise my tired old out of shape ass is so wrecked from the weekend. I did remember this same thing happening last year–but I didn’t take Monday off last year, so kudos to past Greg; plus I hate having to call it an early night on Sunday because I have to work the next morning.

I probably will still be a little punchy still for a few more days, but I can deal.

I’ll dig myself out of the bubble tomorrow.

It also seems like a lot happened over the weekend that I wasn’t able to acknowledge properly (like the humiliating rebuke to our fascist governor received from Louisiana’s voters Saturday, mwa-ha-ha) that I do want to talk about some more. I also had some lovely ideas over the weekend, and I also heard some things that made me think that I want to explore further, so yes, there was some serious creative stimulation as well. These two festivals are my safe spaces, where I can relax completely and don’t have to worry about experiencing any kind of bigotry. I was on a panel that I’d really rather explore, too, because it made me think about some things about the past and the present that I’d like to explore a bit more.

And on that note, I am going to bring to a close and rest a bit more. Have a lovely Monday, and I’ll talk with you again tomorrow.

Fire

I’m riding in your car…you turn on the radio…

I love the Pointer Sisters, and “Fire” is definitely one of my favorite Pointer Sisters songs. I saw them in concert in the summer of 1985 on Oakland–and the live rendition of “Fire” was, simply stated, phenomenal. The opening act was Katrina and the Waves and the headliner was Wham! Most of the people there were there for Wham (I wasn’t), and when I tell you the Pointer Sisters turned that sold-out crowd in the Oakland Coliseum into fans, I am not lying. Three songs into their set and the entire place was on its feet and dancing. I was a fan before, but seeing them live turned me into a super-fan. (In fairness, I wasn’t a fan of Wham, but seeing them live turned me into one…and I remain grateful that I saw George Michael perform live, when he was still barely out of his teens.)

Well, it’s Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again, and Paul is moving into the hotel for the weekend so won’t be here tonight when I get home from work. Sparky will be terribly needy all evening when I get home, which is fine. I really need to get my act together for this weekend, although I suspect that getting prepared in the morning every day will be enough. Hey, at least I prepare now, which I didn’t used to do. Can’t imagine why I always had such stage fright, can you? Of course, that was also the anxiety controlling me, although I probably should have come up with a different coping mechanism than alcohol, which is what I used for a very long time.

Don’t miss that in the least.

I worked on the book last night, and I realized also that it was a transitional chapter–which I’ve always struggled with. But it’s done, and now I can move on with the book. I’ve a lot of writing to do in order to meet the deadline on this book–and as always, present-Greg is very annoyed with past-Greg, for once again doing this to myself. I always think, when I’m in the middle of rushing to finish a book, that I am never going to do this again and then…I do it again with the next one, and the next and the next…heavy heaving sigh. It’s the story of my life, over and over and over again. I am also not going to lie; I’ve worried that having my anxiety now controlled by medication meant that I’d not be as driven to write as I was before, but it seems like nothing’s really changed, rather than the level of anxiety I have about finishing a book. But…I’ve sold three short stories already this year, how cool is that? And now that I am rolling with the writing again, I am starting to get excited about the next book to write and finishing some other short stories. Woo-hoo!

I was too fried after writing last night to do any reading, so here’s hoping I’ll be able to get back into reading tonight. I’ll probably do some straightening up around the place once I get my writing done for the night, too. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, and I must pay the bills. Be back later!