Tag: anxiety

The Metro

Wednesday, and in about five hours I’ll be heading out on I-10 East to connect to 59 north to make it up to Where-we-are-from, Alabama–with pit stops for gas, food, and bathroom, it should only take between five and six hours. If I owe you an email, it probably won’t come before next week, as I come back here on Saturday and then Sunday have to prepare for the coming week.

I will be listening to John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors, which I am embarrassed to admit I’ve not yet read. I had started it, but got distracted by something–oh yes, I meant to take it on a trip with me and left it sitting on the counter instead of putting it into my backpack, so had to read something else, and then never got back around to it, which is disgraceful conduct by a reader, frankly. But I am grateful for forgetful me of the past because now I can enjoy it on my drive. I had thought about getting caught up on Donna Andrews or Carol Goodman or Lisa Unger; I am frightfully behind on all of them as well–I really don’t want to think about all the wonderful authors whose work I have fallen behind on, because it will just depress me.

I did do some work on a project last night doing something I’ve not done in a long time; mapping out a book and writing out biographies of the main characters, as well as the through-line of the crime. I’d gotten to the point that I didn’t really need to do this anymore; the characters would often reveal themselves to me as I wrote about them, but when you’re not writing as much as you used to and need to get back on that horse, go back to the things you used to do when you were trying to become a writer, that made the writing actually easier to do rather than trying to think it all up as you go. I’ve really gotten lazy with my writing, but a lot of it is, as I said, the muscles were always pretty much warmed up and strong and raring to go, so the extra steps I used to take when I was getting started no longer seemed necessary; I am also working on an outline–I can’t remember the last time I outlined a novel. But here we are, and I’ve always been about adapting to get things done and make progress. I think it is going to turn out pretty well, to be honest. I’m kind of excited about this and getting back to the Scotty, in all honesty. Soon, my precious, soon…

Ironically, I was too tired to pack last night and didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, either–but I also realized, this morning, that it actually made more sense to come home after work and pack, and leave from home rather than from the office. Leaving directly from the office would shave an entire five minutes off the drive, and is that five minutes really worth the hassle than leaving an hour later this afternoon will create? No, it really wasn’t. And while I always try to be time-efficient–a lifelong habit I am trying to break now because it’s part and parcel of my anxiety, and letting go of anxiety is always a good thing–getting there around seven instead of six? I’ll still be tired from the drive and will end up going to sleep early, so what difference does it make?

Progress, I think.

I also doubt I’ll be around here much until I get back Saturday, so probably the next entry will come on Sunday. I think you can handle it, Constant Reader, so until then–adieu.

Massive Ramses II at the Egyptian Museum

Hold the Line

Ash Wednesday and the city is somber. We did have that horrible weather that was predicted, that messed with the parade schedule, but we stayed inside and rested and relaxed. I mean, that was a hell of a storm last night, and the wind was wild too. We even had a tornado warning! But we made it through it all, all that rain and wind made for a good night of sleep (and super-easy to fall asleep, too), and I feel pretty good this morning. I don’t feel like I am still sick, but I am also barely awake and my body hasn’t completely clocked in yet, either. Will there be a ticklish throat and a post-nasal drip this morning, or is that finally a thing of the past? Ah, there it is. I knew it was just a matter of time. Back to the DayQuil bottle. Sigh. Not feeling well over the past week or so certainly hasn’t helped matters much, has it? But we must endure and persevere, mustn’t we? And we can’t let the outside world burning to the ground interrupt our lives, no matter how pointless it all can seem from time to time. Staying positive isn’t easy when the forces of evil and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Trump, Musk, RFK Jr, and Putin) burn the world to the ground around us. But positivity in the face of evil is important. It is far too easy to give into despair in times like these.

It’s incredibly hard to get motivated to do anything, really, when reality becomes the latest uncertainty and you never know what you are going to wake up to. I’ve given into it a lot more than I should–the greatest trick about depression is it fools you into not realizing that’s what’s going on until it’s over. I fucking hate that, and it happens to me a lot more than I am even aware of, which is frightening. (My biggest self-delusion is that I am intensely self-aware; when the reality is I am intensely self-critical. They are NOT the same thing.) Depression always goes hand-in-glove with not writing for me; that’s why I never say I have writer’s block–because it’s actually depression. (I do not speak for all writers on this; this is how it works on/for me. But it’s also easier to say “writer’s block” than admit to “depression”–which turns it into a creative issue non-writers don’t understand or can experience, rather than a mental one everyone can relate to. Stigma about depression, I guess.) Not writing also makes me depressed, so it’s a very vicious cycle. It’s either “I can’t write so I get depressed so I get even more depressed” or “I’m too depressed to write which will make me more depressed” and I’m never aware of the cycle until it’s over or almost over–and why I always tell myself to write some fiction every day, even if it’s very little or even if it’s garbage; garbage can always be fixed, and even writing a few hundred words is an accomplishment, not matter how small it seems to my fevered, depressed mind.

I do sometimes wonder why people like me want to be writers, since we often create our own hells.

But I did work on my short story yesterday and it’s really taking shape. I started revising the words I already had written, so there was a lot of deletion, so I cannot even tell you how many words I actually did write yesterday, but the opening of the story is now shorter and also better, more involving, and works better. I am looking forward to working on it some more tonight. The mood and voice are coming together, and so is the setting–and my main character. I am excited, and want to get back to work on it again tonight when i get home from work. I also want to do some work on the book, which is falling behind again. I also have some emails to answer, bills to pay, finances to get under control, and numerous other things that I need to do–so yes, I am making a to-do list once I finish this and post it–and separate ones for personal and day job.

I also read some more of The Bell in the Fog, which I am loving, and we started watching The Madness on Netflix–more on both to come relatively soon.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Ash Wednesday, everyone, and I will talk to you relatively soon, I am sure.

Ain’t No Stoppin Us Now

Monday morning and have to head to the parish courthouse for jury duty at criminal court. I am one of the few people who don’t mind doing jury duty, and don’t try to get out of it when I am called. I was originally called to serve a week after my surgery in 2023, but got excused as I couldn’t drive, let alone serve on a jury. I slept well last night, too.

It rained all day yesterday and the parades were all cancelled, postponed until tomorrow night. I am sitting here getting ready to go report for jury duty, and trying not to worry about dealing with a week I can’t plan in the least. Before the anxiety medications I would have been a bundle of knots and nerves and on edge the entire day; probably wouldn’t have eaten anything or gotten much of anything done. I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked, perhaps, but I was a bit out of sorts yesterday. I’ve not been feeling super-great over the weekend–kind of nasally and sore throat-ish, which was annoying, and enough of a distraction to keep me from getting a lot done and being able to focus. I did get some things done–the boring kind of things I generally hate to do and put off. I did struggle a bit trying to work on both the book and a short story I need to finish, but it wasn’t flowing or coming and it just wasn’t working so I gave up and gave rein to my creativity in other ways.

I did realize, thank goodness, that I hadn’t revised as much as I had thought, and so have a lot “more room” to work with than I had thought, which was a relief. What I mean here by “more room” is the word count; I have about 900 words in the word count that are going to be excised or slashed down dramatically, so I have approximately a thousand more words of room before I hit the outside word count. I always write short stories this way, which I know makes no sense to anyone other than me. I have to have a title that works for me and puts me into the right mindset/mood to produce the story I want in the voice and tone that I want–being in a very cheery mood when you’re writing about someone who’s planning to kill his mother and sell her farm to a corporation doesn’t really lend the right tone, if you know what I mean (which is why my story “The Sound of Snow Falling” remains unpublished in my files; I need to make it darker in tone than the cheery voice it’s currently in)–and then I start writing it, knowing how many words I have to tell the story. Sometimes I know the entire story, sometimes I know the beginning, sometimes I know the end, sometimes I have a title and an opening sentence. It’s wild and chaotic and freestyle, really; the only thing for sure is I have to know how much room I have. I also figured out the story last night as I brainstormed and cleaned and did other things, so now I have to write it in the room that I have. I also need to go ahead and read those 900 words to see if any of it is even worth trying to save or just delete it all…since I know now what the story is, and I like it.

And now you know why it’s so hard for me to write short stories.

But I think I will get this one done soon, and then I’m going to be free again to dive back into the book. Yay!

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s The Bell in the Fog, which I am really loving. Reading it reminds of Chlorine–which will be very different even though set in the same time period. Los Angeles and Hollywood are a different mood–sunshine noir as opposed to foggy noir. (I always see Lev’s story in my head in the style of The Maltese Falcon film, whereas Chlorine I see as more of an American Gigolo style but in the 1950s–Palm Springs, Hollywood, Malibu.) I am still excited to be writing again, can you tell? Everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, whatever I think, my mind steers itself back into thinking about something I am working on. That’s a good sign, I think. I like when my thoughts are mostly filled with creative thoughts and inspirations and breakthroughs. It always puts me into a much better mood–certainly better than watching the news and rolling my eyes and wondering what the fuck is going to happen next and knowing this is not going to end well under even the best, most hopeful outcome will include death and violence.

And yeah, I’d rather focus on my own writing and creating and art, you know? Create my own joy and try to brighten the darkness a little bit?

And on that cheery note, I am going to get ready to head to the courthouse. Have a lovely Monday, wherever you are, and I’ll be back, most likely tomorrow morning.

Treat Her Right

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week, thank the Lord. It has been a week. Yesterday was yet another one of those days, and by the time I ran my errands and got home, it was almost six thirty and I was exhausted, too exhausted to do more than put the groceries away and do a little writing before my brain went fuzzy and had to stop doing anything. We watched this week’s Prime Target, and shortly after that was over I was way too tired to do anything else other than tumble into bed; so tired that I in fact forgot to set my alarm. I got up when I always do, and without the ability to hit snooze just went ahead and got up. So, again, today is an out-of-sorts day because I am off my usual routine. It should be relatively simple today–an easy sort of catch-up between clients day–because almost all of yesterday’s fires (save one) burned themselves out before I fled the office at the end of the day and never looked back.

But hope springs ever eternal in my heart, mind and soul, and here’s me hoping that today will be the easy Thursday to glide elegantly into my remote work day and the weekend. I’ve still not made the to-do list I keep threatening to make, and I do think if I ever am able to do that (maybe over lunch today?) I might be able to get back on track. My memory is shit and mostly worthless anymore; I forget far more than I remember. Truth be told, I started doing that in my thirties, and it did help me a lot. It always did. So why do I not make them anymore? Self-sabotage1? Maybe.

Probably.

Le sigh.

And last night we had the first of probably many air collisions that killed everyone on board both craft. Thank GOD we have a professional bigot and former reality show ‘star’ in charge over the Department of Transportation than that DEI hire, Pete Buttigieg, right? (we really need a sarcasm font.) Nothing like cutting back on essential services for the general population, right? Who needs air traffic controllers? That’s some WOKE bullshit right there! By the way, racist assholes–how much are eggs today? Why is it okay for them to be expensive under one president when the previous one was blamed for the price? I am so fucking sick of hypocrisy…I didn’t vote for this shit show, and don’t think I am ever going to forgive anyone who voted for this, let alone letting anyone forget it. If I was going to have a tombstone, I’d want it to read I VOTED AGAINST IT ALL!

Sigh. It is so easy to allow the depression and negativity to take over and wallow in it, isn’t it? But that doesn’t get the work done, and it doesn’t make me feel any better about anything. The constant barrage of insanity and stupidity, reported breathlessly by the legacy media like it’s completely normal, pundits and influencers and everyone everywhere all at once with their (usually toxic) thoughts and opinions…it’s a lot and it’s also exhausting. That’s always their game plan–throw so much shit that you get worn out trying to avoid it and get overwhelmed and give in out of sheer exhaustion and hopelessness. Rage and anger are also exhausting, so getting on the outrage carousel makes it worse. I know, I know; I don’t just block anymore I will sometimes say shit, which I shouldn’t because why? Scoring points off a moron isn’t an accomplishment–and not one to be proud of if it is. I don’t like when some ignorant stranger pops off on social media and rather than scrolling past or blocking, I respond instead of blocking. Now that the trolls from Twitter are making their way over to the newer sites and bringing their shittiness with them, I’ve allowed myself to snap at their smug stupidity and cruelty. I don’t care about being shitty to them–they deserve far worse than what I might say to them on social media–but I don’t like having my mind go so negative. I guess that’s what happens after a lifetime of people trying to bully you on the reg. I also don’t see sinking to their level as particularly negative–and trust me, I do hold back because I can go so low I would come out on the other side of the planet–but I don’t like even giving them a moment of my energy, energy that could be used for positivity.

And on that pensive note, I am going to head into the spice mines and avoid social media for the rest of the day to preserve my peace. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll most likely not be back before tomorrow!

  1. The marvelous Benjamin Dreyer was talking on social media the other day about the etymology of the words sabotage and saboteur–and now I will always say them with a French accent–sab-o-TAHJ! ↩︎

Bad Case of Loving You

And it is now Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is well. Sparky and I are the only creatures stirring for now, and it’s kind of nice. It’s chilly again this morning, but that’s fine; all I have left to do this weekend is go to the gym and make groceries, and I haven’t decided whether to do that today or tomorrow; probably today so I can get it all over with and won’t have to leave the house tomorrow. Decisions, decisions. I need to do some writing and reading this weekend and some cleaning, too–I’ll have to make a list at some point.

Yesterday was a very good day. I was a little sore and achy–still am–from my return to the gym on New Year’s Day. I got all my work done, and then we made a Costco run; which wore me out and after getting home, lugging all of it inside, and then putting it all away did me in. I did read some more of Winter Counts, which I am really enjoying and hope to finish this weekend. I do have some emails to answer this weekend, and I slept deeply and well last night–Sparky didn’t annoy me out of bed until about eight thirty this morning, so that’s super cool and nice as well. I do feel rested, which is kind of nice, too. There’s no rush for me to run those errands today, either; I can run them at any time today I so choose. No college football today–and I doubt I’m going to watch any more of it this year; I am not only not a fan of any of the final four, but if I had to pick the four teams I absolutely wouldn’t want in the finals, it would be these four (there are a few that can be swapped out for Texas, and I don’t mind Penn State–but ‘not minding’ is a lot different than “that’s who I’m going to root for.” As far as I am concerned, the season is over. The Super Bowl is in a few weeks, which means getting home is going to be challenging for the next few weeks as they start closing streets in the CBD to get ready for it all. I don’t care about that, either–as long as neither the Bears nor the Cowboys nor the Falcons are in it.

I did write some yesterday, too–which was enormously pleasing. I have things I need to do this weekend, and right now I frankly don’t want to do something of them, but might as well get them out of the way. I’ll probably finish this and read for a while, to finish waking up and everything and ease my way into the rest of the day. We did watch LSU Gymnastics last night; they ran away with the meet against Iowa State, and they looked terrific. They were also getting dramatically underscored, which was puzzling, but they still won by over three points. I then spent the rest of the evening watching old clips from Game of Thrones, which I still kind of miss. When the show was firing on all cylinders, it was really was extraordinary; the production values, the acting, and the writing was all en pointe, and provided some of the best scenes of television ever produced. The Battle of Blackwater Bay? The demolition of the sept? The battle of the loot train? The Battle of the Bastards? The death of Ramsey Bolton? Lady Olenna Tyrell’s final dagger to the heart before expiring? The collapse of the Wall? Arya wiping out House Frey? The character arc of Sansa Stark? It really was exceptional television, even if they did blow the final season–and that is just a smattering of the show’s great moments; there are too many to really list. Paul and I were actually talking about rewatching the whole series again–the plots and subplots were so interwoven and plentiful that there’s a shit ton we do not remember about the show to begin with. But…time. The show last eight seasons, every episode is at least an hour long, and who has that kind of time? Maybe when I retire I can make the rewatch A Thing.

Stranger things, after all, have happened. I’d also like to rewatch The West Wing, if for no other reason than it was my comfort watch during the Bush II administration.

I’m also doing much better with my time issues; I am trying not to be motivated by the clock anymore and worrying about wasting time because I have so much else to do. I don’t have that much else to do anymore, thank you very much, and now that the anxiety is under control, I don’t get as frustrated as I used to or get stressed out as much: I don’t have TIME for this! used to run through my brain every time I would get delayed or stuck in traffic or something, and it’s really nice to not have to deal with that anymore. The solution to the Super Bowl street closures is simple–take the Interstate home from work every day, even though the bridge traffic always backs up. I used to tend to get very frustrated and stressed out every time I took the Interstate because of the bumper-to-bumper back up; now I don’t care and can just sit there and listen to whatever is playing through the stereo in my car. (I also forget it has a working CD player; I should start listening to my old CD’s in the car.)

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and read for a few hours before deciding how to divvy up today’s tasks. Have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again later–or tomorrow morning.

Yes, I am definitely pushing my boundaries with the social media puritans, aren’t I?

Double Vision

Well, 2024 was a shit show of a year, wasn’t it? Then again, haven’t they all been pretty bad since 2015 and the golden escalator? It was, however, also a year with a lot of clarity for one Gregalicious; when I woke up to certain realities about life in general and started centering my own self in my life. So, for personal growth I’d say it was a good year; as for everything else in the world, maybe not so much. I didn’t publish anything in 2024; one of the few years since I started writing professionally where I actually had nothing–not even a short story–on my publications list. I did no volunteer work anywhere for anyone, and I just focused on my own recovery, my own self-discovery, and my own investigation into who I am and why I am who I am. It was a year in which I continued looking back, something that began in 2023 when Mom died, and came to a lot of realizations about myself and my history–and made peace with a lot of things that used to make me angry to remember and think about. I can reflect on some of those things now and not get angry. This was also my first full year on my anti-anxiety medication and the loss of anxiety from my life (and everything that branched out from the anxiety) has made such an amazing difference. It’s nice not having my anxiety controlling everything I do, and it’s also very interesting to see how many automatic coping mechanisms I had put into place to manage the anxiety, or at least keep it sort of controlled–especially when it comes to driving.

This was the year I turned against the legacy media, and frankly, I’ve not missed it in the least. I was worried about the election, not going to lie about that, but I also thought it was incredibly shitty they all decided to go with the “Biden is too old” narrative Trump and Fox were pushing on everyone, reporting it breathlessly like it was actually news while completely ignoring the fact that his opponent was a sun-downing narcissistic piece of shit. There have been two different sets of reporting on politics since the 1990s: the lies and demagoguery of Fox News, followed by the legacy media’s reporting on the lies Fox told like they were absolute facts. The positive glee with which the New York Times, Washington Post, CNN, and MSNBC reported, rubbing their hands with excitement as they basically committed election interference for the Right yet again, shivving President Biden in the process; has anyone done a wellness check on that shit stain George Clooney yet? He’s managed to keep a low profile since he did Trump’s bidding for him. I do not miss legacy media, and hope they all circle the drain and fail. Maybe then, and only then, will we get the kind of media we deserve in this country and not the failing legacy media. The way they are slanting the Luigi Mangione story is also out-of-touch and offensive; why hasn’t the New York Times sent a reporter to a rust belt diner to see how those MAGA voters feel about Mangione? Oh, no, we don’t care about those viewpoints anymore. No, the legacy media thought they’d help MAGA return to power and then lead the resistance, like they thought they did in the first term. Newsflash: you didn’t.

Has there ever been a pundit class that believed the smoke they blew up their own asses like our current batch? Well, I am not watching them anymore. I follow some pundits on Youtube that I enjoy, but to be honest…I don’t feel like I’m missing anything, to tell you the truth, Constant Reader. I’ve always loved and cared about my country, even as I looked at it very clearly as more and more myths fell the older I got, but I also don’t feel like I need to follow the news everyday or participate in all of the partisan, pro-corporate, pro-rich let’s turn politics into a reality show bullshit. We deserve better.

As someone who witnessed Watergate and everything that followed, I bought into the mythology of journalistic integrity and the importance of truth; wasn’t that why his creators made Superman’s secret identity a journalist? I had planned on being a journalist myself when I went to college, and my intro class was all about integrity and honesty, which I also took as gospel for years, like a fool. Why did I ever think modern journalism had left the days of yellow journalism, of Hearst and Pulitzer, behind? My naive outlook, no doubt, and belief in American mythology. Journalistic integrity–which was beaten into our heads by every sitcom that decided to have one of the characters become a reporter for the school paper–was always for sale and never could be depended upon. So I happily bid adieu to thumb-on-the-scales journalism, and Constant Reader, I am never going back.

As for other things from 2024, let’s see. I fought with my health insurance company over a medication I need for seven months, thank you for that, bottom-feeding scum-sucking health insurance companies. This affected the rest of my care, and forced me to go even further into debt in the new year for medical treatments and so forth, and I am not entirely sure when exactly I will be able to recover from this financial distress. Yay for health insurance, and the entire health care industry. But at least it was straightened out, and the medication was approved through 2030. I also got some people at the insurance company in trouble. Too bad, so sad. Womp fucking womp, trash.

There was a lot of stress for me this past year, which was made even more interesting by the change in medications. My brain didn’t experience either stress or anxiety or even depression this year; my moods stayed fairly level all through the mess, but it definitely weighed on me subconsciously, just like delaying dealing with the holidays for a year didn’t really work the way I wanted other than pushing it back a year. Well done, dumb-shit. Ah, well.

What a strange, strange year it’s been.

And on that note, we’ll be hurtling into the abyss of 2025 at midnight. So, until tomorrow morning, I’m heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely lovely eve of the New Year, Constant Reader.

Midnight, Me and the Blues

Wednesday, and it’s Pay-the-Bills Day. Yay.

Heavy sigh.

I faced up to some hard truths about myself yesterday. I knew I’d kind of coasting along and letting things slide and not really giving things my full attention, and that’s kind of been where my mindset has been for–well, for longer than it should have. Snap out of it, Gregalicious. But at least I was cognizant of that yesterday, which is a step in the right direction. I did get some progress made on work I have to get done soon, but I was very tired when I got off work yesterday and flagging by the time I got home from the office. (My day job is pretty routine for the most part every day. Some days are harder, though, and take a toll on me. Yesterday was one of those days; clients with needs beyond the usual normal work day, and those can be difficult to navigate. I felt great most of the day but by the end of my shift I was very drained and tired. The sometime emotional labor that is necessary to do my job wears me out, which is another reason why I’m not giving my emotional labor away anymore. My two jobs require a lot of emotional labor, and I just don’t have enough reserve in the tank anymore to waste, and so, have to guard it jealously.)

Yesterday I realized I’d been in a weird headspace since my trip up north and the election, which means there was some subliminal depression buried in my head showing itself in a weird kind of paralysis where I couldn’t really motivate myself to do much of anything. Generalized anxiety disorder is very sneaky. I think what happens is that when the depressive side of my brain starts firing off synapses up there, it’s like the anxiety takes hold of the depression and deepens it, all the while never being in the forefront of my mind so I can be aware that is going on–and because I don’t actually feel depressed, well, that doesn’t mean that I am not in a depressive state. It’s always kind of worked this way, now that I am thinking about it with a much more clear head this week (Monday was the last day of the lethargic malaise this time around). I also don’t want to have to add another medication to the chemicals I am already putting into my body more than once a day. I appreciate better living through chemistry as much as anyone, but at the same time…I don’t want to be taking more things if I don’t necessarily need them, if that makes sense? These malaises–I’ve had them before, of course, and usually they show up in the wake of finishing a major project, and I just assume it’s the letdown from no longer needing to use my creativity in a focused manner and it needs to recharge. I guess the malaise is kind of an emotional lull? Being in Kentucky and being in Mom’s house is always challenging; I just keep expecting to see her in the kitchen in the morning when I go for my first cup of coffee and it’s a jolt to remember oh yeah, she’s not with us anymore and I also give a lot of emotional energy to my father while I am there. That, the election, and the drive home–yeah, it’s not really surprising that I went into a malaise. But yesterday? Yesterday I did kick myself back into gear and dove into a project that needs doing, like last week, but I am making good progress and should be finished a week late this weekend. I was very tired when I got off work, but I am feeling like I am back in the saddle again, and there was no way I was going to get anything done last night anyway while I waited for Paul to come through the front door.

I’m taking that as a win, thank you very much.

Paul got home right around nine last night, which was delightful. His travels–usually a problem–all went smoothly (thank you, Secretary Pete) and he was in a pretty good mood. Sparky and I were both very happy to get back into our lives again, and Sparky was so glad Paul was home that he slept in the bed with both of us. There’s something about the regular breathing and heartbeat of a sleeping pet pressed up against you that is so incredibly soothing, isn’t there? I know Sparky sleeping in my lap while I recline in my easy chair always has a calming, settling effect on me as well.

I spent some time with The Demon of Unrest last night while Sparky slept in my lap (and didn’t like that I was reading at first, gnawing on a corner of the book and trying to get in between me and the book before circling a few times and laying down). It’s really quite good–I need to read more of Larson, clearly–and is the kind of history written the way I would have liked to have written about it, you know? It’s actually grabbed my attention away from my fiction read, which is saying something; I’ve always felt that History that is written in a more reader-friendly way, like The Demon of Unrest, should be more of a thing. Barbara Tuchman was really good at this, too; which is why I enjoy reading her so much (A Distant Mirror remains my favorite non-fiction history read of all time). And since I don’t have football games to watch this weekend, I’ll have time to get things done on Saturday–cleaning up around the house, reading, writing, editing–and as I said the other day, I don’t really care that much about the play-offs this year. I might get sucked into it yet, of course, but right now I am kind of relieved the season is over so the easy distraction is gone. It was a very weird season, too, which should get a recap at some point (maybe after LSU’s bowl game) because it’s so weird.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely mid-week day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, though I doubt it. I have errands to run tonight after work (yay), and I imagine after I am done working tonight, Paul and I will start catching up on our shows again.

I just adore Cooper Koch, and am glad he, too, is having a moment as an exceptional young and out gay actor. He was exceptional in Monsters.

Catch Us If You Can

I rolled into New Orleans around eight thirty last night; twelve hours, give or take, in the car for the second time in less than a week. It was an okay drive, although there was a lot more traffic than I would have preferred. It was also cold in Kentucky but hot when I got further south, so I didn’t dress properly for the drive and got home feeling kind of icky. But the good news is that neither drive exhausted me the way that drive used to, which is pretty awesome. This is also the first time I’ve been up there since new meds/surgery recovery. I slept well the entire time I was there and wasn’t tired for a change, too. I’ve gotten a lot closer to my dad since Mom passed away almost two years ago–they were such a unit and so devoted to each other that they were all either really needed. I didn’t foresee this, and talking to him about my childhood and what it was like for them when they were young and first dating and so on. I choked up many times while I was up there that I lost count, but I still won’t cry in front of my dad–childhood training in masculinity still deeply engrained in me.

I also have decided, in the wake of last Tuesday, that my primary focus going forward is myself (and Paul and Sparky, of course) and not wasting any energy on things I cannot control. I have finally achieved some kind of mental stability and settled into my life and who I am and what I want out of my life, so I am going to enjoy myself and focus on my work and Paul for as long as I can until I either have to step up because of my conscience, or…I get classified as a dissident for my sexuality and my work, with whatever horrors that is going to bring. I accepted a long time ago that most straight white people are homophobic garbage, and even those who think they are allies don’t care about us when they are voting. These people wanted us all dead in the 1980s, and I guess that’s what we’re going back to. I also decided to unsubscribe from a bunch of newsletters, and did so this morning. I will never go back to CNN or MSNBC; and I am definitely for sure done with the New York Times, Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times. Fuck you people forever. Have fun being controlled by the state, assholes. This is what you wanted, and no sympathy from me. I also am going to severely limit my time on social media. I’ve wasted too much of my life on there as it is, and I have better things to do.

I guess not enough people have seen Cabaret, or missed its message.

I did finish Gabino Iglesias’ latest (more on that later) and started Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory, which is extraordinary; I also read Scott Carson’s The Chill, which I also loved (more on that later). I also had some ideas while I was up there for stuff that I am working on, and am looking forward to getting all that worked on in the upcoming week. I have a manuscript to edit, a manuscript to write, and all kinds of other things to work on and complete and get back to the gym so I can get myself back into better shape again and be healthier. It will help me have more energy–which now that I sleep better has also improved (well, and finally recovering completely from my surgery), and while I do know it’s unrealistic to expect to ever get back the energy I used to have, regular exercise will help decrease muscle loss with age and bone density, which is something I have to be concerned about genetically. I also find that regular exercise triggers my creativity, which is pretty fucking awesome.

I have a lot of things to do today–errands and such–and of course there are great football games on today, capped off by Alabama-LSU in Baton Rouge tonight. I also have some other posts to do–book reviews of what I read while I was gone–and I also have some thoughts about essays I want to get working on. So have a lovely Saturday, hang in there, and by all means, protect your mental health. You’re probably going to need it.

California Girls

And here we are at Remote Friday again in the Lost Apartment. I was very tired when I got home last evening, after my doctor’s appointment and running some errands. I went to my first ever podiatrist, and the good news is I don’t have arthritis in my big toes yet, but the bad news is that there’s really nothing to be done about the pronation of my feet, which I was expecting and was kind of a Hail Mary ask. What was super-nice was his PA was a lesbian, which she revealed in one of the most amazingly nonchalant way, and did make me feel better about being there, if that makes sense? (I think the primary care physician I fired last summer was homophobic, if I am being honest. He was certainly dismissive of me and all of my concerns to the point where I was uncomfortable asking him anything. He could just be a shitty doctor, but one of the great joys of being marginalized is never knowing, or being completely sure, if someone is homophobic or not homophobic and just an asshole. Got some serious trust issues, don’t I?)

And of course I slept late this morning! No wonder I was exhausted; I also asked him about the chronic ingrown toenail on my big toe, so he took care of it in the office as an outpatient procedure. I won’t go into details of what he did on my big toe, but for the next week I have to soak my toe twice a day in epsom salts and re-bandage it after applying Neosporin. I always forget those kinds of things are a shock to the body, and it needs rest after trauma, so it takes a while to recover. I’m not used to these sorts of things, which is pretty amazing that these little traumas and shocks to my body didn’t start until I was in my sixties. I’ve always been relatively healthy for the most part, and also…lived in pain for a good portion of my life mainly because it never occurred to me to do anything about it, which is really kind of insane. But all those years of no insurance taught me to live with pain because I couldn’t afford to see a doctor. (I am writing about my low-paying job history and being the working poor, in an essay for my Substack, which I really need to finish and post before I leave for Kentucky on Sunday.) He also gave me a cortisone shot in my right big toe to do away with the reoccurring pain, and it’s actually kind of nice to not have my toe joint hurting for a change. Woo-hoo!

At some point today I have to take a break from working remotely to head out to Metairie to pick up my new glasses, which is very exciting. I have a lot of cleaning to do around here before I leave Sunday morning, but LSU is off this weekend so I am not terribly vested in watching games tomorrow; I’ll have it on in the background but will mostly clean and read for the day. I also was able to read some more of House of Blood and Rain, which is extraordinary, and I am hoping to finish that before Sunday, too, so I can blog about it before I head up there. I’m going to listen to Shadowlands by Peter Straub on the way up there, and probably Lisa Unger on the way home. I am also going to experiment with going a different way than I always have–I always go through Chattanooga–but this time I think, for something different, I am going to go through Nashville. Exciting, no? The drive to Birmingham will be the same; that’s where I’ll leave 59 North and head for Nashville instead of driving through northeast Alabama. I’m not going to worry about doing any writing (or blogging) while I am up there; you’ll simply have to get used to doing without me for the duration of the trip. (I know, I know, whatever will you do without your daily Gregalicious?) It’s also going to be rough being with my conservative family during the election, but I can keep my mouth shut, and years of experience (and knowing they will never change their minds) has taught me how to be honest but noncommittal; it’s not my fault if they interpret my responses as agreement or concurrence. (Example, from 2009: my dad says “Sarah Palin is no Hilary Clinton” to which I reply, “you can say that again.” I can certainly can agree with that statement , right?) But at least I’ll know how the right is taking the results, regardless of what happens. It may be harder if there’s violence, as I expect there to be. (I’m hoping not, but…those hopes aren’t very high.)

I did watch The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City last night; as you can see, the excitement level around the Lost Apartment for Halloween was very intense. Paul went to a friend’s party (I was exhausted, as I already mentioned), and so I stayed home, reading and cleaning (very lackadaisically) and watching news clips on Youtube to stay slightly aware of what’s going on nation-wide with the election. All the desperate shrieking from the right side seems to be getting more shrill and hysterical on a daily basis. I also had to laugh at the right being so upset over the false claim that President Biden called them garbage; let’s see, what have you trash called me over the course of my life? Pervert, sinner, fornicator, groomer, pedophile, traitor–so yeah, miss me with the hurt feelings of the “fuck your feelings” crowd. Maybe the lie hit too close to home to the people who know, deep down, they aren’t good or nice or Christian or even decent? Just like the “deplorables” thing. Hillary said one negative thing about “some” of his supporters, while they were chanting “lock her up” and worse, and they lost their fucking minds. They sure don’t like being called names, for a group of assholes who feel pretty strong in their ability to call everyone else names but should remain free of criticism myself. And at this point? I’d correct Hillary to say they are ALL deplorables. Maybe not in 2016, but they sure as fuck know they’re all trash and a disgrace to all humanity now because they’ve seen what he is capable of doing and they are looking forward to the end of our democracy.

I don’t think that’s patriotic, actually. I find it deplorable and disgusting and treasonous. (Someday I will write about how the right wrapped itself in the flag and absconded with the country’s symbols to such a point that the word patriot no longer means what it once did.)

Ugh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I may check in again later.

As Soon As I Hang Up the Phone

Ugh, the forecast for Milton and Florida remains extremely dire this morning. I feel you, Florida. It also hasn’t escaped me that I am writing a hurricane book for Scotty and this hurricane is Milton–which is Scotty’s actual first name(!!!). I hope everyone able to leave were able to get out safely, and that those who could not are safe as they can be when this storm comes ashore.1 Please help out wherever you can for the victims of this, while not forgetting those still struggling to get over Helene’s fury. Awful, just awful. (And yes, hurricane victims DO need feminine hygiene products, so get the fuck over yourself, Senator Cornpone. I know how squeamish vaginas make you, but that doesn’t change women’s realities, you miserable piece of shit.) I will never understand why men like him hate women so much–and I don’t get how the women in his immediate family haven’t smothered him in his sleep yet, but here we are.

Yesterday was exhausting, not going to lie. This week has been exhausting at the day job this week. My supervisor is in London for two weeks, so I am loosely in charge of my program and I. Do. Not. Like. This. One. Bit. She’s been gone for two days. TWO DAYS. So many things have gone wrong, so many challenges have come up, and I’ve had to come up with workable solutions. It’s not that I can’t do this kind of work–I definitely can–but I do not like to do this kind of work. I don’t want to feel like something Sparky dragged in when I get home, so I am too tired to write or read or do much of anything. This is why I have never wanted to be in management, you know? But all I can do is my best–it’s hard to keep up with everything, I can see why she’s pulling her hair out on a daily basis–and hope that’s good enough. No pressure at all, right? But…I also don’t want her to come back to the office after two weeks and have everything be on fire–especially since I am going to Kentucky a few days after she gets back.

I am definitely leaving for Alabama on Friday. I am going to do my work-at-home chores, and then hit the road and head north. It’ll be nice to see Dad again; one of the only good things that’s happened since we lost Mom is Dad and I have become a lot closer and have spent a lot more time together than we ever have. It’s actually very nice. I just wish Kentucky wasn’t so far away; if he were over in Houston or Alabama, I could make it over there for a weekend every month like I used to do when I worked for the airline and lived in Tampa; at least once a month I’d hop a flight for Houston to go chill out and visit them. I missed that when they moved to Kentucky, but a twelve hour drive is still a twelve hour drive. It’s why I didn’t see Mom more, and that’s something I’ll probably carry to my grave with me.

I also had a ZOOM meeting last night with some writer friends about a project we’re working on, which is always delightful; spending time with writers, even if we aren’t specifically talking about writing and publishing, is always lovely. Paul got home late last night, and all I basically did after the ZOOM call was escape to my easy chair to be a Sparky cushion. I watched hurricane updates and the news, as is my usual wont, and Paul came home just as I was getting ready to go upstairs and go to bed. I slept well last night, which was great, and my brain feels alert and ready to go even if my body feels a bit tired. Tonight on the way home from work I am going to go uptown to get the mail and maybe stop to make groceries…I’m not so sure because I have to figure out how to feed Paul while I am gone–and the big grocery run will have to wait until I get back.

I also figured out how to rewrite a story for an anthology call for submissions yesterday, which is very exciting. I am hoping to get that all worked on and going over the rest of the week. Going to Alabama while I am rewriting an Alabama story–the very first one I ever wrote, back in 1983–and I think I can finally make the story work the way it should have all along. I’m also finding that lately I am solving a lot of problems in work of mine that has been stalled for a long time, which is very exciting. I am hoping to have a very productive 2025, in all honesty, and bearing any tragedies or disruptions (God only knows what’s around the corner for me) but there’s nothing wrong with making plans, you know? So what if plans can get disrupted for reasons that are out of my control? (There’s so little in life that is actually under our own control; the only thing we do control is how we handle things, how we react, and how it changes us in ways we won’t understand until later–sometimes much, much later.)

And I have, recently (pardon me if I mentioned this already) realized that, with my anxiety medicated and under control, I’ve been able to be a lot calmer and cooler about things, and realized how much of my own behavior was anxiety-driven and the result of “trauma” (I feel like this word is used too much…to the point where it’s becoming almost meaningless) I experienced and learned (not always the right lesson) from. I’ve also realized that I’ve never put myself first–especially not my own mental health–and that is going to be a huge priority going forward for me. People may not like it, but I also don’t give much of a fuck what other people think, you know? You don’t like me? Not my problem, really. I feel like that’s an important breakthrough for me. Maybe it’s homophobia, maybe they think I am an asshole, but it’s really none of my business what other people think of me, and it is assuredly not my problem. And it feels good, you know? I always worried that I was too selfish (been told that enough by toxic narcissists to believe it), and yes, I can be…but I also don’t want to let anything or anyone come between me and my writing anymore (well, that doesn’t include Paul, of course).

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Wednesday–oh, it’s even Pay-the-Bills Day! I may be back later.

Why is “sweaty shirtless man holding a tire” a trope in physique photography? I’m assuming it’s because of Herb Ritts.
  1. After Katrina, I made the decision to never be one of those horrible people who blame victims for their bad luck; it isn’t cheap to evacuate by any means, and some people can’t afford to, don’t have an automobile that can last in evacuation traffic, or have some other reason they can’t go. Don’t judge them, for fuck’s sake, you heartless assholes. No one “deserves” this. ↩︎