Tag: integrity

I’ll Be Around

Tuesday! How you doing, everyone? I’m feeling better every day. I was a little lower energy than I would have liked over the weekend, but it’s a process, isn’t it? I’m also sleeping very well, despite the return of the heat and the humidity and their combined assault on my sinuses. It’s frightening that it’s still relatively early June and it’s this hot already. Going outside yesterday was absolutely miserable. I stopped on the way home to make groceries, and was sweating lugging the bags in from the car. Sigh. Today I need to swing by the post office on the way home, too.

Yesterday was a pretty good day overall. I woke up feeling pretty good, and managed to make it through the day feeling good (other than when I was lugging the groceries in). I now weigh 198, back up from those frighteningly low weights from the illness, and I am also not as hungry all the time as I used to be, or thinking about food constantly? I think my body recognizes what weight I should be–around 200–and was thus convincing me to want to eat more to get back to that weight. I’d like to stay here, honestly; I think this is a good weight for me, and if I can maintain it as I get stronger and keep healing…maybe when I am able to get back into the gym and start working out regularly again, I can get myself into decent shape again. It won’t be easy and it will take longer than it ever did before, because I’m older and my body has been traumatized a lot in the last few years, but I have to remember the patience I am learning with this recovery.

I actually did some more writing yesterday, too–I know, right?–and it went rather well. I am trying to push myself to get a short story written for a submission call that closes soon–there are two others I want to get to by the end of the month, we’ll see how that goes, won’t we? The problem, of course, is short stories don’t pay much so the financial incentive isn’t really there to motivate me, and since it’s an open call no one will care if I don’t finish the stories and turn them in to see what happens with them. But I do want to publish more short stories, and there are so many I have on hand that need to be worked on and revised and rewritten and/or finished. I have so many that I wrote for a submission call that I never turned in–or finished, so I have a lot of story fragments that need to be finished. There are a couple of calls that I have something on hand already that may work, but needs to be revised and/or finished. And I do want to submit to the conference anthologies; nothing ventured, nothing gained. I didn’t write anything for the New Orleans Bouchercon anthology this year, because I am still kind of bitter about not being allowed to submit to the Minneapolis one in case people wouldn’t think I cheated to get my story in, if I did get in–as if I would ever do such a fucking thing; I really don’t like having my integrity challenged and insulted like that, and yes, I do take that kind of shit personally. How is being told people would think I’d cheat to publish a short story not impugning my character and insulting who I am as a professional?

I’d rather not publish something, rather than do so by cheating the system.

And to me, the people who’d accuse me of such a thing are the kind of people who would do exactly that. That isn’t how my mind works. I guess I had better parents than y’all. I don’t know, I guess having integrity is something no one cares about anymore? Well, I do care about it, and if that makes me old-fashioned, I can live with it. I am old, after all.

I’ve really been missing my friend Victoria Brownworth these past few weeks, as the country continues to circle the drain as our democracy slips through our fingers, aided and abetted by the pathetic pieces of collaborationist quisling shit known as the today’s legacy media. Her emails and reporting would have been lit. She was one of the few journalists whose reporting I trusted, and now she is gone. This is why I no longer subscribe to any newspapers on-line and why I do not watch CNN or MSNBC–and why I will never watch anything with that pretentious fuck George Clooney in it ever again. I wasn’t a fan of the asshole to begin with, but occasionally he might make a film over the years where he actually had to do something besides play himself and mug for the camera that I might have been interested in seeing–but no more. The irony that after that bullshit editorial he wrote for the New York Slimes last summer that he was nominated for a Tony for playing Edward R, Murrow was almost perfect; Murrow was a true journalist while Clooney played a role in the downfall of the country.

They are not the same.

Clooney, you’re not fit to lick the shit out of Murrow’s asshole, and you’ll never be anything other than a craven piece of shit who did his best to throw the election to Trump, before escaping to your villa in Italy with your wife. The Reign of Terror, for the record, eventually urned on everyone. I hope you have your day in front of the tribunals.

But after getting my chores done and some writing, Paul and I watched another episode of The Survivors, and I am thinking I may need to add Jane Harper to my list of authors to check out. The show is quite excellent, and cinematically shot in a very stunningly beautiful location, and the way everyone’s lives are knitted together and knotted by misery and tragedy is quite extraordinary. It’s a terrific show, really.

I didn’t get much chance to read last night, alas and alack. But that’s okay; there’s only so much time in a day and I refuse to berate myself or get down on myself about not getting enough stuff done every day anymore. Life will try to knock me down enough on its own without me creating more anxiety and stress for myself, and I don’t ever want to be back in that horrible place I was in, emotionally, before the illness reboot. I am feeling good about my life and both careers (day job and writing), and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

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 probably tomorrow.

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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.