Tag: Life

I’ll Try A Little Bit Harder

Well, it’s Tuesday and we survived Monday, did we not? I finally got all my work computer issues worked out yesterday (thank you, baby Jesus) so hurray for that and huzzah and thank heavens things are back to normal around the office and I could get my Admin work done–which was marvelous. I always feel so unsettled when I can’t function the way I usually do, and it felt weird yesterday morning to be using the borrower laptop again. Was Mercury in retrograde, or has it been? My work computer blew up on Thursday, Paul’s office building partially collapsed, and there’ve been other issues around over the course of the end of last week and the weekend. Heavy heaving sigh. Most were just annoying–like the work computer situation–and just had to be gotten through.

I was very tired when I got home last night but hung out with Sparky a bit and just had a bit of a relaxing evening. We watched more of The Diplomat, which is fantastic on every level–writing, acting, casting–and I went to bed a bit early. I did have some trouble falling asleep, though, and had one of those toss-and-turn nights. Getting through today is going to be a bit of a struggle for me, methinks; I am feeling a bit zoned-out this morning. I even worked on the Scotty a little bit yesterday, too, which felt like progress of a sort. I’m still a bit worried about my lack of desire to write anything, which isn’t a very good thing. I’m still getting ideas and thinking about writing all the time, scribbling notes in my journal and so forth, but when you’re not actually putting words down to make progress on fiction–any kind, really–always makes me feel like I’m not really writing. I was also realizing that 2024 was one of the few years since 2000 that I didn’t publish anything; not even a short story anywhere, nor did I write much of anything. On that scale, 2024 was an utter failure of a year, but I don’t want to be terribly hard on myself, either. 2023 was a very rough year, and 2024 was rough in dealing with all of the fallout from 2023’s happenings.

And it’s not like I’m not old. (No need to rush to assure me that “no, Gregalicious, you’re not old! You’re only as old as you feel!” Well, there are days when I feel like I’m a hundred, okay? Sixty-three is fairly old; only two years left to go before what used to be retirement age, until the Republicans decided that was too young to not work anymore.) My body creaks and groans, it’s harder to get out of bed in the morning (although it was never easy for me, ever), and I tire a lot easier than I used to. And every time I look in the mirror, I see an old man–and yes, I am aware that my own issues with myself probably make me see myself in said mirror as a lot older than I think I am; I forget that I’m in my sixties until the morning mirror reminds me. It is a grim way to start the day every morning.

Ah, there’s the morning kick from the caffeine and sugar from my morning coffee cake slice (one of the few sweet treats I allow myself). Hopefully it will be enough to see me through this entire day. I don’t think we’re going to be busy in the clinic today, so I can get caught up on paperwork that I couldn’t get to yesterday due to the work laptop kerfuffle, and I had some trouble getting it to work on some of my paperwork duties, so I am going to have to see if I can get that worked out for this morning. Yay!

The rest of the week stretches endless before me, but tomorrow is pay day, next week is Christmas (Jesus H. Christ!), and I have a lot of things I need to be getting done. But it will be nice to have two days off in the middle of the week next week. We’re going to go see Babygirl on Christmas, which will be nice. I’m thinking about getting us a pizza from That’s Amore out in Metairie for the holiday (and so I won’t have to cook anything and make any mess in the kitchen); Paul mentioned last night that he was sorry the one on St. Charles closed during the shutdown…which got a “um, it’s not that long of a drive out to Clearview Parkway” from me and I tucked that little nugget of information away. I can get up on the morning of Christmas Eve, order the pizza, and then drive out there to pick it up before Paul even wakes up.

That would be a nice Christmas surprise, wouldn’t it?

And on that note I have to get my day going. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

I’ll Think of Something

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment, and a very nice day was had here in the Lost Apartment. I worked and ran my errands and cleaned and had a rather nice, productive day. It was also a pretty day to run errands, despite the hordes of tourists on foot in the Garden District who somehow think it’s a pedestrian mall and will literally step out into the street without looking.1 Heavy heaving sigh. I will also never understand tour buses that want to make the left turn off Prytania onto Washington (by the cemetery); Washington is a very narrow two-lane street with cars parked on both sides. Probably heading to Commander’s Palace, but a bus will block the entire street. Ah, the trials and tribulations of driving in uptown New Orleans!

But I got up at a pretty decent hour (this morning as well) yesterday so I could get things done in the morning before I had to venture out into the errands. I was most pleased with what I was able to get done in the morning–the apartment still needs to have the floors cleaned, but at least it’s not nearly as horrifying around here as it was on Thursday night when I got home from work. This morning I am going to do the floors and the weekend’s dishes, so I can head into the work week with a sparking and shining home. I made major progress on a project, and hope to get it finished today. I also did some mental writing of my own on the Scotty book–I am not sure why I always struggle and then remember oh yeah, the plots are supposed to be over-the-top and ridiculous, the more ridiculous the better. So I would really like to get back to work on it, so I need to get this other project finished. When I get this finished I am going to read for a bit before I get cleaned up and get back to work.

I read manage to read some more of Winter Counts, and it’s really exceptionally well written. I am having a good time reading it, and seeing how the standard hard-boiled noir style can be interpreted and developed in an entirely new way and perspective is pretty awesome, too. (Seriously, people: broaden your minds and read diverse books.) I also spent some time with White Too Long, which thus far isn’t really telling me anything new–it opens with an explanation of how the Southern Baptists came into being in the first place, and how it has evolved from those racist roots (without losing the white supremacy) ever since. That may help me with the essay I am writing about religion and why I am so antipathetic to it; unpacking my miseducation on both it and American exceptionalism has been very revelatory–and it also makes me more than a little angry. This is what happens when you confront the truth about this country’s actual history, rather than the American mythology my childhood education groomed me into believing–which is why I guess people are so afraid of the truth and what their children might think of them? You cannot be both a good person and a racist at the same time; because if you harbor bigotry and racism inside of your personality it will spill over into other aspects of your life, and color your decisions and your votes and how you conduct yourself as you navigate through the world.

Paul was at the office for most of the day, and he got home rather late. I bought one of those Costco ready for the oven fresh pizzas Friday, and made it for dinner last night. It was quite good–what isn’t good from Costco, really–but when he got home, he had a tale to tell. As he was leaving his office from the rear of the building he was stopped by firemen (they were hot and young) and he eventually spoke to both the fire chief and the chief of police. Apparently, his building started to collapse while he was at his office. He didn’t even know anything had happened! Ah, New Orleans is always going to New Orleans. Never a dull moment in this city, is there? We’re almost to the anniversary of the Hard Rock Hotel collapse, too.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and read for a while before I get to work for the day. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later on, if Sparky will allow it.

Screenshot
  1. In fact, this made me think about Chanse’s computer guy, Jephtha, and his video game, “Tourist Season.” ↩︎

Big Four Poster Bed

Tuesday and progress was made yesterday, thank Goodness. I am hoping to get all of this stuff finished and out of my hair (off my scalp?) by the weekend. One can dream, at any rate.

It rained most of the day yesterday, and is going to rain all day again today, while staying warm before getting cold again tomorrow. It’s messing with my sinuses and my hearing aids, which isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds. I think it’s also affecting my ability to work and not be tired, if that makes any sense? I was very fatigued when I got home from work yesterday. I did get some work done, though–not as much as I wanted to–and we’re going to be very busy in the clinic today, so I’ll be tired again after work today. I have to leave early to see the podiatrist to check on the in-office procedure he did on my toe–it’s healed nicely, so no worries on that score. I don’t need another cortisone shot in the toe, either. There’s an occasional ache in the toe, but nothing unbearable. I also made dinner last night–Swedish meatballs, Gregalicious style–and it may have been the best batch I’ve made thus far? I also managed to get most of the mess cleaned up, so the kitchen isn’t a disaster area the way it usually is the morning after I’ve cooked. Paul felt better yesterday, too, which was awesome, and we did finish watching Cruel Intentions, which had an excellent season finale and left enough things hanging to drive a second season, which hasn’t been ordered yet. They didn’t wrap everything up, and there are enormous plot threads left dangling for a follow-up season. I do recommend the show, even if the male lead isn’t Ryan Philippe; who is, after all?

So, it looks like someone turned in Robin Hoody, whose real name is the so-Italian-I’d-never-dare-name-a-character this Luigi Mangione–and within minutes his shirtless photos were popping up everywhere you turned on social media; the thirst is real, and when Internet sleuths are on the trail, it never takes long. It’ll be interesting to follow the story once more information is known; I don’t have much interest in being an Internet sleuth, so am more than happy to wait for the in-depth article about him from either Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, or The Atlantic…or the inevitable Ryan Murphy season of American Crime Story that he is undoubtedly feverishly casting as we speak. I mean, he even has the patented Ryan Murphy look, except for the blue eyes. Apparently, he was some kind of tech bro who went to Penn and had a vendetta towards health insurance because he had a back injury and back pain. I’m kind of curious to hear what his defense will be–and how many people contribute to his defense fund–which says a lot more about how we all feel about the health insurance industry in this country than a sudden American embrace of outlaws.

Never, ever doubt that there is such a thing as pretty privilege.1 (Tellingly, the only people who don’t believe that pretty privilege exists are usually, you guessed it, pretty.)

I also see people enraged at the McDonalds employee who recognized him and tipped off the cops. Yes, he’s became a bit of a social media Robin Hood since the shooting and the majority of us were hoping they’d never catch him–but I don’t think he cared about that one way or the other, to be honest; I think he wanted to be found and with all that evidence he was still carrying around for no reason. Time will tell. Anyway, I don’t think people grasp how life-changing even a ten thousand dollar windfall would be for someone who works at a McDonalds; and wasn’t there an additional fifty thousand dollar reward put up, too? Much as I would like to be angry at that employee–I can’t say I’d turn down sixty grand and I don’t work at a McDonalds. (I will say, the social media posts from the corporate accounts of other fast food companies have been hilarious.) The ironies of all of this are kind of amazing, really. Luigi was a rich Ivy League educated young man from a world of privilege and wealth. He murders the CEO of a shitty health insurance corporation and becomes a folk hero–and two right-wing grifters trying to blame the left for the shooting had their audiences turn on them; their comments sections were aflame–and is brought to justice by a tip from a fast food worker making minimum wage who probably doesn’t have health insurance.

This book pitch would get turned down everywhere as implausible…but I kind of wish Dominick Dunne was still alive, because his reporting on this story for Vanity Fair would be incredible.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, unlikely as it seems now.

  1. Don’t @ me about this, saying that I have pretty privilege. I certainly don’t now, when I did I didn’t even know it–but I did notice some things after I trimmed down and got rid of the at-the-time Dad bod I had in the early 1990s. Dad bods were not a thing back then, and I’m not convinced gays have embraced dad bods yet. ↩︎

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.

Honeymoon Feelin’

Monday and back to the office with one Gregalicious.

I got absolutely nothing done this weekend! Isn’t that positively shameful? I probably should feel worse about it than I do, but here we are. Yesterday I got sucked into the vortex of chores and reading my books (Winter Counts and The Demon of Unrest), finished watching some documentaries I’d started, and just, I don’t know, rode the low energy wave? I had gotten up early yesterday morning–I’d forgotten to take my pills last night, so I woke up at two and never really fell back asleep, and finally I let Sparky coax me out of bed around seven; it was chilly and the bed was quite warm and comfortable. I started doing things, and then around eleven or so the caffeine started wearing down and so, frankly, did I. I decided to eat something and take a reading back, and then hours passed as I read, alternating the books as well as doing chores and the occasional snack while Sparky slept comfortably in my chair–leaving very little room for my legs. I checked out the news, watched the first episode of the new Dune show, and just kicked back. It was kind of nice, and I think I’m going to have the energy to start getting things done starting tomorrow. Yay, me!

I’ve certainly been pushing everything off, haven’t I? Bad Gregalicious, bad Gregalicious. But I was also wondering where and how this Thanksgiving holiday was going to hit. It was always Mom’s holiday, you know? And last year I scheduled my surgery the same week so I’d be too focused on recovery and the post-surgery horror to be sad or depressed. I don’t think I was overtly either this past weekend, but it could account for the low energy and the inability to get much done or stay focused for very long. Maybe I shouldn’t have put off facing this holiday without Mom till this year, and unfortunately, I was also home alone for it, with just my emotional support cat. It’s actually kind of sweet how he’s been glued to me the entire time I’ve been in the house since Paul departed. I don’t know if that is separation anxiety for him, or if he thinks I’m lonely and need the companionship.

In either case, it’s terribly sweet.

I am pleased that I got some books read, and some others started; I’ve also had a lot of thoughts about story revisions and endings as well as what to do with the new Scotty. I need to make a to-do list (believe it or not, I never did make one, other than the chores one–and I did get almost all of those done!), and I need to start thinking about goals and plans for the new year. Yikes! It’s almost 2025. How scary is that? Fifty years ago, I was heading into the winter break for my freshman year in high school–and trying to write a book set during that time (I wrote the first chapter in my head this weekend, here’s hoping I can find the time to type it up) in the present. Fifty years ago I was a freshman in high school. My parents had just turned thirty-two. How wild is that? I couldn’t imagine being my grandparents’ age back then, yet here we are.

Amazing what a difference taking my pills makes; I slept like the proverbial stone1 last night, and it was so warm and comfortable I really didn’t want to get up–it’s forty-four degrees here this morning–but Sparky made sure I did (he was hungry), and I do feel good this morning. Given how little work I actually did since I came home early from the office last Tuesday (I’ve been out for nearly a week!) We’ll see how the day goes, won’t we? Paul comes home tomorrow night (huzzah!) and the rest of the week will be normal; no more holidays for another couple of weeks, at least. Hopefully I’ll get back on track this week and start getting stuff done; I also have a shit ton of emails that I’ve been avoiding and I need to answer them. I think I have to work in the clinic today because one of my usual people is out, and I think the schedule for today is pretty booked; Mondays are always our busiest days, for some reason–getting it over with, most likely–and it’s usually my in-office Admin day, but we were super-slow last week and I am all caught up on that work, at any rate.

Reading The Demon of Unrest is actually kind of timely, and I am spending more time with it than my other read–primarily because everything I’m reading sounds so much like the times we are living in now–a country rife with division and hatred of the other side, fake news, the inability to listen of either side to actually hear the other side and not just assume what they really meant, etc. Larson does point out the deep hypocrisy of claiming “states’ rights” to allow slavery, but refusing to obey the Fugitive Slave Act by any free state was arguing for states’ rights. As always, the racist conservatives wanted their cake and to eat it with ice cream as well. How can you argue that the Federal government be ignored on the one hand but Federal law overruled state law at the same time?

Some things never change.

And on that note, I am going to get ready for work. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later–stranger things have happened before.

  1. I wonder…if “sleeping like a stone” derives from tombstone, so it’s the same as “slept like the dead”? ↩︎

Hang in There, Girl

Sunday morning and the last day of my little staycation. It began with stomach distress, and is ending on a morning where I feel pretty good and rested. I didn’t do much of anything this entire time, other than chores and some cleaning and filing and organizing, but while not pushing myself to an insane level, I hope to get some things done today. I am punishing myself by not allowing myself to watch today’s Saints game; I am also going to try not to turn on the television itself until after five sometime this evening. Yesterday I ran my errands in the morning and did some more cleaning around the house while listening to music, and then turned on the television for football games. I watched some of Tennessee-Vanderbilt (was really pulling for Vanderbilt), some of the Iron Bowl and some of Arkansas-Missouri, and then watched LSU-Oklahoma for the grand finale of the day. The Tigers won (yay!) 37-17, and there were some upsets–Ohio State lost to Michigan again; Syracuse upset Miami; South Carolina surprised Clemson–so it has, indeed, been a wacky season. I also finished reading The Rival Queens, which was a lot of fun, and started reading my new fiction read (Winter Counts by David Heska Wanbli Weiden, which I’ve been wanting to read for several years now; lovely man, too) and my new non-fiction read, Erik Larson’s The Demon of Unrest, about the lead up to the fall of Fort Sumter after Lincoln was elected president. It’s very good–I love Larson’s work–and it’s kind of timely, particularly in reference to the division in today’s country, and it’s been a while since I’ve read a Civil War narrative (the last was Gore Vidal’s Lincoln), so it’s kind of interesting to dive into it.

I am going to try to do some writing today. I want to reread Hurricane Season Hustle again, and pull everything together on it, as well as to start perhaps revising some of my short stories and to finish an essay for the substack; I have several percolating, but the one I am leaning towards working on is “Recovering Christian,” which is about my relationship to religion and to God, really, and how being groomed to be religious as a child can be very detrimental to that child’s well-being. Ooooh, look at me taking on organized Christianity. ’bout time, as some would say. I remember when, growing up, the rules for polite society and conversation were that you never talked about money, religion, or politics. It certainly hasn’t helped anything that these things have all so much in the zeitgeist, ever since the unholy marriage of evangelical Christianity and the Reagan Republicans. I always took freedom of religion and the separation of church and state very seriously; reading so much History, particularly of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when the soil of Europe was soaked with blood over faith (The Rival Queens details that struggle in France after 1559) had a lot to do with it, just as that recent history drove the founders to put up explicit blocks to keep government and religion from being poisoned by each other–which is where we are now. Modern day Christians are driving believers away even as they grasp for more power.

I also figured out yesterday that the reason I was so lethargic on Friday was because it was too cold in the apartment. I was shivering yesterday morning–it was colder yesterday morning than it was Friday–when I remember, d’oh, the heat works properly now so I switched the upstairs and downstair thermostats to heat and within an hour, the apartment was toasty and warm and bearable. It is lovely again this morning (thank you, heater!), but I can also tell it’s cold again this morning–the windows around my desk always let me know how cold it is outside! (When I think about how much we used to freeze around here until the old system died…) In fact, Sparky is a kitty puddle in my easy chair right now, curled up inside the folds of the blanket resting in the chair–he’s always needier and cuddlier when it’s cold. He wouldn’t leave my chair yesterday, even when I’d get up for something to eat or drink–he stayed inside the blankets and waited for me to come back, which he never does. He usually runs ahead of me into the kitchen every time I get up to beg for food or treats or both. He also started trying to get me up around five this morning.

I am not berating myself for using this time off to rest and recalibrate and to get ready to sprint to the end of the year. I’ve got some chores to do this morning, but I am going to read for a bit with my morning coffee first, get cleaned up, and then try to seriously tackle this downstairs, which has been out of control due to my own laziness for quite some time. I need to take these rugs out and shake them, then replaced and vacuumed to within an inch of their life, and I also should do the stairs. Paul will be home Tuesday night (thank God), and then we have a few weeks before the disruptions of Christmas and New Year’s. A new year of horrors is coming; hard to get excited about that, you know? But my role in the resistance this time is to call out bullshit and lies and bigotry whenever I see it or experience it. If it makes me a target, it makes me a target; as a gay author, I am already on a list somewhere, you can be sure of that–my money’s on the Family Research Council, anything that has to do with that fetid Dobson family, and Tony Perkins. So, if they are going to come for me anyway, may as well go down swinging.

And on that rather somber note, I am heading into the spice mines for the rest of the day. I may be back later–I’m debating doing a post on The Rival Queens–but will most definitely be back tomorrow morning before I start my new work week. Have a lovely Sunday, and I’ll talk to you later, Constant Reader.

Love Potion Number Nine

Saturday and it’s cold in New Orleans. We were supposed to have a cold spell on Thanksgiving, which didn’t happen, but the mercury dropped suddenly overnight Thursday and it was very cold here yesterday–and even colder this morning. I didn’t get much done yesterday, other than the bed linens and my review of Lavender House, which I did finish reading yesterday morning (it is superb; I cannot encourage you enough to read it if you haven’t already) and then spend some time trying to decide what to read next. I picked out some books that look like fun reads–there’s one in particular I am leaning towards–and then spent the evening reading The Rival Queens, which I finally fished out from between the washer and the dryer; there’s slightly less than an inch between the two machines, and Sparky1 loves nothing more than knocking stuff from on top of the dryer down into that crevasse. The Rival Queens has been down there for a few months, and yes, it took me that long to fish it–and the other things–out of there. (My nasal spray for allergies/sinus issues–something new–was also down there, hence the need for me to spend more than a few moments trying before giving up in frustration.)

I’d also forgotten that there are big games this weekend; today is Ohio State-Michigan (won’t watch), and the Iron Bowl are on today before the LSU game tonight against Oklahoma in Baton Rouge (first regular season meeting between the two; the last time they played was that insane 63-28 win over them in the play-offs for 2019 where the score was 49-14 at half-time), so I probably am not going to get a lot done today other than some reading and some errands and some cleaning. I do need to make groceries today, and pick up the mail. I was thinking about trying to drop off books to the library sale, but they may not be open–which isn’t a big deal; I can either leave the box in the car for a week or bring it back inside (not likely). The refrigerator and all these cabinets/drawers in the kitchen all need work, too. There are also any number of chores that still need to be done around here. I did spend some time making notes on short stories yesterday, and so I’m hoping to get some writing done today and tomorrow. We shall see, shall we not?

I just can’t get angry at myself for using this long weekend to rest and relax and recharge, you know? And it is very cold in here this morning. It’s going to be mostly in the sixties during the day and forties at night until they average between high sixties during the day and low sixties after dark later next week–normal for this time of year down here. I’ll probably do some more business stuff this morning that I need to take care of–paying the bills and making a grocery list–and then I’ll probably go to my chair with my new book and get under the blankets for the day once I get home from doing all of that. I am going to try to write in my chair with the laptop–if I could just normalize using it while I am in my chair instead of the iPad, which is really getting very slow and probably needs to be replaced, which isn’t going to happen. A new iPad is not in the cards for me for a very long time, thank you very much. Since Apple products are made in China…imagine how much more they are going to cost with a tariff! Especially since Apple will take advantage of said price increases to up the price even more, as all corporations do, as we learned during the “supply chain issues” from the pandemic. Price gouging is a disgusting thing, but it’s something we all have to get used to once again.

I was better off in 2024 than I was in 2020, but hey–why not vote for racist sexist homophobic authoritarianism when you can blame it on the price of eggs and pull the old “it’s the economy” fake out when it’s really the racism and sexism and homophobia you’re really embracing. Maybe a significant portion of the population honestly believes that somehow things are better under Republican governance; all I know is they are incredibly bad at it, have proven this time and again (Reagan, both Bushes, the Tea Party, MAGA) by tanking the economy repeatedly–but all those bigotries are really more important than anything else to almost fifty percent of American voters, which means that once again the bad Americans are slightly outnumbering the decent ones2. Pundits are now apparently bending the knee, and MSNBC is desperately trying to center itself as the resistance for ratings again–which is exactly what they were hoping for this past summer as they repeatedly shivved Biden and Harris and threw yet another election to MAGA. #FAFO, MSNBC and CNN. Your audience let you pull this bait-and-switch in 2016 and fell for your manipulation, which failed in 2020 and you went all-in on again on the same bait-and-switch on your audience. Sorry not sorry, progressives eventually learn. The legacy media overplayed its hand by putting its thumb on the scale for money and power–and are finding themselves abandoned, high and dry, as they should; they have betrayed their mission of journalism and so betrayed the country. They are soulless corporations, and let’s face it–any pretense at populism led by a corporation is corrupted by the corporation from the start.

Sigh.

If only we could learn to live up to and respect, rather than paying lip-service, to the ideals this country was founded upon.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and who knows? I may be back later. Stranger things have happened before.

  1. Unlike Scooter, Sparky is like Skittle when it comes to knocking things off counter tops or any flat surface. Scooter wasn’t a normal cat, he was just a big lump of orange lap cat. ↩︎
  2. Just like before the Civil War! No one really cared about slavery in the north until the South fired on the flag, period–if anything, emancipation was more of a religious movement, about morality–and once they were free, everyone abandoned them to the mercies of the former enslaving aristocracies and the resultant monstrosities of Jim Crow. SO, how much did Northern whites care about Blacks? Not very much, and probably far less than they do today, which isn’t much, either. ↩︎

Nowhere to Run

Friday morning after the holiday, and were you able to get through it safely without killing a MAGA relative, Constant Reader? I have to admit it was kind of nice spending the day by myself. Sparky and I had a very nice time hanging out, and he spent a lot of time in a kitty puddle in my lap, with only the occasional change into Apex Predator Pounce and Attack mode. I wound up watching some research videos on Youtube, going down wormholes and putting me in mind of yet another project in the files, heaving heaving sigh. I also spent more time with Lavender House, which continues to be marvelous–another one I am reading so I can savor everything about it. It was actually kind of lovely, to tell you the truth; Sparky certainly was enjoying himself. The cold spell we were warned about for Thanksgiving arrived over night, actually; it’s only 49 degrees outside right now and I could tell when I get downstairs this morning. Brrr. It also explains how well I slept last night, and why I am up so early this morning, too. Not even seven, and I am already here slurping coffee and typing away. I feel very rested, too, and good, even. I want to get things done today, and I am going to make A List. I am going to spend some time this morning reading more of the book, and I have some other reading/editing to do, and maybe, if I am lucky I can even get some writing done, too. There’s some more cleaning that needs to be done, and the bed linens need to be laundered as it is Friday. I survived the holiday alone, and it was actually kind of nice. It was always Mom’s holiday, the one I would usually go to Kentucky for, and that’s part of the reason last year I had my surgery two days before the holiday–I figured being drugged up and recovering from a major surgery was the best way to get through missing her last year, and this year, I did get sad a couple of times but overall, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

I think I managed to cope with Thanksgiving very well these last two years.

There are some football games on today, but no one I really care too much about. I may put on the Egg Bowl this afternoon (Mississippi-Mississippi State) because it’s usually a wild game, but who knows? It depends on where I am at with everything I want to do today. I’ll probably not get everything done that I want to get done–that is the Way–but at least I get to be at home on this cold November morning. In fact, curling up with my book and my blanket in my easy chair sounds 100% like the best option for this morning.

I did manage to think through the revisions of another couple of stories last night, which was rather cool. My productive mind is still working, I am just not turning that work into actual writing production, which has always been an issue (I’ve never been able to keep up with my mental creativity) for me, but I am enjoying writing in my journal and thinking about my writing. I do love writing, and I hope I’ll be able to get back on the horse completely. I can’t remember the last time I did three thousand words in a day–but then I barely remember yesterday, so it could be as recent as a few weeks ago. I’ve also been avoiding the news a lot these last couple of days, which has also been lovely. I have become very cynical and jaded about a lot of things since the election, to be honest. I’m still a bit concerned about what exactly is going to happen now that Incompetent Evil has taken over the country, and what that means for my future–but I only have space to worry about mine and Paul’s. The rest of my life means my emotional work will focus entirely on Paul and I; and my writing is about to become a lot more important and get a lot more of my focus and energy going forward. It’s astonishing to me that I always let other people put their needs and wants and desires ahead of my own career. How stupid was that? I always say I don’t want to have regrets, but I do resent and regret that.

I did manage to get caught up on my two Housewives shows–Beverly Hills and Salt Lake City–which was incredibly fun. I try to figure out the appeal of these shows, and why I find them so compelling, almost constantly. I don’t consider them guilty pleasures–as my friend Laura says, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about anything that gives you pleasure”, which is pretty fucking true–so much as I wonder why I get so addicted to them, in much the same way as I would get addicted to daytime and prime time soaps when I was younger. There’s a parallel there somewhere, but I just haven’t managed to get my brain to figure that out so I can write about it. I might watch something tonight–movie or television series–but haven’t really decided yet.

And on that note, I am going to my chair with my book to get under a blanket and read for a while. Have a lovely Black Friday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. No one is ever really for sure about anything, are they?

Thanksgiving Prayer

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Or, if you prefer (I do), Happy Native Genocide Eve!

I am spending this one alone, here in the Lost Apartment by myself, and that’s fine. Yesterday was nice. I didn’t feel as bad when I woke, after a good night’s sleep, and by early afternoon my stomach stopped aching even a little bit. It embarrasses me to admit this, but I think I was actually malnourished! I’ve not eaten dinner once this week, and I didn’t really eat much on Sunday, either–so I went into calorie deficit, and whatever I ate wasn’t enough calories to keep my body functioning properly.1My blood sugar drops, I get all post-nasal drippy, the drip makes me feverish and cough, and I feel, overall, like crap. I caught up on my eating yesterday morning and lunch finally made the ache go away. Seriously, not very smart. But it’s fine this morning and I feel like myself again, thank the Lord. So, with my unexpected extra day off, I wound up having a very nice and relaxing day around the house by myself. I’m rarely ever home alone for an entire day, let alone a week, so the novelty is still kind of nice and fun and oh, yes, I can do whatever I want whenever I want, can’t I? I did listen to Orville Peck yesterday while I did some cleaning. The downstairs is pretty much done; I just need to do the floors and move some furniture. I also worked on an essay2 and did some reading yesterday, which was nice. I am taking today off from anything and everything–it is a holiday, after all–and the days when I used to feel guilty for doing nothing all day are in the past. I’d also completely forgotten it was Rivalry Weekend in college football, when anything can happen in a football season that has already been wild and wacky and full of crazy upsets. LSU plays Oklahoma for the first time in the regular season this Saturday night in Baton Rouge, so that should be interesting; Oklahoma just trounced Alabama, who trounced LSU a few weeks ago. Obviously, you can’t tell anything by common opponents (LSU beat Vanderbilt, who beat Alabama. Go figure).

So, Thanksgiving. I’ll have a fancy turkey sandwich later–probably open-faced, with turkey gravy poured over it–and when I finish this, I’ll probably go read some more of Lavender House, which is phenomenal and I am loving. I’m seeing the influence of the masters–Chandler and Hammett–in this, and it is absolutely amazing. I am not going to pressure myself to do anything today or feel guilty about not doing things. Besides, I am not capable of doing nothing all day–I’ll do something, at any rate; whether it’s cleaning or pruning the books or organizing a cabinet; I’m like Mom that way. I still have to edit a manuscript this weekend, and I’d also like to reread what I have done on Scotty, maybe even get back into writing that manuscript. I puzzled out how to finish and revise a novella and another one of my short stories–both need to be harder, colder, more hard-boiled and sly and mean-spirited, frankly. I’ve enjoyed this novella because it’s about a dysfunctional relationship that has a truly sad ending. The problem with both, I realized, is that they are from the point of view of someone who ends up committing a crime, and it’s really about how everything leads up to that moment, so I had the voice completely wrong in both, which is the missing piece I’ve been looking for now for quite some time. So, while I am not actually writing anything fictional at the moment, I am doing some brain work on my fiction, and sorry not sorry, THAT COUNTS.

But the whole point of this day–the “wholesome” America rah-rah-rah version, at any rate–is to remember and be thankful for your blessings in this life, and not focus on the hardships you’ve faced. There’s definitely a bit of Christianity and white supremacy baked into that particular American mythology, which is why some (me) half-jokingly call it Native Genocide Eve, because it was the last time European colonizers were grateful for indigenous help, and before they started slaughtering them–whether it was through out-and-out gunfire or disease. The truth left out of the US creation myth is that it was all about conquest and colonizing. I don’t think learning about that is nearly as disillusioning as being taught one thing as a child and then learning as you get older that it’s all justification and lies. Europeans had no right to the Americas, and they took the two continents with violence, prejudice, and genocide. The foundation of our country was built upon white Christian supremacy.

Why is that so hard for people to accept or admit? The truth is, we have been dealing with “alternative facts” most of our lives. Talk about miseducation!

But back to my thankfulness. Obviously, first and foremost, is that I am grateful every day for Paul. What a remarkable person he is, and how lucky was I, with all the people in the world, that somehow I wound up finding the perfect person for me, like I’d ordered from a menu? I miss him when he’s not here–I’ve kind of been thinking about Dad, living alone after losing Mom, up there in the house they shared together for the last twenty-five years of their lives together, and can really understand and relate. I usually can handle the first few days whenever he goes on a trip anywhere, luxuriating in the novelty of living alone (which I’ve never done). Usually by the third day alone (technically tomorrow) I start feeling the loneliness and realize ah, this is what it’ll be like if he goes first 3, which is “I can do this when I’ll have to (again, no choice).”

I am very thankful to be living in New Orleans, the only place in this country that has ever felt like home to me. I love this city even when I complain about it. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it has something to do with having the same mentality about life and death that I’ve always had: enjoy today because you could be gone tomorrow. One thing that always bugs me on a molecular level is putting off joy till later. Um, there are more than enough things in life to make you forget about joy, so why inflict it upon yourself? Katrina emphasized that even further–you could lose everything you have in a day and have to start completely over. I’ve moved around the country enough, starting over, that having to start over again at my current age isn’t desirable, but I’ve done it enough times over the course of sixty-three years that I know if I have to, I can. I am also very thankful for that hard core of resiliency baked into who I am.

I am very thankful for my writing career. It’s what I always wanted to do, for as long as I can remember, and even when I get frustrated with it, or wish I had done something differently…well, there are any number of people who wish they had my career, and despite the fact that my writing career happened because so many things that needed to happen for it to happen, happened. I think part of the reason I never took my career as seriously as I should have from the very beginning is because luck and good fortune made it happen, which also makes me very aware of how it can happen. But…that doesn’t, and shouldn’t undermine, the story of my career trajectory. I’ve been nominated for awards almost thirty times, and have even won on occasion. Some writers never get nominated for anything. Some writers never progress past the dream stage. I’ve gotten incredible reviews, and I have some absolutely devoted readers that I am thankful for every damned day. I also think part of the depressive state of the last year or so has everything to do with me not writing much during that time–I am always happier when I am writing fiction, no matter how much stress and anxiety is involved with the writing of said fiction. I’ve pretty much been able to write whatever I want to write most of my life, too.

I’ve also been blessed to be able to know some amazing people, and to call them friends. They are an amazing support system, and they believe in me as a person, as a friend, and as a writer. It’s kind of sad that I didn’t learn what it was like to be or have a good friend until I met Paul. I always have this deep down feeling that no one actually does like me–the PTSD of growing up in a very homophobic society–but I am getting so much better about that.

I am thankful that I have the life I never knew I truly wanted, or could have imagined, during the rough times.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your holiday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, one never can be sure, can one?

One can never go wrong with a shirtless photo of Nyle DeMarco, can one?
  1. Believe it or not, it’s a thing for me; it has a lot to do with fear of gaining weight and the nagging sense that I always need to lose at least ten pounds. I’ll write about that at some point. ↩︎
  2. On the “bury your gays” trope, for the record. ↩︎
  3. Not really the first time; there have been any number of times over our almost thirty years (!!!) together (next summer) where I’ve had to face the possibility of losing him and spending the rest of my life alone (I don’t need a companion, and no one will ever be like Paul to me, just like no one could ever replace Mom for Dad) multiple times already. ↩︎

Strange Things Happen

Remember that stomach thing I had going on yesterday morning? And it had resulted in my not sleeping well? Yeah, well, I was very miserable and tired all day at work, and my stomach just felt worse and worse and worse. I finally left work early, came home, and just chilled out. I also took today off as a cautionary measure. So far so good, and here’s hoping I am rested and can do something with this extra free day that so unexpectedly dropped into my week. I think it means some time with Lavender House, and I do need to clean this messy kitchen up, beginning with the laundry room. Maybe I can put on some Orville Peck while cleaning. I’m really enjoying his music.

Last night I watched the first half of the Ken Burns documentary Leonardo da Vinci, and I quite enjoyed the fact they didn’t try to shy away from his sexuality or try to straight-wash him, like Da Vinci’s Demons did (still enjoyed the hell out of the show, anyway) and so many other shows and movies have, but actually talked about his male relationships quite openly. That was rather refreshing. I’ve always been interested in the Renaissance, and with Leonardo and the great Michelangelo as well. I was thinking about this while watching last night, ferreting out of my brain’s fading memory banks where my interest in Italy came from, and I was able to peg it properly: when I was ten I spent five weeks in the South, including about three at my paternal grandmother’s on a bay in the panhandle. Her second husband loved nothing more than a good flea market, so we often went to them, and I got to buy books for pretty cheap. I remember one time I got two books: one, a lovely but crumbling old edition of a biography of Francois I, King of France; and the other a book called Italy in the Golden Centuries. I think maybe I also got a turn of the twentieth century translation of a history of France; it may have been on that same flea market visit or another, but it was the same summer. I was in my Tudor/Stuart phase at that time, but that July I started learning about France and Italy…both of which were way more interesting than English history. There was a hammock strung between two massive live oak trees in her backyard, dripping with Spanish moss, and I would lay there in the shade with the cool salty breeze from the bay and the steady lapping of water, and just read. It was wonderful. I could have spent the rest of my life in that hammock, reading. The connection between Italy and the French kings, the great artists…since we went to Florence I’ve had this idea for a book I want to write about a lost piece of Michelangelo’s art, going back and forth through the movements of the piece through time and the present day thriller of trying to find it in the present day while others (BAD GUYS) are trying to beat them to it. (I love that kind of shit.) I may even take a stab at this sooner rather than later. I mean, it sounds fun–but my word, the research! And of course I would need to return to Italy for research purposes, wouldn’t I?

I also have been doing the weirdest research for a future book project you can imagine: I’m watching Youtube compilations of television ads from the late 1960’s through the early 1980’s, and it is fascinating how many of them I remember–and can sing the jingle along with. I may have hated the ads–still do–so I guess they were effective? I don’t know if they ever shaped my buying choices and decisions (price is always the most important factor, and store brands are no different from name brands; Costco’s brand is better than most competitors), but I sure do remember them. That’s kind of the grounding in the period that I need to write about it, to trigger memories of what I watched and what was going on and what kinds of bikes did kids ride and music did they listen to and games did they play. Going down this memory hole has been interesting, because I am also having to revisit those periods of my life from the perspective of a much older and very much more tired gay man who really hasn’t developed a whole lot of wisdom about either myself or life in general, but I can see things I couldn’t then. Perspective? A little amusement about how things that didn’t “exist” then that we know about now and I could have been medicated for all those years? Yeah, I can’t be bitter or mourn something that never could have been. And despite how much I grouse and bitch and moan and complain like the old man I am now, I am very pleased with my life and where I am with it. My mom always said (some of her stuff was wise, some of it was kind of horrible, but it was always absolutely real) you can’t have regrets if you’re happy, and I think that is very true. And examining my own history is kind of not painful anymore in that context, if that makes sense? I always never wanted to look back because it seemed like I always got angry when I did–but I wasn’t really being angry; because I am not angry about it anymore. I do remember the anger, the pain, and all the emotional rollercoaster ride that came with it. When I tell the stories, whether face to face or write them on here, I do channel that emotion again into the telling to make it clear just how horrible it all was and how horrific it felt. I guess I can write passionately, and I do not think that’s a bad thing at all.

I am having fun writing the essays, too. I am having fun writing again. That is very pleasing in my eyes. And I am hoping all this free time (five days off in a row) will get my butt in this chair and writing. Sparky hasn’t quite figured out Paul hasn’t come home yet, so he’s not super needy yet–but I am pretty sure that moment is nigh. I slept so good last night, y’all, and it’s nice to wake up feeling so good this morning. This kitchen/office is an utter and complete disaster area, and I definitely must do something about it sooner rather than later. I think I’m going to finish this, start straightening up, and then repairing to my chair to spend some time with Lavender House (it really is quite superb), and I think I’ll finish watching the Leonardo documentary today, too. Heavy sigh. I may even try to write later on too. #madness

And maybe I’ll even finish assembling my desk chair. It’s been about a month since I bought it and started putting it together only to get frustrated and walk away from it before I took a sledgehammer to it. I may even put that on the top of my to-do list.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving Eve, and I may be back later. One never can be sure, and I have a lot of free time to myself over the next five days–except, of course, for my darling Sparky.