Orpheus Monday and we’re in that weird final gasp of parade season. Yesterday I had to think, several times, about what day it was. Carnival parade season is always a disruption to the time/space continuum, at least for me. I didn’t go to any parades yesterday, deciding not to really push my luck and energy reserves. I do miss being younger during Carnival, I have to admit. I took today off because I knew I’d need to run errands this morning, after being trapped at home all weekend since Friday afternoon. I have a lot of things to do this morning before I get on with the day–I’ve been pushing off unpleasant chores and tasks all weekend, and I really need to stop doing that. I hate when I get that way; avoidance never makes anything better, and thus the bandage needs to be torn off quickly and easily rather than pushing off another day. And it’s also very easy on Fat Tuesday to pull the celebratory feel out of the air and not do anything all day. I have to work on Wednesday and Thursday at the office, but then have my remote day and the weekend. March is going to be over before I know it and I have a lot I need to get done this month.
Politics and the state of the world aren’t helping much, to be honest with you. And the news that Homeland Security can now track queer people isn’t reassuring. It also hasn’t helped being sick most of last week–I still feel a little of it ongoing–and that hasn’t exactly had me leaping to get things done this past week, either. Yesterday I decided that it was better for me to rest rather than try to push to get things done, and this morning I do feel like that was a pretty wise decision, deadlines to the contrary. I definitely need to get into my email inbox today and trim that down, and I also have bills to pay and you know, all the usual horrible things that we all have to deal with on a daily basis in our lives, the little trivialities and minutiae that would be so lovely to pass off to an assistant if I had one, you know? That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about–and I’ve started doing so many things that I haven’t finished that it’s actually kind of embarrassing to admit. I have a load of dishes in the dishwasher that need to be put away, there’s a load of laundry in the dryer that needs to be folded and put away, I need to change the HVAC filter, etc etc etc. And that’s not even taking into consideration how messy and dirty my house is. Heavy heaving sigh.
And apparently the Carolinas are on fire? Were they not raking their forests? Or was it Jewish space lasers again? I am so sick (already) of living in the stupidest country on the planet. Wasn’t that disastrous White House “meeting” on Friday, in which our country abdicated its leadership of the world, enough to make everyone see what this insanity, this voting to punish people, leading with hatred and contempt for anyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male? And this administration is clearly showing why these people are so vested in white supremacy: they are proving once again how mediocre so many cishet white men are. JD Vance is a couch-fucking piece of shit who should not be a heart beat away from the presidency, and Mike Johnson is an apostate blasphemer who sees religion as a means of control–after all, all churches teach are obedience, not love and kindness and morality. If you need to go to church because you’re a shitty person the other six days of the week–well, maybe stop going to church and stop being a shitty person the rest of the week, since going to church isn’t working? I always love, too, how the “faithful” always demand obedience rather than morality, and how they are very quick to wonder how atheists can be moral without religion. Well, I wonder how you can be religious without being moral. See how that works? If you go to church twice on Sunday and once during the week for Bible study, and are still immoral…well, your religion isn’t working and you don’t really believe. Religion is about power and control to you.
How… Christ-like.
I do feel good this morning, and am not entirely sure how long that is going to last for me. It seems every morning feels like a good morning lately, and yet I still run out of steam at some point in the late morning/early afternoon. I guess it’s better than waking up feeling like something the cat dragged in before getting acclimated to my day and still being alive. But I definitely need to get back to work on cleaning out my email inbox, and I definitely need to be writing more than I currently am. I know how to finish my short story, but I need to get back to revising/editing/writing it again. My goal for today is to finish the first draft so I can work on it cleaning it all up by the end of the week.
I hate being behind.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Lundi Gras, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back again later or tomorrow.
No jury duty today! And I think I am finished with it all this time around. Trials, according to what the judge told us on Monday, rarely start this close to the weekend of the last push of Carnival, so if I don’t have to report today I shouldn’t have to report anymore. I was only there for an hour or so yesterday before we were released, which was great. I came to work–my testing in the clinic shifts were covered–and got some odds and ends and other things taken care of. I wasn’t feeling too hot by the end of the day–and getting home from work was a nightmare–but by the time I went to bed I was feeling terrible. I woke up to a fever this morning, a sore throat and some major coughing. I decided that it was wiser to use sick time rather than risk getting everyone at the office sick–which would thus spread exponentially, call me Typhoid Greg–and so called out. I can’t remember the last time I missed work because I was sick; probably when I had COVID? I should probably take a test today myself, shouldn’t I? Heavy heaving sigh. I’ll do that before I go lie down with my book.
As far as jury duty goes, this wasn’t too terrible, really. And I don’t mind doing it, either. I always serve whenever I am called; the only time I’ve tried getting out of it was when I was supposed to serve the week after the shoulder/arm surgery, which wasn’t possible. I find it interesting and a solemn responsibility; it’s part of our civic duty as citizens after all, and weighing the evidence and deciding someone’s fate is kind of a big deal. Plus I like seeing how the courts actually work in real life, as opposed to books and movies. (The judge also said on Monday that court isn’t like Law and Order, there’s a lot more they don’t show. It’s really funny the cultural impact those shows have had on the country; someone should do a study on that. I have some thoughts myself about it and other “copaganda” shows, as well as the books about cops/lawyers.)
The not feeling well definitely sucks, though. All of my joints ache, and my legs feel exhausted. I did have to park fairly far from the house, on Race between Camp and Magazine. I’ll try to get the car moved today, so it’s closer to the house. I am hoping this doesn’t last another day–I don’t want to take another sick day and if I do, I still need to go by the office and get my computer so I can work at home on Friday–and the COVID test is negative. If the COVID test isn’t negative, it won’t matter because I won’t be allowed back into the building until next week anyway. I don’t want to use all my sick time, but if I have COVID, there’s no choice.
Good news! The COVID test was negative. I am feeling a bit better, but still running a fever. I also have a tickle in my throat and it’s sore. It also looks like a beautiful day outside, and the weather should be lovely for the parades this weekend, if I am feeling up to it. I definitely want to do Iris and Muses, if I can, and maybe some Thoth on Sunday. Bacchus is too much of a madhouse, but I love Orpheus on Monday because the crowd starts clearing out early because people need to go home and get ready for Fat Tuesday. I just hope I’m feeling better by tomorrow so I can go in to work. I do not like being sick.
The good news is that I signed a short story contract yesterday. It’s been a hot minute, so I am very well pleased. (This is for a submission to an anthology call; the other one I signed was one I was asked to write, so it’s a bit different.) I’m not sure if I can talk about this anthology or talk about my story–which I am dying to tell you about–but I’ll have to be annoying and not say anything for now. One I can talk about is called “The Rhinestone,” since the contract is already signed and the book has been announced. I have to revise and edit the story with notes, but it’s kind of a done deal. “The Rhinestone” is a book excerpt, and what’s really funny about this particular book excerpt (besides the fact that the book itself isn’t finished; this is from Never Kiss a Stranger) is that it was the actual kernel the entire book idea grew from, too. Funny how that works sometimes, isn’t it? I’ve often had ideas that I thought were interesting, but didn’t know if it was a short story or a novel until I tried writing it one way or the other. I used to always be expanding short stories into novels (because I overwrite and always have more to say); it was around 2012 that I began thinking in terms of maybe your novel ideas can actually be written as short stories instead), but shortly after we moved here, Paul and I had lunch at a place called the Quarter Scene, which was either queer-owned or just extremely queer friendly. It was our first time eating there, and I don’t remember why we did in the first place or why we were in the Quarter. Regardless, the table we were seated at–in the big picture window–had a little plaque on the wall reading TENNESSEE’S TABLE with the note that whenever he was in town, Tennessee Williams always sat at that table for lunch. We both thought that was kind of cool, and I thought “Tennessee’s Table” was a great title for a short story. The original story in and of itself wasn’t anything–just two gay friends meeting for lunch and sharing stories. It was a melancholy little story, really, not much to it. But when I started working on Never Kiss a Stranger–I originally wrote it as a long novella, about 30k words–I decided to reuse that setting and write a scene between two of the main characters. When I was asked to write for this anthology–the theme was the story had to be inspired by a queer icon–Tennessee Williams, who has had an enormous impact on both Paul’s and my life, was a no brainer. And then I thought, hey, that scene is set at Tennessee’s Table, why not adapt that back into a short story? So I pulled the chapter and reworked it a bit. I also have notes to make it stronger as a short story, so looking forward to revising that.
As for the country and the world, well, it kind of speaks for itself with no need for comment from me, does it?
And on THAT sad note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.
Tuesday of Jury Duty and parades; Sunday’s parades are rolling tonight, which should make getting home tonight a lot of fun. Jury duty was painless, other than I sat there without being called up to the pool until all juries were seated and they let us go in the early afternoon. I then had to go to work because the slip they gave me was for only five hours, and I wasn’t up for using my paid time off to get to eight for the day, so…there I went. I mostly scrolled through my phone while reading Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, which I am really enjoying. I do have to report again today, and I hope that’s it for the week. They did say that the city was shutting down at 5 tonight until Ash Wednesday (yes, we do pretty much close the city down for the last week of parades, don’t you wish you lived here, too?), so I don’t think I’ll have to go back after today. But that’s fine. I’ll either go up for voir dire or be let go after the morning, so hopefully I’ll be able to spend time reading my book while waiting to be called or released and that will be the end of it. Sunday’s rained out parades are tonight, so I am going to want to be home well before four. (I did slalom by driving on St. Charles Avenue; they have barricades so no car can get up enough speed to really do a repeat of the New Year’s terrorist attack on Bourbon Street…and it’s kind of fun. Traffic will continue to be a nightmare until after it’s all over. I just need to make it through this week until Friday…
I managed to work on my story last night. I deleted the extra, unusable 900 words, which dropped it down to about a thousand, and am now at a little less than three. Good progress, and I should be able to get it finished tonight. I doubt I’ll go out to the parades tonight–getting up at six every morning certainly puts a damper on that–but I do want to get home before the true madness starts. I’ve been very lucky with parking so far–praise be to the Carnival gods–and I know that’s not going to last through the entire season before the car is permanently parked for about five days Friday morning. I am debating whether to take all of Lundi Gras off, or going in for a few hours and leaving early. The latter makes the most sense, after all; save that time jealously! I don’t want to run out again, and I am actually at the point where I’ve got a nice amount of both (sick and vacation) in my bank now. Woo-hoo! At least I don’t have to worry about the time off I need to use for parade season. That’s a lovely release.
The country continues to swirl around the toilet bowl more with each passing day. Yesterday we betrayed NATO and Ukraine at the United Nations, joining with the true axis of evil on this planet–Russia, North Korea, Iran, etc.–and continue to lose whatever moral leadership and authority we ever had (not that we ever had much of anything on that score to begin with); we are becoming isolated, the way we were before and between the world wars…which turned out so well for the world in the end, didn’t it? What happened in Coeur de Lion, Idaho the other day was appalling and recorded for the entire world to see (another black eye for the country); the violent abuse of a woman simply because she was calling out the bullshit she was hearing, while white people (men and women) cheered and applauded and the moderator of the event taunted her from the stage on his microphone, making jokes? That is some seriously small-dick energy, really. It also resulted in the usual social media nonsense, with people on-line responding (especially white women) with the usual lack of self-awareness: “I would never allow that to happen in front of me without saying or doing something!” Newsflash: white people–both men and women– always turn their heads and look away, “not my problem” or “I am not putting myself at risk to intervene” and so on…until it actually affects them. Where was all this energy on November 5th? Where was it for George Floyd or Breonna Taylor? Where is it for trans people, being stripped of their rights every day? Where it it for queer people, ever? Where, after all, were all the Southern white people who were opposed to racism, Jim Crow, and lynchings that I always hear about now, but actually did nothing while it was actually happening?
Not my problem is always the response, but everyone marginalized (you know, the people so many straight white women like to lord it over) is supposed to immediately DO SOMETHING when it’s a straight white woman–and if you point out their blatant hypocrisy…you’re a misogynist. Straight white women LOVE to pull out their “oppression” card whenever a discussion isn’t going their way and they have no defense for the appalling things they say other than “you have male privilege.” Really? My sex life was a crime until 2003. Was yours for the first forty-two years of your life, ma’am? I couldn’t marry my partner until 2014. Did you have to wait until you were fifty-three before you could legally marry the love of your life? I watched all my friends die (twice over!) in the 1980s while most straight white women smiled dismissively and said “not my problem.” Some of the biggest public homophobes of my adult life were straight white women. I know as a cisgender male I do have privilege; I certainly have more than lesbians and trans people, for example. But I have always lived under the threat of violence as a gay man; and before I owned my identity I did not pass as straight.
And yes, gay men also get sexually assaulted–and usually with objects. Gay men also get beaten and attacked, even killed, by straight white men. Sometimes with straight white women cheering them on. You just don’t hear about it up there in your precious lily-white privilege tower because you don’t care. Often assaults on gay white men–just like assaults of straight white women–don’t get reported because the cops don’t care and blame the victims. You don’t care unless it’s a white woman…when white women made sure the ERA didn’t pass; white women got Black and brown men killed all the time; and the Daughters of the Confederacy weren’t exactly gay white men, were they? A Republican controlled US government laughed about AIDS killing gay men.
But do go on with your homophobia, dear.
We all need to do better. It’s very easy to see something appalling in an online video and be very upset at the failures of witnesses to act, and to say “I would never.” But ask yourself this, white people: have you ever seen a white someone being racist to a Black person and said nothing? Have you watched as homophobes come for queer people, in real life or on-line, and did nothing? Do you challenge racism, homophobia, misogyny, and transphobia when you see it, or do you leave it alone? I know what the answer to that question is, by the way, and keyboard warriors who do nothing but talk big on-line sicken me to my core.
And for the record, I will always go on the offensive when some ignorant bitch of a white woman tells me I’m a misogynist when I am agreeing with her–especially when she tells me she’s done more for queer rights than me, using the condescending straight people “honey.” Literally, go fuck yourself with barbed wire, you homophobic bitch. Misogynist enough for you? (She also trotted out the “gay friends” defense–and when I pointed that out she then claimed “I never said they were friends”–oh, so you don’t have any friends but you’ve been to Pride a few times and even marched in a parade once! My God, let’s put up a statue of you in front of Stonewall! WHERE WOULD QUEER PEOPLE BE WITHOUT THE SACRIFICES OF STRAIGHT WHITE WOMEN? I guess I should be glad you didn’t go with the old pedophile/groomer shit, Miss Zero Followers. I screen capped the entire thing before blocking her flat bony unwashed ass.)
Coeur de Lion is now in the “find out” phase, and if we actually had a real government this would be investigated as a civil rights violation by the Department of Justice…but we don’t have a real government anymore. I always wondered what it felt like to be an abolitionist in the 1950s, when the government was geared to protect slavery in the land of the “free.” The company that employed the thugs that assaulted the woman has lost its business license, and it also looks like the grinning douchebag sheriff has been defrauding the LAPD pension fund–working another LE job while drawing a disability pension from another one–so I hope California throws the book at him.
This is what we are. This is what we have allowed our country to become. Even those of us who voted against this didn’t do enough to stop this—and it should have been stopped when it was the Tea Party. Remember those racists? The ones who didn’t want healthcare and the media dutifully reported on everything they said and pushed it breathlessly without ever calling out ONCE the clear and obvious racism? FOTUS climbed aboard the Tea Party train, remember? He started the birther bullshit and promoted it on every network who would let him because he was a “celebrity.”
But no, white people who patted themselves on the back for voting for Obama were very quick to stay home in the 2010 midterms because cleaning up the Bush mess was taking longer than everyone thought it should.
And God forbid everyone get health insurance. The HORROR!
We all own this, you know. Every last one of us white people. And we’re the ones who need to clean it all up–even though we know the fucking assholes we’re saving will knife us in the back again at the very first opportunity. They might regret their votes now–but they would do it again in a heartbeat. They prefer this to having a biracial woman in charge.
This is exactly what they wanted. And we should never let them forget. Letting them getting away with it was a mistake in 1865.
And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, and remember to do your part–even if it’s something you think small or inconsequential. Water wears away stone and the effects may not be immediate.
Lundi Gras, aka Orpheus Monday, and I have taken the day off from work. I have to make groceries and lay in supplies since we’ll be trapped in the neighborhood except for a brief six or seven hour window after Orpheus and before Zulu tomorrow morning. I am up early because of PT at ten this morning, and here’s hoping I can get this done before it’s time for me to fly. It looks like a lovely day out there already, which means a hopefully lovely night for parades. Orpheus is my favorite night parade, mainly because I love Ole Smokey, the Orpheus train float, which is gorgeous. Orpheus also throws a shit ton. I did very well at Iris on Saturday morning, and while my endurance was sapped, I am glad I started going to parades again this year after missing last year. My moods this year are all over the place, since this is when Mom was in hospice last year. The anxiety medication works, of course, but even it isn’t strong enough to conquer grief, I guess.
I worked on the house yesterday a bit but my mind was too fatigued to read, which was a real bummer. I want to write this afternoon after I get home; time really slips through your fingers the older you get. I do need to work on the house some more today as well. We also streamed more of Abbott Elementary, keeping track of the Super Bowl on my phone. I did watch the boring first half, so gladly changed the channel when Paul came downstairs to take a break from working. Ironically, the second half turned out to be a lot more exciting, with the Chiefs winning in overtime 25-22. That sound we all heard last night was MAGA heads exploding. They are still exploding this morning–especially the MAGA christians (lower c deliberate, not a typo)–who’ve decided that the only Black woman in the Kelce suite (Ice Spice), who was wearing an upside down cross, is a Satanist because of it. The horrors! Satanism!
I’m sure it has nothing to do with her being Black. Might as well include a side of racism, right?
Fucking idiots. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. Have fun in hell, apostates. I do love calling them on their sanctimony with a Bible verse. 1 Timothy 2:12 is my favorite when they’re women…
But then again, we’ve known they were dangerously stupid morons since 2015, and every day is a new lesson in their dangerous stupidity.
Heavy sigh.
I did do some good scribbling in my cool new journal yesterday as well. It’s always lovely when you’re starting a new journal, with all those fresh and clean pages to fill in, and there’s always a bit of sadness when I finish the old one. This last one was red, and one of the things I need to do either today or tomorrow is transcribe any notes on any story or book or essay that’s written in there that I haven’t already. I think I’ve managed somehow to get everything from the early part of the journal done, but you never know. If I don’t transcribe them, I need to at least put sticky notes on important pages so they are easier for me to find.
My memory continues to suck royally, but the lack of anxiety about it is nice (thank you, new medications!). I’m still trying to adapt to this new world for me; and of course I worry that my lack of anxiety is going to be a problem with motivating myself to write. I don’t think I’ve actually finished anything since the change in meds, but that was also correlated to my surgery and the recovery and the loss of stamina/endurance….which has me wondering how long I’ll be able to last at Orpheus, especially since I’ll be exhausted from PT this morning. I just checked the weather and it’s going to be windy and chilly tonight, in the low 50s, which is also unappealing.
Sigh.
Ah, well. It is what it is, I guess. So I am going to put on my PT clothes, finish my grocery list, and get a little more cleaned up before leaving for my appointment at PhysioFit. I will probably be back later. One never knows.
Monday morning has rolled around again and no, I didn’t want to get out of the comfortably warm cocoon of blankets yet again today. It was a nice, relaxing weekend. I didn’t go out to see any parades yesterday because I felt exhausted on Saturday and while i felt much better yesterday than I had, I thought it best to stay inside and rest for the day rather than push myself by going to stand on or around the corner for a few hours. This weekend is the big final push (I have to leave work early both Wednesday and Thursday), and I decided it was wisest to take Lundi Gras (Monday) off; Orpheus is that night and there’s no way I’d ever be able to find a place to park anywhere near the house. I do have PT that morning, so I’ll go to that and run some errands before heading back home and parking the car for another two days.
It actually turned out to be the best choice I could have made for the day because a friend called that I hadn’t spoken to in nearly two years (a myriad of reasons, mostly due to health concerns and my own insane rollercoaster life) and had I been out at the corner, i would have missed the call. It was a lovely conversation, and I realized once again how much I’ve missed, not only her, but so many others of my friends. I have always had the misfortune to have the majority of my writer friends not live anywhere near me, so it’s not like I can meet someone for a drink or lunch or anything at any time we so please. This has always been fine with me, but every once in a while it gets a bit lonely, so the few local friends I have are very precious to me. It was absolutely delightful to hear from her, and we were on the phone for nearly an hour, which was marvelous. (I’d been watching the Philip Seymour Hoffman Capote at long last when she called, which was really quite good and Hoffman deserved his Oscar, I think.) So yes, I kind of went down a Truman Capote wormhole yesterday. I am thinking Other Voices Other Rooms needs a reread, and maybe even a dip back into his short stories wouldn’t be a bad thing to do. My former antipathy for Mr. Capote (still processing it) has now turned to fascination; who was he behind that mask, that persona, he developed to hide behind? It’s also been years since I saw the film of In Cold Blood, too; it might be worth another look, too. This newfound obsession with Capote is multi-layered, too; it might take more than one lengthy post once I work my way through the way I’ve always reacted to Capote’s public face. (The self-loathing is coming from inside the house!) But after the call and after the film, I pretty much spent the rest of the night scribbling in my journal while watching an endless stream of Youtube videos, just to see what the algorithm thought I’d be interested in (Constant Reader, I was not interested in most of them, but I wound up watching a series of short histories of Eleanor of Aquitaine, one of my favorite historical women of all time.).
I didn’t write as much as I would have liked this weekend, either, but it’s also Carnival. Very little gets done during Carnival as I am too busy juggling and planning around parades to have much energy left to devote to writing. I did write some really good notes in my journal, though, which was fun; I always forget how much fun it is to freeform scribble in my journal and see where my subconscious mind takes me. It never matters if anything ever comes of it; it’s just playing around with words and ideas and names and form. I’ve been joking with myself that I should write a memoir called I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Kind of Thing, which is a terrific title for something like that (shout out to the Pet Shop Boys, because almost every song title is unabashedly clever and brutally honest and would make for a great title for essays or something), but as I always say, my memories lie to me all the time–which can be a problem when writing a memoir. Maybe personal essays would be a better idea than an actual memoir…and really, has my life been interesting enough for a memoir, anyway?
But I suppose that’s always in the eye of the beholder. I don’t think my life is anything special, or even unusual other than I am out of pace with traditional society with my sexuality and my chosen profession…but then other people will be amazed at some story of my past that I tell (usually after a few drinks) and I guess I never really think of me or anything that happens to me as anything other than normal and I always think everyone else has the same sort of things go on in their lives so it’s nothing out of the ordinary. But I have met a lot of important people and important writers. Larry Kramer used to call me periodically at Lambda Book Report to yell at me, but that was just Larry–he always seemed to be angry about something, but was actually also a really nice man (your mileage might vary, of course, but he also always made me laugh). Barbara Grier also used to call me about once a month to yell and swear at me, but I found her terrifically amusing and I could listen to her all day (and Barbara loved nothing more than a captive audience). There were only a few people in the business, actually, who were terrible to me when I worked there; I always seemed to have the ability to listen to everyone politely and was always pleasant and never argued with anyone….but there were a few I’d rather run over with my car and then back over them again rather than ever deal with them under any circumstance for any reason.
You know who you are, trash.
But I survived the first weekend of Carnival, and I am now thinking I want to watch the other Capote film, the one with Toby Jones–and maybe even revisit Murder by Death, which was another one of those after-church matinee movies Mom used to take my sister and I to. I just need to get through today at the office, and then I need to do my errands and go to PT before settling into my easy chair for the evening. I may go back to Lina Chern’s Play the Fool, which I am really enjoying, or my reread of Edna Ferber’s Saratoga Trunk, or Rival Queens, or even some short stories. I have some of Capote’s, and that might be interesting to reread. My friend who called yesterday afternoon recommended pairing Other Voices Other Rooms with To Kill a Mockingbird, which is a book I have issues with (more on that later at some point), but reading them as parallels to each other; the same childhood from different points of view in the same small Alabama town; it’s been a hot minute since I read the Capote novel but I did love it when I did. I don’t think I still have a copy of it, though.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. It’s a windy, gray wet day in New Orleans, and so I don’t think I’ll have a lot of issues sleeping tonight, either. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and you never know–I may be back later. Stranger things have indeed happened!
Monday morning and back to the office, with parades starting this weekend and how did it get to be parade season so damned fast? I slept decently last night, but it’s cold (not as cold as it’s been though) again this morning and the heater ran all night so downstairs doesn’t feel chippy the way it was when it was ultra cold. I have PT tonight after I get off work, too, which is going to be challenging again as I suspect my weights will go up. I don’t know about the kettlebell exercise; how well will I do with it today? Balance has never been one of my strengths. after all, and that was the primary problem I had with the kettlebell thing the other day. I am not client-facing today, either, which is nice. I didn’t get nearly enough done this weekend as I would have liked–what else is new, really–and so I am facing down yet another week of work in the office with parades on the horizon and next weekend being even a wilder weekend of parades and so forth.
We did watch the figure skating yesterday to see Ilia Malinin take his second US title; Paul mentioned this was probably the first time he could remember all four winners in all four disciplines not skating a clean final program. He may be right–its unusual for ice dancers to make major and noticeable mistakes–but I can’t remember who has won national titles over the years anymore. I used to remember, but I don’t anymore. I am comforting myself with this particular lack of memory being explained away as “well, you’re older and thus have more to remember than you used to”, which is a bit of a comfort. I also kept track of the football games without watching; happy for Taylor and the Chiefs as well as a little disappointed that the Lions didn’t make their first ever super bowl; remembering that magic year when the Saints went to and won their first always makes me hope that some other city and fan-base gets to experience that magical delirium the way we did all those years ago. (I inevitably always will root for the underdog; it’s just how I’ve always been.) But congratulations to both the Chiefs and the 49ers for making the Super Bowl. One fanbase is going to be really happy in a couple of weeks. So does that mean the Super Bowl is also on Bacchus Sunday? Guess I won’t be watching–not that I would have in the first place, not being a fan of either team…but it is fun watching Taylor Swift trigger the MAGAts.
I didn’t read much this weekend either. I didn’t write or read much, but I did put a lot of thought into writing–you know, the writing-in-your-head thing that we all do and absolutely it counts as writing, thank you very much. I had kind of gotten lost in the story currently under construction, and then of course while watching something this weekend it occurred to me that I needed a different opening and then it hit me how to finish the story, and how the end needed to be threaded throughout the story…so I decided that I am, indeed, going to start rewriting it from the beginning and hopefully that will give me the impetus to get the story’s first draft finished so I can move on to the next one whose ending I’ve also solved in my head already before moving on to one that I already know the ending of but don’t know the middle. Heavy heaving sigh–it’s always something, isn’t it?
(I did start reading the novelization of The Last of Sheila, which will be discussed at greater length once I finish it.)
And now January is almost finished. I cannot believe this Thursday is the 1st–yay, all the bills are coming due again–but that’s cool. I think I am going to just take Lundi Gras off so I can have a four day weekend and won’t have to mess with trying to get to work or dealing with getting home that day. PT is also going to be a major bitch to try to figure out along the way as well. This week isn’t so bad, I have it scheduled for Friday morning and I have another appointment that morning as well, but next week? Monday should be fine, and if I can schedule it for Friday morning that should be perfect. I can also go on Lundi Gras in the morning, and then we will have made it through parade season. I also have an appointment with my surgeon later in February, so I can find out how much more PT I have to endure before I am considered healed again.
It’s kind of weird that I’ve been dealing with this for over a year now, isn’t it?
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines to get my day going. Have a lovely Monday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.
AH, the first day of the week that doesn’t have a name–after Lundi Gras, Mardi Gras, and Ash Wednesday, just plain Thursday seems a bit on the dull side. Today is the last day before I return to work; and yes, I am working at home tomorrow, in case you were wondering–but I do have to run by the office at some point to pick up some more of my work at home work. I figure tomorrow morning I’ll get up, bang out my blog entry, and then work until I am caught up before taking this work back into the office and picking up more work. Yesterday was a stunningly beautiful day for running the errands I needed to get done–CVS, mail, making groceries–the high was in the eighties and it was sunny as fuck; the low being only 63. I continue to make my way out from the emotional devastation and move toward an uneasy and unwilling acceptance. The world keeps turning, after all, and much as I would love nothing more than the self-indulgence of wallowing in self-pity, I have things due and things to do and books to write and books to read and errands to run and a life to maintain. I need to get my life together and make plans. I need to get back into shape by taking exercise more regularly and I need to take better care of myself. A lot has happened in the world since everything around me turned upside down; things I ordinarily would have taken some kind of stance on or said something about–like all the nastiness about how Madonna looked at the Grammys, or the Palestine East train disaster, or Marjorie Traitor Green’s call for secession (because it worked out so well for the conservatives the last time they tried to leave the Union). In some ways it was kind of nice to have something that crowded out all the rest of the noise in the world; being caught up in my own stuff enabled me to dismiss Traitor Green’s idiocy as precisely what it was–her pathetic need for attention and validation from people equally stupid as she is and from the media because that’s what she is all about; attention and grifting. While there are criticisms that can be leveled at Madonna, trashing her appearance is reductive and misogynistic. I would have preferred Madonna to age gracefully and not have any work done, personally–what a message of solidarity about the misogyny of agism she could have sent by staying natural–but it’s her body, her face and her decision. She would be criticized for aging naturally (“MADONNA LETS HERSELF GO is what they would report, with lots of bold type and exclamation points) or for gaining weight (remember the breathless reporting about Elizabeth Taylor’s weight?); so why not let her do what she wants to do and what makes her feel good about herself? If you want to be horrified by how she looks, why not use that as a way to extrapolate out into a broader commentary about what our society and culture does to women in the public eye?
But that would require intelligence and work, and why do anything hard when it’s easier to get clicks by being shallow and horrible?
Yay for freedom of the press!
Anyway.
I allowed myself to sleep late again this morning–it’s kind of sad what I consider “sleeping late” these days–but it was another good night’s sleep, which I am grateful for. I did run errands yesterday, which was necessary, and then when I got home I started working on cleaning the apartment: laundry, dishes, etc. After awhile of that, I curled up for a few hours with Tara Laskowski’s marvelous One Night Gone, which I am greatly enjoying, and then I made dinner last night before watching a few more episodes of Class, which we should finish soon–since Outer Banks‘ third season is dropping tonight or tomorrow. Today is the last day of this bereavement leave, which I did need–there was simply no way I could have returned to work on Monday, seriously–and I am not even sure this coming Monday’s return to the office will be okay. But I can’t stay out forever, but I am also forcing myself to use this time to rest and relax. My toe is still throbbing a bit this morning, but I am going to rewrap it in a little while and of course it’s going to be elevated and iced and all that jazz. I do find that I am still short of temper and easily irritated; I seriously snapped at Paul yesterday which was completely unnecessary. I guess I am still dealing with it on some interior levels below the consciousness. It did occur to me yesterday that one thing I should do, or try to, is write a long essay about my mother. Not for publication, of course, or even for posting on here (the further we get away from the funeral, the more uncertain I am growing that I should have even brought it up here at all in the first place). That might help, I think.
And it might get me writing again. I do have that short story I need to be working on (although an alternative story occurred to me last night–one that would need some revisions, but could work; I just need to dig it out and reread it), and I do want go get all this filing done today before working tomorrow at home. I also need to investigate my dryer situation and see if it is, indeed, something I can potentially repair myself–it would be marvelous to not have to buy a new dryer–but that will require me to spend some time on researching it on-line, which I can do as long as I don’t bother getting sidetracked or distracted by some other shining object in the meantime. I think I am going to spend some more time reading my book this morning before moving on to filing and dishes. I also need to trim some books that I can take to the library sale this weekend, and of course, I need to start revising and editing the manuscripts.
Life goes on, the world keeps turning, and tax liabilities continue to accrue, so I am heading into the spice mines. May you have a marvelous Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you tomorrow.
Back in the Lost Apartment on Orpheus Monday/Lundi Gras, and I am very tired and drained and exhausted. I’ve lost all sense of time and dates, and I am sure there are things I should have been doing that need to get done but I don’t know what any of them are and at this point, I don’t think I really care all that much. It’s depression, I know; I’ve dealt with it before and know how it feels and manifests, both emotionally and physically, in my life.
Interestingly enough, my toe seems to be getting better. The shoes I brought for the funeral were new and had never been worn before. I wrapped up the toe yesterday morning, put on the socks, and then the I was barely able to get the shoe on. It was so tight that it was almost painful, but as the day progressed it hurt less and less. This morning when I got up it was still red but the swelling had gone down a lot. I think if I wrap it up again, elevate it. and ice it a bit it may go back to normal entirely. I should probably talk to my doctor about it (I am very uneasy about the possibility of gout–how eighteenth century!–or psoriatic arthritis. That toe always has psoriasis on it, and my psoriasis causing arthritis is something my doctor has been concerned about. Yay) But it’s an enormous relief to not have to go to the emergency room or try to get into the doctor’s office; I’ll just message him on my medical app.
It’s funny, because as I was finishing listening to The Other Mother (by Carol Goodman, do yourself a favor and get a copy) on my way home today I was thinking about my mom and the fact that I’m listening to a book about mothers and that revisiting the places I based Bury Me in Shadows on and around also gave me a bit of pause because I realized that one of the major themes of the book was ,well, mothers and sons. I don’t know if I’d planned on writing it that way or if it just happened organically; I guess I would have to find my journals and notes for the book and reread them to see if it was a conscious choice or something that simply happened, or maybe I just have mothers and sons on my mind these last few weeks and it’s a coping mechanism my oh-so-clever-and-sly brain developed to help shield me. I don’t know. I don’t know much, honestly. I am very tired.
The drive was quick and easy. I had no idea of how to get out of where we’re from in Alabama, but I knew when the Google Maps app started giving me directions that they were different from how I got there–since I’d gotten off a highway to get the motel and the app didn’t tell me to get back on the highway to come back. It took me all through the backroads and countryside of Alabama, and then before I knew it I was crossing over into Mississippi and I still wasn’t on an interstate highway. I kept checking the phone to make sure I hadn’t missed something or had put the wrong address into it or something, but after a little while and some lovely scenery, I came into Meridian from the north and hopped on I-59 South and BOOM. Here I am. I made it in just barely over five hours, including one stop for the bathroom and gas. Why is it always faster for me to come back to New Orleans every time I drive north? Unexplained mysteries, for sure.
Well, Scooter wants some attention and I am hungry, so I am going to bring this to a close. Sorry to be brief, but I am also really tired. I’ll check in with you again later, Constant Reader. And happy Lundi Gras.
It’s a work at home Monday, and it’s also Lundi Gras. Orpheus rolls tonight, and tomorrow is the Mardi Gras holiday. Yesterday was one of those days that started with good intentions, but somehow exhaustion took over at some point and nothing got done. We did end up starting the second season of Toy Boy on Netflix–which is even more insane in its second season; you’ve got to hand it to Spanish Netflix–and I spent most of the day glued to my chair watching war coverage from Ukraine. While all of my sympathies are entirely with the Ukrainian people and their amazingly courageous president, at the same time I am disturbed by scenes from the border where white Ukrainians are being given priority to cross while non-whites are being held back. This doesn’t seem to be an issue with the country they would be crossing into, either–it’s Ukrainian border guards doing this.
But American exceptionalism and white supremacy weren’t born or created on this continent, it’s a disease the European colonizers brought with them, and it has flourished here ever since. It saddens me to see that even in a terrifying time such as this, with their cities under attack and the Russian military within their borders that Ukrainians can still perpetuate such behavior…although it’s really not all that surprising. I don’t know how bad or widespread the problem is; but I believe that it has happened at least on a small scale, and I hope once the situation is better there we can get to the bottom of what happened at the borders.
Today I have errands to get run, data to enter, emails to send and a short story to work on. We may go out for some of Orpheus tonight–it depends on how we feel, how the weather is, and numerous other factors are involved as well, but we’ll see. Orpheus is one of my favorites, and it will feel strange to not see it, but…it will depend on my energy levels, how cold it is, and how much of this story I get finished today. I also need to start editing my manuscript; that’s going to the top of the to-do list I am going to make today (I never got around to it yesterday–I told you I was in a malaise yesterday for some reason I cannot understand) and I am also going to start making notes on it. I think there’s a better way to tell the story–to get the reader involved sooner–and there are other things I need to strengthen in it as well. I have to get to work on the Bouchercon anthology this week, and there’s always MWA stuff to get done. But hopefully I can kick it into gear. I’ve not been eating a lot lately–I usually have been eating things in the morning and perhaps snacking later–and that has to change. A lot of that has to do with Paul’s insane schedule currently; I never know when he’s going to be home or if he is, whether or not he’ll want to eat or not and, as always with me and my eating issues, if I don’t eat when I am hungry the hunger fades and I wind up not eating. That. Has. To. Stop.
If for no other reason than I need to eat for energy.
I have had a bagel with cream cheese already this morning, and I also need to go through the refrigerator as I make a list for the grocery run to come this morning. I have some cheese-stuffed chicken breasts wrapped in bacon to make for tonight’s dinner, and tomorrow I will probably fire up the barbecue and make burgers. I also am feeling weirdly at sea the way I always do during the crank-up of parade season–disconnected from the world–because everywhere else everyone is going about their usual normal Monday while here…it’s an entirely different subject. It’s disquieting, to say the least, but it only lasts until Wednesday. And yes, we have a strangely truncated work week–Wednesday will feel like Monday; making it even more difficult for me to adjust to my new “in the office” schedule, which I still hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. Sigh.
Ah, reality.
And on that note, I am going to start digging through everything and getting my day going. Thanks for checking in, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.
It’s raining on Bacchus Sunday. I’ve not checked whether parades are being delayed or canceled or postponed–who knows? I’ve also not checked the weather forecast for the rest of the day. I literally got out of bed about half an hour ago, made a cup of coffee, and then went Internet searching to see if Ukraine was still holding onto their independence and sovereignty. (They are, thank the heavens.) I need to walk over to Walgreens in a moment–I am debating having another cup of coffee before going out into the chilly drizzle conditions out there–and then I probably won’t go back outside today. Paul and I have never really been much of the Sunday parade crowd; if anything, if the weather was nice we might go out for Bacchus. In the olden days, when we were younger and more apt to go partying every weekend, we’d walk up the parade route to the Quarter for Sunday tea dance, which inevitably turned into staying out much later than we’d planned and hangovers on Mondays–which was okay, because all I had to do work-wise on Mondays was go down to the Quarter and pass out condoms for four hours and walk home for Orpheus.
Funny how things change.
I have lots to do today–my priority is working on that short story, of course–and I need to make the to-do list I’ve been meaning to make for quite some time now. I’ll have to make an errand run at some point during the day tomorrow–mail and grocery store are definite musts; anything else can wait until Friday–and I’ve need to start making progress on the things on that to-do list. I also keep forgetting that the rest of the world isn’t experiencing Carnival; Lundi and Mardi Gras mean nothing to the rest of the world, who will be going about their usual Mondays and Tuesdays and everyone will be wondering why I am not answering emails or responding and…every year. Of course, Carnival was canceled last year which felt very weird–I think my lack of feeling connected to New Orleans has everything to do with the imposed isolation of the pandemic along with the lack of a Carnival in 2021; I didn’t get my annual reminder of how wonderful and fun and magical it is when the city all comes together every year for it.
Okay, so I walked over to the Walgreens and as such no longer have any need nor desire to leave the house for the rest of the day and I do think that is very wise on my part. It’s not raining now but it’s gray and the air is wet and heavy and chilly; there’s standing water and mud on the neutral ground and the wind is cold and damp. The sun may come out, but the damp chill in the air means more rain at some point in additio to the ground not drying out. There are a lot of people outside already–I’ve always been grateful to live in close proximity to the parade route so I never have to spend hours out there waiting (we call it “passin’ time” here) for the first floats to arrive–and the first parade won’t be here for hours yet. I do admire their persistence, determination, and commitment; but just standing out there for the parades wears me out, and having a place to sit wouldn’t make that much of a difference.
And now, I think I am going to go sit in my easy chair and read my what’s in my “to edit” file before getting cleaned up and getting to work on writing some things. Have a happy and safe Bacchus Sunday, y’all, and see you tomorrow on Lundi Gras.
Queer and Loathing in America 