Tag: writing

A Horse With No Name

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!

Wasted on the Way

Thursday and the last day in the office for the week. I am very tired this morning. I slept well but could easily sleep for another few hours or so (interesting that I went from almost non-stop anxiety about insomnia to anxiety about sleeping too much, isn’t it?), but as I slowly and groggily get going this morning, the coffee is definitely hitting the way it is supposed to. Tomorrow morning I have a doctor’s appointment and PT, as well as whatever errands I can get run before the parades start tomorrow night. Gah. I can’t believe it is already parade season, and I didn’t get nearly as much done as I would have liked in the meantime. I did work some more on the story yesterday night after I got home from work and the errands (I picked up the mail) and settled in for a relaxing evening.

For some reason I watched the season premiere of Vanderpump Rules, which is now picking up with the fallout from last season’s “Scandoval,” and I don’t know about continuing to watch. I had stopped watching the show years ago–years before Stassi and Kristen were fired for being racists, and long before Jax met and married that bizarre woman. I came back briefly for the scandal, and watching the aftermath I am just not feeling it, and probably won’t watch more. I do sometimes question my fandom of these reality shows, which generally feature terrible people being terrible, all for the sake of entertainment. I had never really watched The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City before–I had intended to, but then Jen Shah was arrested for massive scale fraud and remained on the show, and that was a bit too much for me (likewise, I stopped watching New Jersey when the Giudices went to jail, and I remain conflicted about Beverly Hills with fraud-adjacent Erica Girardi unapologetically remaing as a member of the cast and even getting, apparently, a redemption arc this season; which I vehemently oppose); I did start watching this most recent season at the urging of friends and yes, I was missing reality drama by not watching; I doubt that I will go back and watch the old seasons, which is something I never really do; why go back and watch old drama that doesn’t matter anymore? Reality shows like these are really like the old prime-time soaps; you can start watching at any time and just jump into the show without having to go back and watch the back stories–which you could never do with the daytime soaps but you could with the night-time.

Well, what do you know? I never finished this before leaving the house this morning so I find myself trying to finish this over my lunch break–and even my lunch is later today than usual, so yeah–been a day. But I feel good, tomorrow morning I have appointments and PT and so forth; before coming home to do work-at-home duties for the rest of the day. I’ve also kind of lost the train of thought I was riffing on before leaving the house this morning, and checking out what I’ve already written here didn’t return me to that particular mindset, so who knows where this is going to wind up going? I hope I have the energy after making groceries on the way home from work today to finish working on my story so I don’t have to worry about that over the weekend. I don’t know how my parade attendance will go this weekend; Paul’s got a lot of work to do and going out there by myself–which I can handle, and have done before–just isn’t as much fun as when I am with Paul, even if we barely speak while we’re out there. And I am not sure how much my stamina is going to hold up, either. We shall see, I suppose.

It’s also supposed to rain all day Saturday and Sunday, which will put a damper on the weekend anyway.

I did also watch the season finale of Percy Jackson and the Olympians last night, and I have to say I really do enjoy the series much more than I did the films. I did read the books a very long time ago–Rick Riordan’s series are the best fantasy novels for kids bar none, fuck all the way off, TERF Queen–so I don’t remember a lot of it, but I thought the series really adapted the books well, and I also appreciated that the cast went with kids rather than teens (or actors in their twenties acting as teens); which made the story make a lot more sense than it would with them in their mid-to-late teens. It’s also such a great concept; I really envy Riordan that idea, seriously. I used to want to do something similar–I still want to write a young adult novel set during the Trojan War–and I’ve had other ideas involving mythology and gods and goddesses, but nothing has ever come to fruition. The best idea I had I am not sure is usable, honestly, but every so often I remember it and think oh, if only…

Ah, well. As it is, I won’t have time to write everything I want to before I die anyway, so there are some things I will never get around to–and as long as it’s taking me to write this damned short story, I may not even wind up writing the things I do think I’ll have the time to get to, of course.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. You never know, and sorry for being so late today.

Love’s Been a Little Bit Hard on Me

Wednesday pay-the-bills day, and I am a bit groggy this morning, but that’s okay, really. I slept well and didn’t want to get up, and there’s nothing wrong with that (why I’ve always felt like not wanting to get out of bed in the morning makes me a lazy slug is something else I clearly need to work on). But the weekend draws nigh, which is always a lovely thing, and of course…parades. Yes, the parades start this weekend, with three on Friday night, six (!!!) on Saturday, and another three on Sunday. It’s also supposed to rain all weekend, so I don’t know how much time I will actually spend out at the corner this weekend risking getting sick and/or tired. I was also very tired last night, to the point that I really didn’t do much of anything once I got home from work yesterday afternoon. I didn’t do any chores, I didn’t run any errands, and I didn’t get the mail.

I did work on the story more and it’s starting to take a better shape than the mess that it originally was. I’m not certain why it’s taking me so long to get this draft finished, but I am instead going to think of it in terms of your writing muscles are as rusty as your actual muscles and so yes, they need to be used a bit more so I can get back into the swing of using those muscles every day. I really should think about writing now as writing therapy; the same mindset as my physical therapy. I am slowly but surely getting back into the spirit of writing after a deeply traumatic year, and the more I do it, the stronger and more lithe those muscles will get–and the less warm-up they will need. Having so many of the conflicting voices in my head stilled at long last also helps me with the focus and stuff; the problem is the lack of use and working out the kinks and the doubts. I think the story is going to make better sense and be much stronger than it was going to originally be in this draft version, and I did think about it a lot last night, too. I have always had a powerful imagination, and so last night I was using it to imagine what it would feel like out in the Manchac Swamp on a night in early October–and the kinds of risks college students will take that older people probably wouldn’t. If it weren’t for the parades–and maybe after the season is over I can do this–I should drive out to the swamp and check it out; there are a lot of places around New Orleans and in Louisiana in general that I really should go visit and experience.

Time, and exhaustion, is always such an issue. I do remember driving somewhere–I’m not sure where or why–that required me to cross the lake to Slidell on my way; I was writing something that required me to take a look at that far reach of New Orleans east that heads out to the bridge over the Rigolets, and so I detoured on my way to get a good look. (I also used that visit to base a scene in Royal Street Reveillon on as well; two for the price of one!) I’ve also noticed that, now that I have take up my proverbial quill again, my process of writing is a little different than it used to be; again, rusty out of use muscles might have something to do with it, but it could also be a change, who knows? My process has evolved and changed so much since Ye Olden Days when I first starting treating writing as a job and a vocation as opposed to a dream. (It’s also why I hate process questions, mine is rarely ever the same, especially when it comes to writing short stories.) I do like this story and like where it’s going; I really like the idea of my four unsuspecting, slightly drunk and high college students out visiting a supposedly haunted location in the Manchac Swamp (putting some of those New Orleans-area history wormholes I’ve gone down since the pandemic started) and I think it could be a terrific (if macabre) little story. And it’s something I am actually writing, not something I’m just thinking about. The story will probably always be special to me for being the first thing I wrote and finished after the surgery.

I’ve also been watching, with no small amount of amusement, as the right wing anger cancellation machine (you know, the thing they bitch about from the left while doing themselves because they are nothing if not the biggest hypocritical pieces of shit in recent American and world history) has decided to come for Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. I have enjoyed so many cruel laughs at their expense over the last few months! Why stop there? Why not come for Beyonce, too? They never learn, do they? Their refusal to look at factual history–even factual recent history–showed itself when Ron DeSantis chose to follow the Southern Baptist playbook and come for Disney to bolster his dead-before-it-started presidential campaign? The Mouse is undefeated, and remains undefeated. Taylor Swift is the biggest pop culture star in the world right now whose fans absolutely worship her–and her fans are of all ages, and they protect her from scavenging low-life scum whenever and wherever someone tries to come for her. The irony that this romance is actually the culmination of every Taylor Swift longing teenaged love songs–she’s dating the star football player AT LAST–does not Fox or Newsmax in their quest to humble Taylor Swift, who is laughing at them as she sits on her piles of gold and the love and admiration of millions around the globe. I wouldn’t call myself a Swiftie1–I do like her music, and listen to it occasionally, but it’s not my go-to–but I do admire her as an artist, a businesswoman, and a person. She stands up for the underprivileged, she supports queer people and queer rights, and above all else she fights misogyny (which a lot of the right-wing hate is predicated upon) whenever she encounters it, calls it out, and is not afraid to go to court to fight it, either. The way she outsmarted the douche who bought her original masters deserves a five minute standing ovation.

I may not know a lot about Ms. Swift, but I do know better than to fuck with her or activate her fans. And frankly, the profas (if the the left is antifa, then it stands to reason that their position makes the right profa, right?) are soooo stupid and blindly wrapped up in their cult of Golden Calf worship that their rage makes me like her all the more. I listened to her Red album in the car on my way home from the office yesterday and it’s still a banger (“Red” is my favorite Swift song, don’t @ me), and I’ll probably be listening to more of her music in the coming days as well. I also love that the derangement extends to rooting against the Kansas City Chiefs in the upcoming Super Bowl–which means they have to root for San Francisco.

(laughs evilly in gay.)

And on that note, I need to head into the spice mines and start paying the bills. Have a lovely Wednesday and you never know–I may pop in again later.

  1. Although I did start writing an essay during the pandemic that I called “A Sixty-Year Old Swiftie.” ↩︎

Keep the Fire Burnin’

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.

Hard to Say I’m Sorry

Saturday morning and I slept late blog, which is perfectly okay and not a cause for panic anymore over the “lost hours” I “wasted” this morning sleeping longer. I feel good this morning, actually, rested and alert and clear-headed, too. I had planned to not leave the house this weekend, but I may have to make a slight grocery run today to pick up a few things. I did spend some time in bed this morning awake and cuddling with Sparky while wondering if I do indeed need to go out into the rain or if it can wait until tomorrow or even Monday. There are a few things I do need, and if I go out of the house I can maybe get a burger somewhere, like Five Guys or Sonic. Decisions, decisions, you know? I’ve not had a burger in weeks, either, or red meat of any kind. This hasn’t been a conscious choice, of course, just how things have worked out. I weighed myself at work the other day and was still at around 203-204 (with my shoes, belt, wallet and keys on my person) so I am much closer to the 2024 goal weight I wanted to achieve.

And yes while it would be nice to go back under 200 again, I don’t really think that’s going to happen. And I don’t care if I do! At some point, I made progress on that score, too, which is really nice. Maybe it’s being over sixty and being seriously out of fucks to give? Whatever, it does feel lovely not to be worried about people thinking I look out of shape or gross or something. (I also haven’t set foot in a gay bar in practically a decade, if not longer. Coincidence? Probably not.)

Yesterday was a nice, quiet day around here. I spent the day doing chores around work duties. Sparky was his usual Big Energy Kitten self, galloping around and leaping at me and climbing me to ride my shoulders (his favorite place, I swear), but I managed to get dishes done and laundry finished and some picking up around here done before the LSU Gymnastics meet last night at Missouri; they didn’t win the meet and they had a below-par performance, especially after logging one of the highest scores of the year the week before against Kentucky. But it’s a long season and you can never count them out, as we discovered last year when they made the Final Four at the end of the year. After that we watched the figure skating, which wasn’t great, frankly. But I am happy for Amber Glenn to finally win the national title, even if she kind of backed into it, and it’ll be fun to watch the ice dance and the men this weekend. It was also a nice day because Paul worked at home, so he was here all day too, which I liked. I hate being a Festival widow, seriously. But it’ll be past soon, and then we’ll be heading into the summer with all that entails–stinging caterpillars, swarming termites, and high Entergy bills.

I’m hoping to get some good writing work done this weekend and not to be lazy, which is always a struggle for me. I want to get this first draft of “When I Die” finished, and I really want to finish the first draft of “Parlor Tricks” this weekend, as well as some other writing as well. I also have a stack of mail to get through, and some filing and other mess to straighten up here in the office space, which is all too often a victim of Big Kitten Energy, and it is again this morning as well. I also want to do the floors on the first floor again, and we also need to change the vent filter for the HVAC system, which is undoubtedly seriously overdue. (I need to order more filters, too, since the one I have is the last one, and there are some other things I could use from Lowe’s I could have delivered as well. Yay, delivery! I also need some things from Office Depot, but I don’t mind walking over there in the rain to get it, either. Maybe I can order a pizza for lunch from U Pizza as well as some things from Office Depot, which I can pick up in one fell swoop? I’m really getting back into pizza again, if you hadn’t noticed, but it had been years since I had a real pizza before Paul brought that one home from Midway on Freret–which is what I really want, actually–but I suppose the smart thing to do is finish this, do some email and cleaning around here while eating breakfast, then figuring out what I need to get from places and making an errand plan for either today or tomorrow. Of course, I could save the groceries until tomorrow as well….hmmm. Decisions, decisions.

Choices, said in Tatianna’s voice.

Looks like someone’s Big Kitten Energy has awakened as well, as I hear things crashing to the floor from the counters behind me. Sparky sure is lucky he is so darned cute and sweet, you know? LOL. He actually is, and he is definitely the boss around here too, with both of us wrapped around his monstrously sized paw.

All right, I think it’s time to bring this to a close and get on with the day. I need to empty the dishwasher and do some filing and cleaning, and I also need to make something to eat because I woke up very hungry this morning. So have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and who knows? I may be back later; I may not be back until tomorrow; it’s a mystery!

Even the Nights Are Better

Constant Reader, I didn’t write a damned thing last night.

It rained pretty much all day, and the city was in a flash flood warning for most of it (again today as well), and I managed to make it through the work day fine. I got off work early because of PT, left and got the mail on the way to PT, and then made groceries after PT. PT amped up yesterday and was not easy the way it had been; there was even an exercise at the very end I simply could not do. As I also despise failing at something, that was a needed exercise in humility. At the same time, it was also the first time I’ve tried any exercise since the surgery that I wasn’t able to do–and the surgery was two months ago this week. So, rather than being hard on myself about it, I chose to accept it as a milestone and something I need to overcome rather than a failure. (See how the meds are working for me now? In October that would have sent me into a funk of depression and “I’m such a loser” thinking, so I am not sure if I just have a better mental attitude, if its the meds working, or a combination of two. Regardless, I am counting it as a win.) So, I got home from work, did a few things around here, and eventually fell asleep in my easy chair, which is where I was when Paul got home. He woke me up and I went to bed and slept beautifully all night–partly because of the rain–and so here we are, with me feeling rested, it’s gray and gloomy and rainy outside, and I am working at home so I do not have to leave the house unless I want to. Huzzah!

I have to say I’ve really not been tired or groggy all week–I haven’t been that way in the morning in a very long time, but I do start falling asleep around nine-ish every night. I guess my body has not only adjusted to the lovely new meds but also to my work schedule. There’s really no chance I’ll stay up later than I should on a weeknight now because I am conking out once the clock strikes nine. I hope to get a lot of things done today around the house and around work-at-home duties; I feel really good and energized this morning. Sam the handyman came in and painted the kitchen ceiling yesterday (it looks so nice this morning!) but left the giant ladder in the kitchen so he could come in and do some touching up, and needless to say, the massive ladder is a delightful playground for Sparky–who not only loves to climb but also has figured out how to climb down, too. I told you he’s a very smart boy…and so big! Not full grown yet, either. I think he is going to be bigger than Skittle, who was also a very big boy.

Yikes!

I’m hoping to get a lot done this weekend, frankly, but I am also not going to worry about holding my feet to the fire should I not. I do want to finish this story I’ve been working on this week, and I do want to do some more writing along the way. I also want to spend some quality time reading Lina Chern’s Playing the Fool and maybe finishing off some of these other posts I’ve been playing with for quite some time. I would like to finish my analysis of Saltburn (which I can also rewatch again, which is marvelously possible thanks to streaming services), as well as my analysis of the latest volume in Heartstopper, and why it made me a bit uncomfortable, just as the show’s second season was questionable in some ways. I still like and appreciate it very much, but at the same time, nothing is above criticism and critique, especially when it’s approached in a positive way. Because the bottom line is I do think Heartstopper, both book and show, are vitally important works; there’s just a couple of things I find questionable, which is also a broader question for the community as a whole, too.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and stay safe and dry, New Orleans!

Don’t You Want Me

And just like that, it is Thursday again. I have to leave the office a little early today because I have PT at five today, which means getting uptown at a peak traffic time. But it’s a nice way to end my day, really; I doubt I’ll be much in the mood to do much of anything when I get home from that. Tomorrow is another work-at-home Friday, which means I’ve somehow managed to get through another week, and January is rapidly coming to a close. The first night of parades is a week from tomorrow! But my work schedule has been all worked out, I might have to use up some vacation time here and there to make up for leaving the office early that big final weekend, but that’s also okay. It’s hard to believe it’s here already; Krewe de Vieux is this weekend, too.

I did write last night when I got home. I didn’t write as much as I did the night before, but I am very happy with the slightly less than two thousand words I added to my story “When I Die,” and I also realized last night–and double checked to be sure–that my geography in the story was wrong; I then looked at a map to see that yes, I was indeed correct about the geography in question. The story is also running a bit long–but the geography mistake will save me some words when I go back and make that correction. The story is taking shape nicely, and I think I may even be able to get it finished tonight, if I remain ambitious and stay on top of things. I was a bit tired when I got home from the office yesterday, but did manage to get some chores done and yes, I spent some time playing with Sparky, which is always a lovely and nice way to wind down from the stress and aggravations of a work day. I also took care of something that I’d been avoiding and hadn’t been terribly happy about, in all honesty, but it felt really good to get it taken care of and was one of those things I do generally avoid and put off in case of unpleasantness, but I got it taken care of and am very pleased with myself, to be perfectly honest.

But it does feel amazing to be writing again. I’m not worrying about the quality of the story or anything, just getting it out there, and it is starting to take shape nicely. I am giving my creativity free rein with the story, and so I know I am overwriting and probably contradicting myself and other things like that, but I am also really looking forward to polishing, editing, and trimming it down into shape. I really do love short stories and I really enjoy the challenge of writing them (novels are easier for me, which doesn’t make any sense), and I am really liking this story. I have another on deck that I am looking forward to finishing, too. Let’s hear it for writing again, shall we? Huzzah? HUZZAH!

I slept really well last night–it rained overnight, which always makes me sleep better, and I don’t have to leave the house tomorrow, which means I can sleep late if I so choose, and I am starting to feel better about how the apartment looks and getting it back under control. I have another load of dishes to do when I get home tonight after emptying the dishwasher, and I also have laundry in various stages that all need to be finished off this evening when I get home. I’m pretty pleased with how well this first full week of work has gone for me, at least so far; I am neither tired nor fatigued this morning, I got up easily, and my coffee tastes marvelous. I think we have a slow day at the office today so I can get things done that I need to so I can sail into my work-at-home day relatively easily. Next Friday I have a doctor’s appointment and PT on the same morning of the first day of parades, which means any and all errands for the weekend must be completed by the afternoon so I can safely park the car on the street for the weekend. I think it’s supposed to rain all day today, too, and the weather is warming up some. I could tell last night that the weather was changing; it wasn’t stuffy and warm enough to turn on the air conditioning, but it was borderline close.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and you never know–I may be back later, I may not. Stay tuned!

Abracadabra

I wrote yesterday.

I don’t know if all writers have the same fears that I do, but chief amongst them for me is that the words will stop coming one day. I know, I often will have fallow periods where I don’t feel like writing anything, or that the well needs to be replenished before I can draw from it again. Since the surgery I’ve been trying to write, and not succeeding. The brace was a problem, the loopiness of my brain was another problem, and of course the correct medications at long last also relieved me of the stress/anxiety, which naturally I worried my anxiety might be the seed and root from which my writing sprang. But last night when I got home from work I was determined, and I sat down and started writing. I had been trying to work on this short story for quite some time, and over the last few weeks the form of the story began taking shape in my head. I decided, once I got home from running errands, I was going to sit down and work on the story. The most I’ve ever been able to do at a time since the surgery is a couple of hundred words here and there, and a great day was getting more than three hundred. I had started the story last week, got about five hundred or so words in, and then….not much. But last night, I sat down and added almost twenty-five hundred words to it in one sitting. And it felt amazing. I’m sure they aren’t great words and more story and editing is definitely required on the story, but I hadn’t had a writing day like that in a very long time–so long I’d also reached a point where I was worried that the words weren’t going to come anymore.

It’s so nice to know that isn’t the case, and that the magic is still there.

And it feels even better this morning. I just needed one day of that, apparently, to get my confidence back. Hopefully, tonight I’ll finish that story and tomorrow night after work and PT I can start another.

I was a Festival widow again last night–Paul not getting home until well after I went to bed–but last night was, of course, the final episode of the three-part reunion for The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, which was kind of disappointing, given all that had been promised. Ironically, reality television (or at least the kind I prefer to watch) has become so scripted and produced that surprises–like the ones this show delivered–are very rare (and you also have to wonder, still, how much of it was produced and created), and so they get a lot of attention and publicity and are all over the zeitgeist (Vanderpump Rules and Scandoval, anyone?), and of course, ratings are the most important thing. Anyway, I did spend almost two hours watching that and even the Watch What Happens Live that follows, which I never watch (I loathe Andy Cohen), but that was it for me; once the credits rolled I went to bed and had another lovely night’s sleep.

It feels, in some ways, like my life is starting to come back together and fall back into what it was before 2023 again, which is kind of nice. I’ve felt like my life has been out of my control for a very long time now (and yes, I’ve accepted finally that such control is actually an illusion; we have so little control over what happens to us and in our lives, really), but I kind of feel like I’m starting to get a grasp on everything again, and that’s nice. It’s amazing what a difference it makes when I actually am writing something, isn’t it? I feel so much better and at peace with the world and centered. Life provides enough drama as it is, so why seek it out? I find myself checking Twitter less and less now; I do miss the people I used to engage with there, who are now scattered over numerous other platforms, and having to check more than one and try to be active on more than one (and let’s face it, both Twitter and Facebook were more than enough for me) is more than I have the bandwidth for, let alone any such desire to maintain all these different social media accounts. I do seem to spend most of my time on social media blocking people more than anything else, and I don’t know that that is a productive use of my time on social media? Looking for people to block rather than to interact with? Really no, and it’s just more negativity.

Because that’s what I need more of in my life: negativity. Please.

And on that note, I think I’ll go ahead and head into the spice mines. I may be back later or it may be tomorrow; who can say for sure? But whatever happens, have a lovely middle of the week Wednesday, Constant Reader.

Hold Me

There’s just something about cold weather that affects me emotionally in a negative way. I’m not sure what it is, or why precisely this happens, but it does and I really don’t like it. I’ve been in kind of a funk now for several days–health insurance issues aren’t helping either (Blue Cross/Blue Shield Louisiana is a garbage company, in case any of you were wondering; they haven’t gotten any better since I was able to stop using them for health care back in 2011; now I am stuck with them again and they are the same pieces of shit they’ve always been)–and I know that the anniversary of Mom’s death is coming up and having an effect on me. The holidays were tough, indeed, but the distraction of the surgery and the recovery helped get me through that somehow; I was already miserable, so being emotionally miserable on top of that seemed more manageable than just dealing with my first holidays without her by itself with no other distractions. I didn’t have a very good day yesterday, overall. I slept decently, got up and went to work, but felt sort of out of it all day, like I’d never completely woken up, and just wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything much yesterday. I couldn’t find my wallet before I left the house, and so that was bothering me all day (I did find it later in the day in my backpack, but the day was already wrecked by then); I had to leave the office early for PT, which was fine, but …more disruption of my normal routine, which always makes me feel out of sorts. I forgot my hearing aids, too, which wasn’t much of a help either. Heavy heaving sigh. But at least I wasn’t client facing with my sourness, and I did get caught up on all of my work duties yesterday. The schedule looks pretty easy for the rest of the week as well, so maybe I can coast into this weekend relatively safely and recuperate, or at least get some respite for my soul.

PT was hard (and getting harder with every visit), but at least now I feel like I’m doing something, if that makes sense? The dexterity stuff was pretty easy and thus felt like I wasn’t really doing anything to improve my arm. The scars are becoming even less noticeable the more time passes as well; Dr. O’Brien was clearly a miracle worker in the operating room. I also don’t feel sore from the PT yet, either, despite the struggle some of those exercises were yesterday. I was worn out when I finally got home–I also ran errands and made groceries afterwards–and essentially I wasted the evening cuddling with Sparky in my easy chair. I know I watched some things–Paul didn’t get home until after I went to bed–but this morning I couldn’t tell you what any of it was. My brain was a little too fried to do any reading, and the whole day just really felt off so I just kind of sat in my chair with background noise going while I let my mind wander creatively. I got groggy/sleepy around eight thirty, but stayed up for a little while longer hoping Paul would come home…to no avail. So, Sparky and I went to bed pretty early last night, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

I slept well last night and I feel good this morning–not sleepy or groggy or tired–which is a good thing. It’s not as cold as it has been–high fifties!–this morning so there’s none of that to deal with, and hopefully it’ll be a nice day hovering around the high fifties low sixties all day. I suspect there will be rain today–there was a little yesterday slightly on my way home from the errands–and that will probably make things cold again, but that’s fine. I still can’t believe parades start a week from Friday, which is going to make life challenging again as it does every year when you live inside the box. I did do some thinking about the next Scotty last night, which was nice–it’s always nice to engage your brain a little, which is also why I don’t remember much of what I was watching last night since it was working primarily as background noise for me while my mind wandered. I did get some more ideas on how to work out these two stories (“When I Die” and “Parlor Tricks”) and get drafts finished. I really need to focus on putting words down on the page. I don’t think I’ve managed to write more than 500 words of fiction at a time since the surgery? Not good, right? But now that all feels right with the world again, I think I can get back to work again.

The funny thing is I have gotten so used to my hearing aids that forgetting them makes me feel disconnected from reality. It’s nice being able to hear properly–or at least better than I was hearing before–although I generally don’t wear them around the house on the weekends so it always feels strange when I put them back in again and have to get used to listening to how my voice actually sounds rather than how I think it sounds. (And singing along to the music in the car really makes me wince. I cannot sing. At. All. Which sucks, because I love to sing and always have.) But I am happy to be heading into this new year with some of these things finally handled. My teeth have been taken care of, I have my hearing aids, and I got the needed surgery for my arm. I’ve dropped twenty pounds or so since October, I am rediscovering my joy in exercise (even if it is just PT), I am sleeping well, and I have a darling cat who loves to sit on my shoulders. Life is pretty good, really. The only thing that I need to make me feel even better about things this morning is to get some writing done tonight, you know?

The insurance stuff will work itself out somehow; things inevitably do in one way or the other. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than not having insurance and at least now I can get the meds I need and so on. I don’t know why I let things get to me the way I did over the weekend and yesterday, but it was more of a combination of things, really. Not remembering my hearing aids and not being able to put my hands on my wallet before leaving the house (I had put it in my backpack to make sure Sparky didn’t do something with it and so I would remember it; of course I immediately forgot that I did that so…yeah) didn’t help matters any, compounding the imminent anniversary of my mom’s death as well as the insurance issues…I shouldn’t let those things get to me in the future, but it was all just a bit much yesterday morning and I also didn’t feel so rested yesterday morning either.

So, here’s to a new day dawning with me in a better space emotionally and spiritually than I was yesterday, and I am going to just keep my head up and try to stay focused, happy and positive today. Wish me luck, okay?

And now I shall head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and you never know–I may be back later.

Hurts So Good

Ah, Monday morning back to work blog today. I have to leave early as I have a PT appointment at four today, but that’s okay. I also have to run errands, and I will already be uptown, which is terrific. (Mail and make a little groceries, for those who are unsure what I mean by errands.) I’m usually in a good mood when I finish PT (it’s the endorphins), so hopefully that will make running the errands in the cold a little easier. It should get up to the sixties by the time I leave the office today. Parades begin next weekend (not this coming one, but the next) and I am not even remotely in the slightest prepared to deal with all the aggravation, exhaustion and fun that comes from living inside the box1, as we call it here. While it does mean having easy access to parades and catching throws, it also makes navigating every day life incredibly difficult.

Sigh.

I feel very rested this morning, after a weekend spent feeling tired most of the time. I managed to do very little this weekend other than rest and cleaning and chores. Maybe the strength PT on Friday wore me out far more than I had originally suspected; after all, it’s the first taxing kind of exercise I’ve done in over a year. (I also have to leave work a little early today as well for a session later this afternoon.) I didn’t get much done this weekend, sadly, but I consider progress on the house to be progress of a kind at any rate. I also started reading Lina Chern’s Play the Fool, which I am enjoying; the voice is quite original and delightful. We also watched another episode of Lupin last night, which is also quite good.

I was struggling there for a moment to remember what precisely I did yesterday while Paul took calls and worked upstairs; I just remembered that I spent most of the day finishing the original BBC series of Brideshead Revisited. I can see why the show was so popular back when it originally aired and why it own so many Emmys–Americans have always thought British productions of anything to be vastly superior to anything produced here–and it did remind me a lot of Downtown Abbey, which also led me to wonder why Americans are so fascinated by the British upper class. I know I certainly used to be, but my lack of knowledge regarding Brideshead seemed like a missing cultural touchstone for me, and now that I’ve seen it–yes, I can see how influential it was. There would be no Downton without Brideshead, but the original is far less soapy than the later show….and of course, Upstairs Downstairs was truly the original Downton, a soapy show about a wealthy family’s ups and downs as well as their servants. I don’t imagine the occasional thoughts I would have while watching–deep criticisms of the class system and the disproportionate division of wealth in British society of the time; how it would have sucked to have been one of their servants–would have occurred to me had I watched when I was younger. I also felt that there was more to the relationship between Charles and Sebastian than mere friendship; which is another thing it has in common with Saltburn; an ambiguous love relationship between two men. I was also rather disappointed that Sebastian disappeared from the show about halfway through so it could focus on Charles and Julia, which I felt was giving Sebastian, whom the show really centered at first, very short shrift indeed. I will go ahead and read the book–my education in Evelyn Waugh was sorely neglected–but I feel that watching the series has given me enough grounding to explore Saltburn again through that experience.

It’s chilly again this morning but nothing terribly unbearable, thank the Lord. I do feel rather good this morning, and hope I can ride that feeling through the work day, into PT and making groceries again after work tonight. This is an actual full work week, of which there have been few for quite some time for me, so we’ll see how I feel when Friday rolls around again, shall we?

It’s been an interesting and slightly uneven January so far, bit of an up and down month, in all honesty. Life is always a rollercoaster, isn’t it? Ups and downs and never certain when the next curve or sudden drop is coming, all at great speeds that sometimes never give you a chance to catch your breath. There’s nothing life can give us that we can’t handle, as Scotty always says, it’s how you handle it that matters. I’ve always found that emotional responses or reactions are often counterproductive and exhausting, and if you can somehow switch the emotional component down or off or mute it so you can engage your logical brain and figure out how to handle it and what you need to do next to start the getting through it process might not be the absolute healthiest way to handle anything, but it has always worked for me and is why people always think I am so good in a crisis–I am very good at ignoring the macro while focusing on the micro. The problem with that, of course, is that you never go back and process the feelings and emotions; they’ve been securely buried for the moment and inevitably, that results in me thinking oh I don’t need to process that after all!

When in fact I really do need to.

That’s been happening a lot for me since the concurrent COVID pandemic/shutdown coupled with me turning sixty and eventually losing my mom. I’ve been thinking about things from my past a lot more than I ever allowed myself to, identifying the lessons I’ve taken from bad experiences and how I turned that into I don’t ever want to feel like this again s so I will never do that again which may not have been exactly healthy. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over that sense of not belonging anywhere when I was a kid, which was partly being a gay kid (I didn’t know that specifically, but I also knew I was different from the other kids) as well as having some chemical issues in my brain (ADHD, anxiety, etc.), added to the sense of not belonging because I was from Alabama and living in Chicago. New Orleans was, in fact, the first place I’ve ever felt like I belonged, and that’s part of the reason I love it here so much. There wasn’t any single one thing to blame; I always thought it was this or that or the other, but rather the combination of everything that made my childhood so incredibly difficult for me (and pretty much my life until about thirty-three or so).

I think the real reason–I was asked this on the young adult panel this weekend–I write about teenagers is I am still trying to make sense of my own experiences. I also think that my past is also filled with very rich material for my writing. I learned that with both Bury Me in Shadows and #shedeservedit–writing about things that I have had trouble understanding in my own life fictionally has not only made my work better but also has helped me process things in a healthier way than I ever have before.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader.

  1. “The box” means inside the parade route for Carnival; the box being formed by Canal, Napoleon, St. Charles and Tchoupitoulas. Once parades have started you cannot cross any of those streets, and yes, I live just inside the box on the St. Charles side of the rectangle. ↩︎