Dangerous Vision
OK, so the Invisible Hog edited a book that I once admired highly, until e insulted me, so at this point I feel it isn't as good as The Mind-Warp Era (by W.C. Leadbeater). I'm not here this morning to talk about everyone's favorite Harley, though--the point of the title is that my glasses disappeared. I'm currently wearing an old pair, which is even worse than the 20/50 I normally achieve in the eye I'm not blind in.
I woke up yesterday, along with Trish, about 7:00 AM & we took a shower together; here come the warm jets. When I left the bathroom, I went to put on my watch & glasses on the nightstand, where I usually put them. The watch was there, but the glasses were missing. The first thing I did was look under the bed & behind the dresser; no luck. Next, we tried the bathroom; no luck there, either. We spent about an hour before Church looking & finally called Cathy to look when she cleans.
After Mass we both went out to Taco Loco for some Crazy Nachos. When we came back Cathy called while we were watching the Buffster stake vampires. She said she could stop by after awhile to look, which she did & concluded what we had: the glasses have to be in the house somewhere, but we have no idea where. Then I went thru my documents drawer, right above the comic book drawer, & found my old pair. Trish still wanted to watch the glass teat (we have another glass teat in the basement), but I decided to see if I could function with the spare pair, so I checked my email & then wrote awhile, doing what I usually do: cranking the size of the screen on the mother.
I'm about 7 pages into my new novel, & everyone agrees it's a hot book. However, I just can't seem to motivate myself to work on it, glasses or no glasses. I'm definitely not manic right now, or I'd be frantically tormenting my typewriter, but I'm not certain if I'm depressed, either. Doc Larocque dubbed the state "euthymic"; would that I were either hot or cold; because I am neither hot nor cold Karen Relationships spews Bible-prophecy garbage at me out of her mouth. I dunno. Maybe that last sentence was a little schizophrenic. Schizophrenia has come to be the defining character of my writing since Depakote cured my mood disorder.
Having a mental illness can definitely create friction in a relationship. I know I had a hard time dealing with Trish last week, when she took those muscle relaxers that made her so angry. Right now, though, I think she's coming out of her depression. Yesterday, she did 2 loads of laundry & 2 of dishes. She's also been compromising on the buckadingdongs problem: we've agreed that she'll spend $100 of her paycheck every month on bills, so Karen Upstairs will have some leeway in how much she has to spend of our disability money. She also agreed to wait until after I hear from Stan on "Trinities" (which was written while sailing the darkened seas in a great big submarine) before we buy anymore DVDs. She simply misunderstood my point: it's cheaper to rent than to buy; I told her you'd have to rent 20 times to justify the cost. This comes, however, following her insulting my writing last week. For those of you coming into this blog late (like Timothy Leary), last week Trish (my wife) started to take some Flexoral that she had from an old prescription, because her shoulders were hurting her from where she fell at her Town House job, & it made her temper flare, until we d/c'ed it & Dr. Huffman put her on Ultracet, a pain pill.
To return to her reaction to my writing, she has regular hours; I don't, & it's not like I wouldn't want to return to work, it's that if I make too much money I lose my disability, & then I won't be able to afford the medication that made me well enough to hold a job, anyway. I talked it over with the guy at Voc Rehab, & we decided that, with my writing finally starting to look commercial (with Ted's help), selling my stories might push me over the limit for still retaining disability.
As for The Mind-Warp Era, I've barely earned anything off it, which is what I'm doing on the internet right now, promoting this shattered kaleidoscope world I created during 20 years of savage dread. Just in case you're not familiar with the concept, Saklas, the Galactic Emperor, has put the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System into Earth orbit to create Mindstorms, which alter the character/author, W.C. Leadbeater, into his favorite comic book swamp monster, Slime-thing, stalwart defender of Truth, Justice, & Niceness. The story follows Lead as he graduates from the Invisible High to move to Nite City for college, then back home again, where his transformations become of a different nature. With lots of sex & soul-melancholy shimmering. Buy the book. You'll be glad you did.
I woke up yesterday, along with Trish, about 7:00 AM & we took a shower together; here come the warm jets. When I left the bathroom, I went to put on my watch & glasses on the nightstand, where I usually put them. The watch was there, but the glasses were missing. The first thing I did was look under the bed & behind the dresser; no luck. Next, we tried the bathroom; no luck there, either. We spent about an hour before Church looking & finally called Cathy to look when she cleans.
After Mass we both went out to Taco Loco for some Crazy Nachos. When we came back Cathy called while we were watching the Buffster stake vampires. She said she could stop by after awhile to look, which she did & concluded what we had: the glasses have to be in the house somewhere, but we have no idea where. Then I went thru my documents drawer, right above the comic book drawer, & found my old pair. Trish still wanted to watch the glass teat (we have another glass teat in the basement), but I decided to see if I could function with the spare pair, so I checked my email & then wrote awhile, doing what I usually do: cranking the size of the screen on the mother.
I'm about 7 pages into my new novel, & everyone agrees it's a hot book. However, I just can't seem to motivate myself to work on it, glasses or no glasses. I'm definitely not manic right now, or I'd be frantically tormenting my typewriter, but I'm not certain if I'm depressed, either. Doc Larocque dubbed the state "euthymic"; would that I were either hot or cold; because I am neither hot nor cold Karen Relationships spews Bible-prophecy garbage at me out of her mouth. I dunno. Maybe that last sentence was a little schizophrenic. Schizophrenia has come to be the defining character of my writing since Depakote cured my mood disorder.
Having a mental illness can definitely create friction in a relationship. I know I had a hard time dealing with Trish last week, when she took those muscle relaxers that made her so angry. Right now, though, I think she's coming out of her depression. Yesterday, she did 2 loads of laundry & 2 of dishes. She's also been compromising on the buckadingdongs problem: we've agreed that she'll spend $100 of her paycheck every month on bills, so Karen Upstairs will have some leeway in how much she has to spend of our disability money. She also agreed to wait until after I hear from Stan on "Trinities" (which was written while sailing the darkened seas in a great big submarine) before we buy anymore DVDs. She simply misunderstood my point: it's cheaper to rent than to buy; I told her you'd have to rent 20 times to justify the cost. This comes, however, following her insulting my writing last week. For those of you coming into this blog late (like Timothy Leary), last week Trish (my wife) started to take some Flexoral that she had from an old prescription, because her shoulders were hurting her from where she fell at her Town House job, & it made her temper flare, until we d/c'ed it & Dr. Huffman put her on Ultracet, a pain pill.
To return to her reaction to my writing, she has regular hours; I don't, & it's not like I wouldn't want to return to work, it's that if I make too much money I lose my disability, & then I won't be able to afford the medication that made me well enough to hold a job, anyway. I talked it over with the guy at Voc Rehab, & we decided that, with my writing finally starting to look commercial (with Ted's help), selling my stories might push me over the limit for still retaining disability.
As for The Mind-Warp Era, I've barely earned anything off it, which is what I'm doing on the internet right now, promoting this shattered kaleidoscope world I created during 20 years of savage dread. Just in case you're not familiar with the concept, Saklas, the Galactic Emperor, has put the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System into Earth orbit to create Mindstorms, which alter the character/author, W.C. Leadbeater, into his favorite comic book swamp monster, Slime-thing, stalwart defender of Truth, Justice, & Niceness. The story follows Lead as he graduates from the Invisible High to move to Nite City for college, then back home again, where his transformations become of a different nature. With lots of sex & soul-melancholy shimmering. Buy the book. You'll be glad you did.
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