new time, first class daydream

This is the night we switched our clocks back. Although the mighty Insect Slayer is looking forward to an extra hour of sleep -- she does that, you know -- I got up around 5:00; I hope Dr. Locoweed can prescribe some stronger sleeping pills & piss on the Scooby Club with their hatred of "addictive experimental antidepressants". Fuck herbs; I really mean it.

I've been having a terrible amount of anxiety & depression feelings lately, so double-piss on the Scooby Club. Some of it is just becoming used to Trish's new hours, & some of it has been buckadingdongs. Yesterday, though Karen (not the skinny dog) took us out to El Taco Loco & we ate Mexican while writing checks. We have enough money now to pay the water bill & car insurance, & buy food until Trish's new paycheck kicks in. The Paycheck they made out of Dick had a stupid ending.

re-make/re-model

This post is, in part, about the perils of Biggie the Blanket. Since his Karen Relationship, he's become increasingly erratic, & he should finish with his woman 'cause she can't help him with his mind: she's ruined his life, & he should be taking addictive experimental antidepressants instead of all the herbs. As soon as Dave met Karen, his personality began to change: he became lazy -- he stopped taking care of his apartments -- & paranoid: "The government is wiretapping our phones". Part of his paranoia is doctors: "They don't do anything for you, & they just give you a big bill". The Invisible Hospital tried to kill Mother & the Electric Hospital deliberately killed Uncle Bill by performing an unnecessary bypass. Ever since the dread Blanket-man met Karen, he's been sick with some kind of respiratory problem, for which he takes echinacea -- which a massive study just showed is worthless (a study that is, no doubt, a conspiracy on the part of the drug companies). So after summer came rolling around & he got out of town, he went to visit Fearless Taco once, & was dragged into an ER throwing up blood. They measured his blood-sugar as sky high, but he's not doing anything about it since "that doctor didn't know what he was doing".

Knowing full well that if I called him, he'd shout at me, I eventually decided to call anyway. All I knew was that he'd bought a house in a town of 900 people with no clear plans as to what he'd do in the future. John had given me his cell, & I got Karen when I Kalled; Biggie was in the shower -- at 10:45, his time. She took down our number & had him call back on their regular phone -- first sign of paranoia, he refused to give out his number as it's "unlisted & we like to keep it that way". I told him that Trish has her license & is now working at Pizza Hut, then asked exactly what it is he thinks he's doing out there -- according to Taco, for awhile they were going to buy a computer & Karen would illustrate children's books & then for awhile they were going to raise shih tsus -- a laughable plan; Precious was so fat because of her diet of table scraps. He became angry & said, "We're remodeling". When I asked what else, he yelled, "remodeling is a full time job". I asked once more what he was planning to do once he was done remodeling, & he yelled, "Why are you so damn concerned about our own fucking money?" -- or maybe it was "fucking concerned" & "damn money", whatever the case, there was a damn & a fucking in there.

I'm just worried that he has no practical plans. He thinks the money he got from selling his property -- which Mother basically just gave him -- will last indefinitely, & you can't make a living selling fat dogs. It's also predictable that the skinny dog he married will divorce him as soon as the money runs out, & then he'll become suicidal. But there's nothing I can do. I tried to tell the family that Blanket-man had it bad before he left town, & he's reached the point now, with his paranoia of doctors, that he's not going to consult a psychiatrist until he's dragged forcibly into a hospital.

caught in the cross-fire

OK, I have a real problem here, & (guess but I just don't know) what to make of it: after the good news on "Trinities", I submitted "To Fight in the Sky" to ASIM. Today, I received 2 emails from them. One said my story was being rejected, for various reasons; the 2nd said that the story had made its way thru the first round of readings & would now go thru a 2nd round. Unless I flunked the 2nd round already (it's supposed to take 2-3 weeks) & they sent out the forms in the wrong order, I'm totally at a loss as to why or how the 2 messages wound up in my inbox. I jotted the guy a note & hopefully we'll be hearing that everything's OK. The criticism offered could, I think, be regarded as valid problems for some publishers -- Stan Schmidt's only problem was the Shaft, & I think dealing with the explanations of the Shaft may have contributed to this one reader's confusion -- I just won't know if I can submit it elsewhere until I hear from the editor. I don't see why, when I did so well in college, that I'd be having these problems with semi-professional magazines. Maybe it's because I did all my writing while sailing the darkened seas.

my baby drives me every which way (too much)

Trish finally has her license. Earlier in the last week, Trish-uh! took Trish for divers cruises; I forget each & every one, but then Wednesday the 2 of them went out around 11:00 (a few minutes late; Trish called her cell) & left me at home until after Jeffer Auss came by to pick up his DVD he'd rented the night before. When Trish rang the doorbell she had a big pout on her face as a practical joke -- when I anxiously asked if she'd gotten it the 2 of them broke into smiles & said, "Yes".

Thursday, we had to wake Trish up early: first day on her new job at Pizza Hut. She's washing dishes during the luncheon buffet now. She drove out OK -- at least, I assumed that she did after no phone calls that she'd wrecked -- so I did a little more on QA; that lucky little lady (Crystal) in the City of Night. Kim came over when Trish was gone, on the way home from Fat Albert's Sons. Then Trish entered, & it was like almost heaven, west Jamaica (still wishing I had U-boat).

Then yesterday Trish's car needed gas, so we had to go to the Iron Claw Credit Union to cosign some money out of the bank. We found Town Pump from the side streets, but Trish had trouble parking outside the bank. This caused so much savage dread that I was unable to write while Trish was gone. Instead, I watched The Wall, which is just as Kool as the Doors. She hadn't returned home yet when I had my appointment with Joe, & since I started to have a depersonalization experience in his office (from savage dread) I called home: bad news; Trish had backed into a truck on the way out of the bank parking lot (with no harm done) -- which is a difficult parking lot, even for an experienced driver. I got her to come to the Layout's Halloween party & then watched the Buffster all evening, to calm her down.

end of an era (or at least a couple of years)

Fred came over last night, in his shiny silver Batmobile. (I know fear & loathing: www.onewest.net/~jbauer/batmans.car) We played around with the keyboard some -- not as much as I would've liked; he arrived late as he got hung up trying to bring in his brother's cat. He brought over a copy he'd made of Imagine & I learned the chords & tried to pick out the melody.

Then the phone rang: Trish at McRonald's, as usual for a Saturday night, but... this was her last night of work, end of an era. Thursday she starts Pizza Hut. I hope the job won't be too much of a stress on her, but at least the paycheck -- we saw that movie -- will be larger (& what's this about time machines, when the opening held so much promise?).

Trish also almost passed her driver's exam Friday. She cut in front of someone. Although she'd blow a fuse if I told her that perhaps she shouldn't have her license, I don't want her driving until she's absolutely certain of being safe.

I'm still writing, but at a snail's pace -- though I'm certain it's faster than what I did in the City of Night; that was all done by sailing the darkened sea in a great big submarine. For now, I'm working on Ted's QA story, though it may require a 3rd run-thru at Critters as I'm adding all kinds of Crystal-line nightmares. I haven't even made a stab at doing a re-make/re-model of the latest chapter of Arn, what with Becca finally becoming aware that she's bipolar & that Soma did this to her.

I may be able to do some writing this afternoon, when Trish is out with Trish-uh! & hopefully won't be cutting in front of anyone. I'm kind of stymied with QA right now: the reinvention of Crystal is going slow; Mr. Fantasy is ill-defined -- so I may do the Ladytron of Arn instead.

& so it goes. (I am really Curt Vague-&-Nuts.)

McParty

Yesterday McRonald's had a mandatory meeting for the crew. Since Trish had a sleepless night Saturday -- too much Wahoo 'til E-tu Day (diet) -- I let her sleep in until 10:00, & we missed the body & the blood -- the rose of mysterious union. We ate a late 'sketti brunch & then Trish did some household chores. Trish-uh! called up & said, Trish did so well driving the other day, she didn't need to go again until Tuesday. Once Trish was done with the laundry, we watched Buffy. Kimothy Kame over, & talked in sign for a couple episodes of the Buffster kicking ass. Car-girl had promised to give us a ride, but had an emergency, so we rode the Invisible cab. We took along my homemade macaroni salad, but the pizza was more popular. Everyone went swimming, there was a mandatory meeting for the crew, & then once more with the taxi.

welcome to my life, tattoo

God & it's been almost a week & speaking of God, this is Sunday but we aren't going to Church as Trish had a sleepless night. She blames it on her Diet Mountain Dew from the Bear Creek Drive-in (home of the world famous Hideous Burger), but it could be a manifestation of the illness I. Ron Steele says she doesn't need meds for. I don't know what his problem is. He's not a Scientologist, so he's either a Scooby or someone with a mental illness who's paranoid about his illness, the same way Biggie got paranoid of dog food & killed his Precious with table scraps.

Last Sunday, Karen the Kaseworker (not the Relationships kind) picked us up about 4:00, to drive us to the City of Electric Light, home of Eldritch & Doc Larocque. We didn't stop at Loma, cuz we had no time to waste. After we got into the Comfort Inn we drove to the Golden Corral & pigged out. Karen had a steak but I mostly ate stuff like salads & pizza. I was so stuffed, I didn't even feel like eating any macaroni & cheese.

The next morning, after we actually woke Trish up before 7:00. we ate a continental brecchie at the Electric Motel & then took Trish to the denturist to have her teeth realigned. He takes Medicaid, & doesn't even charge a co-pay. We did some shopping at the Electric Sam's Club, & then Trish & I ate lunch at Subway, where all she had was a bowl of soup, being without her teeth.

Doc Larocque agreed with me: drop the haldol & replace it with Risperdal. Trish is being very slowly tapered off her haldol & also having the other med built up to twice its old dosage, a change Suzanne didn't even contemplate cuz psilocybin takes you down to the living water. Or something like that. I really couldn't believe it when Suzanne said she's seen EPS as bad as haldol from Risperdal, nor do I agree with the decision she made a year ago to take Trish off of Risperdal. I had to spend a month of anguish equivalent to Kimothy for that.

So then we found the tattoo parlor, after driving around some. Karen took off while Trish showed the guy her bumblebee off the Internet. He changed his price from 40 to 50 buckadingdongs, but, fearing he'd demand cash, I'd only saved the $40 he'd asked on the phone, so he let us have it for $45, as I still had $7 on top of the quoted price. He used 5 colors of ink & Trish regaled him with comments about her Bumblebee Bear.

On the way out of town, we picked up some RB-burgers, but when we arrived in Invisible City Karen forgot to give them to us, so I cooked some vegetarian stir-fry, though I so did not want to do any cooking.

Tuesday Trish went into Pizza the Hutt to observe people in the dishroom, while Car-girl & I waited & drank Diet Pepsi. The next day, Trish called a girl called Sabre & she said Trish has the job. She's doing her last day of duty at McRonald's the 18th, & then transfers across the street for orientation the next day.

This marks a new phase in my life: dropping out of the Perky Pam Layout, which is now Ruth-less & ruled by Cheri, who mostly just cooks a meal & babies Noncorean. Mostly, I need the time to write: when I started to attend the Layout while still living with Union Maid, it was Judy Snooty driving me to distraction that drove me into the Ruth-ful place; now it's time to go back to tormenting my typewriter on a daily basis, though I still prefer to do it with Real Atomic submarines.

This also means seeing the dietician once again, for one last time, to get some kind of meal plan. Suzette Wiccan is a real slim she-wanna; you can tell she diets herself -- but Karen decided we couldn't afford her, so since then I've weighed about the same for a year. Being that I don't want Trish living off a diet of pizza, I've decided we're going to eat one big meal in the morning & then something when Trish gets home, so I can plan around some kind of diabetic diet -- which transcends Biggie; his Relationships has screwed up his mind. At least he didn't contest custody of Union Maid.

Cloak of night...