4th
Unlike last year, when Trish had her foot surgery & was laid up in the Captain's chair, when we had everybodaddy, I mean everybodaddy over to entertain the girl, this was a lonely day.
The ennui started with Vangie's webcam -- some Filapina who does cam-2-cam, something I can't do, no cam -- we sold that one David gave us for a wedding gift; big waste of money.
Then Trish had extreme difficulties with her new med: Seroquel does help her with sleep & racing thoughts, & fuck Scientology, but it works too well: she had an incredibly difficult time getting out of bed, going to work, slurring her words. Finally, after a lot of coffee & a few cat-naps, she left for the Invisible Pizza Hut.
Brad's novel chunk(s) weren't in the email, so I decided to do more work on Noc-Lar. File #3 is way too short. I plan to spice it up with an Amazon, with flashbacks, with back story on Noc-Lar itself. Perhaps even a return of the snorting serpent. The story has certainly evolved since some Critter called it "the worst example [he'd] ever seen of shockingly bad writing" -- some of this apparently being due to a combination of mania & schizophrenia during that redraft from memory; the other part being due to formatting problems; like, screw this bozo -- & the last editor to see it in short story form said there's no problem with the style or plot, mostly, the length -- which is why it's being turned into a 90K novel (with quite a bit of redrafting of the short version).
Then Trish called, to tell me there's a free b-b-q in Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Park Club at noon. I headed over, gave directions to some guy on crutches, found a place to sit by the gazebo -- & had to ask directions to the food. Nummy treats! A hamburger, chips, potato salad, & watermelon. Jan was there; I met her carrying my plate of food, looking for a place to sit. She had to split 'cause she had no time to waste.
I left as soon as I'd finished my burger. I didn't feel like sticking around for Slap Bass & the Space Ace; for any Kentuckified music you hear here in Invisible City, ND -- what do they think we are, a bunch of rednecks?
Yeah, right. So I found a garbage can -- with some direction (spin me 'round), then lost myself in the park, came out on the south side of St. Sophie's & finally figured out my way to Albertson's -- pic-a-nic food for Trish: hot dogs -- Oscar Meyer, not some generic brand; potato salad at the deli; Pringles (not the sale brand; Trish can be fussy); baked beans -- Albertson's brand; plenty of yogurt; buns; & 2 boxes of pancake mix, buy one, get one free.
So on the way home, laden with bags -- & using that as an excuse for not talking -- I ran into Kim. First thing she said was, "long": followed by a word with an "x" in it; "dizzy" (she always tells me all this, then turns around & demands it, anyway); "work"; "job"; "holiday"; some more words I don't remember/couldn't understand. When she made ready to leave, I hugged her, bags in both hands -- a couple young girls came around the corner just then; I released her -- but that hug was not tender: Scoobies with their "hugs, not drugs" slogan hug more affectionately than that.
Which I'm glad of. I don't really want to encourage the woman, as I don't want her coming over every day when I'm trying to work. Still I feel guilty. I probably should've set the groceries down for a couple minutes.
Oh well. I have a wife. I don't need a mistress.
Once back home, though, I didn't feel like writing any more, so I sat down at the keyboard & worked on my current arhythmic version of Light My Fire. After awhile, I got tired of that (just when I was moving into organ) so I put another coat of paint on Bird of Fire. I have yet to spray it, & in some ways feel liquid varnish, applied with a palette knife, is better.
Then my Bumble Bee came home, having called around 2:45. We spent some time on the love seat, feeling the a/c -- definitely needing one for the 105F weather coming in -- before going to the basement & switching on the fan there. I fixed our supper -- pic-a-nic food -- around 5:00, then we went back to Albertson's for some batteries, Gatorade, ice cream, & Diet Mr. Fruity.
Terry -- together with Donna -- yelled at us on the way over. Not being able to see him, I thought maybe it was a stranger & ignored him. Trish, however, came close to nearly losing it. When we went into the store, we grabbed our goodies as fast as possible, then left. Terry was in the very next row, & Trish got paranoid -- Donna ripped her off at coffee the other week; she's mad at her; she doesn't want to speak to her for a month or 2.
After we returned to the house, I sat around downstairs watching TV -- nothing memorable -- while Trish did her upstairs chores.
When she joined me, I started to fall asleep in the chair, & knowing the difficulty there'd be waking her up the next day, I tried to split a Seroquel in half. It didn't work, so today, if Trish still has problems, I'll phone down to the City of Electric Nite in order to reduce the dose. Even with the Seroquel, it took an hour for her to fall asleep last nite -- the acid test now is the morning.
Will she wake up? Can she wake up? Only time will tell.
The ennui started with Vangie's webcam -- some Filapina who does cam-2-cam, something I can't do, no cam -- we sold that one David gave us for a wedding gift; big waste of money.
Then Trish had extreme difficulties with her new med: Seroquel does help her with sleep & racing thoughts, & fuck Scientology, but it works too well: she had an incredibly difficult time getting out of bed, going to work, slurring her words. Finally, after a lot of coffee & a few cat-naps, she left for the Invisible Pizza Hut.
Brad's novel chunk(s) weren't in the email, so I decided to do more work on Noc-Lar. File #3 is way too short. I plan to spice it up with an Amazon, with flashbacks, with back story on Noc-Lar itself. Perhaps even a return of the snorting serpent. The story has certainly evolved since some Critter called it "the worst example [he'd] ever seen of shockingly bad writing" -- some of this apparently being due to a combination of mania & schizophrenia during that redraft from memory; the other part being due to formatting problems; like, screw this bozo -- & the last editor to see it in short story form said there's no problem with the style or plot, mostly, the length -- which is why it's being turned into a 90K novel (with quite a bit of redrafting of the short version).
Then Trish called, to tell me there's a free b-b-q in Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Park Club at noon. I headed over, gave directions to some guy on crutches, found a place to sit by the gazebo -- & had to ask directions to the food. Nummy treats! A hamburger, chips, potato salad, & watermelon. Jan was there; I met her carrying my plate of food, looking for a place to sit. She had to split 'cause she had no time to waste.
I left as soon as I'd finished my burger. I didn't feel like sticking around for Slap Bass & the Space Ace; for any Kentuckified music you hear here in Invisible City, ND -- what do they think we are, a bunch of rednecks?
Yeah, right. So I found a garbage can -- with some direction (spin me 'round), then lost myself in the park, came out on the south side of St. Sophie's & finally figured out my way to Albertson's -- pic-a-nic food for Trish: hot dogs -- Oscar Meyer, not some generic brand; potato salad at the deli; Pringles (not the sale brand; Trish can be fussy); baked beans -- Albertson's brand; plenty of yogurt; buns; & 2 boxes of pancake mix, buy one, get one free.
So on the way home, laden with bags -- & using that as an excuse for not talking -- I ran into Kim. First thing she said was, "long": followed by a word with an "x" in it; "dizzy" (she always tells me all this, then turns around & demands it, anyway); "work"; "job"; "holiday"; some more words I don't remember/couldn't understand. When she made ready to leave, I hugged her, bags in both hands -- a couple young girls came around the corner just then; I released her -- but that hug was not tender: Scoobies with their "hugs, not drugs" slogan hug more affectionately than that.
Which I'm glad of. I don't really want to encourage the woman, as I don't want her coming over every day when I'm trying to work. Still I feel guilty. I probably should've set the groceries down for a couple minutes.
Oh well. I have a wife. I don't need a mistress.
Once back home, though, I didn't feel like writing any more, so I sat down at the keyboard & worked on my current arhythmic version of Light My Fire. After awhile, I got tired of that (just when I was moving into organ) so I put another coat of paint on Bird of Fire. I have yet to spray it, & in some ways feel liquid varnish, applied with a palette knife, is better.
Then my Bumble Bee came home, having called around 2:45. We spent some time on the love seat, feeling the a/c -- definitely needing one for the 105F weather coming in -- before going to the basement & switching on the fan there. I fixed our supper -- pic-a-nic food -- around 5:00, then we went back to Albertson's for some batteries, Gatorade, ice cream, & Diet Mr. Fruity.
Terry -- together with Donna -- yelled at us on the way over. Not being able to see him, I thought maybe it was a stranger & ignored him. Trish, however, came close to nearly losing it. When we went into the store, we grabbed our goodies as fast as possible, then left. Terry was in the very next row, & Trish got paranoid -- Donna ripped her off at coffee the other week; she's mad at her; she doesn't want to speak to her for a month or 2.
After we returned to the house, I sat around downstairs watching TV -- nothing memorable -- while Trish did her upstairs chores.
When she joined me, I started to fall asleep in the chair, & knowing the difficulty there'd be waking her up the next day, I tried to split a Seroquel in half. It didn't work, so today, if Trish still has problems, I'll phone down to the City of Electric Nite in order to reduce the dose. Even with the Seroquel, it took an hour for her to fall asleep last nite -- the acid test now is the morning.
Will she wake up? Can she wake up? Only time will tell.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home