Melody, Piss-off!

Ya! A webcam/porno chick accosted me on the Internet last nite, name of Melody Pisay. A Filipina, she made sad & slanty eyes at me for an hour. An hour during which Trish watched Britney & I watched Melody's webcam.

It could've been worse.

She could've been a Boy-Subvert.

So up until the time Melody came on the cam, the morning went along pretty much as all the new Saturdays: Trish doesn't need to be at work until 12:00, so we ate soup & sandwiches (a perennial favorite of Trish's, unless it's at Feed My Sheep), then she called the Invisible Taxi to take her to Pizza Hut. In the rain. In the cool.

Kool days have found us.

I went to bed & slept for awhile. I think I might've picked up Car-girl's stomach flu.

When I got up, I surfed cyberspace for awhile, then worked on Dawn's beginning. So far, Lead's patent on Dawn has expired. Then at the end, the winds of Limbo roar.

The van brought Trish home a little late, as Pizza Hut had a magic bus full of jocks come in, & a birthday party. We fixed tuna noodle for supper, then after Trish washed what dishes wouldn't fit in the dishwasher, she turned on Britney.

But she was worried about The Mind-Warp Era, a hot book written out of Lead's fertile imagination & the futility in the face of:

VADIS

...the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System from the planet Lucifer.

When surfing yesterday, I'd tried to check sales, got a box saying I'd either tried to access it too early (which it was published in October 2004), I'd tried the wrong email address, or my "agent" may have the sales figures.

So I turned on the machine, found that the book is still in print, told Trish, then checked out YM.

Then this Melody talked for an hour in front of her webcam, then finally typed,

--If you want me send me money.

I immediately deleted her.

Then we went to bed early 'cause I was still feeling sick. Slept well. Sort of. After 5:00, I kept drifting in & out, just waiting for the Two who know the secret to be One.

Tra-la for the Mystery Cults!

City of Dragons

Sold a painting yesterday, another surreal city scene, like many over the years. I've made more money -- coupla hundred buckadingdongs -- than I ever have with my writing, $35 for "RU-486 in the Cosmic Circus" being about it, mostly my published work has been for magazines that pay in copies.

I'm expecting Analog to help change all this. They are soliciting my work. So after Trish left the house yesterday, following the first bath after the dressing came off my foot, I started some new work on Dawn. On which God's patent has expired. Unfortunately, the hook isn't terribly effective, so today I am returning to the Dawn, in the form of Venus in Furs (whiplash, girl-child, in the dark).

When Trish came home, she took a shower, then drove with Car-girl for an hour. She made a couple of suggestions about finishing the City; then we took it to show Dominique at Dawn's Drugs.

She gave me 20 buckadingdongs for it, so we ordered a veggie lovers from Trish's place of employment.

Trish did a little light cleaning, then we channel-surfed. 09 still isn't in stereo. Frak Super-Dildo.

Indians scattered in El Taco Loco

The last couple of days have been full of light & darkness, the transvaluation of right & left; mirror-scene free you.

In the beginning there was Dawn. Svelte, smooth, rosy, golden. In my mind, she saved the TC with the help of the AI. & pretty much all for Wednesday.

Thursday comes, the psycho runs to the restroom at 6:30, gagging. I didn't puke, but I messed up the bandage on my foot. Felt sick, re-made/re-modeled the ending to Dawn (Imperious), then went out to the restaurant in the Invisible Mall. With Car-girl. Ate sugar-free cherry pie. Then we went to see the foot doctor. The bandage came off. Now I can take a bath, stop being Smelly Bear.

When Trish returned home from her TA with Car-girl, I decided to take her out to El Taco Loco, where I had Loco Nachos instead of a Crazy Taco.

These 2 Native women came in, one chunky with long & beautiful hair; the other in a white shirt with hair cropped short, slithy toves. This all made me want to gyre & gimble.

They left.

Then they came back & asked for a Mr. Fruity, in spite of the Crazy prices. Most over-priced pop I've ever guzzled. They sat at the next table down, & as I talked to Trish, the girl in the white shirt caught my eye, barely, briefly, in my glaucomatic vision. Then the one with the beautiful hair turned around & stared at me, so I shifted my gaze away, left with Trish as soon as possible.

It (almost) seemed like they wanted to meet me -- but if so, where did they know me from?
Indians scattered on Dawn's highway bleeding!

Ghosts crowd the Jung child's fragile eggshell mind!

late morning

Mourning among the stars... the new TC. Re-made/re-modeled. Re-located: the Guardian of the System.

Tuesday, I had my monthly session with Joe (Nobodaddy calls him by his last name). However, the water puddles had not yet vanished; the distance was immense for a bandaged foot: we had a phone session instead.

He said Kimothy, like a Rocketman, might not be back for a long, long time.

Suddenly I was much less Leery. (Trish took his Legend of a Mind to Pizza Hut, to play for Say Bra. He always knows exactly which way he's gonna go. Other than Rachel & her Frank L.)

I mostly just stayed home, typewriter fever, perfecting, crafting Sophie's work: Samael in a spaceship. I hit a snag, so put it aside when Bumble Bee Girl called home.

We fixed Hamburger Helper for supper, then she cleaned the kitchen, mostly dishes, as always. In spite of which, bravely struggling to keep going with the chores & her job, depression seems to be her preponderant mood right now. So I let her watch the Buffster kick ass.

Lunesta, which also turns you into Cranky Bear, put me to sleep fast, Toastie Bear on L, then I woke up at 6:00. Put on a pot of coffee & wished I had some pot. I need to sail the darkened seas in a great big U-boat to finish Andy Morlock's Dead.

Toasted frog for brecchie, coffee (as usual), swapped out the CDs. Am now preparing to travel to Pluto in my mind.

a quick survey of Monday's past: typical, but not totally so

Where did he atypical elements of Monday come to transpire? In the beginning, there was coffee. & Rootboy looked at it, & saw that it was good -- after spending some alone-time on the computer, writing about Dawn's computer, most of which will have to go. Evil computers being Harlie Davison's biggest cliche.

Trish called Karen at the Perky Pam Layout, for 35 buckadingdongs-worth of grocery money. She finished her coffee while listening to CDs, a typical morning, but it being Monday, she didn't have to work. Instead, she ran over to Perky Pam's Place, picked up the check, then went over to Albertson's, as well as Dawn's Drugs.

She got mojo filter; she got TV dinner: I had "Chinese," she had meat loaf.

Watched Charlie's Angels, Full Throttle (both ends burning), then nuked our supper (leftover 3-cheese chicken No-Bake), after which she helped me with the shower. It is not good to be Smelly Bear.

Practiced Crystal ship for awhile. Real atomic song, less than atomic delivery. But fun. & sometimes extremely bizarre combinations of instruments & rhythms.

Trish eventually had to watch Firestarter, but she's got it so well memorized that we were able to talk.

Mourning among the stars... a little reason, to be sure...

So yeah, today I woke up at 5:30, went back to bed & slept until 6:00. Got delayed by Vangie, Debbie wrote me a bunch on YM (is she after a relationship? didn't she get stung bad enough that way the last time?).

My email isn't working, & I got some kind of error message. I hope the thing doesn't need to go back into the shop. Especially when we're getting a whole new microwave. Wally World has the best prices, as Kame-Apart wants 5 extra buckadingdongs. We're simply going to take it out of McDonald's & buy their $70 one, as we have the requisite funding for it. We don't want Karen going around buying a "hi-quality" one.

My email didn't run this morning. Am running Norton, in case it's a virus/worm.

Sunday with the Mighty Insect Slayer

Woke up late Sunday -- for me. Ate cereal & a blueberry bagel for breakfast. Cold coffee & CDs, followed by frenetic cleaning during disc 1 of season 2.5 of Battlestar Galactica. No-bake for supper. More music. TV. Bedtime. Short, yet restful night: woke up at 5:30 again, with Trish lying on top of me & Toastie Bear toasting.

Day of savages -- not yet dawning upon us. Video violence.

& when the day is done, who will stand alone against the Night?

Saturday afternoon (on Pluto), won't you try (U-boat)?

A day like many other days: coffee with Bumble Bee Girl in the morning; Plutonian nights in the middle of the day, nights where TC live.

Yet it was unusual Saturday, in that Trish had to be at work at noon, rather than 11:00. Breakfast of pancakes; Lunchables for lunch, as Trish had bought them. A Scooby snack, an apple, to take with my pain pills, then... typewriter torment! Caught it the first time I turned into one: Smith-Corona. Portable. Grey.

Trish wanted to go to Confession, blood of the lamb, &c, so she headed out around 4:30, came back with some low-fat Albertson's-brand margarine.

She did some housecleaning last night, plans to do laundry today, an ucky, muggy, rainy day.

Went to bed at 10:30, after some stupid Stephen King-thing on Skiffy. Slept until after 7:00, so I think there's no real problem with the Lunesta. Other than that it sometimes turns me into Cranky Bear. Which is what you can't do with Trish. She "is a handful," as her mom put it.

So today, we're hoping to have a nice, quiet day at home; no Kimothy, hopefully the rain will scare her away. I mentioned her in bed to Trish the other night, like a hurricane with no eye: moodswing.

I love my Bumble Bee Girl. She's so darling. An interloper is not needed at this point. I've kicked Kim out in the past, will do so again.

& so it goes.

a/c covers & more...

Friday was a day of confusion, save for Dawn on Pluto. I woke up around 5:20, got up a little closer to 6:00. At least the Lunesta has me sleeping better than nothing, & this morning, 10 to 7:00, so perhaps this symptom has been ameliorating.

Pancakes? Yeah. Made 'em too spongy, which often induces Trish to pour on extra syrup.

No bacon. No eggs. Pancakes.

If Trish weren't so "paranoid" of grease, we could have bacon.

Her mom eats eggs with everything.

Once she'd started on the long road to Pizza Hut, my usual typewriter torment began: there are new aspects to Pluto, there is mourning thru-out the stars, dark entities which move so slowly.

About the time Trish showed up & began to change her clothes, Fred rang the doorbell -- "shit! That's either Kim or Fred!"

Fred wanted to go out to Wal-Mart to pick up some a/c covers. We went to the bank, deposited the 400 buckadingdong tax payback, then took out $20 for Trish. At Wally World, Trish headed out, looking for groceries while Fred & I went off looking for a/c covers. He wanted an expensive window weatherization kit, but I was uncertain it'd cover up the a/c, so I finally spent 10 buckadingdongs on a couple plastic covers, then met Trish in the eatery, chocolate pastry, some guy with Parkinson's engaging in a conversation with Fred. Trish eventually returned with a cart full of groceries.

The a/c covers turned out to be cheaper than I even thought they would. We may need to find something in the City of Electric Light.

In October. Same month as the Hopeless State Conference.

The sudden interruption to our schedule caused Trish to forget her refills. Enough "inflammatory" until Monday morning. Risperdal? She can have mine.

Can I drop the Risperdal? I have the Abilify to carry on. Both ends burning.

All the walking around, though Fred pushed me in a wheelchair, had my foot shooting pains. & too tired to cook, so we ordered a single-topping pan pizza. Half nummy treats: pepperoni; other half, Canadian bacon: Trish hates pepperoni.

Some dishwashing, then the inevitable TV. I had Trish put in the 2nd Charlie's Angels, then channel-surfed. We put in a tape to record Flash Gordon on Skiffy.

After we went to bed, some kind of argument about Kim erupted. I said, "What about Kim?" without realizing it, which produced a lot of anger.

Trish's opinions on the woman vacillate so wildly that I don't know if Trish loves or hates Kim. I just want to escape from accusations.

Mostly, I need Viagra/Levitra/Cialis & a Philip K. Fantasy to shoot 20 feet of jissem. I wish this wasn't so, it is,don't know quite what to do. Get off the Risperdal. I don't really think I need the drug salad I'm on.

Won't quit without professional advice, though. Only burnt out ash-Scooby men in Narcoholics Numinous do that: "the Program: a kind of recipe, a cookbook for living." Something you have to defy with all your might. Them, & the Science of Church-a-tology.

wake up in the early morning...

...fully satisfied. No, Trish didn't give me a blowjob last nite (her blowjobs are real atomic). With the bandage on my foot, it's difficult to perform most sex acts.

Instead, I'm once more taking Lunesta. I didn't sleep completely, as I woke up at 5:20, but it's better than 3:20-4:20. Went to bed at 10:00, after a long day, contemplating Pluto, Charon, Nix & Hydra.

It started with (what else?) breakfast of pancakes. The trazadone has Trish all crashed & slurring in the morning, so I suggested dropping downward a pill.

She walked to work, in spite of the cold, cloudy day. Once she left, I returned to work on Dawn Imperious; ermine furs; strike, dear mistress...

I ate a yogurt for a snack around 11:00, then ate early. I misread my watch. I thought I'd begun lunch at 12:30, instead it was 11:30, so I wound up accidentally taking 2 pain pills an hour early.

Work on Dawn was fun & frustrating: I enjoyed the story I was working on, but at the same time, I felt overwhelmed by schizophrenia, that it's been making it harder & harder to organize words in a meaningful way.

At least I'm off the creativity-killing Seroquel. Like it's cousin, Zyprexa, the mood-stabilizing/antipsychotic properties of the drug seemed to have screwed up my story-telling abilities quite a bit.

Some drugs do this. Others don't. Don't know what Dawn will become with the Lunesta in my blood & the blood is in my head.

Dawn is red & sexy. Her Soft Machine is an electric sperm-coffin. But yet Dawn has forgiveness for the sins men wrought on her.

I finished rewriting Dawn's mourning among the stars, at least this version. While listening to the college station, I waited for Bumble Bee Girl.

For supper, we had the sausage-thing the food bank gave us. Of course Trish insisted on overcooking it. Pork & chicken always elicit a reaction like this, checking for "pink" & constantly seeing it there, even if it isn't.

After that, she ran over to Fat Albert's Sons to pick up some groceries. She bought some SOS pads, a fruit tray, tapioca pudding, a few other sundries.

I turned on the idjut box while Trish cleaned the last of the dishes.

Saw Ice Princess on ABC Family. Don't think there's been any further movies for Dawn.

She should've turned into a slayer.

I want a new drug...

...or to go back on an old one: Lunesta. The Lunesta-freak, lacking grass, needs the stuff to maintain an equilibrium which, however, is not always conducive to my Work: the Self remains untransmuted while the art which drives me remains Lead. He drives the batmobile thru an Invisible, Mind-Warped Landscape, where the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System, jealous of his superior intellect, has sicked Bozo Rebebo on him, a bottle of vodka on top of 4 purple micro-dots, as "He was always bitching to VADIS about his nervous breakdown, & now we've really given him something to worry about."

VADIS is a sadist: ermine furs, "Dawn on Pluto:" after Dominique & Kathy dropped the blood pressure cuff off yesterday, I did some research on the dwarf planet, in order to further develop the encounter between Roxy & the TC. The Music is your only friend...

Being cold & rainy yesterday, Trish rode the cab to & from Pizza Hut. About the point where I'd reached an impasse with TC, I turned off the machine, & waited for my girl. Soon the Bumble Bee Girl entered, cold & wet. Spraying dishes tends to do that to you.

We ate early, frozen mixed vegetables & chili-mac (leftover), then Jeffer Auss came over. I asked him the favor of turning on the furnace, but he insisted on vacuuming out all the dust it'd collected over the summer.

The machine wouldn't work.

We called Karen; she explained that the hollow sphere needs water. In a few moments following proper hook-up, the dust had all been sucked into the water, & the water had wound up in the toilet, where Trish worried about the dense particles that had settled to the bottom.

Lighting the thing turned out to be more of a chore for Jeffer than I thought it'd be: twist, depress, spark, hold, turn -- he had to read the card. Which of course I'd do it, were it not for my foot.

We watched a VHS the Invisible Library had dumped for 50 cents. I could see why: all it consisted of was 3 women, all involved with film-making, rambling & ranting at random.

Trish wanted to hit the sack around 9:30, Jeffer left; I fixed peanut butter crackers, so I could take a pain pill at 10:00.

Fell asleep OK. Went to the bathroom at 3:00-something, lay awake for hours, finally fell back asleep until 6:00.

Today, I look forward to a Dawn Imperious, a lucky little lady in the City of Ice. Working with her, Roxy inspiring dread androgyny, will allow the character development to terminate with humanity's leaping to the stars. Not to mention some pretty good Music.

& all the Vadisystems with all their sweet, pretty talk can all go take a fucking walk.

daze of doctors

I had yet another appointment with the foot doctor yesterday morning. Car-girl, like a Rocket-man, got me there on time. Or at least what I thought was on time: yummy slimchick at the desk told me I'd arrived half an hour early, so I went across the room, asked the nurse at No-man's office to take my blood pressure. After discovering that it was still running high, almost as soon as I sat down on the opposite side of the room, Macaroni's nurse called me in. A quick visit: bandage on & off; prescription for more pain pills. Called Car-girl, rode home, ate leftover No-Bake, then finished the near-total re-make/re-model of TC, now Plutonian. Nubile & Nubian, Dawn moves upon the dwarf planet, creating a nitrogen wind.

The old draft used too much jargon (near universal response from Critters), but it also failed as a story. Hence the Ladytron's transplant from a ship to an ice-world.

Finished the rough draft about the time Trish got home.

She's depressed, wanted me to call Jackie, fixed things with Bridget -- the bosses are giving Bridget a warning. So she was happy when she arrived back here.

Let her sit around & rest for awhile, then she went to the store to spend the last 5 buckadingdongs on the food stamp card on yogurt & syrup.

We had a rather late supper, almost 7:00, west North Dakota, Iron Claw Mountains, stranger by the river.

Watched a little TV, then went to bed, following a crackers & peanut butter snack, so I could take my pain pill. Numbed out in the Stone cold, I slept immediately, then woke up at 3:00-something, slept until almost 5:00. Woke up to the alarm clock (rare for me), then fixed my famous breakfast of pancakes.

It rained last night, & when the showers yet lingered this morning, Trish decided to call the cab. She barely touched her coffee when she had to go. Large bus-like -- the Magic Van -- object outside, & out the door she went.

Trish had just barely left on the taxi when the doorbell rang. My initial feeling was that I'd have to make Kimothy Leery, paranoid as she is, I don't want her coming over when Trish is at work. This is my time, to torment the computer. In Dawn, it's opto-electronic.

Instead, Dominique & Kathy from Dawn's Drugs stood there. I didn't recognize them at first. When I let them in, they'd loaned me a blood pressure cuff, 'cause I'd asked the new guy about prices. With this rainy weather, I'm leery about stepping into puddles with the thing on my foot.

172/104

Still high.

Pointed out the blue on "City of Dragons;" intend also to write a fantasy with that name. They liked it, & asked to see it when it's done.

I really need to get my art into a gallery. Controlling Fate from Thousands of Light-Years Ahead. It's not the buckadingdongs. It's the issue of, I'm an artist; I have poor vision & I must create.

A couple light-daze to Pluto? Must find out. Have to engage in typewriter torment. Bi-bi, Lucy in the Ogdoad with Dianonds -- does anyone else read this thing? Am I being brutally honest for no reason? Find out later on the never-ending journal on the edge of time.

blood pressure; Dawn's highway: dentist

Since the ER doctor had ordered me to call Dr. No-man first thing Monday morning, after I got Trish out of bed to fix maple-&-brown sugar oatmeal, I called the Invisible Clinic. I left a message on the nurse's answering machine, ate my nummy treats, then sat around by the phone & waited.

Doc Larocque's nurse Jackie, about appealing Community Care's decision to substitute Lunesta for what was prescribed. Fred, a/c covers. Finally, No-man's nurse: 10:30 appointment.

Car-girl drove us up to the Clinic; once we arrived we had to wait 1/2 an hour. He sounded skeptical of my theory that the Lunesta may have been responsible. Plan: stay off Lunesta for a week; daily BP measurements; if necessary, double the meds.

Then we ate sandwiches at the house, prior to leaving for the dentist, 90 miles away down Dawn's highway. Trish wanted to discuss Bridget; got the front seat on the way down. Simple filling. Became quiet on the road home, realizing that the Dr. had treated me like an imbecile, simply 'cause I have a mental illness. His own, apparently, is sufficiently "treated" for him to be condescending. Also went thru a lot of interior verbalization about how I'd react to Bill Warren at MisCon. He's sure to resurrect the shades of Darwin & Newton.

We ate a rather late supper, as the 2 of us had to take baths. I stood in the shower, a bag taped to my feet, one leg hanging over the edge.

Once Trish had finished her bath, she went over to the Invisible 7-11 for washcloths, Mr. Fruity (diet), & pancake mix (bought the wrong kind, will exchange it). We ended up eating our leftover No-Bake around 7:00. With Trish's depression worsening, I let her slide on the housework, watched some of the Enterprise marathon on Skiffy, now in surround sound, in spite of Super-dildo.

It took me about an hour to fall asleep. Then again, the Diet Coke I had on the way home may have kept me up.

I got out of bed around 6:00, with some lingering headaches from my blood pressure.

I don't want to concede that the Lunesta may not have been the cause. Not because I'm unwilling to accept that I might be wrong, but because the doctor treated me like an idiot.

Have to see the foot doctor today. Once I'm thru with that, I plan to return to Pluto with Dawn Imperious. Much the same ideas as before, some of the same characters, but... should I return it to Critters? Nothing I've sent thru there has ever sold. The last piece, "Galaxies," received some useful advice, mostly that the jargon was over everyone's heads, & it forced me to re-make/re-model it into the Pluto thing, but... how many years have I suffered there in silence? I feel overwhelming, savage dread. I think I need a med change, the writing's becoming schizophrenic, but no more Risperdal. Do I have the Abilify to carry on? Rather raise that. Once we have BP straightened out.

There's a taste in my mouth...

...as desperation takes hold -- the most common side-effect of Lunesta is a taste in the mouth; instead, I developed high blood pressure. Dangerously high. Buffalo Bob thinks I should sue, but I'm not always that trigger-happy with lawyers.

Today, I'll call the Invisible Clinic to see what the Dr. wants me to do. I have a dental appointment at 2:00; Car-girl is all set to take me down Dawn's highway with incredible superspeed, & possibly drive me up to the Clinic this morning, assuming the doctor wants to see me.

Yesterday, Trish & I spent the morning & evening listening to the disc player, 2 completely different sets of CDs: Janet Jackson: give me a beat.

We spent the afternoon watching Battlestar Galactica 2.5, the final disc. Cylon invasion. Kool. (Wish there were more black people on the show. Taylor Maid.)

Before bedtime, we had what little sex we could, with the bandage on the foot. It was a slime-off & not a gusher.

But at least it (I hope) helped Trish deal with her depression. The foot surgery has been really bothering her, & the fighting with Bridget at work doesn't help, either. Saturday, after a parade, a football game (Glue Ponies), & a rodeo (lonesome cowboy Bill), there were hundreds of pizzas; Bridget expected Trish to cope with the entirety, simply 'cause she's too lazy to do them herself.

Tomorrow, Karen will try to advocate for Trish. I don't want her to lose her job. I don't want to give up my 3-4 hours a day when creativity takes hold. The job has been the best thing in the world for Trish.

I love my Bumble Bee Girl.

the Lunesta is no better than grass...

...got to keep the loonies on the path.

Saturday turned out to be a bad day for the both of us. In the beginning, we ate scrumptious pancakes, among the first I made since seeing the foot doctor. Trish walked out the door, Pizza Hut weather, to intersect the Loco Daze parade as it passed by the home of the Crazy Taco.

I turned the computer on, checked my email, & had to reply to aburt & the bozo who sent in the late crit. Apparently, he thought you had to do it this way. He got his credit removed because I complained, but I really do feel sorry for the guy, if only because he's wasting a lot of time & effort doing reviews that people don't want. Besides which, I'm getting tired of hearing, "Oh no! A big word I can't understand! Dumb it down!"

Then I started the new version of "Galaxies," now set in the Kuiper Belt, with a Dawn Imperious & a Roxy mistress, closet dominatrix. I had a real blast while working on it, then Trish called...

...teary-eyed voice, something had happened at work; she was afraid she'd be fired: Bridget had yelled at her that she wasn't doing her job, pots & pans stacked up -- what do you expect when you have a rodeo (lonesome cowboy Bill), a football game, & Crazy Daze, all going at once? Where do they expect people to eat, the land of the Crazy Taco? Indeed, even their dough had begun a vanishing act. Yet even though Trish went over Bridget's head, complaining to Theresa, she's afraid the conflict between the 2 will cause them both to get verbal warnings.

The point of fact is that Bridget is supposed to help with the dishes, she just doesn't like to. When there is no Say Bra or Vanessa, Bridget will shirk her responsibilities & try to force Trish to do everything herself -- & with all that going on in the City of Invisible, how can some girl with a disability keep up?

I tried to calm Trish down, then decided to treat her to a Crazy Taco, to cheer her up. We split a plate of nacho supreme, which used to be big enough for 2, but now it isn't. Rather than waste money at an over-priced fast food place, we split a quesadilla & I also broke out a new jar of peanut butter we'd got from the Food Bank.

While Trish cleaned in the kitchen, even washing the brand new tablecloth in the washing machine, I sat around & watched Jason & the Argonauts on Skiffy...

...a sudden revelation: could Lunesta have caused the upward spikes of blood pressure I've been having?

ER doctor couldn't find anything, but since that problem started at the same time as the new med, that was most likely the culprit.

A quick search of the Internet found, on WebMD, that although it's extremely rare, less than 1%, Lunesta does do that.

We brought Quilty Bear up from the basement, & tossed Toastie Bear on top. The combination became over-toastie, so I tried to readjust the temperature, wound up with an E (from accidentally turning it off), & fortunately my insomnia allowed me to reset it when the time had come. This time, I kept it on L.

I had to lie awake until 2:00 or 3:00 AM last night, eventually got up at 7:00. Yes, I really do need sleep medication. Yes, Ambien-CR is right for me, & I'm going to appeal Community Care's decision.

In the meantime, I'm probably going to continue to suffer from insomnia -- & turn into Cranky Bear. I hope not. But I know my illness. I will attempt, though, to control it.

I'm going to try...

cloak of ice, you know it's Pluto

For once, a story with a near(er) future than usual for me; for once, a setting in the solar system. I started out yesterday while Trish was gone to re-make/re-model TC in pretty much every which way, following a couple of emails. First thing is, the aliens are on center stage in the opening, & the humans are no longer in a spaceship that some editor at Baen's Universe thought was too Trek-tech.

I did have some problems at the very opening, balancing between alienness & humanness. As usual re these short stories, you need to make them alien-feeling, alien-sounding. You can't just take a human & stuff him/her into a different body & call that an alien, & you certainly can't use the cliched humanoid, unless you assume massive amounts of parallel evolution, & present a reason why. (Which if it's too over the heads of the non-scientists who edit, will be labelled "Trek-tech". & may the gnomes of paranoia consume Robbie Matthews for using readers who don't have any real science background; get their knowledge from comic books, super-crooks).

Now I'm going to have to research Pluto. Since this is a new setting, I want to know more than just that it has ice-caverns.

The Sun is a bright star & all is frigid.

The Void.

Void of forms, void of shadows, void of colors -- is this the thing people see when they die?

Am I a Divider? (To quote Jesus.)

I wrote about 1,700 words yesterday, in a burst of creativity. Trish arrived just as I was preparing to shut off the computer; she'd missed Car-girl, took a bath & went out for an hour, anyway.

Trish cooked burritos & Spanish rice for supper -- leftovers. I watched TV while she cleaned up in the kitchen, caught the end of Flash Gordon. He'll save every one of us!

We watched Heavy Metal until bedtime.

I woke up at 5:20, finally got out of bed around quarter to 6:00.

Had one note in my inbox from the guy who sent in the late crit. Judging from what he said, he always reads stories from the archives -- which is worse than useless; if a critique's going to come in a week or 2 late, by that time, I no longer care. Especially when he says it's "a story I just can't stand", which he never gave it a chance. Not everything in it requires knowing some basic science.

I've had this problem before. Cawelti got on my case about it when I was in grad school. I should know better, it's merely that the Seroquel was in my blood & the blood was in my head. Since changing to Lunesta, I think that my writing has improved, though perhaps with a little more in the form of bipolar as an inspiration. I will be inspired. I will not let books of rules for writing determine my content. I wish I had a U-boat.

Everything kept rushing out so fast on TC yesterday that I'd like to try to do it again today -- but I've also made a vow, weather permitting (highs in the mid-80s), to work more on my painting, "City of Dragons", which we called Trish's mom to discuss last night, having first tried Deon, to see if, indeed, Flash would sav everyone us.

I wan to mix white with canvas gel, spread it on the painting, then paint wet-into-wet on it. The shading is already there, ink lines; all that remains is the forms that cast the shadows.

I do plan to continue painting in the winter, no matter how far from ideal the lighting is. Karen said that we could get a small heater for the downstairs kitchen, & I hope to do enough more representational stuff to be able to display it in the Atrium. I've had paintings in galleries before, I've sold paintings, & though Invisible City is the worst place for abstracts, still did sell them. Main problem is the frames. Those are costly.

Monday, I have a dentist appointment; Tuesday, I have an appointment with the foot doctor; sometime early next week, I'm going to have to see No-man again: the blood pressure is going out of control again. Maybe something stronger..?

Stronger thru the years: I'm loving my wife more now, & hopefully Kim won't start showing up again, at least not while Trish is at work. I need this time for Creating, not blowjobs (which is, she bites)..

Now it is time for pancakes. I will go rouse Trish, & then invent a flaky biscuit.

cold day -- if not a Car-girl day, a taxi day

Yes, it's a damn mother-frakin' cold day out there. 25 when I checked weather.com. It's cold in the house, & I don't want to turn on the basement heater as all the dust burning out'll set off the fire alarm, & it might become a source of fear & dread for her. Down in the basement: the downstairs heater on cold winter nights puts out enough heat for the entire building, whereas before, it was all wasted on Blank Frank, who'd get thoroughly descoobied on Mountain Fresh Beer & sing along to insipid country songs. But this was before Biggie went insane, due to the actions of the Skinny Dog.

The upstairs heater won't get turned on until all the hot days are over, i.e., tomorrow is supposed to hit 80 & I don't know if I want the pilot light warming the upstairs part to the point where it'd become unbearably hot. It's done this in the past.

Today, I am fixing pancakes for breakfast. Ever since the surgery, Trish has been stressing out about "taking care" of me. When I saw the doctor yesterday, he said I could even go truckin' to the Drugster.

When I returned from the doctor's office, I worked on my aesthetics paper until Car-girl was ready to drive out to Pizza Hut at 2:00; some other appointment had interfered with our usual time.

Say Bra & Vanessa called me an "otter".

I feel ashamed. I've been playing the role of an insane science fiction author for 30 years now, & although Stanley Schmidt, like neurosurgeons at paranoia's poison door screams for more, it never actually gets published. A few anti-credentials. A University degree idiots who don't know science scoff at. Like the guy who runs that impossibly bad Australian magazine, what's-their-name, who accused me of "truly atrociously bad science" & "reading way too much Robert Anton Wilson," simply because actual knowledge regarding philosophy of mind is not included in the pool of folk science his rocketships & ray-guns come from. If anything, in defending my work, I was too appeasing: I should've really insulted that editor. An editor who insults his contributors should not expect to continue to receive top-quality stories, if not anything at all.

After Trish & I left Pizza Hut with Car-girl, we checked 30 buckadingdongs out of Iron Claw. While Trish & Car-girl picked up groceries at the Invisible 7-11, I walked down the street (I made sure to ask the doctor about that) to Dawn's Drugs for my blood pressure meds -- still measuring high on their automatic cuff. In spite of No-man's recommendation that I may not need it, I need it, simply because I don't know if/when I do need it.

Trish arrived a few minutes after I did, & sorted thru the groceries. She fixed burritos & Spanish rice for supper.

I called Joe up at the TV sound & the dildo who refused to fix it. Joe thought it was simply hilarious, before going to bed.

I'm pulling a Newton -- Sir Isaac N. didn't think of himself as a scientist; he thought he was a historian & Bible scholar. Maybe I've missed my true calling. I'm going to try for the Atrium shopping mall if I can, 'cause it makes me feel like I'm a man to put a painting inside a gallery. Maybe I'll even get that racist Emmy to say a few words to me. Exchange secrets & techniques.

Or not.

I'll need to do a lot more "realistic" stuff before I can even dream of getting my paintings into a gallery.

Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said -- that painting, & a surreal city on wood, were both stolen from the Layout years ago, & I was left to simply mourn 2 blue-children. The police should've been involved. Those 2 were worth 100's of dollars, & only the Scoobies & the janitor could've done it.

Breakfast is soon to arrive: golden brown pancakes. Followed by the coffee-drinking ritual so many of my brothers also indulge in, the sane & insane ones alike.

Once Trish is safely at work, there comes the rewrite of "Galaxies" -- from scratch. & Horatio does not blow his Horn Blower. Changing "the Captain into the hero" (does she blow horns?) is an incredibly bad idea. & I suppose I'll have to drop the psi, but -- "too many angels"? One is too many? Especially when the symbolism (mercurial) is stated?

There are 2 "rules" for SF which I break & will continue to break, no matter how fiercely Critters reject them: I won't stop writing ambiguous stories, & I won't stop putting metaphysics in them. According to Murrin & Veeder, these are areas of SF that need to be fixed. I may tone it down some, but it's not going to go away. Same thing goes for dumbing my stories down. Explained, maybe, but not at the risk of losing the [technobabble] Baen's Universe accused me of -- there's a big difference between meaningful terms taken out of science & what that comix fan in South Africa accused me of.

So I'll start working on that today. Mostly 'cause I'm rather informal in my blog it might not show up, but my writing has improved significantly since I stopped Seroquel. I think maybe I was simply over-sedated. Zyprexa did the same thing, so perhaps I should once more sail my U-boat in stormy seas.

Legalize it!

cool day in Invisible

So for the last couple of days, it's been cold & rainy. Right now, it's 30F. This is a rather fast super-Kool fall sneaking up on us, but tomorrow it's supposed to hit 75F, then 81F the next day -- too soon to turn on the pilot light.

Car-girl gave Trish & I rides yesterday; Trish to work (rainy-cool day); me up to the Invisible Clinic for a physical. Finger up the butt -- at least I don't have prostate cancer, but isn't there some other way to tell?

When I came home I started a rapid re-make/re-model of "Aesthetics", then had a TV dinner for lunch: Salisbury steak. Nummy treats!

I'm not yet prepared to print the essay, even for Car-girl to look at (religious opinions aside), because the section on ontogeny & phylogeny remains still fairly obscure jargon for some people. Means another paragraph or 2.

I'm going to try to finish it tomorrow if I can, let it sit until Wednesday next week, put one final level of polish on it, mail it; while in the meantime beginning a total re-make/re-model of the tachyon critters story, possibly not for Critters -- following their advice has never sold a story in the past, & I began to pick up personal slips well before I joined the group.

The only thing Critters really does for me is filter off the more depressed &/or schizophrenic stuff, when I'm writing poorly & unwilling to admit it. After 4 trips thru the group, twice solo, twice with Ted, it might pay to develop a new story.

After "Gakaxies" comes the Hog. The goddamn Hog is commercial. Then to finish Noc-Lar. Then onwards to another short story; eventually, return to infectious psychosis -- Stan must've liked that theme in "To Fight in the Sky", especially since he dubbed it "almost [underlined] exactly what we want."

I don't want to quit Critters. Copying-&-pasting stories is one of the few ways I now have of enjoying print SF. I'm just not certain how much of the "help" is really useful; certainly there was a spiteful teenage kid in with that crowd, & I did get advised to dumb it down; had some problems with the characters -- you wanna know what the real reason is? No U-boat.

I wish I could sale the darkened seas in a great big submarine...

Hey, Taylor Maid still works at Pizza Hut. She answered the phone when Trish & I ordered a veggie lover's. I told Trish she could buy supper 'cause the last few days have been stressing her out too much.

Monday, I'm getting my tooth fixed, & then it's the long, slow-burn until X-mas.

return of the Invisible cable TV

Rude asshole came to fix the cable Tuesday while Trish was seeing the foot doctor. Not enough sleep; napping in the chair -- the doorbell rang. Same bozo as last time; did nothing but play around with the remote before finally calling his boss -- modulators were only connected on one side.

So Tuesday morning, we mostly just sat around & drank coffee while waiting to see about Karen coming at lunchtime. 1:30 instead; I turned on the cable to show her what the channels were doing -- they'd fixed Skiffy, but left 4 others.

Zoom-bus, we went up to the head office to report the comments of Super-dildo.

Followed by Kame-Apart; Karen had to pick up some gift.

Then we went up to John's Tacos in the Invisible Mall for a Diet Mr. Fruity. Karen concentrated mostly on Trish & her anxiety over work -- Bridget is a wicked bear.

When we came home, Trish sat me down in the basement with Battlestar Galactica while she made an apple crisp; finally, just wound up making me a cheese sandwich & apple crisp for supper.

We have got to do away with the remaining apples: an evening spent chopping & paring the things stressed her out too greatly -- ergo, I suggested 2 trazadone at bedtime, if for no other reason, than to fuck Scientology!

My own sleep? Until 6:00; could've been longer, but I feel more rested than with straight Ambien.

Back to work today -- must return to BA, Galaxies (whole new version), & Noc-Lar. My power infests all times, all galaxies, all dimensions... but many still seek me out, a green jewel they must possess...

Except Noc-Lar is ruby: the blood of mysterious union. (Yeah, in spite of which, some Critter called "Galaxies" a "surface story". Guess he's about as ignorant as the rest of the Bozos in the industry.)

Other than that... physical coming up today; foot doctor, tomorrow, so I'm not certain how much I'll be able to work on my "too familiar Trek sounding technology," for which gross misinterpretation I have to thank a host of new, "pretty good ideas"; just need to dumb them all down...

...& get out of this teenage wasteland. Early Mindstorm is a priority: the return of the dread typewriter.

Yeah, if science fiction publishers continue to ignore my work, I'll find someone who does appreciate it.

Until tomorrow... the Vadisadism has yet to vanish. Slutty girl's coed fraternity got me to mix alcohol & LSD 'cause of the letters I'd written her.

& you know something, VADIS? You really are an albatross.

fixed or fired

Those are the only 2 options I want to leave open for the cable company, after Super-dildo refused to fix the problem with the sound -- a problem that he admitted was on their end, but "no one else gets stereo; I don't see why you should".

Because I'm paying for it, stupid mother-frakin' asshole!

So I know how to fix him, if the issue isn't resolved: I'm going to switch to satellite & write letters to the editor of every newspaper in the state, asking people to boycott Bresnan.

I mean, I don't know what this dildo's problem is, but I have every right not to have my sound fucked as bad as he is in the head.

Other than that, the day succeeded: Trish's appointment with Charlene went well, & she felt equally appalled at what Captain Dilbo had done.

She went out to Wally World with Car-girl; made it home with... mixed nuts! OK, I'm laid up with foot surgery, but... mixed nuts?

Yeah, she's trying to help me relax.

Won't be able to relax until Super-dildo gets fired.

Tense & nervous.

At least I slept: 6:30.

goddamn the cable man!!!

You wanna know why the cable guy can go straight to hell? Because he's a fucking dildo! You know what happened? We've got our DVD/VHS combo unit plugged into my old JVC ProLogic amp, admittedly not 21st Century technology, but certainly capable of creating surround sound out of a stereo signal, assuming that there's out-of-phase material there. With Skiffy, though, as with numerous others, the sound emission is solely from one or the other channel.

When we connected the cable in the basement, they sent the ultimate nerd tech: Super-dildo! Being extremely stupid, he tried to blame the sound on such things as "frayed speaker wire": yeah, Super-dildo, on the other side of the room! Duh, gee-whiz! Oh, I am the big, dumb Super-dildo! As big an idiot as Un-Kool Miltie!

He finally left, that first time; after I kicked his big fat ass out.

Today, he returned, after I insisted that goddamn frakkin' Bresnan Communications fix the thing; it's not a problem with my equipment.

Idjut tells me it's their equipment -- the modulators are only connected on one side, but then refused to fix it, saying, "No one else has stereo; I don't see why you should."

GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE!

The only reason he did this is that he's lazy. Or stigma.

I hate that goddamn son-of-a-bitch!

I went over his head: I called Bresnan Communications & complained that the Dildo refused to fix what's their problem. The guy I talked to finally said that he'd contact the Tech Ops, head of all the techs, & work something out.

But I won't be happy until he's fired. I'm fucking paying for stereo, & this dildo can eat his own shit for not helping with it.

"Why should you..?"

Because, dildo, I'm paying for it.

Bye-bye, Mr. Invisible Dildo, I'll see you at the unemployment office.

Asshole.

Galactica Marathon

Yes, Sunday's marathon lasted a long, long time -- I'm reminded of the acid Rocket-man of my student days; a long, long time; yes, a long, long time...

& lonely...

Lonely? Maybe in my student days; now, there is the deluxe & delightful Bumble Bee Girl, here to help in my most dire hour of need.

She didn't get out of bed when I did. Of course. I'm usually up around or before 6:00, tormenting my cyber-system, until Trish in turn gets up, eats breakfast, & starts drinking her morning coffee.

It went sort of like that Sunday, up until the point where we plugged in Season 2.5. After 3 episodes that lasted until after 3:00, lunch included (Albertson's Chunky), Trish walked over to the Invisible Albertson's for some sandwich meat & diverse other sundries, leaving $4.00 on the food stamp card.

Then we finished Disc 1 & I went channel surfing while Trish did the dishes.

I called Fearless Taco; why, I'm not sure -- he expressed to Trish that he "doesn't believe everything I say," apparently because I challenged Newton's role as "first of the Age of Reason" when we all know he was actually "the last of the Old Magicians". Yeah, right, & the X-ian Gospels were written "long before the Gnostic ones". Still a load of horse-shit, just different belief systems.

Tra-la! for the Mystery Cults!

'cause when the pain pills are in my blood...

...& the blood is in my head, then I'm better off than dead -- just took an Ibuprofen & 2 of the 4-6 hour kind a few minutes ago, despairing of Trish not making breakfast for an hour; mostly, sitting with her, there's not much to "making" cereal. I just needed something in my stomach so I could take my pain pills.

I slept soundly last nite, all the way thru to 6:00; Lunesta, thank you. Before that, I had Trish stick in Battlestar Galactica 2.0, so I could watch something with my feet up in the Captain's chair. When that finished, I surfed the channels for something to watch; ended up with Thunderbirds.

Trish had to work late yesterday & came home in a bad mood, as Bridget started to complain again: "Trish, you've been here a godzillian years; how long do I have to keep training you?" In point of fact, though, a bus arrived, & then a birthday party.

I had Trish call Karen about it, to try to calm her down. I did try telling Karen that Bridget's been in anger management & is taking Xanax -- why do they give people these addictive antidepressants like Zoloft & Xanax? They ruin lives! They ruin lives! as the skinny dog said the last time I talked to her. But David insisted that "Karen knows all kinds of things about medicine;" yeah, right -- good thing they never actually removed Union Maid from the "Institution": "Institutions are evil," Karen & Dave said, when she was still trying to grab Mother's Social Security so she could abuse her while at the same time doing nothing but sitting on her skinny ass.

Once I had Trish calmed down a bit, she eventually cooked supper; leftovers. Tonite we're having No-Bake.

Since my wife wanted to use the computer for a bit, during the Poke'mon movie, I switched the machine on -- error message, I'd screwed up my backup the other day; redid that, then wrote a couple emails. What's-her-name seemed friendly, as I'd apologized for being Cranky Bear with her. "Buffalo" Bob also wrote, saying he was glad the surgery went well, what about the blood pressure? Yes, I'm taking something for that.

Now, it's time to finish my essay, as it's full of good ideas, no matter what Chris Cooper has to say about my writing -- "meaningless words," my ass! I'm thinking of sending him some kind of flaming boast, to include everything positive that's ever been said about my writing -- & this is much more than "it's pretty good". I think this sort of thing happens in Critters because there's no way to filter out the dildos, other than just letting them happen & then kicking them out of the group. If Seroquel had a deleterious effect on my creativity, then I'll be glad to see what Lunesta does. If it's an incipient depression, perhaps some antidepressants (they ruin lives!) could be prescribed. I may need to start over, with the same idea, am thinking of beginning with the alien POV, though I disagree with Mark that you need "A protag." & cannot write about "SOME protag.s". Might imitate "Circular Ruins"; indeed, ripping off Borges was the original idea of QA, not a cop-show out of 50 Rules for Writing Detective Novels. I'd rather leave "Trinities" unfinished than to force it (a square peg) into such an ignoble round hole.

BTW, Trish turned on Toastie Bear last nite. It's getting to be about that kind of weather again. It supposedly will warm up to high-70s/low-80s for a couple days, but then...

...Kool.

same day surgery

My Wednesday surgery had to be cancelled -- some bozo somewhere along the line sent the wrong part to the foot doctor.

My prescription for Lunesta finally cleared CommunityCareRX, so I measured my blood pressure on the way out on the automatic cuff. It was extremely high, & Dominique (the pharmacist) wanted to call an ambulance, walked me home instead -- then I had Carmen drive me up to the ER when I felt some chest pains. They ruled out heart disease, but put me on something for high blood pressure.

Then yesterday, Trish got herself breakfast while I sat at the recliner until we finally were picked up for our Medicaid ride. This time, we had to wait about an hour, as the doctor had an emergency.

I slept thru most of the surgery. When they finally let me out, they gave me some beef vegetable soup & buttered toast. Awhile later, the taxi took us home. Trish ran down the 2-3 blocks to pick up the new Battlestar Galactica Season 2.5, then cooked some green beans & alfredo pasta for supper. I napped a lot in the evening before bedtime.

I slept pretty well, especially after all the sleep I had the day before.

It started to rain yesterday when I was in surgery. I don't think it's raining now, though.

blood is the rose of mysterious hi-pressure

...& the gang lies down on Broadway -- there is no Broadway in Invisible City, nor is there one in the City of Electric Light. Many night-satin wenches work the bars here, instead.

We don't even have a Kool Gang here.

Aside from that, yesterday morning when I checked the email, I found an "old manuscript" subject-lined piece of shit masquerading as a critique coming from some boy-chick, Chris Cooper, who "normally reads fantasy" & apparently flunked high school science. I skimmed the first paragraph, came to the line, "This is the worst kind of B-grade television sci-fi," so I complained to aburt, then deleted the file.

I called Car-girl, & being disturbed about the insults, she suggested trying something else, so I worked on my painting, "City of Dragons". I inked the pencil art.

Around noon, I walked over to Dawn's Drugs, just a block from Dawn's Highway, & picked up my Lunesta. On the way out, I stopped at the blood pressure cuff.

Sky-hi.

Dominique wanted to call an ambulance.

I finally decided to return home, so she walked me home, worried I might conk out any minute. I tried to relax, listening to music in the Captain's chair, but then felt some chest pains, so the nurse at the ER asked me to come in.

Car-girl came tooling around the corner shortly thereafter; got me there like a Rocket-woman. She agreed to pick up Trish while they put me on oxygen, started an IV, x-rayed my chest, gave me an EKG, & did some lab work.

I don't have heart disease. But I do need blood pressure pills.

I left the ER about the time Car-girl brought Trish up. She was changing in the bathroom when I walked out, so I waited around.

We went over to the Clinic for Trish's appointment with the foot doctor. He x-rayed her ankles, which have been hurting her, & concluded it's arthritis.

When we arrived at our house, after picking the stuff up at the drugstore, we ate the rest of the tuna casserole, some chips & dip, then over to Albertson's, to pick up $30 of groceries.

Trish did the dishes & made quesadillas. We watched a documentary about Star Wars on the History Channel, then went to bed around 10:00. Although I did wake up once, to go to the bathroom, I fell back asleep until 6:00.

The surgery is today. Right now, I'm feeling pretty hungry & thirsty. I'll be glad when this is over with.

foot-salad surgery

I was supposed to have had foot surgery yesterday. Having not eaten or drank anything since midnight, I felt extremely hungry & thirsty by the time we arrived at same-day-surgery, in Car-girl's car. After they had me all prepped for surgery, Trish & I waited a long time before the nurse came in to tell us that there'd been a delay, because some of the hardware hadn't been delivered, due to the Labor Day holiday.

Finally, the doctor came in, & said, "They sent us the wrong part". I've rescheduled for Friday.

I'm also being jerked around quite a bit by the insurance over my sleep medicine. The doctor tried to put me on Ambien-CR, but CommunityCareRX wants me on Lunesta instead -- ever hear of practicing medicine without a license?

The weather is still hot & dry, but is supposed to start cooling down soon.

Once we left the operating room, both of us being hungry & thirsty, we ate at the hospital cafeteria. I had nuggets, mac-&-cheese & some corn, though Trish also insisted on buying me some peanuts.

Car-girl couldn't be reached by phone, so we finally called on Fred's Taxi. Having not-taken Abilify that morning, I felt depressed all afternoon. Then we have bozos from Scientology who'd really complicate things by having everyone off everything.

We re-watched Halloween; not terribly profound, in my opinion, then ate some leftover noodle-stuff, after a period of silence. (God & I need to get some new CDs, fast.)

I invited Jeffer Auss over, who, apparently in spite of his non-descoobied lifestyle, didn't seem to remember how fraked up the Skiffy sound was. It seemed for awhile he was agreeing with the tech, but... it did the same thing with a digital cable box as it did with an old VCR, so the problem has to be theirs.

So today will be the last chance I have to begin anew on GCF. All the crits are in, mostly to the effect of there's too much techno-babble (but yeah but gee-whiz, the story revolves around it) & the literal deus ex machina ending doesn't work.

Some real stupid rude ignorant bitch did send in a "review" which deliberately poked fun at my writing, & offered no advice on how to change it -- she implied that the story was hopeless. If so, why did Stan Schmidt return it with a comment? I must be doing something right, & it's a lot more than this dildo is capable of.

I commented on this Thing's crit that "It's hard to take seriously someone who can't even spell the story title & author's name right." Predictably, the bitch sent a note back, complaining "it's hard to take seriously someone who doesn't catch typos (yeah, one) & inconsistencies..." & she's still fraked in the head, for thinking she has even one iota of intelligence or the ability to make a sale to a pro market.

Rather than replying to the dipshit, I simply forwarded it to aburt, with a note saying that I believe it violates the diplomacy standard in a couple places. If he doesn't do anything, I will see that she receives some choicely-written words.

But for right now, I'm more concerned with trying to turn GCF into the best story possible. Critters have helped me with this. Other Critters. Not some dumbass who doesn't know how to spell. Or write.

Yesterday

Another sleepless night, Tuesday. I woke up at 4:45, felt sick & dirty, more dead than alive. (I also wrote Andy Morlock's Dead.) I stayed in bed until almost 6:00, got up & surfed the darkened seas until Trish got up, fixed her a breakfast of pancakes, then once she left for Pizza Hut took a bath.

Car-girl came at 11:00 to take my apples into the Food Bank. We'd picked 2 boxes & a bag's worth.

When I was home, I worked on my Aesthetics paper some, then assumed my position on the Captain's chair & zoned out to CDs.

Trish called -- Say Bra was helping her fill out paperwork for November, when she has 3 paychecks, which will hurt her SSI. She'll be getting a 2 week vacation.

So I had to meet her at the Iron Claw Credit Union. Saw Gail in line; Trisha just had a baby boy.

When we got home Trish & I went down in the basement for the evening, while she took a shower. We came back upstairs for me to cook a tuna noodle casserole, a staple from my college days.

Watched astronomy documentaries on History Channel until bedtime. Had a dream that I drank a can of diet pop, before realizing I have surgery today. I woke up, & there was Trish beside me.

Today Kim is back in town. I hope she stays away. Pressure rises, & you lose control... Trish, for all her faults, is a wonderful human being, & I love her truly, madly, deeply.

Thousands of Light-Years Ahead..?

Yeah, I've received the final 2 crits on "Galaxies" this morning. One came from some idiot named Margaret Somebody, a fairly rude person to whom I replied, "Thanks for the crit, I guess, but it's hard to take seriously someone who can't even spell the story title & author's name right:" she typed an "A" instead of an "H" for my middle name, & she called it "Controlling the Future" instead of "Controlling Fate". She came off overall as kind of rude, & since she didn't really say anything unique, I'll probably just end up deleting her crit. She even had the audacity to question "how long [I've] been writing", which is a line I sometimes get from Bozos who can't write themselves, but want to imply that I'm some kind of frakin' amateur & they'd really know, 'cause they imagine they have talent, but without any publishing credentials to back up their damn shitty ego trips. I mean, really, seriously, frak this bitch! I don't need her "help," I need...

...U-boat!

The only really realistic way to sail the darkened seas.

This frakin' bitch will never have a single story as good as even one sentence in "Galaxies".

Unlike her rather useless critique, the other one that came in seemed like it'd be at least somewhat helpful. I can't stand being treated like an amateur by people who are also amateurs in their own right, & have no idea of how to transcend their sorry state. Stan Schmidt has been soliciting my work, not hers, as evidenced by her not even knowing who he is. I don't need the opinions of self-appointed authorities who feel I should have my head up my butt, just because they do.

hot diggity Labor dog (smoked sausage)

Labor Day seemed like another Sunday, with the Perky Pam Layout closed, & nothing to do except hang around all day & watch vid-flicks. Trish got out of bed late; finished off the blueberry muffins, & then we drank our morning coffee -- which I try to make around 6:00, irregardless of what time I actually get out of bed, usually resting for awhile before actually firing up the cyber-system, as I don't want to start sleepwalking, developing amnesia.

I added some canned stir-fry vegetables to our chicken Rice-a-Roni (Strong) mixed with cream of mushroom for lunch, then turned off the a/c & watched documentaries about astronomy down in the basement until Joe called. I'd called John earlier, mostly we talked a little about Wars/Trek until John started to insist to Trish that we needed to bleach our apples.

Joe called just when we were about to fix supper. We discussed a variety of things, a lot of it my HP-ordeal over the "$139 printer upgrade". Of course, no one knows where David is, & John needs his name off the title for the RV. Jerome, too, is feeling acute exacerbations of paranoia as he faces his prospects of living without a job, simply 'cause he didn't want to leave St. Louis, even when he had a year in advance to send in resumes.

Then I fried my steak sausages, with the sauerkraut & beans in the microwave. We returned to the basement up until Trish's shower, when I dropped a Viagra. Although the experience wasn't as powerful as some I've had, I was at least able to satisfy Trish.

We watched Enterprise on Skiffy, until I recognized the plot, & opted for an early bedtime. Which, in spite of the (old) Ambien, I still wound up waking up at 4:45 AM & unable to return to sleep; finally got out of bed around 6:00.

I got a couple more crits this morning. One was terribly detailed, but the Critter balked at the "emotionally disturbed girl" as being a cliche; what? are there no longer mental illnesses in the future? In any case, I plan to make her more disturbed, by returning to the Raven's; I think statements like that, though the rest of the crit helped, show a profound lack of understanding & just plain ignorance regarding "emotionally disturbed" people, & hence will be ignored.

The other Critter, who admittedly read very little SF, maintained that it had very few problems, but since the editor bounced it, I should probably take the advice of the more negative Critters.

Tomorrow I have my surgery. If my Ambien-CR still hasn't been filled, I think I'll really be glad when they put me under.

Labor Day

Yes, this is Labor Day. However, since I write most of my posts the day after, all that's gone on so far today is I woke up at 5:30 again, eventually left the bed for the computer & the coffee pot. It's raining lightly, so I'm glad Trish doesn't have to work today -- then again, she has Mondays off, anyway.

We're planning to steal some pic-a-nic baskets on the surface of an unexplored planet...

--The Ranger is a Cylon, Yogi.

--Well, frak the Ranger! If he don't like it, I'll rip his fraking head off!

Right. We have some smoked sausage, sauerkraut, chips & dips, & porkin' beans that we want for lunch.

So Sunday Trish got up at 9:00. Although she slept in, I think Trish really is adjusting to her trazadone. She fixed some blueberry muffins for breakfast, & once we finished our coffee, we went downstairs, so I turned off the a/c. Following another sleepless night, I started to nap on the futon -- & Trish woke me straight back up with some stupid question. I think she'd been doing the dishes & forgotten that I'd deliberately gone to lie in the Kool purposely to sleep.

Fred came over around 3:00, to pick the rest of the apples. This time, not having to do it in the dark, things went a lot faster. We finished fast, & plan to donate most of them to the Invisible Food Bank.

Trish wanted to go to the store for fruit fresh; locked herself out, rang the basement doorbell; locked herself out again, rang the doorbell; finally returned home with a small sack of groceries, missing Gidget, not that I really wanted to see the movie.

I offered to treat Trish to supper, but El Taco Loco was closed, so we had to forgo our planned Crazy Nachos & order a pizza instead: Canadian bacon pan pizza. The delivery guy got it here in no time, seeing as how Trish gives big tips.

We stayed upstairs to watch Halloween, which Trish rented the other day. I fell asleep during the first 40 minutes. After the film finished, we watched Trish's bonus DVD of Hannah Montana, then went to bed. Once again, the Ambien kicked in fast & did absolutely nothing to keep me asleep early in the morning.

I'm getting a lot of really mixed reviews of TC. Few people agree on what is "wrong" with it, some say it's near-perfect as is (then why did it bounce?) & others say that the thing is "the weakest version yet" -- in which case, did they really enjoy the ending Ted put on an earlier draft? Or the extremely slow opening space walk? I did respond as well as I could to criticism that amounted to, "Redo the ideas with a different plot/characters". Perhaps I vorkled the thing unconsciously -- or could it have been the Seroquel? Over-sedation? Yeah, I needed the sleep, but some of your atypicals really do vorkle your creativity. Zyprexa did this to me, Doc Larocque's objection, "Isn't that a little subjective?" aside. U-boat has been the one drug I did the best on. Fuck Narcohol & Narcoholics Numinous with their dread Scooby philosophy. When medical marijuana is completely legal, I'm going to get me some, assuming Boze has no objections. Which he does. But the plain fact of the matter, Larocque & Boes aside, is that I did my best writing while sailing the darkened seas in a great big submarine.

U-boat, be the death of me!

apples, incense & balloons... Saturday afternoon...

The day went much like every other Saturday: the eve of a day of total relaxation for the Bumble Bee Girl. While Trish was at work, I managed to finish the complete pre-final draft of "Bio-Aesthetics". The ideas are all in order, I just have to look "folk science" up on the web & give some examples.

Burned out on too little sleep, I eventually quit rewriting the essay & put A New Hope on the vid-tube. After Trish called, I left the TV running & went out waiting her return on the front porch. She relaxed a little, then we went over to Home Barkus for root-killer -- which we forgot to use last nite. Trish wanted to rent Halloween, so while we were in the building we stopped at the Dollar Store, & picked up some food. Trish wanted me to get a bag of nuts; good deal, yeah, right: my crumbling tooth cracked off another little piece. At least it's not hurting.

I cooked chicken last nite, & decided to accompany it with Rice-a-Roni (Strong) mixed with cream of mushroom. In a move parallel to Kimothy, Fred rang the doorbell precisely while I was frying the rice, but came back later, when I was watching the fallout on Senator Fruity on CNN. He should just admit he's gay and go to gay bars like the rest of 'em. Ironic thing is, Fox News hasn't even tried to carry the story, & I suppose they think he actually was picking up a piece of turd-wipe.

Once we started the apples, it took until dark to gather & throw the bad ones, then shake down the tree for good ones. These go to the Food Bank Tuesday, & I'll be happy they're being put to good use. Mother used to always spend all her time in the kitchen peeling, chopping & baking them into pies. She's not really capable of that anymore, is closing in on death, but we don't know when.

Once we finished with the apples for the time-being -- there are more on the tree -- Trish & I returned to the basement. After awhile I began to feel drowsy, at only 9:15, so I took my meds & both of us hurried off to bed. I slept pretty soundly, but did wake up a few times in the nite.

This morning, I found 3 more crits of "Galaxies" in the email, one from someone who'd reviewed the earlier drafts, & claimed that this is the weakest yet. That sure inspires confidence. There were some solid points in all the reviews, as well as some that are, perhaps, totally useless. Of course, I'm holding off on rewriting the thing until all the crits are in, which gives me a few days more for the Aesthetics paper, & will also have a nice long chance to reverse the "over written" material, but... Roxy as protagonist? She's a plastic Barbie doll stuffed into an officer's uniform, & I'm having severe problems working with her, especially when Juanita is the strongest character in the story anyway.

We plan to pick some more apples today, but little else. I do want to try to finish my essay, so may be asking Trish to head downstairs with a movie while I use the computer.

I'm anticipating the foot surgery without anxiety. I suppose it's because I've had so much other surgery.

Neurosurgeons scream for more!

As Timothy Leary put it back in the 90s, "You are already one of the great authors of the 21st Century". I need to return to my cat's feet with iron claws. The SF market doesn't appreciate my stories. Will do that when Trish collates Insanity Can Be Fun!

Innocence raped with napalm fire: Alpha Delt just had to have revenge on me for "what I did to VADIS". The Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System can keep her Nelson Mandrell. Maybe her fraternity can dose him up to deliberately destroy his mind if he wants to divorce her. Hell, they may even be divorced at this point.

I wish I'd never met the woman.

sleepless nights; days filled wsith pain

I'm still waiting on the Ambien-CR, & with the 3-day weekend coming up, I likely won't have any until the middle of next week -- the 72 hour wait has to extend over the holiday.

This explains my day filled with internal anguish on the 31st. I woke up way too early, wasn't able to do much while Trish hosed down dishes at Pizza Hut. I did finally check my email, crit from some scientist/student who didn't understand the computer, although the explanation I fired back at him included modifications of the machine made since the draft he read. I also worked on "Bio-Aesthetics" until about noon, ate my generic chunky soup, then put the Doors DVD on the TV & just zoned out in the chair.

Trish walked home, even though Car-girl had promised to pick her up there. Once she arrived, Car-girl called to say she'd been on the computer all day, so she'd pick Trish up in a bit.

I rode along, to cash my $35 check & take some more grocery money out of the Iron Claw. However, they gave us $100 & not broken down the way the checks were made. This left Trish with lots of grocery money -- & too much spent on chips.

I also had to run over to Dawn's Drugs twice -- Boes hadn't faxed in my timoptic; finally had to have Invisible Optometric to do it. I took off for the drugstore while Trish shopped, so I felt afraid that she'd find an empty house & her anxiety would kick in. Instead, she just returned with groceries around 6:00 -- & a CD/DVD of Hannah Montana.

We had leftovers for supper, & some still left for lunch today. I had a hard time getting motivated to pick apples, so we postponed it.

When we started to watch TV, I kept falling asleep in my chair. I did wake up around 20 'til 6:00, but I felt rested. Currently, I'm waiting for Trish to take her Synthroid.

Wenonah Lyon wrote a crit for me, the 2nd one on "Galaxies Controlling Fate". So far, everyone hates the computer, or at least the numbering, but that's only 2 people. She also offered some suggestions for altering the beginning -- the story needs a more effective opening. For that matter, the ending needs more explanation, so I'm wondering why the first guy didn't comment on it, indicating that perhaps he didn't read the entire story. I think perhaps more will start to arrive today, when the weekly ping goes out. I'm not doing anymore rewriting until I've finished & submitted my essay, so if it hasn't been rejected by the time that it (inevitably) comes back in the mail, I may send the project to Asimov's. Even though some Critter said about an earlier draft that it might work for F&SF, I doubt it. I just hope the input from Critters allows me to do a draft that Analog will buy.

Say Bra, not Taylor Maid?

This is so unfair, if it's true: I asked Trish a couple days in a row if Taylor had been at Pizza Hut that day -- no show, but then Say Bra started to make jokes about "niggers in the bathroom". I'd always given Say Bra more credit than that.

Goddamn the Ku Klux Klan!