It's nearly over.

This year I missed the Chinese New Year parade downtown, I think, and that may explain a lot. Although I had no plans at the start of the year, it lived up to that and had no focus. I'm unsure what I accomplished or what effect any of my efforts had, but it's too soon to tell that anyway. I can never distinguish between a moment's fascination and anything relevant until a year or two has passed.

I think I was far more injured than I think, and far more rewarded, too, from other events. I've learned a bit more distance and have grown increasingly skeptical about any correlation between my reality and any independent pronouncements. Much of my earlier certainty is gone, has been battered agains the anvil of other's more feverishly held beliefs, and all about I can say is I know more about the questions.

And maybe that's my destiny. Is it apathy or contentment, acceptance or surrender? I'm too close to the subject to have any reasonable answers.

I'm hoping the year got me a net zero, that I contributed as much as I took, but I know that's incorrect. I took and grabbed and pointed at myself far too often. If there's more to the human spirit than "Look at me!" I still haven't found it, and there's less to see of me than ever before.

I remember being filled with promise, with potential, and have squandered it. I think the most I've lost is the sense of my own importance, and I think there's value in that. There are more faces I'll never see again, but I hope other new ones will take their place. In the end, though, my journey is mine alone, and all I can do is be willing to share it.

The best thing to do with good advice is to pass it along. I no longer have answers, and smile when I recall the days I thought I did.


Happy New Year. I wish you all the best.

I'm told that there's a tribe or society somewhere, or was, that suffers from the same lack of scientific passion that drove me into liberal arts. In that tribe they grew quickly bored with numbers and counting and decided all they needed were the terms one, two, and many.

The tsunamis around the Indian Ocean have been called "Biblical," and I can't think of a better word. My mind and heart are too overwhelmed to grasp the enormity of it, but I can understand and appreciate many.

In other science news I love this time of year and the top ten lists. Science magazine has published a list of the year's greatest achievments but may have gone to press before today's findings by the FDA and a new drug that can be used for childhood lukemia. I someday may talk about modern drugs, but it brings up another, more interesting point.

Nowhere in the media that I've found is there any mention of the year's greatest advancements in palmistry. Astrology, too, as well as aromatherapy and accupuncture seem to have muddled through another year with nothing to show. Odd that.

I also can't help noticing that a disaster the magnitude of which has recently occurred, one that has cost many lives, somehow wasn't predicted by any of the people who make a living telling us they can see the future. I'd think, in my lay mind, that anything this enormous would have been noticeable to anyone who claimed the gift. I'd expect this to be more noteworthy than some vague pronouncement about Liz Taylor, but it looks as if I'm wrong.

I'm glad about one thing, though. Many of the NGO websites are back online. It's wonderful that they were so hammered.

(Writing news under more

I know I'm late to the party here, but perhaps this blog should be renamed Extreme Crenellated Flotsam, just to show I'm aware of current culture. Most things successful are now extreme, and nothing save for the branded detergent is still called Ultra.

I actually preferred everything being ultra, primarily because that's not a word.

But that's not the point.

I was right yesterday about the rain. I turned on the Weather Channel to see what's up and to be lulled by its hypnotic qualities only to learn from another source that Los Angeles had experienced a couple tornadoes. Yes, this isn't Kansas or Oklahoma, but there was a tornado touching down in Ladera Hills, about a five minute drive from this house. I believe it was a F0.0036.

Which reminds me. I grew up with slide rules and may still have one laying around here somewhere (a metal Pickett). I hadn't realized the changes the HP25 would bring to the world, but wish I'd kept one of those [Enter]>[=] T-shirts. That isn't the point, either, but I was recently mourning the loss of the phrase "slide rule accuracy." I was talking to someone, it came up, and I realized that once again computers permit us to do much more than we need to. As I frequently said at my last job, "Just because you can do something doesn't make it a good idea."

How accurate do the pumps at gas stations need to be? They used to have rolling drums, much like slot machines, for measuring. Now I can tell how much gas I get to the thousandth of a gallon! I have no idea how much liquid a thousandth of a gallon is and even less of an idea of why I'd need to know it I'd received seven rather than eight of them.

Oh, that's right: we can.

I have a fantasy that the major engineering projects of the world, the Empire State Building, the Golden Gate Bridge, the building I'm sitting in now, were all built to "slide rule accuracy," and I find that reassuring.

Oh, yeah. The other thing I used to say at work is "Yes you can, but you may not."

In the "more" section I delve into the threatening area of Literary Fiction

It's raining. Perhaps this blog can be a weather charting one. That interests no one.

I've finished yet another Fantasy NaNovel, and have started wondering about writing one of my own. Why are they always set in Medieval Times? Is that when the worlds that permit magic stop? To be different I think I'd move mine up a spell, perhaps to some Dikensian Industrial Revolution time period. Also, I'd get rid of the unnatural limits on magical power and cast aspersions at the notions that it's at all difficult. You have to memorize a spell, a couple sentences. That cannot take years, so my guy would become a master magician in about a week. Also, since spell books are allowed, he'd be able to start the first day. There are no challenges in a world that permits magic, so why create them?

I think the limits on magic use, this "draining," are a result of game playing. It works for play-balancing, but rings false. If you know the spell you can cast it. Also, none of these weird-ass restrictions. Hell, magic in my world would be as reliable as gravity. So, the guy becomes instantly all-powerful and unstoppable, if that's not redundant.

I find the whole notion rather...silly. Yes, I'd love to live in a world that had ghosts and powers and healing spells and transporting and mind reading, but I'll have to create one. If I do this it would be called Magus One and would only be written to silence the multitudes who create hamstrung magicians.

Ever'body gets presents!

So by now everyone in the nation who's getting anything for Christmas pretty much already has. We traditionally open on Christmas Eve, a habit that annoyed my friends who had to wait until Christmas Day when I was growing up. Stuff from Santa, of course, only showed up on Christmas Day, but by then I was already enraptured with what I'd received the night before.

I've yet to see a shiny new bicycle on the street in front of my house. Nor any razor scooters, Segways, or any other evidence of anyone getting any large gifts. I suspect many of my neighbors are indoors, stuffing their new iPods. The less fortunate are having to use cheap knock-offs, and will soon be suffering the humiliation of not having white ear pods when they choose to listen in public to the music they already know and love.

I've just completed another NaNovel. I think my sixth. This last one was set in contemporary England. I'm considering updating my writing page since I should put down somewhere more of my thoughts about writing. That would seem to be the place.

It's a sunny and warm Christmas Day here. I may wear shorts. I'm currently baking some bread (well, using my bread maker) because although there's tons of leftovers I cannot make either a turkey or a ham sandwich. Yes, surprisingly, to demonstrate gluttony we had both ham and turkey last night for the feast. I have no idea why, but since my niece brought her son we at least numbered four.

Everyone got clothes.

I need to blog less about my life and more about ideas.

It was a Christmas Eve of bike riding.

I traditionally do all my shopping on Christmas Eve. It immerses me into the holiday spirt. Something about the crowds, the frantic pace, it's a good time to shop.

This year, not so much. First, the holiday will be very small, just a few of us. No kids. I'm beginning to understand all the sociologist's wailing about the disintegrating nuclear family. Still, if I chose to travel I could be surrounded by many people with whom blood is shared.

I chose not to travel.

It took a couple trips to and from the local mall and shopping centers to purchase and transport my assortment of gifts. They've yet to be wrapped, but blogging is, after all, a priority. When I wrap them I like to think I do with an eye toward ease of opening. Nothing else can explain the sloppiness. Loosely wrapped gifts with a minimum of tape, that's the ticket.

I know one way to wrap: poorly.

Anyway, the bike ride was pretty much uphill and against the wind both ways. There's a nasty hill near the local Catholic Church (St Something) which I tried to avoid with moderate success. That church, by the way, is rather famous in our family. My mom used to point out the anachronism of the statue of Jesus out front, the one with him holding and reading a Bible. I believe the statue is made of poured concrete.

Anyway, it's time for Perry Como, Tony Bennett, and the Sinatras.

I'm back and already confused.

Should I rant about events and ideas that bug me? Should this be professional in that regard, the kind of blog that people would read for pleasure, or should I continue to explore my tortured soul? I'm not sure anyone's particularly interested in the nature of the demons that hound me (none of them are unique), but I do enjoy baring my soul in sort of a journal. You may not be, but I wonder if I'll ever go back and read these and join the chorus of people shouting "Shut up and get over it."

But the pain I feel is very real. I just need to get over it, to accept it. I got a stinging disappointment today, but who didn't? Why do I feel I don't deserve to be snubbed?

Onto writing. If Big Train Show were a screenplay, one that would earn me millions, the esteem of everyone featured in People magazine, the acclaim that only an Oscar (tm) can provide, I may have the beginning:

Ext. Night

I'm now stuck. I'm not sure what would come next. Do I tell the director how to shoot the movie? Does she need to know the engorged sun is hovering just under the horizon, that Sid is kicking at debris at the side of the road? Maybe I should stick with prose. I could, however, use the money.

I dunno. Maybe it's working.

No, not the RSS feed thing. That's just expecting too much!

[The Archives are a bit iffy for now...but they should be fixed by ... later]

Yes, I have the little RDF button on the top!

One might think that means this blog now has an RSS feed (like all the good ones do), but I think the only thing I've accomplished is to make it *look* that way. Sure, the button's there and some software's been installed and tweaked. That means nothing!

I don't believe anything's actually working yet, so let this merely remind us that appearances can be deceiving.

I can't explain this, but I doubt it's anything paranormal.

And, yes, I'd love to see a ghost some day, or a UFO.

Anyway, elves descended on the home sometime last night and fixed the water heater. I have no idea how they did it, or how long a reprieve I've been granted, but it stopped leaking. And, it still does that which I ask of it, which is limited to heating water.

I'm not complaining, mind you, but unwilling to believe it's fixed for good. I think it's about ten years old and no doubt had a ten year warranty (like I ever keep track of that shit), so I think I've bought at most a few days, but I'm happy not seeing the thin trickle of water coming from the top.

I had no idea these nighttime elves could be so considerate, and so handy with pipe wrenches. It gave me time to research (read: surf the Internet) to find out how much one of the water heaters cost. My guess is I can get a new one installed for about a grand or could try to do it myself. How hard can it be? There's a gas line to hook up, and a cold water in and a hot water out. Oh, and some venting stuff. If the old chimney can be reused or adapted, that would be best, but that would never happen in my world.

The advantage the plumbers have, of course, is that if they need a adaptor or a part they can run to their truck or to a store and get one. I'd have to leave the damn thing half assembled and ride all over town looking for it and would then, ultimately, return with the wrong one.

I did notice a bunch of these tankless water heaters. They cost quite a bit more, I think, and I have no idea if they work or if they're only for special uses (propane?) or what, but it would be pretty cool just to heat the water as you need it. Perhaps I should look into them...

I've been reading. I'm considering writing TRE all over again because I think I can do a better job on it. I wonder why I'm never satisfied with anything I've done, why I can't just move on...

I need a rest following yesterday, when I did nothing.

Today, again, I'll be doing nothing, saving everything up for tomorrow when I can do what I want without worrying about being judged. Yeah, I worry about that a lot.

As soon as I'm done with this entry I'm going to haul my misbehaving PC downstairs and look at it. This, I'm sure, will accomplish nothing, but I'm curious to know the make and model of my video card. Also, it occurs to me that that machine, a tossaway e-Machines from CompUSA (before e-Machines was purchased by Gateway), must have come with some video something or other. I'm not sure if I replaced the mobo or just the video card or what.

Ideally, I'd buy a replacement card just like the old one so I wouldn't have to worry about how to update drivers and whatnot under SuSE. WXP will no doubt notice the card and ask about it, but I need to tell the other operating systems it's there to begin with, I think. Windows, as always, is friendlier, but demands one to accept its judgements.

I may also bike out to the stores. I need food and water. Also, adhesive tape.


UPDATE: I'm writing this from the once-dead computer. Because I am *so* clever and knowledgeable, so familiar with all things computer-y, I was able to yank out the non-working card and use the built-in one. WXP, oddly enough, didn't notice the change and SuSE got it all wrong. Nothing graphical worked until I went in and "modified" all the settings manually. Long live console mode and emacs!

So, my spirits are a bit better. Now...stores and shopping or lawn work or reading or putting up the damn Christmas Lights????

Life continues happening, much to my displeasure.

This morning I awoke to a mildly flooded back hallway (the enclosed porch where the washer, dryer, and hot water heater are located). The water heater is broken and leaking.

When my sister awoke we talked about it. Actually, I came back from the store and she was watching TV. I say, "Oh, shit."
She says, "What?" and I mention the water heater. She says "It looks like someone hit it because it has a dent."

Now a little about me. When she says that I take it as an incrimination. I know *she* didn't hit it, and she later says she knows the dogs couldn't do that so, once again, I'm being blamed for something. Either I'm paranoid, or else simply surrounded by women whom I continually anger or disappoint. I don't have money for a plumber, so here I go farther into debt. I don't want this reality and wish I were dead and didn't have to deal with this shit any more.

Then, my computer broke (this is a backup one). My guess is the graphics card. It runs fine in console mode under BSD, but can't do the graphics for WXP or X-Windows. The linux console works, but looks bad (it has ansi graphics, white letters on blue). I'm letting it rest, hoping that solves the problem. That same course of action, by the way, is how I'm dealing with the water heater and explains my difficulties with life.

So now I'm without the good computer. That may require a new video card, another expense and the hassles of new drivers, again pushing the limits of my know-how. I just hate everything. I know that I'm the reason these things all happen, I keep putting shit off and ignoring reality, so I can only look in the mirror to see the culprit.

Now I wish I had one of those fire in the belly, positive attitudes, the ones that happy and succesful people have. Instead of gritting my teeth and dealing with the problems, I just want them to go away.

The bad thing about today is it's one day closer to January. I expect to hear from assorted medicos then, reminding me of postponed checkups. "Oh, sure, I'll be back next year," I said. "I can't afford it now." Thus goes the race between an entropic body and a dwindling wallet.

However, I still have one good eye and have been reading up a storm. I finished Catherine, a remarkable NaNovel. My God, the thing not only makes sense and is full of savory phrases, there's lots and lots and lots of like..um..er..intelligent thinking going on in it. Discussions of religions, the nature of humans, even a shout out to Bethany!

It's been a long time since I read something that made me think so much. It was a pleasant experience. I think my sights are quite a bit lower. I use the Graham Greene explanation. When asked about some of his less ambitious works he called them "entertainments." I like that term.

So today I dashed off my first impressions on Catherine. I could easily write a book just discussing the things I loved in it. The trouble is, it takes forever to write critiques. I could talk for half a day about it, about anything I read, but that would entail writing for sixteen.

The NaNoWriMo Yahoo! group is more active than its been in years. Active in the sense that I think some people are actually sharing and reading. That old group hasn't seen that in years. But the thing that really made my day is that someone who's read Big Train Show and who knows a thing or two about aviation said she wasn't laughing all through my blimp adventure segment.

As she said, and as I've been taught and have been doing all along, you can make stuff up if you don't know the facts. Reality must be twisted to meet the needs of the story, and that's as true for facts as it is for events. I have little idea what the inside of a blimp is like, but I know what the story needed and was able to apply some common sense and come up with something workable.

Perhaps that's why they call it fiction.

Oh. Damn. No room for the vegans today.

This could be about the vegans, but isn't. I'm saving that one up (which means it will either never show up or be here later today).

Today I'm reaping what I sow. I've been negligent about answering e-mails, posting blog entries, updating my site, doing any and all of those online electronic wave of the current duties. Oh, sure, I'm making some headway on seeing every piece of porn on the Internet but that's of little consequence.

I'm inspired now, as is often the case in the morning, and I'm hoping my eagerness will extend until at least early afternoon. I need to decorate the house, do some shopping, and do some reading and writing. Only some of those things require me to ride my bike.

But that's not the point.

So late last night I tackled my e-mail. I wrote to a number of people and when I went to bed I saw the benefit of blogging. If anyone bothered reading this (which some might if it were updated more frequently than monthly) I wouldn't have to send out so many individual e-mails all saying the exact same thing. The advantage to that, of course, is that I learn how to rephrase things. Always a good writing practice.

The reaping part comes to fruition now. It's not a big thing and is good for letting me laugh at myself, but after all my e-mailing last night I expected many replies. Of course, since I'd ignored answering them for up to a month, no one wrote back! It's humbling, and I can never get enough of that.

Here I am thinking everyone is all excited about getting Russell e-mail, as if their lives depend on, revolve around, or are somehow enhanced by me. Truth is, we all have many things to do. I'm sure I'll get responses later (and no doubt more punctual than mine), but I had to laugh at my disappointment.

In other news...the heater is rattling like elephants wrestling in sheet metal. I forsee much coldness in my future. I may attack it with a wrench and see if I can find anything to tighten.

I have a feeling I'll be starting this back up again.

Tomorrow I may talk about vegans.

I finished my novel yesterday, and I'm glad I did.

I somehow lost interest in the second half of November, both in writing at all and also in the NaNoWrimo experience. I guess I'm a slow learner and never noticed all the groups before, but I felt very much alone this year and not part of the community at all. I was, and am, very much a privateer, and it felt as if everyone else competing this year is a member of a writing group (Forward Motion, NERD, Piker Press, etc etc etc). They all know each other, all have their own histories and dogma, and I just kept seeing them all verifying their own beliefs and pimping for their causes.

Not what I wanted from NaNo at all.

I also felt very old. I found a few kindered spirits, but I had little to offer against the hordes and pretty much dropped out of posting on the boards. The advice is usually the same, anyway, and I've not much to add that others don't say better.

So, between an aversion to the boards and real life letting me know that I've been neglecting it, writing felt more like a useless diversion than an enjoyment, but I kept at it when I could and managed to get my novel written.

I was invited to go to the San Francisco Home Office TGIO party, but the journey's been cancelled.

If I had November over again to re-do, I don't know what I'd do differently. NaNo may have changed too much, and not to my liking, but I still need and treasure it for what it makes me do. I need to re-do the Big Train Show page for my site, and maybe in a few weeks look over the novel. I've run it through a spell checker, changed the *words* to italics, and discovered in the process characters I'd introduced and forgotten! I just love that kind of thing, the beauty of a NaNo novel!

In spite of my efforts to push everyone away, many of them understood. Thanks.

I'm okay, I guess.

Yesterday my sister and I went to her daughter's home (my niece Rachael's) to spend Thanksgiving with her and her son, Greggory. Adding to the pathos were Greggory's paternal grandparents, Will and Mary. Mary is (partially? wholly?) Indian, so I guess that was traditional enough. Will is her second (?) husband, and they're the parents of Rachael's ex-husband, but like to visit their (only?) grandson on occasion. Greggory is about thirteen.

So we're all related by blood or marriage or something, and that's about the extent of our commonality. It occurred to me that we're what's left over after all the real family and loved ones get together. The high point, for me, was Will and Mary's forgetting to bring a card table so two people got to eat off an ironing board. That, and Will is (was?) a minister (Episcopalian?), so grace no doubt had more effect than were I to have said it.

It wasn't bad. We talked a lot about phones and stealing lumber from construction sites (Greggory's wanting to build a skateboard park in his back yard).

I struggled and got out a couple thousand more words on Big Train Show. I may finish, but maybe not. It feels so much like I'm writing just for the sake of writing instead of creating anything, that I've little heart in it. Unlike Kicker or The Reader's Emporium, this story isn't all that gripping to me. I had some interest going in, but maybe not enough to carry me through to the end. I'm quite jealous of all the other wrimos who are all bubbly and excited, wishing I felt any of that this year. I'm glad for them, and for the efforts of all those who labor to make NaNo work, but I just can't get connected this year.

Not to NaNo, not to anything. I just am.

I hope everyone who looks here has, or had, the nicest of holidays. It's not right to be ungrateful the rest of the year, so I hope in addition to cherishing and remembering those things that make your life so joyous you can take with you the idea that this shouldn't be a one day a year thing.

Please be kind to those around you, remembering always that they're probably doing the best they can.

I treasure you all.

Too busy catching up on all the shit I shoulda been doing the last six months to even think of writing. Haven't been thinking about the novel, that's all been pushed aside by worries over collection agents, plumbing, hiding so I don't get caught as a fuck up.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

I was reading a post from a woman who claimed to eat only those eggs laid by organically fed, free range chickens. This got me to thinking...

First, I should probably admit that in my younger days I read a great deal of science fiction. In many of the stories I enjoyed, the future was bleak, the earth overgrown with skyscrapers, with trees and wood long gone, and hamburgers and bacon a thing of the distant past. These people ate pills or synthetics, but that was rarely the point of the story.

Anyway, like I said, this egg eating woman got me to thinking. I have absolutely no facts on which to back any of this up, and have never farmed. My notion of "free range" chickens is based on nostalgic whimsy, movies, and some recollections from my mom (who grew up on a farm). I'm a city boy.

I'm sure that egg growers use horrifically efficient methods. I'm sure chickens nowdays live their entire life caged in one cubic foot pens stacked fifteen high and are continually fed chemical laden food pellets. These chickens, I'm sure, have never tasted sweet clover, poppy seeds, or an earthworm. They're little more than egg producing machines, and I think they do a pretty damn good job of it.

Free range chickens, on the other hand, I picture as spending their days strolling around, chatting with their friends, taking long baths is pristine water, and generally primping themselves for rooster visits. At the end of the day they waddle back to a comfy straw nest and lay an egg which some rosy-cheeked girl will pick up the next morning and carry gently in her apron.

So I get to thinking about the poster's proclivity (if that's the right word) for these eggs. There's no doubt they're better and healthier, but I wonder how practical they are, now that we're in the 21st century. I wonder why we don't *all* have these delicious eggs, and it occurs to me that we can't.

There are close to three hundred million people in the US alone. If half of them have one egg a week, that's 7,800,000,000 eggs a year. I have a feeling we've outgrown the ability to feed ourselves through romantic means. Not only do I not know anyone willing to give up their cushy office or technical job to wake up at six to feed chickens, I've met several people who've *had* that life and have chosen, instead, to become assistant underwriters or filing clerks.

We're creating an elitist culture, here, based on food. The only way we can produce enough omelettes and pancake batter, french toast and egg drop soup is to manufacture eggs the way we're doing it. It's fucked for the chickens in the cages, I admit, but last I saw they had a brain about the size of my thumbnail and, after dealing with heart and lungs and producing massive amounts of chicken shit each day, I'm guessing there isn't much brain power left for aspirations and sorrow.

I may not like it, but we no longer have the room or people to individually cater to chickens just so we can eat guilt-free eggs. I remember reading someplace that without the farming efficiencies of the last fifty years, this planet couldn't support the people we have. One of the reasons in the explosion of population is because we can eat.

And to return to a quaint way of farming would be to sentence a billion people to starvation.

So if you enjoy organically fed, free range chickens, fine. I had one at a restaurant and it was tasty, just like chicken. But I think it's absurd to take pride in showing off that you're rich enough and elite enought to afford to eat better than the world allows.

I've reached the halfway point, not only in words but also the ides of November. I'm still battling a cold, still scared shitless about my future, and still not doing anything to improve my lot in life.

But the novel may be emerging. I've really been neglecting blogs, both mine and others, of late, as well as forum postings. I've been living in a dream world, too, so between everything, I've been remiss about keeping this and everything else current.

This past weekend our LA group was challenged by the group in Santa Barbara to see who could write the most. The results were painful, with most of the five LA writers having weekend totals of over ten thousand. I did much less than that, as did everyone in SB, but had a personal victory of sorts.

My novel, or writing, had gotten bogged down. I was never sure exactly what scene would next occur, what would happen next, so I was filling pages describing every inconsequential action. I jarred myself out of that momentarily over the weekend, and the plot began inching forward. Yesterday I got stuck again, but this morning I think I have the start of some plot.

I'm concerned, perhaps needlessly, about the number of characters I've introduced. This is why I edit. I don't know as I need two or three people all serving the same role in the story, so I may be doing some compaction later on. Among the curious things to pop up is that Dina, the woman who works at the carnival and whose case Sid finds to start the novel, is dropping to the background, and Luther, her expected evil boyfriend, had yet to make much of an appearance at all.

I'll see how it works out, but I'm the process right now of introducing other characters, ones I hadn't expected. I have a hunch I'm nowhere near the middle of this story.

No, I don't have much progress on anything to report, but I'm tired of neglecting my blog. I know everyone who visits must be crestfallen to see no new entries.

So here's this one.

It rained overnight, but that's not the point. It's done now, so I'm getting ready to pack up and ride buses and meet with some wrimos in a nearby town. I'm still not feeling well, so I won't be kissing anyone.

As if.

The novel continues. I have story ideas, but the writing isn't often feeling inspired. I need to get away from truth and realism long enough to let ideas flow and prosper. I need to sit down and get into a groove, something that's been very elusive this year. I've been writing tons of dialogue, and I don't know why. It's almost as if I'm afraid to say anything in exposition any more, fearing the "telling" criticism.

Today I hope to get Sid and Dina to finish up one adventure and to go on to the next. They have things to chase, and the Big Train Show has been mentioned right in the text!

For the first time, I smiled while writing.

It may have been a mini-breakthrough, one of those things I rely on when I craft my novel. I'd figured on the item Sid found to start the novel being returned to Dina and her boyfriend getting upset with Sid. Maybe some jealousy thing. Instead, as I was getting ready to write that passage a (currently) unknown minor character stepped up and said something, the kind of thing I hadn't planned on, but the exact thing I kept talking about in my tips thread.

Let things happen. At this point I'm trusting my sub-conscious to know what it's doing. The whole thing may be a sub-plot, or it may be the main story's arc, I don't know yet. I'm even less sure about what constitutes a sub-plot than I am about what a chapter is.

But I just love it when a line pops into my head, one that can change everything. At first I resisted it, but then talked myself into accepting it. It may or may not be what that minor character would actually say, but it's the exact type of thing that makes me want to write. I can clean things up or let them play out, depending on how this newly found twist plays out.

(I'd say I can't wait to find out, but I immediately started another thing going on, the introduction of the Big Train Show!)

This is the kinda thing that bugs me. On the news just now they said "A new warning for those who take vitamin E. Taking massive amounts may increase your risk of death."

Um, excuse me. Not sure about everyone else, but I have a *certainty* of death. Reminds me of one of my favorite lines from a doctor interviewed on TV years ago. As he put it, "We don't save lives, we postpone death."

Oh, yeah. The novel. Gotta get back to writing...

I being optimistic about that 3, but I'm no longer wishing to die so I'm back to normal.

Life is so sucky right now I'll just blog about my novel, which is also sucky. This happens every year, and every year when I'm done and go back and read over it I can't tell the good parts from the ones I thought were sucky.

That may not be a good thing.

I hammered out Sid's Amazing Blimp Adventure (Chapt 4 on the Big Train Show website. I was going to save it, but I needed to get it in so I could refer to it later. Actually, so far I think I've done little *except* bring things in that I needed to establish so I can build on or refer to them later. A lot of this novel writing feels like laying groundwork for wonders yet to come, and I don't yet see any brewing wonders.

I *do* know the next thing I need to do: introduce Luther Jack. That should take a couple hundred words. Then, well, I don't know exactly what happens next. To be truthful, I don't know what will happen for the next thirty thousand words. I have a climax I'm writing toward, but the huge hump of the middle of the novel is a bit intimidating. I want to show Sid being challenged, questioning his contented life (which has yet to be shown, so the transition will be ... forced), and should probably come up with two or three things for him and Dina to do, to show her influence on his life.

Then I can get to the train stuff.
Wish me luck!

I have a cold. I've been living off eggs and zinc tablets, napkins and tissue paper.

I think this explains why I was so miserable late last week. I'm hoping by later today to feel decent.

It was a day of bus riding. Not sure how many miles I logged, but I was riding for maybe four or five hours.

I'm feeling very inadequate. I guess I'm really not, but the feeling is there and colors everything I see and do. I see people all around me struggling and succeeding over things many times more difficult than my bullshit. I hate that I can't even enjoy my misery, that I have to see it for the pathetic thing it is. I *can* do better, just choose not to, and then wonder why everything looks so bleak.

I see only the negative, the things I've had and enjoyed and can no longer participate in. I think of those things I shouldn't, and it's no wonder I'm falling behind the rest of the human race. I don't want much, but I'm unwilling to do even the simple steps it would take for me to get and feel better.

Enough self-indulgence. Today I went out to write and got a little done. Left off when Sid will be relating his blimp story. Chris Baty is in town and we all met him at a gathering where everyone was more excited and willing to share than I was, where I learned a lot and got to hear many interesting or funny tales of writing this novel in a month. Everyone is doing well, they're all eager and laughing, and I just keep plodding on, waiting for a miracle.

I may post something later.

I've learned that I feel uplifted when I succeed at a task, and crushed with hopelessness when I fail.

I've tried to write, but couldn't ignore the growing list of things I've been patching and putting off, the things everyone else accomplishes without even thinking.

I still have things to worry about, now more than ever.

In addition to the obvious, silly living type things are bugging me. The heater isn't working, or maybe it's just the thermostat. Things in my life are breaking faster than I can repair them, and it's as if the train of my life is rolling quickly downhill. Without brakes. And without an engineer.

My new fingerless writing gloves are a godsend.

I'm doing okay on my novel, at least as far as wordcount goes. And, it's supposedly all about wordcount. I've "advanced" to the point where I can tell when I'm writing poorly even as I'm doing it. "You're telling," my inner critic yells and I admit he's right. I have this compulsion to dump all the exposition in, and I know I should be doing it more artfully.

I also know that very little has happened yet. It seems to me as if my earlier novels were more quickly paced, but I don't know. I've not yet read anything I've written this year so I can't tell if it's as boring as it feels when I write it. I do know that I've had this same feeling in years past and when I got around to reading it I've not noticed it so much. I think it's one of those things that's more obvious when it's happening.

I've gotten to the point now where Sid and Dina are meeting for the first time. I don't yet have any idea about the types of things she'll be offering or suggesting or talking Sid into. I hope I can come up with some good ones!

I did not get run over on my way to the polling place so I've little exciting news to report. I put that little sticker you get on my bike, so everyone can know how lame I am. I was excited to see my dad was still registered. For over ten years I've been trying to convince them he's dead.
And, out of state.
And, last registered in Minnesota.

Turns out Ohio isn't the only place that permits you to be registered in more than one state. California Rocks!

Each year I plan on checking my sample ballot, marked with my entries, against the results and see if I pass or not.

..Noveling..

Hmmm. Something's not right this year. I think it may be the time change, but I'm too lazy to see when that's happened on years past. I'm groggy and tired and uninspired and it's been a challenge for me to get worked up. I polished off one chapter, a sad one with far more exposition and recounting of boring details than one would expect, and got a start on Chapter 2. It was much more fun writing once Dina showed up, but I continued telling. I don't know why I'm in such a hurry, maybe it's to get all this crap out of the way so I can get into the story.

For the first time ever I'm fairly happy with the dialogue. I may pull down my excerpt and put up one from Chapter 2 that makes me look better. I've not been online much today, not feeling much like it. I guess once I get into a groove I'll be more talkative. I've little to relate at this point.

No, it's not about the novel. Not yet, anyway.

I heard a new term tonight on the news. "Margin of Litigation" Evidently the DNC and RNC have teams of lawyers standing by in many of the states as well as others in reserve, waiting to pounce on any state whose voting outcome falls within this margin of litigation. It no longer matters for whom I vote, it's all dependent on who has the better lawyers.

I'm beginning to think that rights are treated like statistics, and can be swayed however those in or desirous of power wish them to be.

All I know is someone will win, someone who truly wants to do what he thinks is best for the country.

...Now Noveling

I woke up in the middle of the night and got my story started. I went back to bed and sleep, and did some more while enjoying a good, healthy breakfast of black coffee and candy corn. I got to my day's quota and my heart dropped out of things. A lot of e-mail and messaging later, I took a break and pedaled off to buy some dog food. Many of the people on the road and in the stores acted oblivious to NaNoWriMo.

I got Sid, my main character, off the road and into his shop. He runs a trophy shop, and I know nothing about trophies in spite of having won one or two. Oh, sure, I could do research and make this a way for the reader to learn about the exciting world of trophy manufacturing, but I expect I'll downplay the details just as I've done in the past with bookstores, the entire city of Oklahoma City, and vetinarians. In my novels, as in all my writings, I mention these things, but don't fully explore them.

"You can't just drop something like that in," I heard once from someone about a line about a fatal logging accident. "We want to know more!"
"Oh yes I can," I answered.

I toss things around willy-nilly. I'm not sure if that's good writing or not, but I don't have time to explore all these details: I have a book to write!

Just wait until the blimp ride comes in. It may get a cursory nod, or maybe a whole chapter. Depends on how I feel. I kind of like not milking things for all they're worth. Gives the reader more to think about, and prevents me from being seen as 1) talented, or 2) greedy and manipulative.

It's going to happen.

In about six hours I'll begin writing another novel, my fourth. As if that wasn't scary enough, a witch just came to my front door and demanded candy! I was so petrified I obliged.

Spent (wasted?) a good deal of the day getting my novel's website up and running. I dunno. Not too happy with it, but it will preserve for all posterity my efforts at writing Big Train Show. I have all the elements needed for a good story (char, theme, plot) but only time will tell if I have a story. I've gotten encouraging feedback, so perhaps it will delight all the blimp fans.

I'm a little less excited than I thought I would be, but a lot more hopeful. I took a nap this afternoon so I can be ready to begin typing at midnight, and I'll see how that works out. I expect a page, maybe two, before I go to sleep.

So many people on the NaNo board have said great things about their efforts, I'm sure there will be lots of fun stories to relate and many winners. I'm glad for them all, and wish everyone the very best of kamikaze noveling!

It's a gorgeous day, but I wasted it. I missed my bus this morning, the one that was expected to whisk me away to a writer's meeting. Now I need to wait a week and to make more apologies. I'm always making apologies. I'm certain they get old, fast.

But that's not the point. Here's the thing about me and writing. I have it on good authority that I write well. I don't doubt it, either. I've always been facile with words, literate, and able to string words together. A good portion of that is practice, but there's some raw talent, too, that I believe comes from reading a lot and just picking up how to do things, how sentences should look and behave. Then, I've taken a few courses in copy-editing which have helped immensely with grammar. And, I've had several classes where I've learned to be concise and how to make my writing less lame.

With all that said, one would think I'd have no problems. But I see two necessities in writing. One is the language used, and that can be taught (it's how I've learned). The other, though, is the more important: the content.

I can write well, but do I have anything to say? I can take someone else's idea or story and make it read well, but can I carry off a novel on my own? I can write so people can understand what I'm saying, but can I come up with ideas that people will want to read? If I have something to say I can do it pretty well, but I beat myself up a lot about not having stories worth telling.

Now I need an injection of talent, of knowledge, of story-telling ability. Lots of books suggest ways to become creative, but crafting ideas into stories has long been my challenge. I can't tell what's wrong with my stuff.

I was always wondering about this. Now I know.

My Your Little Pony Name Is is Snowball.
Take My Little Pony Name Generator today!

I feel so left out. I wonder who decided that the two parties in power have all the answers. I wonder why more people are predisposed to believing the next election will be rigged than prefer either candidate. I wonder why, instead of disagreeing, so many people actively despise the opposition party. It all seems a tad too Orwellian for me, "Why, I'm a Demoblican. Only Demoblicans are good. I must hate the Republicrats and believe everything bad about them."

Around five hundred million dollars is being spent to win the presidency. That's obscene. I think I hate politics. I know I hate the pandering snobs running the two parties.

So I resort to writing silly fiction. I've gotten positive feedback about my blimp idea. I came up with that as a way of giving my main char his fifteen mins of fame, long since passed. I don't know why, but I like the idea of a non-deserving has-been. It's one thing to wake up this morning and think "I'm Steven Spielberg" or "Mick Jagger," it's quite another to wake up and realize "I'm Kato Kaylin."

But this blimp idea so intrigues me that I may move up to the present. I'm not sure how it will work out with Sid receiving his fifteen minutes in the middle of the story, but it may prove worthwhile. I'll need to think about that. I hope Minardi (my dog) is resting up. He may need to go on a lot of long walks as I mull this over.

Hooray! I've finally won!

The last twenty-five hits on my site have ALL been bots! I'm so proud.

I exist for the pleasure and sake of the machines.

I mean, I get ten times as many hits from Yahoo!, Google, Okami, et al as I do from human viewers who actually visit my site because they're told to do so by authorities, but never before has every hit been a bot.

I remember one economist once pointing out that you can't have service-based economy based solely on people delivering pizzas to each other. I wonder if you can have a blogging community based solely on bots indexing and tracking things no one ever reads.

Today I bought a pack of cigarettes thinking they'd make life enjoyable and remove my demons. To my surprise, they had no such effect.

It's happening, again. Not like deja vu, though, since I remember the other time very well. It's not hard, it was just a couple days ago.

We're having another rain event. It's also been called a severe weather pattern and shower activity. I really don't think anything of value is added to the occurence of rain to add any events, patterns, or activity to the term. I guess it sounds fancier, more scientific, but this is the kind of wording that dilutes the impact of the easily understood and completely useful term rain.

I suppose if you're pulling down a hundred or two thousand a year you have to justify that somehow. It's not good enough to say "it's raining," not when Storm Watch 2004 can be called and you can make the lesser weather people and reporters stand on corners in slickers and attempt to create some drama and value from water falling out of the sky.

My favorite moments of local news are always following earthquakes or fires. Without a script to read, these attractive reporters are surprisingly adept at filling minutes with nothing remotely resembling news or knowledge. I think, I hope, most people would expect there to be broken windows, smouldering remains of once-proud structures, the debris of disaster. I think none of us is the better for having it seen and explained to us.

Today they had a closeup of water rushing down the gutter into a drain.

I got all excited last night, but it was for nought. I thought, for a moment, one of my neighbors was rushing the season and already had their Christmas Lights up. I considered noting the date in my calendar since this would be the earliest evidence of Christmas in my personal record book. It's not even Halloween yet!

Alas, it was a Halloween display. Now that someone's begun the noxious habit of stringing orange lights all over their eaves, I can only expect more to do the same. The worst part of it, of course, is that sooner or later *I* may get roped into this, too.

When I was around twenty a friend and I were already discouraged by all the Christmas decorations. At that time, and I think it even made the paper, everyone on the street had a seven foot candle on their front yard with their family name placed in front. I have no idea how the Jewish people felt about this, but my guess is they meekly complied since many of the names were similar to ones of my Jewish friends. Oddly, one of my better friends, Chris Goldstein, surprised me by being Catholic. I discovered that late in our relationship.

But I digress. Anyway, another friend and I were lamenting the Christmas decorations. What we wanted to do, and the idea that struck us as the funniest, was to begin decorating our lawns with Thanksgiving items. We started off deciding to cover the lawn in a red and white checked tablecloth and got all the way up to a steaming gravy boat before dropping the plan.

Nope. No news about the novel.

Last night we had our first LA NaNoWriMo "meet and greet" where I was met and did some greeting. More people showed up than I expected, more than in years past, and all of them were eager and excited. I enjoyed seeing a few familiar faces and hope to see more. It was unclear if anyone enjoyed seeing me, either again or for the first time.

While talking about my upcoming noveling intentions I mentioned I'd like to have a character who was famous. Not a celebrity, and not someone who's done anything to deserve it, something akin to a Baby Jessica who got her fifteen minutes for falling down a well. I'm intrigued by this, how some events and people somehow click into everyone's consciousness while tons of other similar events get no mention at all.

Anyway, I think it would be cool to have a char who was famous for something years ago, someone people might remember but maybe not why or for what. I'm stumped, though, about why or how this person would be famous. An incredibly good suggestion was given about someone born with no elbows and that has me thinking, but that would be a constant source of amazement.

I spent most of last night thinking of life without elbows. Could you even get dressed?

I'm beginning to experience a strange mix of dread and excitement. I'm anxious to get started writing again, but I'm in the worst position I've ever been in as far as preparation goes. I'm far behind where I think I should be as far as ideas go. I'm wondering, seriously, about my past works, and am wondering if they're as unfocused as I think. I can now describe them in twenty-five words, but I'm not sure at all if what I describe is actually on the page.

I wonder if I lack the sharpness needed to write a good novel. Do they really have a theme, a single idea, any of the things that a good novel should have? I can write a yarn, whatever that is, and maybe that's all I should strive for.

I know, I know. Most newcomers coming to my blog complain because there aren't any flashy pictures.

Here's one for today:




The rains have left and I enjoyed bright blue skies and definite sweater weather. One would think that this day was tailor-made (as opposed to, say, the work of a tuba player) for bike riding. It was. I didn't. I could have, but got caught up around the house putting off bike riding.

I'm inching away from the proposed story line mentioned in the Big Train Show website. It may be a spoiler, nonetheless, so you may want to avoid the entry for the twentieth in case I resort to that lame idea. What's frightening me is I'm considering having Sid and Dina get together, and that can't be good. I want him to be attracted to her, fascinated by her way of life, but at the same time repulsed and frightened by her lack of planning and spontaniety.

Owen, naturally, will try to be all over her.

It should be obvious that I lack expertise in personal relationships, so I wonder why the hell I think I can write about them? I'd be better served writing a novel about the Unabomber and the troubles he has doing his laundry.

It rained here for the last couple days and pretty much soaked the ground, which is what a rain should do. The local news sent people out to take pictures of water, in one case even showing the damage done by the "storm." A small wall of uncemented or secured cinder blocks had a gaping hole!

When I was young we had "rain." Now it's always "storms." I think this is weakening the whole notion of a storm, but they never asked me.

My upcoming story continues to scare me. I've decided I need to talk some with the Gods of Literature and demand something be done about POV. I don't think it's fair that I should have to choose one. If I use first or third person limited, I love the intimacy, but then that damn character has to be everywhere and see every thing I want to talk about. If I use omniscient (and I've never done that well), it's too bland. I don't want to write the prose equivalent of a screenplay, something that objective doesn't excite me at all.

And, my main character isn't happy and funny. I want to write happy and funny, or at least cynical and dry. I hope I can carry it off, and wonder if that's why my earlier stuff isn't as good as it could be. I think what will emerge in November will probably be fine, but right now I'm concerned.

It had to happen. It's raining. I'm dry and snug inside, so no need to worry about me, but I know the freeways will be a mess and it will be a sad and long drive home for most people.

I do get mad. Not often, and not normally that I can notice, but it does happen. When I get mad I have a tendency to say things that hurt other people. I do this as a means of demonstrating my maturity, how I can make them hurt, too. It's one of my least desired traits.

Instead of acknowledging my problems and bringing myself back up, I seek to reduce others to my level. This tactic, I must admit, has never worked, but that's because most other people are more mature and together than I am.

So, I tried to avoid doing that this weekend and, of course, that just made things worse.

I found an interesting thing in my blogging software: "236 karma votes cast (1.2 on average per entry) with 180 positive and 56 negative for a total karma rating of 124" My guess is that other bloggers would look at those numbers and laugh, but they're not me.

This must be a joke.

I'm guardedly optimistic about this year's novel. If I can get past worrying about myself for a little while I think I can fashion a usable storyline. I know I don't need it all worked out by Nov 1 when I start writing, but I do think it's better to have a turning point towards which to write. I should go over my notes, see what still strikes me as interesting, and let things flop around in the back of my head.

I am really in a quandry. Or is that quandary?

Okay, as far as this novel thing goes, I'm wondering more about this traveling carnival. It seems almost *too* easy, even though I know nothing of carnival life. The easy part is it immediately adds intrigue, romance, and lots of corn dogs.

It turns out there *are* still carnivals that travel around. I don't think they do so on trains, which might happen anyway, but the best part is it will strap a ticking clock on Dina's availability, or the time she has to complete something.

Falling out of love with her name, too, by the way.

Today instead of doing any plotting or novel-thinking, I watched the ball games. Funny how I end up rooting for one team over the other when I honestly have no plan to do so. No, not the American League games, I have to want Boston.

Minardi spent the day huddled away from the rain, which kept the house fairly clean.

It's been a day. I've had to be a little fast on my feet.

Now I'm worried about carnivals. There used to be a couple that came through town, mostly to set up at schools as a fund-raising thing. Really crappy rides, but when I was young I never noticed or cared. I may have Dina work at one of them. One interesting point to that is she'd have a time clock, and that may help add some urgency to something. If she's only in town for a week, well, whatever happens would be rushed, or at least couldn't take forever to be resolved.

The circus used to come to LA by train and park right near a place I worked. They all lived on the train, and maybe I could somehow use that. Not sure if they have rides at the circus, but that's why they call it fiction.

NaNo, as a group thing, has lost a lot of pleasure today. I expect it to come back. I get knocked down easily, even do it to myself when no one else's handy, but I also bounce back up.

Today I accomplished much.

On the novel front, and that's really the only thing I'm doing now (assuming thinking about something to write could be considered "doing," which is debatable), I've temporarily given up worrying about my female lead. She'll come when the time is right for her. No need to rush it, but I may consider having her run an amusement park ride. This might, of course, somehow tie into a train ride, and the Big Train Show.

I'm coming up with a secondary character, who may end up growing to enormous proportions. He's a bad guy, my first, and I have no idea what his outcome will be. That's definitely something I'll find out when I write out.

In other matters, life goes on. For a brief moment I was excited and happy, with Rough Draft working under *nix. Oh, sure, it complained a lot, but it worked and life was good. Then, inexplicably, it stopped working and has resisted every effort to show its face. I don't know what I did to get it to work, and what I did to stop it. It was odd, even at its best, since it wouldn't allow me to shut it down. I had to shut down (at least the GUI interface) to wipe it from the desktop.

Too bad for me. I keep getting these glimpses of a good life, then they're pulled away.

Yeah, there are a million of them out there, but this one's very simple. There's only a few key things for anyone to watch for, just to make it easier. It's still possible, of course, that you'll die of alcohol poisoning.

Take a drink when Bush says:
Flip Flop
Tax and Spend
Liberal

Take a drink when Kerry says:
Wrong
Out of touch
Outsourcing

Take a drink when either says:
Coalition
Deficit
Anyone panders by speaking Spanish
Working poor

Today's big accomplishment was going out to get a job and finding it's been filled. This has happened before, so my thick skin suffered no bruising. My legs are tired, though, since it was an uphill bike ride (against the wind, too) and I'm no closer to being able to ride carefree than I was a week ago.

Just being efficient doesn't make riding a bike easy. How did I manage before? I remember NONE of this!

Another thing I don't recall is politics being this ... mean. No one can say anything good about the others. There was a brief moment in the VP debate when Edwards said something about Cheney's daughter, who responded in a very sincere and warm way, then back to the fight. I'm sure I've heard this same "flip flop" nonsense dealt out in election after election by the Republicans, and the Democrats are now going back to 1992 and punctuating everything with the then-successful "out of touch" line.

My God. If it resonates with the voters, we'll use it. I hate the marketing of the Presidency with a passion.

Have considered and rejected more jobs for Dina. Not enough ooomph with a hand model. Do they even still have those people who lug big ice chests filled with an assortment of sandwiches around big buildings any more? Damn. The terrorists have won if that practice has been halted.

Internet tests are fun!



Especially if they're geeky.

I guess there's controversy over Colombus Day. Me? I always just took it as a nice day off. Last time I was in Philly, walking around and killing time, I saw a statue of Colombus, something never seen on the west coast. Also, my ex made certain I saw his house when we were in Genoa, her home town.

Today I'm in a writing quandry, though I doubt that's the right word. I'm wondering about what my characters need to do for a living, and I'm stuck. I know, I know, it will come in time. The thing is, I pride myself on my originality, also a bit on my edginess. I'm fascinated by people who have jobs outside the mainstream of plumbers, machinists, office workers. Everyone I know in life has one of those jobs, so they don't interest me much as a source of fiction.

I forget the writer's name, the one who championed the common man. I dislike most every story that features a writer. That's just lame. If aliens ever study our culture from our films and writings, they will be convinced fully half the population is doctors, lawyers, architects and writers.

Actually, I like this part of the process, nearly as much as the writing itself. I'm coming to terms with who the characters are, but unsure how many I will end up with. This, also, isn't new. Last year I think it took fully half a page before a woman introduced herself to me and becoming an object of desire for my main character. It seems my characters rarely, if ever, fall in love with who I set up for them.

This year I may steal a character from an earlier work, but that feels really dirty. I can come up with a new girl, somebody worthy of Dina. So far I've discarded, maybe, having her be independently wealthy, working in a lab, and being a car salesman. Something will come, I just trust my gut on that one.

Yesterday's entry was simply pathetic. This morning I'm feeling much better, rested even. I blame it on the debate.

Big Train Show is coming right along. Full of problems and sparse in details, I'm right where I should be. There will be an old guy who's content and who gets tangled up with a younger woman who involves him in something or other. I'm trying to remember the movie that happened in (if it's only one). I think it starred Melanie Griffith.

Mine won't be that madcap, nor as good, and it isn't my goal to copy it. The good news is I think I have an ending in mind, and that's all I really need. If I have the destination, I can fake the journey. So I think I have the conflict and the result. All I need now is to figure out how to work a Big Train Show into it!

Had an okay day. Nothing depressed me, nor did anything live up to my hopes. Things rarely anymore are as good or bad as I think they'll be, they just are.

I want most things to be better than they are.

The politicians all treat me as if I'm a brain-dead idiot, so maybe I am. I wear out the people around me, so maybe I'm expecting too much. I no longer know what's going on, just fading away, sinking like.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Today I proved that theory of Newton's, that one about objects at rest. Got very little done and didn't feel like doing much. Usually in the morning I make or have a set of plans or goals for that day, things I can't wait to start. Today? None of it.

Read some about the importance of character and began filling out a character sheet for Tod. I've never been much of one for those character sheets, which always remind me of D&D, but as I started to write down some history and things for my character the first thing that happened is he got a new name. Then, as I was thinking about it, the story started changing.

Now I think I may have come up with a new character, the trophy shop's owner. He might not be the one who's story it is, or maybe just not the one who meets Dina. I may have another char, someone younger who works in the trophy place, and that's good. I need some more people, just not sure yet how many or what they'll all do.

Installed samba on my box, but didn't configure it yet. Still missing the FreeBSD ports CD, which has some programs I'd like to install on the laptop. If I get industrious tomorrow, maybe I'll find it. I'm also thinking of moving more books to my room and paring down the shelves in the great room. Who knows what I'll end up doing tomorrow! Maybe just thinking and remembering...

Spent a little time on the forum but didn't feel like saying much. My mood is as gray as the sky's been, and I think I'm calming down. Lots to do, no doubt of that, but maybe tomorrow...

Ahhh, the change of seasons, LA style. It was foggy this morning, the mist stinging my face as I took an early morning short bike ride. The purpose of the ride was mundane (to see if I could climb a nearby hill) and the mist surprised me.

Also, I don't know. A sobering day when the roosters I've created and unleashed have come home to roost. I'll get accustomed to it. I have to.

On the novel front I think what may be the new thing this year is having a bad buy. Maybe not an out and out villain, but someone sneaky and out to get something. He isn't going to be my hero, but he may play a large part.

I'm feeling drained. I'm not sleepy, but I'm tired and want to go to sleep. I need to do some serious thinking, the kind that I'm forced to every once in awhile when reality shatters my dream world. No big deal, nothing that will drive me crazy, but another sad reminder of my place in the world.

You'd think by now I'd know better, that I'd be functional and able. I'd think so too, and we'd both be sadly mistaken!

Oh, man! What a debate the veeps just had! I can't wait until tomorrow to see if I got the winner right!

On a side note, I noticed Sen. Edwards punctuating his remarks with a fist. I wonder if I ever do that when *I* talk. I don't think so, and can't imagine it, but my guess is it resonates well with the American people.

Today was mostly frustrating. I had plans and things, but few of them made it to fruition. I *did* get the other computer working again (it had lost one of its CDs), but that wasn't on my list. I started to clean up around 'puter central (I was looking for a CD) but gave it up when I realized it was more work than reward. I may try again but not for a few days. I don't need the CD until late in Oct, if then.

Had big plans to do some serious mulling over of my upcoming novel. Didn't. I'm not yet good enough on my bike to concentrate on character development while dodging traffic. Walking is better for that: it gives me more time. I think it's good to have a character who has a quirk, but it must be one that makes sense. Just having someone who wears hats or who whistles isn't what I'm looking for. Sure, it makes them memorable to the reader in the book, but I don't think she or he would live on much past the last page.

I want a *real* character, one who's both likeable and who can stick with the reader. I'm thinking...

Oooh! Oooh! I better stop rambling on about my problems and start writing about writing. Too bad, too, because I was hoping to say something funny, like if there was a National Moping Hall of Fame I'd like to go there and see how I stack up against the acknowledged professionals.

Anyway. Writing. Um, yeah.

I have the title for this year's NaNo Entry, Big Train Show. No, I don't know what it's about. No, I don't know when I will.

I had a an idea about having a guy find something tossed aside on the shoulder of the freeway and having that lead him to a girl and so far that's the best I can come up with. I was thinking that would be it, that it would be another of my love stories, but I'm having grave misgivings.

I think that can be a good way to start a story, to have them meet, but will need more than that to make a story that interests me enough to write it.

Oh, and last night I came up with a new personal fear. I'm not sure if the woman who was kind enough to give me a ride speaks quietly or if I'm going seriously deaf. I could hear her talking, but not always make out what she was saying. I don't know if she's quiet or I'm deaf, and that's the truth.

NaNo is back. I may have to do a lot more blogging about writing (any would be more) now, but I'll be doing a lot more thinking about writing so I hope that it will be easy.

Before I knew it I had a message from a friend, and before I knew it I had wasted several hours on the fora. I don't feel the thrill and rush yet, but I think it will come. I need to do some serious walking or thinking to get my story in order, and maybe I can do that while riding.

It's been a day of holding my breath. I know the only treasures in life come from taking risks ("A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are for" is one of my favorite expressions), but I still don't like it. I always feel as if I'm setting myself up for rejection, even though that's rarely the outcome. The thing is, if I expect black or white, if that's all I can imagine, the answer is invariably orange.

I love surprises, but not sobering ones.

As to the debate....the best response I heard was someone remarking on the choice of neckware. Kerry, in an effort to get blue states, was wearing a red tie and Bush was wearing a blue one. I wish I'd noticed that, that I'd been the clever one.

Dammit. I can't wait until tomorrow when they tell me who won that debate.

Kerry gets points for being eloquent and reasonable but spent all his time telling us things instead of answering the questions. Can the man stay on topic for two minutes? Maybe these people have it right.

Bush just depresses me more every time I see him. I just want someone I like.

Personally, I'm tackling private demons, the ones that prevent me from having much of a social life. When I'm not making errors of judgement or being hypocritical I'm busy making errors of commission. I recognize that. What I can't get my arms around is how much I want to be accepted and how little I'm willing to change to be acceptable. I don't want to fight all the time, want to be comfortable and relaxed, and I keep doing shit that drives everyone around me to confront and challenge me. Will I ever learn?

Tomorrow...the first debate, sponsored by The Commission on Presidential Debates.

If only it was sponsored by Doritos or Goodyear or somebody, like a Superbowl halftime report.

You may recall when the debates were sponsored by the networks or by the League of Women Voters, an independent group who had the balls to stand up to the Republican and Democratic National Committees. The LOWV set the rules and the parties followed along. That went on until the late eighties, when the parties decided they wanted to run them and created the Commission on Presidential Debates.

If you didn't know, the CPD was formed by top guys at the two parties and is as independent as a tapeworm. Since the debates are popular and used by many to judge candidates, the CPD wanted to make sure their candidates would shine. What we have now is nothing except a PR staging.

The candidates have a short time to answer a question known in advance posed by a moderator. This means Mr. Kerry, for example, gets to script a perfect answer, saying just what he wants us to hear. The candidates are NOT allowed to directly question each other, which removes any semblance to a debate, and just go back and forth reciting rehearsed speeches. President Bush, for example, gets to ignore anything his opponent says and merely hit his taught speaking points.

And the gullible American public just eats it up, electing the assclown we deserve. I'm proud that the PR teams and campaign strategists get to choose our leader, and that so many of us enjoy being duped and manipulated.

May the best party apparatus win!

Now, more than ever, I wonder why I do this.

I'm not big on writing about events in my life or plans or clever ideas. Human beings are something like ninety percent emotional and that's the stuff I find interesting. I know I no longer have a following here and maybe it was my earlier entries that did me in. Still, I find recitations of my trip to the bike store no more thrilling than you do.

I guess it's okay to read about happenings in other's lives since I do some reasoning to determine why he or she feels so strongly about it that they want to share it with the world.

Blogs have been in the news a lot lately, as some sort of new arm of journalism. There have been blogging events and it's surely the wave of the future to be part of the blogging community. I'm just not sure that what I do or feel or am going through is the type of thing that's blogworthy.

Maybe it will be good to see if I can write something here every day for a month. It's like most of my writing and tantamount to shouting down a well, but I guess it will leave some sort of record of my passage.

One of the more tiring and distasteful ramifications of being a fuckup is that I'm continually dealing with people who are mad at me.

One would think I'd learn. I'm being optimistic thinking a belated cake will solve anything.

I took one of those Internet Tests

Linguistic: 7
Logical-Mathematical: 7
Spatial: 5
Bodily-Kinesthetic: 9
Musical: 2
Interpersonal: 5
Intrapersonal: 9

A Short Definition of your Highest Score

Bodily-Kinesthetic - the ability to use the body and tools to take effective action or to construct or repair, to build rapport to console and persuade, and to support others, to plan strategically or to critique the actions of the body, to appreciate the aesthetics of the body and to use those values to create new forms of expression. Possible vocations that use the bodily-kinesthetic intelligence include mechanic, trainer, contractor, craftsperson, tool and dye maker, coach, counselor, salesperson, sports analyst, professional athlete, dance critic, sculptor, choreographer, actor, dancer or puppeteer.

Intrapersonal - the ability to assess one's own strengths, weaknesses, talents, and interests and use them to set goals, to understand oneself to be of service to others, to form and develop concepts and theories based on an examination of oneself, and to reflect on one's inner moods, intuitions, and temperament and to use them to create or express a personal view. Possible vocations that use the intrapersonal intelligence include planner, small business owner, psychologist, artist, religious leader, and writer.

I don't so much track my mood as notice it.

I've never studied it, just been curious about it. I know events can change it but there was something on Nova or somewhere I saw once that had to do with human happiness values. What I remember from that show is that every human has some sort of baseline happiness value and that was set in something incredible, like the first six months following birth.

I don't know if that's my problem or not. The question I always return to is if my three isn't what someone else would call "really good" or if my lows are worse or better than others. I don't know what causes my descents, but I've grown used to them and they don't shake me as much as they should. I'm seeing now they're harder on those around me who care then they are on me and I really need to work harder to disguise them.

Maybe, now that my birthday has passed, it's time for me to grow up and act mature. Instead of throwing myself into pleasures or depths of despair, I should be normal, more even-keeled, less flighty and self-obsessed.

Maybe that's my new year's resolution.

Dammit.

I was sure this one was true. I'd spent the last month testing batteries, drinking plenty of fluids, buying sand, arranging my affairs , and all we get is a damn heat wave.

Okay. According to the weather channel today sets a LA mark for the hottest Sep 4th, ever, beating the old record by three or four whopping degrees, a record that had stood for over five years!

Go mercury!

This is, of course, good desert practice for me. Also, it's excellent for testing deoderants.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, maybe because I've just had another birthday. While this one was far better than any in my recent past, I'm still mindful of all that mortality crap.

These people may be my answer.

This morning I woke up around two with a sharp pain in my chest. It went away, but I was also remembering something, almost like a dream, but I think it's real.

Previously I had several missing hours around the time of my car wreck. I remember getting onto the freeway and the car making a weird noise when I turned right coming onto the freeway. I remember driving a bit, slowly, and decided the car was all right and I know I moved over to the number two lane. That would be my usual lane, but I don't remember anything much past entering the freeway.

The next thing I recall is a one second glance to my right and the realization that I was in an accident. I recall seeing the car to my right and thinking I was going to hit it (and may have already hit something or someone), and I'm pretty sure I swerved to avoid hitting him.

Then, waking up in the MRI machine, hearing a voice tell me not to move around. I remember the stripes of light on the semi-circle over my head, moving either my eyes or my head from side to side to see what was going on, then falling asleep (or lapsing back into unconsciousness).

Then, talking to a cop and asking how much trouble I was in. I think he told me not to worry about that, then I asked about messing up traffic and he told me not to worry about that, either.

Then, waking up for good, some three or four hours after the wreck.

This morning I woke up and in addition to the pain in my chest I recalled being strapped to the back board and either in the ambulance or being loaded into it. I felt an overwhelming and thorough sense of panic, frightened to my core and unable to be rational. Also, the following exchange:
Me: Where the fuck am I? -or- "What the fuck is going on?"
[ I recall swearing, though I may not have done so. I can remember swearing a lot, mostly because I needed to get someone's attention]
Some guy: You were in an accident
Me: An accident?
[I remember being incredulous, if that's the word I want]
I look around in a panic, may have been crying, and I recall this horrible, deep and solitary, sense of fear. Then, nothing.

I think it's real. Also, it explains why my brain is reluctant to subject itself to *that* again!

Id' been avoiding it because I confused it with white water kayaks.

Canoeing demands to be kept as a sport. Those athletes get no other major stage, have no professional use for their abilities, and all look to be statues waiting to happen. I think it would be better if instead of tank tops they wore fringed jackets or maybe feathered headbands, though.

The kayakers can leave the Olympics and just return to having fun on the weekends.

I should also point out that I love the California cheese commercials and always have. I guess they only show them in Californial, so some of you may have missed pictures of cows surviving earthquakes or making getaways from Wisconsin. I was brought up a notch or two by the one with the rooster, whom I recognized immediately as Bobcat Goldwait. I love him, cranky fellow that he is.

And I had to watch a lot of the wrestling on the Spanish station since NBC only showed (when I was watching) the US people competing. The things I most like about wrestling is The World According to Garp, which featured a wrestler as the main character, and those ears.

I don't think participants in any other sport are as immediately and uniquely identifiable as wrestlers. No one else has cauliflower ears and only wrestlers have them. You can see someone tall and think he plays basketball, but you could be wrong. Someone muscular may or may not be a weightlifter, but no one except wrestlers have cauliflower ears. I think they wear them as a badge, and well they should.

I need not point out that none of the phony TV wrestlers have them.

I just talked myself out of feeling I had any worth. This is a good thing.

For the past few days I've been what I call depressed. It's not that I feel bad and want to die, it's that I don't care, am apathetic, and see no reason to do anything at all. This state is what I refer to as my "2 mood." It was worse this time than I can remember, and is still with me about three-fourths of the time, but right now it's not my companion.

When I have feelings like "you aren't any good" or "you aren't (or can't) do that" that's normal for me. What had been happening is that I hadn't even been having anything to talk myself out of. That's when it hurts, that's when I'm least happy with myself. Just now I've had a few ideas about how things would improve and when I had to talk myself out of them I knew I was resurfacing, getting back to normal. It's much more bleak when I fail to have encouraging thoughts at all.

I expect to maintain a three by later today, that it won't be a blip but will be my standard, and that's a state I hope to enjoy. It's kind of like a headache, though. When I have one I know it, but when I take aspirin it's not until much later I realize I no longer do.

I wonder, now, if I'll get enough money from my old job to fix up my eyesight. I'm embarrassed by my growing deafness, and ashamed that I'm only now seeing what my vision trouble is. Maybe it just started, or maybe I just now have identified that my right eye is only good for seeing colors. Part of me sees this deterioration as a natural thing, but I may wish to fight it.

It must be my age.

Right now the Olympics are on and featuring (naturally) two US teams competing for the semi-final in Women's Beach Volleyball. I suppose they're drawing a large audience, mostly of men, and mostly of those who've perhaps never seen a woman in a bathing suit.

Okay, they're wearing thongs and young enough to ignore me, but I just can't get interested in watching them run and pretend to be Olympic Athletes. Every day at the beach people are playing this game and every day I ignore them. It's a pastime fer chrissakes, an amusement, it's not a Goddamn Olympic Event!

I'm heartened, somewhat, by the tans the competitors have, which show at least a nod to the location of the event, but that's not enough to save it for me. I sadly couldn't care less how much these women have struggled and sacrificed to be in Athens. I'd much prefer to see the Croatian and Bulgarian entrants in the Decathalon, but I'm not sure anyone other than two Americans are competing.

This coverage sucks.

I don't often subject myself to TV commercials but sometimes it can't be helped. Whenever I do, I end up regretting it.

There's some ad running for some new birth control pill that claims to be the product of the world's largest birth control pill company, or the oldest, or the most well-respected. Trouble is, nowhere in the ad is the name of the company given, which I consider a sham.

Some new scenter says in their first line that "Everyone's talking about the Oust" (or whatever the product name is). I think I'd like to sue them, because NOBODY I know is talking about it, and it's a lie. When I was young my mother used to take me out when she collected door to door for charities, and I visited many of the same homes myself when I later had a paper route. Some of the houses did indeed have a smell that could be considered offensive (and there used to be an ad talking about "houseotosis"). I've seen, though, that most any smell is one that I get used to, usually within minutes, and I find covering odors with those oil things (not candles!) that smell like pine or apple or ocean breezes just cloying.

The winner of the day, however, must be Pedigree dog food. In an attempt to capitalize on a recent food fad, their weight loss formula for overweight dogs does in fact claim to contain fewer carbohydrates.

I wasn't asked, but I'd get rid of many of the Olympic sports. There's just too many and I blame money, mostly people

wanting more of it or the honor and prestige of having their pet sport in the Olympics. It's either money or power

that ruins things for me every time.

I guess it's like dogs. People who (make money) breeding Shar-Peis want to be recognized as being important. So, they

hold little contests, create standards, award points and eventually do the politicking necessary to get their breed

recognized by the AKC. I imagine it's a lot the same with the powerful and self-serving Beach Volleyball lobby.

Anyway, here's a list of all the Olympic events from the NBC site. The first thing I'd get rid of are all the sports

that more properly belong in the X-games. More to the point, and it hurts me to do this is some cases, I'd also

eliminate any sport that has its own championship thing already. Ideally the only time I'd like to see the athletes

compete in their Olympic Events is during the Olympics. That there are world games for track and field and gymnastics

and swimming already is just a sad reflection on everyone's obsession with money.

·Archery - Stays
·Badminton - Sorry. This is a pastime not a sport.
·Baseball - Nope. It has nothing to do with the Olympics.
·Basketball - Nope. They already have leagues and teams and championships.
·Beach Volleyball - No. This is another fun thing to do at the beach, not an Olympic event.
·Boxing - Yes
·Canoe/Kayak - No. This is no sport, either. It's recreation.
·Cycling - Nope. They already have some big race through France. The Velodrome stuff has nothing to do with life.
·Diving - Stays, but only one person at a time.
·Equestrian - Nope. If the rich people who compete in this want to, they can start their own meet.
·Fencing - Stays
·Field Hockey - It's a team sport. I don't think I believe in team sports.
·Gymnastics - Stays, but they should be harsher in the judging. If you fall off, you fail.
·Handball - Two strikes and it's out. It may be a team sport, and it's something I've played. I am not an athlete and anything I've done should be discarded on general principles.
·Judo - No. Wrestling is an event, we don't need every form of melee.
·Modern Pent. - Stays
·Rhythmic Gymn. - Goes. Stupidest attempt to doing something artful, ever.
·Rowing - Stays.
·Sailing - I think it should be just single sailors in little supplied boats. None of this team crap.
·Shooting - Stays
·Soccer - They have the World Cup. This is unnecessary
·Softball - Goes.
·Swimming - Stays
·Synch. Swimming - Goes. Not a sport. Neither are cat shows.
·Table Tennis - Again, this is something I play and I'm no athlete so it must go.
·Taekwondo - Goes (see Judo)
·Tennis - Goes. Don't they have Wimbledon and things like that?
·Track & Field - Stays.
·Trampoline - This is in the Olympics? Not if I have anything to say about it.
·Triathlon - Goes. This is all over the TV all the time.
·Volleyball - Not a sport, it's another pastime.
·Water Polo - Stays. These people never get any coverage and the sport is unknown, so it can stay.
·Weightlifting - Stays
·Wrestling - Stays.

So, out of the original 34 listed sports I'd cut it down to a little over a dozen. This should make it easier for

countries such as Greece to hold the games since there'd be far fewer "athletes" needing venues and pampering.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. To everyoine for everything.

I'm wondering if the terroritsts have won.

There are enough empty seats at the Olympics to make me sad, to make me feel bad for Greece. They're doing a great job but, like Rodney Dangerfield, aren't getting any respect. Now it's true that I'm a huge fan of Greek culture and am pretty dead set against the chauvinism that runs through all the US coverage of the games, but I wonder how much of the rest of the world is dancing to our song or following our lead.

Leading up to the games I remember hearing lots of stuff about security concerns. I don't know, of course, but I wonder if that, along with the whole ugly American habit, is what kept people away from these games. The US news was full of stories about how far behind the Greeks were when it came to finishing the venues and I think that, along with our national skittishness, may have kept lots of people away.

The Greeks said it would all be ready, but we reported that with a wink.

The good news is I can watch the games without continual shots of idiots yelling "USA" and being obnoxious with "We're #1" signs and shit. Um, I don't think it's a question that we're richer and more powerful than the other countries. This isn't news. What I don't like is how obnoxious and arrogant we have to be about it all.

It started with the "Dream Team" basketball thing a few Olympics ago, when we could send professionals. How some people felt any pride at all about how we beat the rest of the world by forty points a game while fielding Magic Johnson and Larrry Bird is a sad mystery to me. Now I like the events Americans don't care about, the ones we consider beneath us and not worth competing in. Those are the ones I enjoy, watching the athletes who don't get nonstop US coverage doing their best and winning and losing.

Nothing to me says more about the Olympics than watching a Thai fencer, or a match between Uruguay and Romania. Nothing says less about the Olympics than Medal Counts or focusing on that swimmer guy.

I should have been a secret agent, man.

I'm afraid of being caught, of being discovered. Most of the shit I do is fine, but I much prefer doing all my things in private where no one can see me and, most importantly, judge me. This extends to everything. I get nervous when people watch me eat or brush my teeth, and I guess I'm afraid that I'll attract comment.

Instead of being caught taking out the trash or doing my laundry, I like to do it when no one's watching or can see me. I may have a serious problem here. I love the feeling of accomplishment, but I guess I want everyone to think I'm some sort of magical guy who just gets things done without ever having to do the work necessary to do it.

I don't want to be caught paying my bills or cleaning up. I don't mind doing those things, I just don't want to be seen doing them. I think part of this stems from what happens, or can happen, if someone sees me doing these things. They may comment on it, or ask about it, and then I'll feel as if I'm being judged and, of course, found wanting.

People will correct how I sweep or fold clothes, and I live in fear of that happening, of being caught doing something "wrong." I have no self-esteem and am constantly in fear of being corrected. I do many things, and some of them are even done well and are good things, but until I'm convinced I'm okay I'm scared that I'll be judged and lose.

Goddamit. Everything is better if I leave it alone.

Things could be worse, but that doesn't prevent them from being fucked now.

Fuck everything.

You know how a boxer or someone is supposed to jump right up after being knocked down, is supposed to steel himself and go back and get into it? I just wanna lay there, not get up, just make it all go away.

I am so fucked. I'm making a normal life a problem. Just fuck it all. I really don't care, not about me, not about my shit. It's all shit in my life, and I just don't want it any more.

I offer my apologies. I have little to say and don't feel much like much of anything. Maybe later.

I guess things are back to normal. My ribs sitll hurt, and my head does, too, but I'm getting better I guess. More importantly, someone else's hospital visit was successful beyond my wildest expectations. It's so good to see people happy and recovering quickly.

I'm learning about buses, but mostly because of necessity. They go through many areas of town, distinguished mostly by the shops that appear alongside the roads. Huge sections of strip malls featuring the same stores everyone has everwhere in the world (Why in the world would anyone shop at them?), then in priveledged areas stores which provide nothing but services or things desired by those higher up the Maslow Hierarchy of Needs. No chains there (except Starbucks), though many of the names are familiar.

I'm thinking fifty years old is a good milestone. By now enough things have changed that the world I knew is no longer in existence. People are basically the same (I don't think we've changed all that much in the last ten thousand years), but they want different things now. That's good, that's progress, but the world that shows me isn't one I feel comfortable in.

The other day I counted four out of ten drivers talking on phones. I wonder what's so important in their lives. I saw the majority of the people on the bus and outside walking listening to iPods or Walkmen. I guess their own lives and wants are more important than the outside world, and I'm not sure if I'm jealous or saddened by that. I still don't see the sense in shutting yourself inside your wants, isolating yourself like that. I suppose it's the same reason I like convertibles.

Right now I have hopes. No information, though, and everything is out of my hands.

Leo is now behind me.

This car carried me and many of friends places. Some people liked him, others wished he had a top or that it was up.

I'm not sure non-ragtop people ever understand convertibles, and I can't explain why I like them so. They're noisy, dirty, windy, and everyone feels it's okay to ask you questions or try and talk to you.

Still. I wish I still had my car. I wish lots of things. As they say, wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which fills up first.

I've done a little today. Very little. And hardly any of it important.

I *did* file the DMV paper, but have avoided all afternoon calling the place where my car is stored, arranging for a wrecking yard to take the damn thing, or renting a car so I can go to the wrecking yard and get the valuable stuff out of the car.

I need to do that. I just won't face reality or facts.

I wish I was a better person about getting things done, or that I had a Personal Asst to do things for me.

I hate myself, but got all my laundry done. Little things like that I can do. Big things, important things, I shirk or avoid.

Yesterday was my first full day after my accident when I was back home. Yesterday, after my move, I was sullen and didn't care too much what happened to me, ever.

Today, so far, not that bad. I'm not excited or hopeful, I'm going through the motions of being alive, of getting things done, but I miss everything except some sort of intellectual involvement with my life. There's hardly any spark, I don't care much if my ribs hurt or not, am not fired up about anything.

Not bad, but not good, either.

I'm waiting to see how all the money stuff works out, how much I owe everyone, how much I have. I hate having my life defined by money, but there are times when that's how everyone sees me. I guess it's not so much what I am, but what I can furnish that determines my worth.

The harsh realities of my fucking up are voerwhelming the tenderness I remember and seek. I'm unsure if it's better to have no hopes or to learn to understand and accept that they often won't be met. My guess is I would do well in the final third of my life to accept rejection graciously, to not be bowed by things not going my way, but to act as normal people do, shrug it off, dust myself off, and smile into the future.

I just can't see me doing that.