Veteran's Day

It’s the 11th of November. Auspicious because we have a VA hospital here, so lots of vets, so lots of ceremony. Nice, touching, doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m so over 4 years in the Navy I wrote a story about it, and that cleared my mind. No more PTSD from that.

This is Wensdy. I’m sitting here in my Writer’s Uniform – undies and my Koala houseshoes – trying to get myself together enough to work on Buster’s book, and maybe write a couple of Songs stories. So far I’ve piddled – a lot. Wrote some long, convoluted, and utterly hilarious emails. Invited another customer to be on my Songs email list. If she opts in, that’ll be 16.

Doesn’t sound like very many, does it? Well, look at it from my perspective: I’m an author. I have five (5) books in print, http://stores.lulu.com/forrest-landry and I’m working on a sixth (6). I’m not selling very many…but then, I haven’t taken the time nor effort to bust my ass promoting them. So I’m my own worst enemy.

In all, I’ve sold about 200 books since publication in 2005. Most of those are Artesia, which several have said has elements of my life story in it. Oh, well.

NOW: I’m an author. I don’t get feedback. I write in solitude, I publish, I offer it for sale. Yeah, I talk up the books to people, have a business card with the Lulu url on it, but I don’t do the publicity dance. You might say I’m starved for feedback. Well, I am. So I’ve offered my stories in return for critiques. Nobody’s said they’re not going to reply, but I have my doubts. I’m an author, not a musician, I don’t get the big applause. Besides, I like working in my undies. And the Koala slippers sure beat those ratty bunny slippers I finally threw away. Bunnies. My God, I had NO shame – just cold feet.

Um, gotta catch up: Yesterday I had a wonderful time, acting like a NORMAL person. I took Vivian to WallyWorld – bought a few things, followed her as she perambulated over damn near the whole 7.5 acres (it’s a Superstore), had lunch at the McDonalds – then at home I decided to go see a movie. Got her in the truck again, zoomed over to the theater, and it’s locked. DAMN! Looked at the movie schedule in the paper again. Ursh. They only show it late in the afternoon during the week. First feature was at 4:30. Well, I wanted the early bird special ($2 off) and the Senior discount ($2 off). Back home, to sit here and spin out stories until 4.

Nope. Here on my desk was a piece of newspaper with an ad for a local tea room: two pots of tea for free – until Friday. Gotta go, want to see what the place is like. Get Vivian into the truck (that takes my putting the step stool on the ground, holding her as she precariously climbs aboard, picking up the stool, closing the door…) and head for the tea room.

Now, don’t think this is all easy as pie. It’s not. She wants to rest, after wiping herself out doing WalMart, but she wants to be with me more. So she gets up and comes along. That’s very nice.

Get to the tea room. It’s VERY nice inside. The clientele expects amenities, so we get the cotton tablecloth, the cotton napkins, the genteel atmosphere, the waitress with the spiked hair and the stud in her nostril. Tea, cookies for her and a pumpkin thingie for me (pumpkin custard, a ginger snap cookie, scoop of vanilla ice cream, drizzled with probably butterscotch syrup) that was so good I damn near didn’t give her a taste. Fabulous.

They close at 4, so we headed for the theater. Sat in the dark for a good 20 minutes, and right at the last second four people come in. Two developmentally disabled, two handlers. The movie starts:

A Christmas Carol, starring Jim Carrey. Dear God, it’s not a comedy. It’s Disney’s rendition of Dickens’ novel. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (something to say when you have nothing to say, and I’m an author!) animation – digital imagery so fabulous I was blown away. (Okay, so I don’t see many movies.) The story plays out according to the circa 1860s plot, and I was brought to tears several times. Yeah, an old(!) softy. But we thoroughly enjoyed it. Plus, saw trailers/previews for two coming attractions that looked pretty interesting: Princess and the Frog (more amazing animation) and The Spy Next Door starring Jackie Chan. God, it’s been so MANY years since I’ve seen a chop-socky flick…I thought Jackie looked pretty damn good for being 87…I remember him making films when I was a lad!

Got home and took a nap. Man alive, I really LOVE sliding into those Egyptian cotton sheets – they’re SOOO slick – and sinking down into Heaven – the foam mattress pad is divine. My new pillow is still a bit of a shock – it’s VERY resistant to squishing down – but it doesn’t smell. (My old one was maybe 20 years old.)

And we wandered over to wash clothes at 11:30. Yeah, all the machines were empty, no waiting in line. I had three, she had four. One on my side was busted, big note not to lose money in it, but I didn’t need it.

I’d taken my trazodone tablet before heading over there…oooh, bad decision! It hit just as I needed to pull my shirts out of the dryer. Woozy, dizzy, slightly nauseated, disoriented, vision distorted, feeling kinda numb. Somehow managed to get back upstairs, and went straight to bed. Hung up my shirts but didn’t touch anything else. Put on my CPAP but don’t remember my head hitting the pillow.

But NO drugged feeling this morning. That’s great. And only one cup of coffee. I’m REALLY thirsty, so I’m sucking on a tall glass of water. That’ll work. Gotta load my meds box, I’m empty and wanna fill’er up before I need to take my evening dose. Plus I’ll get my desk top back – right now I’ve got pill bottles lined up.

Okay, that’s done. Now it’s time for business. Just got an email from the print shop – So Fast, and they’re good – showing me two pdf’s of my new card. I chose the black ink because the green is $35 for 250. No, I’ll go with the $14 for the black. Called and approved.

Still waiting on the call from Penney’s, telling me my new khakis are in. Well, I mean, I got my order confirmation on the 10th…and here I thought they were magic!

I’m gonna wait till later this afternoon to write another Songs story. I’m picking up Buster’s Prophet now.

Later

Ahhhh. Couple of hours on his book. Feel much better, I’ve made progress. It’s time to pull my head out of his dream world and fix lunch/dinner for Vivian and myself. I’m cooking a steak on the George Foreman Fat Reducing Super Grill Easy Cleaning counter top appliance. It really IS easy to clean – set it on the counter next to the sink and start slopping water on the Teflon. What doesn’t slide down comes right off when I use one of those scrubbies. Best part is, it doesn’t take much scrubbing, usually just a pass over the textured parts cleans it right up. It’s a great cooker, easier to clean than a skillet…

I’ve been exchanging emails with my cousin in Boston. Offered her a place on the Songs email list, and sent her the demo. She comes back with corrections – the think I want most – and after scraping my bruised ego off the floor tiles, made those changes. Story feels better as a result. Maybe I can get her to vet these for me.

Now it’s go burn a steak. Get ready, George!

Damn, I gotta put clothes on, too…grrrr.

MUCH Later…

Okay, I’m working on getting into bed. Still haven’t – the phone’s rung six times! That’s a LOT of calls. No response. I just hung up. But they kept me up.

When I got back up here, the hair on my neck trimmed, I took the trash out. All this under the close scrutiny of Jackie. She was sitting over at Jamie’s, b.s.’ing. Loudly, which is the only way she talks. I think she’s mostly deaf, don’t know. But when I walked out of Vivian’s to dump the hair umbrella (that catches it), she was sitting there staring at me. Then when I left a few minutes later, she was sitting there staring. Then when I took the trash out, she made no bones about staring. Now, this bothered me from the dumping the hair time until I came out with my trash. I’d suddenly gotten into that “just don’t give a damn” frame of mind, and whatever she does is fine. Except for spreading rumors that I have AIDS. Yeah, she told that one, all the gossips were telling it, saying it was from her.

Next was my shower. Boy, it feels good to have all them little stubblies off my neck. During my run through the rain locker, I heard a loud pounding on my door. I wasn’t about to go see who it was – didn’t give a damn. I was coming clean.

That was when the phone started. I came in here to listen to the answering machine – just heavy breathing, then a click. Got a wild hair and pulled the George grill off the stove, put it by the sink. Went after it with soap and water. Used a sponge with that nylon netting on it. Man alive, didn’t have to do much – it simply came clean fast and easy. Decided to do the whole thing, not just the grill plates. Got tons of grease off. Made a mess of the counter, had small pieces of hardened grease in the sink, dirty water everywhere, until I got smart and just held the whole thing under the faucet. THAT worked. Put it in the dish drainer to dry. Kept answering the phone. After the second call, there was a female voice saying, “Please hold the line.” Well, that’s another bill collector. I hang up. I know I owe, I don’t have any money, and they’re not getting what I got. My credit rating’s so low I only get the lowest amount of food stamps. Ursh.

With the grill clean, it’s time to go to bed…the phone rings and rings again. I’m letting the machine get it, I can always call back to those I wanna talk to. Now I’m off to bed. Talk about losing an evening – no time to write. Maybe when I come home from Vivian’s. I have to take my sleeping pill when I get up here, and it takes a while to kick in…

Bedtime.

Songs

Yesterday was Monday, when I do the church office after Fred does the morning. I got up early and wrote almost all of another Song. Had to put it in park when I ran out of time, Viv called me to see if I wanted coffee.

I had misgivings about stopping a story in mid-creation. Haven’t done that in so long I didn’t think I could. Feeling iffy, I left for church.

Had a wrestle. Couldn’t get the SD machine to download both sermons. Finally went through it, using the book to do each step super carefully. Yeah, it worked. Then I made five dubs, for people who wanted the sermons.

When I got to Vivian’s – after 4 – I was exhausted. Ate and came up here for my nap.

And now it’s 2 a.m. I’m trying to clear my head so I can sleep. I’ve just finished my Song from this morning. Oh, it came back okay – just took me fifteen minutes to read what I’d already written, and get that feeling again. I really think I did a good job. Well, we’ll see what my readers have to say about it.

Alright, I’m smoothing out. Bed calls.

Raining!!

Right now it's 1:30 a.m. Monday morning. I wrote almost all of this post yesterday.

It’s after church and I’m temporarily trapped in here. It’s POURING out there! So I’m going to sit around until it slacks off and I can run out to the truck without getting totally soaked.

At least I have a cup of coffee…it’s cold, because the coffee pot shuts off after an hour, and this was made at 9. But it’ll work.

I’m heading for Vivian’s for lunch. We’re having soup. OOPS!! I gotta go by the grocery store on the way, get foodstuffs for my fridge! Ursh!

“Ursh” is my new word meaning “damn” or “shit” or something equally fierce, to express frustration/resignation.

I have quite a list of CDs to make tomorrow…5 at the present time. People seem to be jumping on the CD bandwagon.

Okay, it’s slacked off a bit. I’m off.

Later, at home:

Had lunch at Viv’s. Took her the cans of meat I bought at the store – but I’d gotten tuna instead of chicken!! So I have to take those back tomorrow…

Got up this morning at 7. Alarm jolted me out of a deep sleep. Ate, made coffee, sat down here and after pissing in the wind, I decided to write a story. Pulled up “Songs Catalog” and the next one on the list sounded fine. So, I started. That was about 7:50.

I saved it at 8:50, updated the Songs Catalog, moved the lyrics into the Used folder, and got dressed for church. Nice, to have another one written. Now there are 24 in the chute. All I have to do is let two or three out each week, and I’ll have a book in no time.

I’m off to bed. I NEED a nap…

LOOKOUT, BRUCE!!

Holy COW!! I’ve gotta call somebody!! I got hit by an overwhelming urge to CLEAN UP!! Egad! So far I’ve gone through my clothes – got a lot of stuff cleared out, still gotta go through the closet – and have a modest pile in the living room. Just about whirlwind in here, the computer/dining room – pulled almost everything out from under the other desk (table), threw a bunch of old stuff (from 2007/2008) away, carried three boxes to the store room closet (telephone cords, computer cables, one with odds and ends I’d forgotten I had), got ready to re-stack the empty boxes back under this table/desk and got sidetracked. Found myself in the bedroom rearranging my bedding bookcase. Took the two new pillows in there and actually PUT ONE ON THE BED!!! ZOWIE!! Stashing the other new one on top of the pile in the corner, debated going through the rest of the closet right then, but restrained myself (you have any idea how hard it is to get loose from handcuffs? I don’t LIKE restraining myself) and did a bit of straightening up in the bathroom…now I can actually GET TO the commode.

An urge came over me – don’t start, I KNOW I’m in the middle of an urge – to have a cup of coffee – in case I wanted to DO something. Hustle bustle into my Pullman kitchen and pop the cup into the ‘wave. Just happen to look – just LOOK – at the sink and WHAMMO!! Swept away again. Got the steel wool and some soap and went after the back of the sink like Patton after Europe. No, I DON’T remember that. I’ve read jacket blurbs on a couple of WWII books that mentioned him, and have seen a newsreel story on his campaign. That makes me an expert.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah – scrubbing the sink. Got suds all over the place, then the ‘wave dings. Dry my hands, pull the cup out, spoon in the coffee, and get back on the sink. Finally ran out of dirt on the very limited space I had decided to actually do something about, and put everything back. By now the coffee had cooled enough to be immediately drinkable, so I sat down here and gone crazy on this keyboard.

Alright, it’s time. Songs For Sarah calls. I’m off and running…

It’s 1:20 a.m. Monday

And I’m just home. Last night I wrote another Song For Sarah. It’s good, if I say so myself.

Vivian and I had a wonderful evening.

I’ve got my alarm set for 9. Gotta go run the church office at noon. I’ll have enuf time in the a.m. to write another Song. I’m really getting into those – they come out so easily.

I’m off to bed.

BStone End

First, Friday:

Got up at 9. That’s 2 hours earlier than I’ve set for myself. Managed to get a bite to eat, dressed, and downstairs. Got Vivian to Tammy’s in time. Headed for HEB to see if the guys were there, for coffee. Nobody. Headed home. Coffee here, email, went back and picked her up. Decided on Chinese, which I had a real craving for. So we drove across the new bridge – just opened it last Wensdy – got real impressed – they did a truly marvelous job, if you knew what it was like before – and got to the restaurant just before the lunch rush.

Had a meal that couldn’t be beat. Loved it. BUT!! While we were at the table, the PA system kept playing these oldies…Moon River was one. I just kept writing down song titles, getting story ideas for every one. Amazing!

Went to Penney’s. They had a sale, in which pillows were “buy one get one 99¢.” Well, I haven’t bought new pillows since…at least 1987, by my reckoning. Never could find one firm enough at WalMart. And I kept thinking that Penney’s pillows were too expensive – probably $22 apiece or so – WITHOUT CHECKING!! My, my, my, poverty consciousness running rampant! So, this weekend there’s this sale, I need pillows, and just don’t give a damn. Gonna buy pillows.

I thought for sure I was gonna run into the same problem as at WalMart: too soft. I mean, I put my head on it and it sinks WAAAAAYYY down, almost flat. I want a PILLOW!! The one I have at home, that’s 22 years old, is a lump. Holds my head up. I find I sleep better with a solid firm pillow because I’m not flat. Flat means I have more apneas, while wearing my CPAP or not.

Well, Eureka. Found two “Won’t collapse” models. $16.99. Yep, the second was just the dollar. Great! Now I can put that old headrest in the corner, to use as a weight when I go hot-air ballooning.

Checked on my business cards for Pine Trail Press. Not ready yet. No biggie. Home again, on the internet, write emails for a while, then type the songs into my Songs For Sarah catalog. I think I have 15 ideas in the chute now. Gonna have to take an afternoon and crank out a few. I mean, there’s always more.

At four we were to visit Buster and Anita. We like them, they like us, I love visiting him…while we were there, he says that BStone’s got enough stories in it, he wants to start the third book. Even had a name for it: Prophet? Or Dreamer? Okay, that means I have to finish off BStone: do the massaging of the body, edit and change the header, go through it with a fine-toothed comb, and pronounce it done. Because it ain’t done till I SAY it’s done. My OCD’s in charge here.

Now, Saturday:

I’m still checking on the effect of the trazodone. Supposed to help me sleep. Well, the first two nights I woke up feeling drugged – doped up. That stopped and I feel like I’m waking up in the middle of the night again. I mean, I get up for a potty break, awake. BUT!! Then I go right back to sleep, deeply.

This morning, for instance. Got to bed at 1:30. Woke up at 3, bathroom, right back to sleep. Woke up at 7, bathroom, back to sleep. Woke up at 10, just lay there, half dozing. That felt good, I think I got rest even though I was half-cognizant. Finally up at 11. Feel pretty good: not doped, not sludgy, just “normal.” With vitamins and coffee, I ought to be fine soon. Sure enough, at noon I’m doing great. So I think I’ve found a good mix.

Today is Buster’s BStone. And maybe begin Prophet. Gotta see. I might get BStone done and whip out some Songs. Have to see, it’s too early to tell.

Now I gotta go back up everything on my flash drive…

It’s already 4 p.m.

and I’m just now getting back from a two-hour lunch at Vivian’s. What seems to be a quick visit always turns into a two hour sojourn. Cuts into my day. I wanted to be back up here working on Buster’s book at 3, so I’d have an open block to finish the whole thing. I’m at the final proofing stage, where I HAVE TO be utterly focused on the book as a whole. Can’t be interrupted. Lose my place and I have to go back to the start. That’s really REALLY frustrating.

Okay, enough diatribe. I’m gonna make a run for it, see if I can get through. If not, well, there’s always tomorrow afternoon. If I get home from church and sit down here immediately, I might have a clear block of time to do it. We’ll see.

I’ve got to get this story emailed to Buster, ASAP. He’s waiting with bated breath, and I don’t want him turning blue from it.

On to the book…

Egad.

Where DOES the time go? It’s already 8:15. Vivian’s called, wondering where I am. Well, I just now finished fixing the templates for Buster’s books. Yeah, BOOKS. I had to go back and make some major modifications on Broken Stone. Then I realized the final copy of Trail of Life was messed up. So I went in and fixed it – got all the nitty-gritty polished up. And I took all the modifications to Prophet.

What took most of the time was the argument with Headers and Footers. Seems that if you allow M$ to have their way, they’ll link everything to the previous section. That screws up the whole megillah. I mean, it sucks. After a protracted wrestle, I managed to get the template to look like I want it to. Saved that SOB.

I’ve emailed Buster the final edition of Broken Stone. I included the list of stories entered, so he has a chapter of contents of sorts. Now I’m waiting on him to send me the corrections to the “What People Are Saying” section, and to the “Acknowledgments” page. When those are in place, I’ll email him the updated mss and I’ll go over there maybe Thursday, do the Lulu dance. Create a cover, see what we can do with it.

I’m hungry. I’ve had a snack of cottage cheese and yogurt, but I want to EAT something. Maybe she’s got food down there…

Attack of the Somnolents

Dear God, I feel drugged. Oh, well, of course I am, I’m taking all KINDS of drugs. But this last addition, the trazodone, to help me sleep, has jumped my ass like a gorilla on a banana. I feel so out of it this morning I’m not sure three-four cups of coffee will do it. Have to see.

Dr. Shaw is VERY worried about my not sleeping. So, trazodone. She gave me 150s, and said to start with half’s for awhile, to get used to it. So I’m on halves for the next week. And oh, wow. Total drop off into the arms of Morpheus. Dreamless deep no-moving-around, no lying-there-thinking-of-stuff SLEEP. It’s the kind of rest I know I need.

But I’m waking up feeling so sludgy I’m not sure…well, not true. I CAN get out of bed, function normally. I just don’t WANT to. Feel enervated. Now: this morning is the second on the traz, and I don’t know whether I’ll still feel like this in a couple of days, or a week. Have to give it time.

And: when I get up, I take my meds, then reach over for the vitamins. Now: over this past Summer, I’ve noticed that when I take my vitamins, the 2 grams of C, the multi, and the Super B, I have energy all day long. I’m usually so awake I can’t really nap in the afternoon. Too bouncy. Now we’re gonna see how traz mixes with the vitamins. If everything goes right, I’ll be perfectly okay.

Now I gotta drink my coffee and start on Buster’s BStone.

Later that afternoon, she pulled into a Seven-Eleven for a pack of cigarettes, two beers (one wouldn’t last to the house, two would make her scream over having to pee RIGHT NOW!!, but one-and-a-half would give her just enough to make it inside before letting go, and a chocolate bar to give her energy to MAKE it home. As she turned to get out, her skirt rode up, exposing her bright red panties. She heard a crash and looked up to see the guy standing by the truck next to her, obviously staring. He’d dropped his beer. She shrugged and got out, letting her skirt fall. Closed the car door and headed inside. She just didn’t care, it really wasn’t important.

I polished off an hour-and-fifteen-minutes on BStone, got up and off to church just in time. Gerry was waiting for me. I’d figured she’d be early…

It was a good interview. She was forthcoming, funny, serious and open. Nice. Got a lot of good material. Now to get it written and sent off to her.

Mandy opted in on the Songs series. Gerry asked to be in, and I told her she had to opt in. So I sent her the email for that. She’s read one or two of my books, so I’m pretty sure she’ll say yes.

After church I sprinted by WallyWorld and picked up a clock for my bathroom. Less than $4. What a deal. Back here at the ranch, Vivian had lunch for me – an utterly fabulous BLT – Dear God, how did I go so many years without one? – and a bratwurst. Took her garbage out and am up here on the keyboard.

Following this morning’s query, I’m feeling pretty good. The traz doesn’t seem to be lingering – or the vitamins are counterbalancing it – or I’m adjusting to it just fine. I’m gonna give it another month before deciding if they’re good or not.

Among the flurry of emails I sent out, telling people I was gonna be emailing Songs, I included my sister and my sister-in-law. Haven’t heard a thing from my sister, and since my sister-in-law replied today, I know why. I WON’T hear from her. She’s pissed that I wasn’t at the wedding last June. Now, in retrospect, I’m feeling pretty relieved that I wasn’t there. With this kind of feeling running rampant, I see that if my not being there was such a huge thing as to cut me out of the family loop, then I have no business trying to continue to be a part of the family. I mean, my brother hasn’t contacted me – for any reason – since before Sherry died, in Feb 2007.

I reckon “Skiles Disfunctionality” had struck again. Now I won’t hear anything from anybody for the next 7-10 years. Y’know, that’s sort of a big relief. I’ve changed so much this year it would take several hours in a phone call or 70-100 LONG emails to try to get even a tiny BIT of the new me across to them. They still have this image of me as “crazy old mixed-up-messed-up Forrest who Mother couldn’t control and Daddy had to spank all the time. He couldn’t hold a job, anyway. Thank God we don’t have to take care of him, he’s uncontrollable.”

Yeah, I know what they think. It’s been that way since I was 10, or before. Hell, I was messed up bipolar from day one. I was THREE YEARS OLD when they sent me to the first child psychologist. I still remember playing with the colored blocks in the room with the big mats on the floor, while Duke and RF watched through the window. No, I don’t remember the psych person. Just that image of the blocks, and them watching me. When I was 12 and they sent me to another psychologist – Emmit Shoemaker – he told me about the series of visits they’d made for me when I was three. Validated my fuzzy memory. No, Emmit didn’t work, either. After the first session, Duke tried to get me to tell him about what had happened. I wouldn’t tell him. The next day he came back at me and wanted to know why I’d said such-and-such, didn’t I appreciate what they were doing for me? Of course, Emmit’s confidentiality promise was blown. They didn’t send me to very many more sessions with him, I wouldn’t talk. I knew a lie when it hit me between the eyes.

And I remember all too well what feelings there were at family gatherings, when my Aunt Marjorie would needle me – questioning, insulting, belittling, prodding, demanding answers – until I’d spill the beans about what was going on. And then I’d hear all about it from RF for the next month, as she ripped me for saying things like that to Marjorie. “Don’t you respect us? We do so much for you…” And all the time she’d be tearing me down.

Bruce and Lynnette were listening, always. Hell, how could they miss it? RF would talk loudly while she was tearing into me. Her bedroom was right between the other two, if anybody was in the house they could hear her as clear as a bell. When I was in the breakfast room I could hear her as clearly as if she were standing right next to me, while she was in the rocking chair in the bedroom. Just great acoustics.

And I know they all talked about how much trouble I was. At length. When my grandparents would visit – from Dallas – they’d let on pretty quickly that they knew all about my misbehavior. My grandfather pressured my mother for over a year to let him send me to military school because I was causing them so much trouble. RF refused him, thank God. If not, I’d have been dead before I turned 14.

The one who DIDN’T talk about how messed up I was, was Uncle Miron. He either didn’t feel it was good to belittle me – which I feel was part of it – or he just didn’t give a shit. Either way, he was always nice to me, treated me as an equal. That’s pretty good for a state judge. But then, I figure he’d seen the utter dregs of society, and figured I wasn’t that bad. God bless him.

So: we’re back to the freeze-out treatment. Well, they’ll have to live with it. I won’t send any more emails to Pooh, stop Bruce, and drop Lynn. Don’t need that kind of shit in my life anymore. Period. I’m WAAAAAYYY too good to be put down, stepped on, disregarded, treated as a second class citizen.

Yes, I AM different now. I’m a real person. And I can’t be dancing around trying to please Mommy when my sister’s acting like her. I choose not to.

Okay. Got the family thing over with. I can relax and not be worried about it anymore. I have my church family, Vivian, and Jim. That’s more than enough to keep my days full. AND happy.

Now: I need to write up the interview with Gerry, and try to work some more on BStone.

A tad later:

Um. That came out fast and easy. Got the 335 words down like greased lightning. I wasn’t sure of the length so I went back to the October folder and opened the Nancylee interview. 339 words. Then I thought, I need to check how many words actually got ON the newsletter page. Popped that open, copied out her interview, and the document says 332 words. Fine, I’m right in the ballpark. Pasted it into an email, and now she’s got it. All I gotta do is wait for her okay.

Got a quick email from Pam. She’s tickled that the books are on their way. I hope they have a good opening tomorrow night. Jim’s taking Joann down with him, ought to be a good showing. He’s got all new works, didn’t want to show the same old scenes. His style’s shifted, too, he’s a bit more like Dan Burt, with the color, but still retains the sense of graphic detail. Burt’s work is far more impressionistic. I think he’ll sell a bunch.

Okay, I’m up to 14 people in my “Stories” group. I’ve had three actual turn-downs – they listed the reason they thought they couldn’t read them, and I understand just fine. No biggie. I’ve gotten 12 responses via email, and two by word of mouth. Works for me. I’m gonna be sure to lay out the ground rules, and send out one every week or so at first. When I run out of the present stockpile, I’ll just send them as they come out. I’m actually looking forward to this.

I’ve just about dropped Facebook. There’s nothing of value there. It’s so cryptic it’s nonsense. If I wanted cryptic, I’d have gotten texting on my phone. NOT.

Alright. Facebook is gone. Deactivated it. Now I don’t have to feel like I’m neglecting anybody. Whew.

Later, again:

I’ve gotten a bunch of emails sent off, some of which have been hanging for over a week. Glad those responses are done. Now let them get back to me.

And Fred just sent one about feeling achy breaky. He’s convinced he’s got cedar fever. I read him the metaphysical riot act, that he gets what he wants to get. He’s God’s kid and God doesn’t get allergies. So he’s got other issues he needs to look at. Oh, well, he’ll get it when he’s ready.

Now to go see if Viv’s got any coffee…no, too late for coffee. Iced tea, maybe. OH! And gotta take my meds!

Still Changing

I’m still at it – the waking up at all hours of the night. Now, I don’t think this is a needs-more-medication issue. In light of the utterly astounding changes I’m going through – that I talked about yesterday – I honestly feel this unrest is a by-product of the shifting. So I’m not gonna say anything to her today.

But I AM up at 5:30. And I’ve been tossing and turning since 3. So I don’t know. In a way I think my continued spotty-sleeping pattern contributes to this insomnia. I mean, I fall asleep at Vivian’s in a heartbeat. I don’t sleep well there because I don’t have my CPAP, but I fall asleep. She twits me about my snoring. Well, YEAH…

Last night’s birthday party dinner with the girls was a good time – but a total bust for us. TOTAL. Both of us were humongously bloated and supremely uncomfortable all evening. I actually hurt – distended – and the nauseated urge to vomit came and went. Finally Viv brought out Dr Peppers and we began the carbonization dance – chug Pepper, belch loudly. She didn’t have any Alka-Seltzer. Finally, along about 10:30, a modicum of relief poked its tiny, tentative head above the far horizon: we began to belch. For a while there the place sounded like bullfrogs in a pond, dueling to see which one could last the longest. No Bud-Weis-Er nonsense, just out and out All-American kids trying to outdo each other. Between belches and gales of laughter (in spite of the bloated agony), we told stories about how it used to be: ladies didn’t belch – regardless, for any reason, nohow, no way, It Just Wasn’t Done (sorta like “breaking wind) – and how RF used to go into high dudgeon over a belch – much less a good ol’ boy fart. That in itself brought me to tears – and pretty close to puking it all up – laughing over the things we said and did in years past. Funny how we’ve all relaxed and eased up. Makes life easier all around. I mean, can you imagine trying to hold a fart and walk in a dignified manner to the rest room to let it out? No Way!! It’s HERE!! NOW!! RF didn’t allow for Nature. All I can think is, HER mother must have been Hell on Wheels strict about Social Rules.

Later

I’ve spent the last two hours working on Buster’s book. What a nice feeling, to be able to input the mss and not be uptight about it. Now I’m going to rest, I have a busy day today.

WAAAAAYY Later

It’s 4 p.m. and I’m getting ready to go see Dr. Shaw at the VA. I’m wiped, tired, and wrung out. I’ve gotten a LOT done today – everything on my agenda’s done except the doc and getting the tamales from Ken. Then I can rest. God, I wish I could have had a nap…

I went and ordered my business cards for Pine Trail Press. 250, black on white, $13. I can afford that. They’re gonna email me a proof, sometime before Friday. I’ve gotten tired of trying to tell people what I do. Now I can just hand them a card.

I’ve got high hopes about seeing the doc today. I know everything will work out right. So I’m relaxed.

And I need a cup of coffee. Bad.

Afterwards

Everything’s okay – except…EXCEPT…I HAVE TO SLEEP 8 hours a night or else I’ll go off the deep end. She basically read me the riot act – all over again. This happened once before, with her, when she told me flat out to move out of the trailer from Sherry or I’d end up in the State Hospital. This time she was just as serious, but not quite so deadly. Much of the hypo-mania I’m experiencing is from my lack of sleep. And my schedule isn’t making it any easier.

So, we’re not messing with my present meds. I showed her – by going in there hypo manic and leveling off in 20 minutes – that I can control it, that I am not off the charts. But, she says I have to sleep more or the cumulative effect will be to throw me into a very serious mania. So she’s added trazodone, an antidepressant, to help me sleep. I think this means “calm my mind so I CAN sleep.” I go out there tomorrow to pick it up, and start immediately. Half a pill a day at first, then move up to a full dose. She feels sure I’m gonna need the whole thing.

I’m open to it. And it FEELS right.

We talked about my creativity, and how – unmedicated – it was an explosion of uncontrolled energy. After the Lamictal in 2005, it’s been more controlled, smoother. But now – NOW – it’s different, again. When I sit down, it doesn’t have to be the hit-or-miss inspiration rush anymore. It comes naturally, continuously, and it’s always there. Here. It feels like a huge conduit of energy, of Love, flowing through me onto the screen. It’s a VAST feeling. She said that was good.

I kept talking until I felt sure she understood that I’m in the very best place I’ve ever been in my life. She agreed, from what I told her. BUT I gotta sleep a LOT more. Looks like I’ve got to completely rearrange my schedule. Still, I have to get up waaaaayyy early on Fridays, then on Sundays, and Mondays I can’t sleep late. The rest of the week I will sleep late. I think the med will help.

Doc wants me to call her Thursday of next week, let her know how I’m doing. That fast? Wow. Then she wants me back in the office in 4-6 weeks. I have an appointment for Dec. 15, a Tuesday. Her seeing me that soon shows she’s really concerned about me. This last visit gap was six months…so I’m in good hands. She wants me “normal.”

Life is good. I’m good. I’ve got to sit down here Thursday and put some hours in on Buster’s book. I’ve got to give myself time to write more Songs For Sarah. And I want to spend time with Vivian, but not all day. I want time for me. I have books to put together…

Life is GOOD. Um. Now I need something to eat…

Revelation Enlightenment

At church:

I went downstairs to Vivian’s for breakfast. Once again, she fed me biscuits. My God, I love biscuits. But I’ve gotta cut them out for a while, because the holidays are coming up and everybody’s gonna have an overwhelming amount of food everywhere – tempting the tongue, persuading the palate, forcing the fingers to reach out – and I can’t be bloating up. My pants are snug enough without bulking up like Hulk Hogan – or Sherry. Yeah, I have fears of being like her. Gargantuan. Unable to move.

Went by the bank and swapped flash drives in the safety deposit box. Boy, I feel better, knowing my work is backed up and safely stored offsite. As I get more into these stories, I’m gonna want to go by there perhaps weekly, to keep copies elsewhere.

And got to the church on time. Fred and I began talking. First, about Patty’s sermon yesterday – she talked about reaching the Void, and how we need to simplify – let go, let God. DO nothing, BE in God. Give it up to have it… feel. Embrace every experience, let the sadness or anger or joy or elation or love to completely fill you. Fill up your senses with your experience. Allow yourself to BE.

I think the most astounding thing she said was, “Don’t try to push the river. Allow it to flow.” That’s so peaceful it’s almost obscene. Pushing at life is forcing our will on events. All too often we find that forcing things involves our ego, and ego is the small “me” that gets us in trouble. Quit pushing. Let God. Allow myself to change, to evolve, to grow. Come Apart And Rest.

Of course, this brought up a red flag in my mind. It’s one I’ve had for some time. What’s the difference between Prosperity Prayers – asking for things which seem to be needed for a full life (money for bills, new vehicle, rent for next month, food…) – and Letting Go, trusting God? I gotta ask her about that. Then I think about how I wrote out what I wanted in my ideal partner – all the qualities, traits, values and attributes – and got most of them in Vivian. Yeah, THAT’S scary. Someday I gotta go back and see if I can find one of those lists.

Yeah, I prayed for her. I worked the list over, and over, getting what I wanted straight in my mind, then I put it down and let it be. I knew that if I was gonna get it – yeah, I still was unsure enough to say IF – then I had to get out of the way. I gave it no more thought. When I finally got my ass out of the Jackie crack, there was Viv.

So I really need to ask Patty to clear up this Ask vs. Accept thing. She’s usually right-on about stuff like that. Good perspective. She just caught me unawares Sunday.

Fred and I really enjoyed her message. I talked about how wonderful things had been yesterday, and he said he felt it, too – a different sense in the Sanctuary. Nice.

We went on, moving to the topic of my realization of awe last night. Fred went into this exposition about how good a writer I am. That amazed me, too. He wants me to pen a piece about a Mike Hammer, Private Eye hard guy. He says I’m the kind of writer who can explore a person’s feelings, insights, outlook, in very descriptive terms. He wants the grittier experience. I told him I’d try, but don’t hold his breath.

From there I told him how there have been so many people telling me I need to write a book on being bipolar. I said I’d already dug into the past, pulling my old blog posts into volumes. Last March and April the emotions that doing that brought up were overwhelming, and started me well on the way to a major depression. I was reading the posts and getting caught up in them.

This August, however, I started working on Buster’s book. I had to distance myself from the impact of the words he used, so I could be objective about rewriting the mss. This space allowed me to create Directions, my book of collected short stories. Putting that together led me through all those feelings I had when I was writing them, as well as the peripheral emotions I was having when I was writing. I got through that okay, in fact, felt pretty damn good about it. I am proud of that collection.

And, during that time, I jumped whole-heartedly back into compiling my blog posts. I’d only been as far as Spring 2006, during the hardest part of being sole caregiver for Sherry, when I was so stressed it was a miracle I didn’t snap under the strain. Reading those posts back in March/April 09 had cratered me. Jim had told me I was getting WAY too close to the edge, and I had to leave those pieces of shit alone. That had scared me away, then.

Now, in August/September, I wasn’t fazed. These emotional writhings were just someone’s journey through a hard place. I was clear that **I** had gone through all this miasma of emotional disasters, but I wasn’t devastated like before. I was doing so well I produced 16 volumes, which covered all the way up to the Spring of 2009. I think Vol. 17 is June-July-Aug.

This brought me to an interesting revelation: now, in this place where I am today, I CAN write a book on being bipolar – IF I feel like I WANT to. I’m clear on that. I’m mature enough, distanced enough, that I’ll be okay IF I do it.

I don’t want to do it. I honestly don’t feel like I want to dig into that dung hill. I don’t feel like it would serve me. I got enough digging into my STUFF with the blog posts. (And yes, I’m going to print them – NOT publish, just print. Stack them in the corner and ignore them assiduously. Maybe let my biographer read them. Maybe. They’d be of no interest to anyone else except one of my nieces who might be trying to figure out just HOW bad Uncle Forrest REALLY was back before Lamictal.)

So, I’m not gonna do it. I haven’t got the time to devote – a couple of months, at the rate I’m getting keyboard time these days – to go through the stable scrapings, searching for a golden needle. There aren’t any, I remember laying all the scrapings down. And as much as I’ve rolled in it, I don’t remember any stabbings as weak and dismissable as a needle. I was used to daily insertions of sabers, swords, pole axes, spears, sharp sticks, etc., etc., etc., etc. ad nauseum. Besides, there’s not enough gold in a needle to be worth the smell or feel of digging through all that offal.

Okay, having laid that “problem” to rest, having given myself permission to NOT write the damn book, I “got it” that “That Was Then, This Is Now.” I’m past that. Bipolar was my previous life. I now live in a world where I’m “normal.” And it really WAS a “former life.” Being reborn leaves the old stuff behind, clears the air, gives one a whole new perspective.

Now I want to try to explain something I’ve been feeling since August, with details, and since Fall of 08, in vague generalities. I call it the “hourglass” thing.

Since August I’ve had this gigantic hourglass image/feeling emerge from the ether, materializing in and around me. It’s so huge it’s like the Universe. Yeah, THAT big. I’m a grain of sand inside it. I’m on a journey inside.

Since Fall 08 I’ve felt like I’m ascending, rising up. Slowly at first, then faster and faster since May. It’s as if I’m being sucked up by a gentle, insistent vacuum. As the months have gone by and I’ve taken ever-greater quantum leaps forward, I’ve been rising further and further, faster and faster. Now at the beginning of November I’m feeling a closing in, a narrowing. This isn’t frightening or problematic, it’s just a natural sense. I seem to be focusing on a smaller and smaller area, concentrating. I have these intuitions that I need to be PAYING ATTENTION!! to these details of things that come up. And there are a LOT of details I need to be fully aware of, fully cognizant of, understanding completely.

At the same time, I’m moving faster and faster upward, into this whole new way of being. BEING. In meditation, there’s a place where one suddenly opens up, your mind expands into the Absolute Peace, The Is-Ness of God. “I AM That I AM” simply IS. The entire Universe is within, without, everywhere, all perfect. It’s that total Oneness everyone seeks.

This place I’m getting to, without straining, is there. At One with God. Home. I feel it, I know it…I know it like I know the Sun’s coming up in the morning, over there in the East…like I know death is just a slipping out of the body and into the Allness, the Oneness…like I know I’m here for a purpose…like I know that Love Is All There Is. Period.

I don’t have any fear about this. It’s more like a sense of Awe, yet with a Knowing that I’m part of this because I BELONG here. It’s the “I’m a Child Of God,” personified. It’s absolutely cosmic. And it’s in concert with millions of others who are here NOW to create a total change of consciousness from the fear-based dogmatic religious systems to the love-infused peace God intended, that he sent Jesus here to teach…the messages which have been ignored by every faith every sect every race every nation on this Earth.

This LOVE is. IS. It IS All There Is. And I’m part of bringing it into manifestation.

I accept. Hell, I can’t accept. I’m already doing it. I’ve been a part of it since WAAAAAAYYYYY before I ever came into this body…

2 p.m. Time to call Mandy and head for the house. I have stories to write, BStone to work on, iced tea to drink, Vivian to hug ferociously, and a NAP to take. All this before 6 p.m. when we’re going to Marlene’s birthday party.

Life is GOOD. Superb. Utterly Perfect.

It’s later…

and I’m up from my nap. Got almost an hour. Now I’m jonesing for keyboard time to write some Songs For Sarah. Not gonna happen, I don’t think…then again, it might. Who knows?

On the way home from the church I stopped by So Fast Printing and got an estimate on business cards. I’m dropping the “Just Touch Treatments” ones and am going for more “Pine Trail Press” ones. 250 in black on white runs $13. Well, I still have almost a whole box (of 250) of the “Makes Stuff Up.” May as well have cards that say what I do. I may never use them, granted, but I think if I’m gonna talk about my books, people ought to know that I do publishing. And I can AFFORD $13. That’s not much money to make me feel better.

After dinner

We went to Cracker Barrel to celebrate Marlene’s birthday. Ate WAAAAYY too much – and the cake was just too, TOO much on top. I’m just really relieved I had enough money to get out of there with a couple of bucks left. They didn’t think of those of us who wait on a check. They have the money, they just go eat whenever they want. I’m gonna have to be real careful about budgeting from now on, if they’re gonna invite us to meals.

I got three new songs while there. Problem is, will stories come with them? Have to wait and see. I’m not going to pressure myself to get anything. If the story’s there, it’s there and will pop out. If not, I can delete it from the list. There’s tons of songs out there.

Jim called just before I left for dinner. He wanted to talk and I had to cut him off. We sort of set Wensdy as a time to sit and talk. He was iffy – he doesn’t like to make plans that far out unless it involves a woman. So we’ll see.

It’s still Monday. This is still the second blog post for today. And I’m still feeling this astounding connection with the Universe. Still feeling plugged in to God. And I’m ascending faster and faster. Going home, going HOME.

Cascade

Sunday, yesterday, was a truly fabulous day. Church was wonderful! Book study had some exceptionally interesting conversation, and I kept picking up viewpoints I had never even imagined. Some fantastic people there. Then the sermon kept hitting points I thought were appropriate to me right now – especially the one which said, “Don’t push the river – let it flow.” This was the gist of her talk: relax and let it happen. These past few Sundays have followed the steps in Robert Brumet’s “Finding Yourself In Transition,” a book which gives insight into what happens when we go through changes. He espouses that there is a Void, where we’ve let go of the former, seeking the new. Patty talked about how letting go could be a tough step. The you get to the Void, where there’s nothing – no feeling, no action, just nothing. I felt this after Sherry died and my whole world was in transition. I just hit that Void and there was nothing – nothing new coming, nothing moving, no meaning to life – and I wanted SOMETHING. But Patty said we have to go through this “dead spot” in order to access the depths within, to be silent and let God speak to us. “Letting it flow” is another way of saying, “Let your life lead you where you need to go. Trust Life/God/the Universe to show you what you need to see.” Often, God says, “Sit. Do nothing. Allow the Silence to feed your soul.”

She said, “Creation begins in the Void.” Genesis speaks of the Void, and how everything was created from there. I felt much of what she said in my heart. She was speaking to that place I had been after Sherry – then again this past Summer, as I grew by leaps and bounds. I took a lot of notes.

Then after church everything flowed. People were feeling warm and friendly, open and loving. Vivian and I were invited to Buster and Anita’s to visit on Friday. I made arrangements with Gerry to interview her probably Thursday afternoon. I got the two dozen tamales from Ken – more about them later! Found out Mandy – who sang the special music – had broken two ribs Saturday! She’s due to come by the church today for a treatment. Jane wanted to catch up me up on what she and Jack were doing – he’s traveling more – and Patty needed to tell me about a sermon CD request. Joyce asked about the Tuesday class – I didn’t know anything – then I told her about the Sunday book study – she’s reading a parallel topic about the Bible – and that led into a discussion of my books. THAT ended up with her asking to buy one. We went over which one she should start with, and I settled on Directions because it’s an overview of how I write. That’ll give her a sense of whether she wants to dive into Artesia et al. And I was off to the bank.

All in all, a very good day at church. I felt validated, needed, loved and happy. Back home Vivian and I opened up a dozen of Ken’s tamales – the chicken cream cheese jalapeno ones. Oh, My, God. Utterly delicious, fantastic flavor! Viv thought so much of them I had to call Ken and order another two dozen. We’re gonna pick them up Tuesday, payday.

I came up here and was drawn to bed. Slid into that wonderful altar to Morpheus and went out. Sometime later I woke up and got on here…and felt stymied. I didn’t want to delve into BStone, was not in the mood to blog, couldn’t get the drive necessary to write another Song For Sarah, and there was nothing on Facebook (Thank God!!). I re-read the review of Artesia that Carol wrote – I’m quoting because I was so blown away:

Ok, got busy today and read your book. Really like your style---as I told you Saturday, it's simple (not simplistic), but it is also very evocative. Your gift for descriptive prose creates vivid imagery in a few words. It reminds me a little of Western writers---Grey, L'Amor, and maybe even more modern guys like Elmer Kelton. It doesn't waste time with a lot of unnecessary details, but gives the reader a definite sense of time and place. Really liked your characterizations, too. Avie was quite believable although he was part of a most unbelievable situation, and Tim Voekel (sp?) was every Texas good-ole-boy I've ever known---and I've known a few. My favorite part of the story was when Von discovers the sculpture garden---great description.

Congratulations, Forrest. Not everyone can write a book---and certainly not everyone can write a good one.

Yeah, I went and re-read that one. I don’t think you can blame me. Quite honestly, I’m thinking of having it chiseled into a huge piece of cedar – one of those slabs they sell around here for tables – and installed over my fireplace. Which won’t happen because I don’t have the money for the cedar, much less the chiseling, and my fireplace is just a torn-out-of-a-magazine picture. But I can dream…

That review set me up for another step up. I thought about what she said. She’s a retired teacher, and knows her writers. For her to compare me to authors of that caliber leads me to believe that I AM good. Revelation rattling around in my head, self-esteem getting a booster shot, self-image improving…so I went and checked my email.

Got two responses to my offer to get on the Songs For Sarah email list. Went ahead and created that mailing list, and felt good that some people are wanting in on it. That led to my going to the SFS catalog, the list I have of the stories I’ve already written AND those I’ve got in the chute. I read over the newbies I had. Pretty good ideas. Pulled out the list of song titles I’d put down that morning. Got them on the list. Interesting: I’ll hear the phrase from a song, and it’ll rattle around in my head. So I Google the phrase with “lyrics” after it. I get the song, copy it, and paste it into a doc. That’s when the magic happens: I get these ideas for a story around it. Kinda like the radio playing in the background while life is happening. The song usually illustrates the story. So I got those tunes onto the list. And I felt a dearth of new material.

I thought back to the music in Whataburger yesterday morning. They have some oldies station on, and the tunes trigger old days’ feelings. I picked up two songs that way – wrote them down and googled their lyrics – but felt like I needed more. Googled “Top 40 Hits.” Clicked on the second one, and BINGO!! Hit the Mother Lode. This site has every year – from 1930 to 1998 – listed, with ALL the top 40 hits alphabetical. The ones that are highlighted have a link to the lyrics. Wowsers!! Can’t beat it with a stick! Started in 51, because I don’t think my target audience is going to remember anything from the 40s. I recognize those tunes because Jim plays them all the time – he has a huge collection of big band music, because he played trumpet, and those were his standards. But most of my readers won’t know them. So I scanned the offerings, and stories poured in! I’m up to 55, and the familiar tunes are beginning to pile up. It’s the Mother Lode, all right.

Finished mining that seam and headed down to Vivian’s. After a while I idly looked over her pile, that overflows her rocking chair. There were my two books: Directions and Artesia. I flipped through Directions, looking to see where she was, and noticed she’s at the beginning of the Tucson stories. Those are an interesting bunch. Put the book down – carefully, didn’t want the pile to come sliding off – and picked up Artesia. Thought I’d see if she’d gotten to the tough part yet, the one where I pulled the stops out and laid it all bare. Nope, she’s still a chapter and a half away. Okay, that’ll do. And began to scan the pages.

The more I read, the more I was astounded at my writing. I’ve re-read the book at least once since writing it in 2005, and have noticed I did a pretty good job, each time. But those assessments, along with the praise from others, have just rolled off my back like water. I didn’t take their comments to heart. Couldn’t. I wasn’t able to accept compliments.

Last night, however, the World changed. I was awe-struck by how truly wonderful this book is. As I leafed through it, the realization – the very solid knowing – that I’d done a great job – no, a GREAT job – hit me, hard. I sat there, gobsmacked, at a loss for words. This really, truly, absolutely was a genius work!

The awe I felt – at myself – flooded through. I gained another viewpoint on my self-image. No, not ego, but that deep self-image, the way I hold myself out to the world. And when I went back to Directions, I saw that I’d done the same quality work there.

I went to sleep feeling this sense of wonder. This morning I’ve still got some of that awe, and thought I better get it down while I remember it.

Later

As soon as I finished that sentence, I was asleep right here in my chair. Got up and into bed, out cold.

Back here, started updating the Agenda. Had to fix the Calendar, too. Getting ready to go run the church office. And Vivian called, breakfast is ready. I still gotta get dressed…

Dia de los Muertos

It’s the last day of October. Today is celebrated widely – like, all over Mexico and half of Central America – as Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. This is a big occasion, with offerings to the deceased – food, drink, gifts – and pictures and clothing and who knows what-all. There’s a lot of dancing and ritual. Costumes mostly depicting skeletons and ghouls.

Throughout it all, there’s a strong sense of contacting the dead, being able to talk to and hear from those who have passed on. Lots of people drink pulque, which is alcoholic but is supposed (rumored) to have hallucinogenic properties, then sit in séance to get messages from the other side, like, “Mama, what’s your recipe for the tortilla soup? I never can get it right for Raul, he’s beating me every time I try to make it. It doesn’t taste like yours. Tell me, please.” Or other, more serious stuff, I don’t know. At any rate, it’s a big deal. That’s one of the things our Halloween was modeled after.

But our celebration was founded primarily on the European observance of Samhain. That’s Celtic for Day of the Dead. Yeah, this kind of rite is held all over the world except in America. Here we blunt the feeling of being close to our ancestors – why respect them, they can’t hurt us anymore, and God knows they didn’t help us out, because they left all the money to my no-good, won’t-share rotten brother – and ignore the fact that we came from people who tried to live their lives the way they thought was best. Rodney Daingerfield was right – we can’t get no respect. We think so little of our ancestors that we send out our children, our hope of the future, the caregivers for when we’re old and unable to go pee, to gather candy and get rotten teeth. We’ve gone so far as to completely nullify the observance by gathering our children up and teaching them this is a day to celebrate Jesus – erasing all traces of respect for our parents, for our grandparents. This is sort of like a local Baptist church’s Christmas pageant: During their celebration of the Birth of Jesus, during the High Holy Season, where Peace, Love and Hope for Mankind is brought forth, they – in all their wisdom – have an actor/congregant, covered in blood, dragging a cross up the aisle to celebrate the Death of Jesus. Agony personified.

Am I wrong here, or what? This is a total disconnect. But then, it doesn’t matter. Each can observe whatever however, we have: 1. Freedom of Expression (U.S. Constitution) and 2. Free Will (Holy Bible). And, 3. Money to do it OUR way, damn the neighbors.

So, I’m celebrating Dia de los Muertos. I’m celebrating my Mother’s life. She really did the very best she could, and she managed to get through her life without killing me, her firstborn, who was totally off the wall emotionally and an abysmal disappointment to both sides of the family (I was the first child on both sides). And, just for kicks, I was utterly uncontrollable. Oh, well, maybe she pissed God off, and got me.

I’m celebrating my Father’s life. He dog-paddled mightily, all his life, trying desperately to keep his head above the sewage he found himself in: my Mother’s constant, total hatred, scorn, sarcasm and belittling – combined with his own bipolar disorder, hypoglycemia, ADHD, inferiority complex, lack of a father (who’d had himself committed to the Louisiana State Mental Hospital because he knew he wasn’t “right”), and as strict an upbringing as was morally allowable. The more I realize what he went through, the more I respect his dogged determination to NOT kill himself. And just for laughs, he educated himself in so many different, unrelated areas that he was truly a Renaissance Man. Astounding. Then, he cared so much for the plight of the downtrodden that he volunteered for years as a counselor to damn near every non-profit group in the Houston area. At his memorial service there were over 115 people representing organizations he’d helped bring out of disaster, or foundering, to healthy help-the-community status. Singlehandedly. A True Giant.

I’m celebrating my grandparents’ lives. To think that they courted in a horse and buggy, started housekeeping cooking on a wood stove and using kerosene lanterns for light – and a chamber pot – then lived to see a man on the Moon, is utterly mind-boggling. My grandfather was a self-taught man. He went to Rice University, yes, and got a degree, which was an ASTOUNDING feat back then, then managed to support his family in such a manner that he bought a small house next door to their remodeled modern conveniences big and roomy farm house to house his father-in-law, a retired stove-up Baptist preacher whose philosophy he totally hated but put up with because his wife loved the old fart.

I’m celebrating Violeta’s life. She appeared from out of nowhere, to give me a heavy dose of unconditional love at a time when I was foundering in an ocean of self-esteem so low as to be called abysmal self-loathing. She got me up enough that I was at least presentable to my experience with Sherry – probably a karmic relationship that I HAD to go through in order to fulfill the destiny I had in this life. Vi was so wonderful I still remember her with great love.

And I’m celebrating Sherry’s life. To say she was utterly screwed up, emotionally scarred so bad she couldn’t have had a real life if her Eternal Soul’s Fate depended on it (which it didn’t), and so obese she spent the last year of her life bedridden, filled with hatred of everybody who could walk and not have to turn sideways to get through a door, is such a stupendous set of understatements it’s blatantly obscene with irony and sarcasm. Yet, she did the best she could under her circumstances, loved as much as she could with all her immense problems, and was a human being. So her life is worth celebrating. Somewhere in there she loved me, in her own way, and I sucked up that emotion because I was so badly damaged I needed love from wherever, whomever, however. She saved my life by taking care of me, out there in the desert.

I’m also celebrating Lula Mae Silva’s life. She was a fabulous individual I only know by reflection, by what Vivian says about her. Viv’s older sister, Lu stood by her through all those years of utter Hell, loving her through thick and thin. Her caring brought Vivian forward through the storms to where she is today – a wonderful Friend, a Loving Woman, an astute observer, a loving Great-Grandmother, a thirty-year Sunday School teacher and a strong member of her church. Plus all the hundreds of other qualities and values she espouses. All there because of Lu’s love and care. In a lot of ways, I wish mightily I could have known Lu. But she went on before I got here. So I celebrate her life.

There are others who’ve gone before whose lives I’m not celebrating because I want to concentrate on these. These are enough. I’m not putting out the ritual offerings to their souls, as I don’t think they’re coming by to partake of the spirit in which they were offered. Doesn’t matter – they know I’m honoring them. And if I get any messages or intuitions from them, great. If not, I know they’re all right – just fine, in fact – and I’ll see them later.

So there’s Dia de los Muertos. And I’ve done my celebration right here, right now. I’ve sent my love, my remembrances, and we’re all hunky-dory.

Now to see about more coffee, and Buster’s book. I don’t think I’m gonna write on my stories today, I’m still bleary from last night.

Directly:

Ah, safety. I converted Buster’s books to the latest MS Word format, .docx. Now there won’t be any program arguing when we open either Trail of Life or BStone on his computer. And we’re saving them in what we hope is a format that’ll open for at least a couple of new versions of Word.

NOW for coffee and his book.

AHHHHH…

There’s an hour under my belt. Got more stories entered – AFTER wrestling with the new look and feel of Word 2008. Dear God, it takes MINUTES to save! And you can’t do anything else until that doc’s saved! Man oh Man, Micro$ucks did it to us AGAIN!!

I’m burnt. I need a break. I’m gonna put on street clothes (leaving my Super Writer Uniform on the bed in plain sight – hope no one comes in unexpectedly) and go eat downstairs, then we’re gonna have some REAL fun – we’re going to WallyWorld for water and whatever else!! Hope we get out of there cheaply – I’m down to just a few bucks in my checking account.

See ya later.

Later, exhausted…

Yep, did it again. Took my checkbook to WallyWorld to be sure I didn’t spend too much, had my budget in mind, got up to the register and WHAMMO!! Damn near spent the whole wad! And no water!

Had to go to the grocery store for water – I thought they had the big jugs of Spring water. Well, they DID when I was in there earlier, checking prices. This time I had to get 9 one-gallon jugs. And joy of joys, I forgot to get yogurt! So I’ll have to stop by after church tomorrow.

I’m so tired I can’t think good. I checked my email – nothing, thank God – and thought I’d get on here, update the shopping experience, then crawl into bed for a nap. Instead I backed up my files to the flash drive. Something said to copy all those stories so there’s no chance of anything happening. Now that it’s done, I feel much better – peace of mind.

NOW I go crawl into bed.

Just before midnight

Well, just before midnight if you’re still on DST. I’ve already set my clocks back and it’s still Saturday. Thank God for the extra hour of sleep. For some strange reason I decided to have a cup of decaf. Heated up the water and popped the canister of Taster’s Choice decaf open…only to find that, after almost a year, the granules had all clumped together as though they’d been exposed to vapor too often. Stuck the spoon in and busted the clump into pieces, dumped one of the clumpettes into my cup, and I’m gonna see if it’s any good any more.

Damn. It’s bitter. Now I gotta go add some creamer.

Ursh. I got WAAAAAYYY too much coffee in the cup. I put five spoonfuls of creamer in it and it’s STILL dark – like unsweetened chocolate – THAT dark. So I gotta buy another can of TC decaf on Wensdy. Meanwhile I’m gonna drink this. All it’ll do is make me pee later.

I feel like I did good, with my celebration of Dia de los Muertos. There’s a sense of honor, not unlike honoring our servicemen and women – recognizing them for what they did, whether it was “right” or “wrong.” After all, who am I to judge anybody? I’ve been judged all my life, and I don’t want to visit that prejudice on anyone. I’m a very strong live-and-let-live person. I have no idea whatsoever what’s between someone and their God. Let’em be.

I’m off to bed. I’ve had enough, dropping all that money at WalMart.

Still Tired

I’m just up from a two-hour nap, and I’m still tired. Just can’t seem to get fired up.

Can’t sleep all night, either. I thought simply staying in bed would work, let me snooze until 10 or 11, but I keep popping up at 5 or 6 a.m. That’s not gonna cut it. I have to have 8 to 10 hours of sleep a night. Doctor’s orders.

The only place I have to fudge time blocks is at night. I have to get home by midnight from now on. No more staying out till one or two. Way too many days a week I have to get up real early, to do what my life requires. Friday, Sunday, and Monday are all early rising days. The rest of the week, I CAN sleep late. But will I? If my circadian rhythms are set to get up at 7, I’m going to pop up wide awake at 6:30, EVERY morning. I know myself well enough by now to know that changing my schedule is no easy sleight of hand. That’s why Joann, at the VA, said I had to set my parameters – and stick to them.

My days look more and more squeezed. I want to block out a regular time for an afternoon nap, but allowing for the vagaries of life, I won’t make it to bed at that time more than once a week. There’s just too much other stuff going on that distracts me. Just like today – I went over to see if the mail had come yet, and ended up talking to the maintenance man, Santos – for 45 minutes! One of those intense conversations you don’t wanna walk away from, it’s too special an experience to blow off. Connecting with another is a precious gift.

I’m feeling like I want to spend a healthy chunk of time on Buster’s book. Not only do I enjoy working on it, I know he’s dancing around in anticipation, waiting on the manuscript. He wants it printed, and he wants it NOW! Can’t blame him, either.

My eyes are trying to shut off this constant influx of light. I’m off to bed again.

Later

I got up from my second nap at 6-something. Fumbled around a bit and decided to install Microsoft Office 2008. Figured it couldn’t take TOO long…wrong again, as we all are, every time, with Micro$oft. The actual install of Office went quick. The updates – required to keep viruses from infecting your machine, required to keep people from stealing your information off your computer, required by Microsoft so they can track which copy of Office is on what machine where – took damn near an hour. Just one little dealie after another – eternally.

Where’s Apple’s version of Word when you need it?

So now I gotta get used to this new layout. Oh, sure, it’s the same layout as before, except for the bells and whistles they added. Now I gotta move the damn formatting palette out of the way every time I want to type in a document. And it’s always prompting me to get a new layout, new template, new something-they-think-is-important, because there are so many schmucks who can’t think for themselves. Ursh. Certainly doesn’t say much for people today.

Then again, when I read entries on Facebook, the language is atrocious, the spelling abysmal, the conceptualization nil, the content vacuous. For a writer, the intelligence quotient has gone into the toilet.

However, there is a bright spot: while I was digging around under the printer, I found an old Radio Shack bag, and inside was the manual for the Virgin Mobile phone I bought in September 2008. That’s the phone Vivian has now, because it’s so much simpler than the one she bought this past Summer when I insisted she get a cell phone because she was having so much trouble getting around this complex, and I thought she needed a phone in case she fell at 4 a.m. when she went to wash clothes.

Anyway: we swapped phones, and I now have her new-up-to-the-minute cell phone, while she has my plain-jane one. Everything works out perfectly.

And I found the manual. So now she can read all about how simple it is. The only thing that’s simpler is a Jitterbug phone, and that’s a monthly fee plus you gotta buy the phone. I LIKE Virgin Mobile, the phone only cost $19.95, and you only have to put $20 air time on it. When I bought my phone, in 2008, I put $30 on it. When I swapped with Vivian in August 2009, it still had $21 on it. I just didn’t use it.

Of course, they’ve changed the program. Now you gotta add money/time every 90 days or lose the money. Well, $20 for 90 days is 22¢ a day. That seems better than $35 a month, flat fee, for the other plans they’re hawking around here. I don’t use my cell phone all the time, so I don’t need a monthly plan. And Vivian loses money when it’s time to recharge hers. She only uses hers to call me, or to talk to her daughter. It’s no biggie, I pay for hers too.

Now I’m sitting here thinking I’ve done two things: first, I’ve gotten updated so there won’t be any “incompatible format” warnings on Buster’s PC when he opens my emails with his story updates attached…and second, I have stepped into the new world where I’ve left all the computer stuff I had with Sherry behind. Word was the last program I was using then.

Right now I’m sitting here wanting to write another Song For Sarah, yet thinking that I’d rather not get all wrapped up creating. Vivian might call and tell me to come downstairs. And I don’t want to tear myself away from a good session. I’ll save it for tomorrow.

It’s a few moments later.

I’m getting resigned to this new version/edition of Word. Might as well, I’m stuck with it now. I gotta take fifteen minutes and convert Buster’s books to this version, and send them over so he can save them. I’ve deleted the icon for my old MS Word 2004 so it won’t come up.

I feel like I’m letting go of so MUCH. I’m gaining these days, adding new skills and flexing my mental muscles, but I still feel like vestiges of the old are sloughing off. Especially as I continue to stand up and become ME, instead of the old slumped-over, defeated Forrest I used to be for all my life.

Of course, THAT brings up, “What am I being prepared to do?” That’s a throwback to Tucson and the psychics, who tempered their readings with admonitions to watch out what I asked for, I might get it – and there’d be repercussions. Well, they were right, of course – every action has a reaction, every choice has effects you might not have thought out – and I’m still operating on that “watch out” mode. My book Choices tried to point out this process…

Speaking of that, I was talking to Santos today, giving him a précis of my books, and he very astutely said, “These are all about your seeking something.” DUH!! He hit it right on the head. Amazing what you can learn by telling people about your books.

All right. Just got the Siren call, Viv’s open for coffee, tea, crossword puzzles and deep conversation, ruminations, discourses on kids in her Sunday school class, who’s got what terminal disease at her church (my God, they’re ALL dying!!) and what she’s gotta do to get ready for church. There may even be an argument between us about what we’re gonna eat next, out of my freezer(s) or hers. After all, we have this gargantuan amount of food – God’s astounding abundance, poured out, heaped up, running over, filled up the freezers, the shelves are stacked with cans of food, she has grocery bags all over her kitchen floor with stuff she can’t put away because there’s no room – and we keep thinking of places to go eat: McDonald’s (oh, my GOD, super healthy!!), Cici’s Pizza (oh, my God, all you can eat, so STUFF yerself), Taco Casa (oh, my God, Mexican tastes SOOO good, let’s eat a whole bunch…more tacos, please!), Whataburger (oh, my God, if you buy a breakfast they give you FREE COFFEE), and she doesn’t like any other place in town (persnickety).

So all this incredible amount of food sits, slowly getting freezer burned, mocking those 25,000 starving families in Namibia or somewhere-with-a-new-name country in Africa, ALL of whom could eat for a year on what we have sitting in the freezer. DAMN!! Let’s save some money!! Let’s eat what we got! When it’s all gone, God will pour out so much more on us we’ll have stuffed freezers all over again!

When I began tithing, I was testing God to see if all these religious types were telling the Truth. Well, since then I’ve had – ALWAYS had – more money than I ever had before. And ever since I let go of the food thing, I’ve had more chow than I can fix. Since I let go of worrying or obsessing about my health, I’ve been haler than six football players. I mean, my hair isn’t falling out!! It’s slowly slinking back, but not like most of these guys around here!! I’m doing WONDERFULLY!!

On that note, I’m gonna go get some iced tea, work a crossword puzzle, figure out what to eat for lunch tomorrow, and listen to her tell me about her day. She’s such a love.

Crashing

Tuesday evening was my session with my VA counselor, and she said I had to get off my manic high. So Wensdy I slept almost all afternoon and evening. That felt good, but wasn’t enough. This morning I was going to sleep in till noon or two or somewhere, but my circadian rhythms got in the way. I woke up at 7. Got on the net and dithered around with email until 9:30, when I crawled back between the sheets. I just wasn’t tired.

Vivian called almost immediately thereafter to say lunch was gonna be late, she’d just gotten up. I got ready anyway, went down to slurp coffee and read the paper. Several obits, but nobody I knew. Interesting front-page article about a guy who spent a night in jail, then went to get his car out of impoundment. Took off without paying. Cops got onto the chase. Wound around the county until he ran into a ditch. Got rearrested. Stupid, but it’s what sells newspapers.

Ate breakfast. Got back up here and wrote a couple of retorts to some of those long drawn-out religious emails. I posted my latest just below here. I REALLY don’t like those, especially the ones with two words per line and six inches of dead space between lines. You have to spend 15 minutes scrolling down to be told you’re shit if you don’t email this to everybody. Enough.

I got fired up again about the story I wrote last night, “Mama Sang Bass.” Vivian liked it – it IS very well written – and I’ve offered it to several people to read, upon their request. I’m not gonna broadcast my stories anymore, I’m going to let folks ask for them. That’ll cut WAAAAAAYYYY down on how many I send out, but those who ask will at least want them.

I’m gonna stop posting my stories here. Seems like I’m unloading dump trucks full of pearls into a bacon processing plant. Nobody gives a damn. Besides, nobody’s reading this blog anyway. I suppose that’s as good a reason as any to do what I’m heading toward: Spiritual Reflection. I’ve decided to start talking about the questions I get when I’m in the book study at church. We’re reading Eric Butterworth’s Discover The Power Within You, which I am finding exceptionally interesting – and stimulating. Since this blog is MY bully pulpit – go look it up, it’s just like it sounds – I’m going to expound on what **I** want to say. If you don’t like it, click on something else.

And I’m continuing to get story ideas. Most these days are songs, with the story following. It seems I’m getting lots of ideas for writing, and time to sit here and write keeps disappearing. I’m feeling a LOT of pressure over Buster’s book. I only have an inch of paper to work through on this book. One thing I have to do is install the copy of Microsoft Office for Mac 2008, which has the latest version of Word. This copy of Word, circa 2004, is coming up “if you save in this version, you will lose all your formatting.” That’s for shit. And I can’t do that to Buster. He needs good backups.

So there’s another hold-up. I gotta get on the stick. Right now I have to jump over and update my current meds list to post on the refrigerator door next to my emergency contact list. I haven’t had a meds list up there for several months. Don’t want to be caught with my undies in a knot.

Done. That’s interesting – VERY interesting. I haven’t changed meds regimen since May. That, alone, is cause for happiness. Means I’m stable (NEIGH!) Now all I gotta do is learn how to manage my time, how to say no to stuff I can’t do. That was what I got, very clearly, last night when I was talking with Viv. I’m getting to a place where I’m seeing that my whole life has been a drifting experience. I’ve been at the whim of my brain chemistry for so long I don’t expect to have any personal effect on my world at all. And here in October I’m finding that I DO have control, now that these meds are working. As Joann said, “You’ve lived all those years waiting for the edge of the world to come – as it always did. You fell off again. But now you’re on meds that don’t let you do that. Now you don’t have an edge to fall off anymore. That’s going to require some adjustment.”

This is in combination with my having to set parameters, apportion blocks of time for certain activities, learn to tell people no, stop running off half-cocked doing everything and anything for anybody. I gotta take charge of my own life. I have a rudder and a sail now. My compass is working again. Sonar’s coming online, so I can avoid reefs. The fishing’s great. So, Life Is Good.

I’m going to play with Buster’s manuscript.

After a while

Um. Two hours on Buster’s BStone. And a very enjoyable two hours, at that. I haven’t been tense or stressed or wired about it this time. I’ve been focused, but it’s a feeling like reading a novel: easy. I’ve had my mind active but I’m not wiped out. That’s a new one. And a NICE new one.

Now I’m going to see what Vivian’s doing downstairs. When I called her just a moment ago, she was crunching something – sounded like wadding up foil inside a big tin can, or running her hands through a very large soup pot full of jewelry, or rattling ball bearings in a large tin can, or bowling with clam shells, or something odd. And she refused to tell me WHAT she was doing. So I gotta put pants on, add a shirt, shove my footsies into flip-flops and lock the door behind me. Curiosity startles cats, kills dogs, makes grizzly bears pissed off.

Ken called out of the clear blue. He has his fabulously delicious super-plump freshly-made tamales available. I ordered a dozen chickens. We’re gonna do the swap-dance Sunday. I wanted a dozen of his chicken-cream cheese-jalapeno, but those are $12 and I don’t wanna deplete my wallet that far. Payday isn’t until Tuesday.

And Doctor Shaw’s Tuesday evening…

Time to go check on Viv…

MUCH later

I’m back from visiting my girlfriend. We had a marvelous time: she fed me the rest of the soup we had for lunch and I had gastric back-up. She offered me a Rolaids, I declined. Oh, well.

Worked crossword puzzles. I LOVE crosswords. They relax me, keep my mind working like it ought to. We discussed what time to get up in the morning to get her to the beauty shop.

Back up here I checked my email. Blah. Then I got lost in Facebook. And went ballistic. I wrote this piece as a Note.

The Death Of America’s Sex Drive

Has anybody thought of the implications of football on America's sex life? Football's this intensely physical sport that 99.98% of American men can't play, but they root for their team like it's life and death. They ignore the female in their life, growing fat and ugly and unwashed, and sexual expression dies along about the 35-yard line...and that's on OUR side. The kids are in school, work sucks, and the wife's fat, ugly, and a complainer. Sex becomes the cheerleaders.

Sex happens for pre-teens, teens, young people up to 23 years old, and from there on out it's null and void for almost everyone. This country is so focused on football, basketball, baseball and sometimes - SOMETIMES - some other game/sport that being glued to the tube is the de riguer lifestyle. I mean, masturbation's dead. Porn isn't, it's just tired. Egad. Whatever happened to romance, fondling, caressing, loving? It's all about "get me off."

The Europeans got it all over us. I mean, they're boinking from 9 years to 99 years of age. They live and breathe sex. They have sex on their network TV stations. Sex is celebrated there. Here in the US, we're so uptight people are bombarding advertisers over the Playtex bra ads - that don't show ANYTHING - demanding that this "smut" be pulled, immediately. In France, there's full-breasted nudity all the time. No biggie - and I'm not making a pun about breast size.

What's REALLY the killer is, nobody's taking these protesters seriously. "Family values" have gone south. The Silent Majority is gonna watch anyway, and doesn't care. It isn't even titillating. Sex has died in this country.

So that was my Note on Facebook. I don’t think anybody’s gonna read it, so it doesn’t matter. I feel good spewing it out.

I just wrote out all the stuff I gotta do tomorrow. Tom sent a check for his copy of my new book, Directions, which is the compilation of my short stories. It’s a real doozie, everybody is raving about it. I’m proud of it, too. So I have to get an envelope and do that stuffit-tapeit-mailit trip. Hope it all goes together right. Gotta hit the bank for change, I’m buying tamales Sunday. And I gotta stop by the church to drop off my tithe on the check for the book.

Penney’s is having a HUGE sale Friday and Saturday. I think they may be hurting more than anybody’s letting on. They still have my Egyptian cotton sheets on for less’n half their usual price. If I had the money – or the need – I’d buy another set. But I don’t need them, and I want to save my money to get my truck door fixed.

Hey! It’s REAL early in the morning! I’m going to bed.

Suckered Again!

Yeah, I got suckered into one of THOSE emails, again. When will I ever learn? So I decided to help out with a little humor. Here's what I forwarded to everybody - but not the 33,000 I needed to get my wish immediately:


This is a good story and is true, please read it all the way through until the end! (After the story, there are some very interesting facts!):

(Here was the story of the woman who fed the two homeless guys in McDonalds. You’ve already seen it, it’s been around the internet 16,341 times since January 1, 2009. It was originally started in Peoria, Illinois, by a Baptist minister in April of 1963, in hopes of getting his congregation to donate more money on Sundays. – see Snopes “Baptist Minister 1963”)

“In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald's, my son, the instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student.

I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn:

UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE.”

(That’s the end of the McDonalds piece. Here’s the beginning of the 36 – yep, THIRTY SIX – pages of email: only one or two words came through on each line, and there was huge scrolling down to read the next two words. Took me 12 minutes to get all the way to the bottom. I’ve copied it out and condensed it so you don’t have to sit here and scroll for 12 – 15 minutes [I read FAST] and wear out your mouse that much faster.)

“Much love and compassion is sent to each and every person who may read this and learn how to LOVE PEOPLE AND USE THINGS - NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE.”

There is an Angel sent to watch over you. In order for her to work, you must pass this on to the people you want watched over.
This Angel wrote:
Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave muddy footprints in your heart. To handle yourself, use your head…To handle others, use your heart. God gives every bird its food, but He does not throw it into its nest. Send it back, you'll see why !

A box of gold With a secret inside that has never been told This box is priceless but as I see the treasure inside is precious to me Today I share this treasure with thee. It's the treasure of friendship you've given me.

If this comes back to you then you'll have a friend for life but, if this becomes deleted, you are not a friend. You’re a rotten asshole who deserves to be shot for being UnAmerican, unchurched, a pagan idol-worshipper and probably a damn Muslim terrorist. Which leads me to wonder how the hell you ever got on my email list. You’re despicable! I’m deleting you right now! Go to Hell! Burn!
So, send this to everyone you consider a friend!

This is a magic snake (picture of a rattlesnake)...It will grant you one wish and only one wish, that is, if you decide to send this to others. You can wish for anything. Repeat your wish until you have stopped scrolling. Make it count!

FOR YOUR WISH TO COME TRUE YOU HAVE TO SEND IT TO:

30 PEOPLE - YOUR WISH WILL COME TRUE EVENTUALLY

56 PEOPLE - YOUR WISH WILL COME TRUE IN 3 MONTHS

107 PEOPLE - YOUR WISH WILL COME TRUE IN 5 WEEKS

159 PEOPLE - YOUR WISH WILL COME TRUE IN 1 WEEK

CAN'T WAIT A WEEK???

2,238 People-Your Wish Will Come True In 1 Day!

Special Bonus! If you email RIGHT NOW, to 13,599 people, you’ll have your wish come true in 1 HOUR!! And, as a special free gift, Billy Mays will come back to life and come to your door and sell you a stainless steel Turnip Twiddler, not sold in stores, TV offer only – EXCEPT HE’LL DO IT RIGHT AT YOUR FRONT DOOR WITH ALL YOUR NEIGHBORS WATCHING!! Special Escort Rev. Pat Roberts will be there to document Billy’s Resurrection – and to brush off the dirt from his clothes. Fox News will cover the whole thing. You, too, can become a CELEBRITY!

And if you need a REAL Miracle, Right NOW, send this email to 33,803 people immediately. Your wish will happen instantaneously!! God will appear and you will Ascend Into Heaven, where your silly Earthly wish will not matter!!

DO IT NOW!!

****** **********REMEMBER**************

THIS MUST BE SENT OUT THE DAY YOU READ IT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR WISH, OR YOU WILL BURN IN HELL FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY, WITH BILLY MAYS AND JIM BAKKER, JIMMY SWAGGERT, AND BILLY RAE WIGGINS (The evangelist on Channel 51 in Oppawattomie, LA at 7 a.m. Sunday mornings – brwigginsGod@samuels.net - healing prayers only $15, Visa Mastercard American Express accepted)

SEND THIS TODAY!! DO NOT LET GOD DOWN!! Sinner!

Man, I HATE getting sucked into reading these! I already KNOW and EMBODY all the good they talk about! I can't help it - I was born this way! "What Goes Around, Comes Around." Never fails. God never fails. That's why I'm so Blessed!

If you feel like you need a wish fulfilled, highlight this blog post and copy it into an email. Then send it to EVERYBODY on your email list. No, it won't be enough people to get your wish fulfilled, but hey, at least you tried!

Manic Again

Had my monthly visit with my VA counselor. This one wasn’t very good – in fact, it was downright scary. She told me I am in a manic phase, and if I haven’t pulled out of it by next Tuesday, the 3rd of November, I’ll almost certainly be yanked off the Wellbutrin and slapped with tranquilizers.

Not good. I don’t want to change this mix I have now, I’m doing WAAAAY too good. So what DO I do, since she’s saying I’m manic?

Sleep. She reiterated that I need 8-10 hours of sleep a night. No ifs, ands, or buts. Period. I gotta get that rest, that long, for my brain to recharge and allow the serotonin levels to balance out.

Well, I’ve been burning the candle at all four ends for ALL of October. I’ve bounced all over the map, doing this for so-and-so, that for somebody else, and more – here, there, and everywhere. I went to San Antonio with Lavonne for Leslie’s funeral. When I got back from THAT grueling day, I was damn near totaled. Just to keep things rolling, I went over and volunteered – ALL day – at the church’s annual yard sale. I was there from 6:30 a.m. till 3. That was grueling. I didn’t take time out to rest – REALLY rest – between bashes. Then the topper was last Saturday. I spent almost the entire afternoon pressing on with Buster’s book. That’s engrossing – and fun – but I can’t do long creative blasts anymore. I gotta portion it out.

Saturday’s efforts put me into a real spin. When I got home from Vivian’s Sunday morning I slept some…some. I woke up super early again. Got to church early – first one there again – and spent the mid-day hours being all wrapped up in the service. That burned me, too. Then Monday’s extravaganza with the CDs…

Yesterday afternoon I went to a class on how to publish a book. She spent an hour and a half telling us about the traditional publishing industry and how it’s changing and how difficult it is to get your book published, finding an agent, etc. – and how it doesn’t pay. The folks there ate it up. She touched on print-on-demand, asking me to share my experience, and I said as much as I could. Nobody seemed interested. I finally accepted that, and relaxed.

That burned up my afternoon, because I came home and cooked lunch. Viv fixed rice, I fixed the steaks. Ate and got my ass over to the VA…

Where Joann punched my lights out. She told me a whole lot of stuff about portioning out my time, planning blocks where I can just sit, if I need to, or write – in short chunks – and that I NEED 10 hours asleep every night. EVERY night.

This is part and parcel of the new me. I realized that May-June-July were “taking away” months, where fears dropped off. Then August-September-October have been “adding” months, where my skills and talents have been consciously brought into play, building my self-esteem and self-confidence. That’s the creating books – Buster’s first, and my fifth – and getting back into the creative end, where I’m writing again. All that book work, plus the extracurricular activities, has fried me because of my OCD overdrive.

Joann said I was manic. She talked about my sitting down with Viv and hashing out how I am going to run my life, blocking out hours for me to be with me, alone and peaceful…resting. I have to work on Buster’s book, too. So when I got home I went downstairs. Suddenly exhausted, I flopped back and put my feet up. No crosswords last night. We talked and she reminded me – several times – that she’d been telling me this all along, for the last month-and-a-half. She told me I didn’t listen until I heard it from somebody else.

So I have to adjust my consciousness to hearing HER guidance. It’ll save me a bunch of stress and agony. And a meds change.

Thus I’m gonna run an errand with her tomorrow morning – to get her glasses – then come home and take it easy all day. Thursday’s mine, all day. I don’t have another thing to do until Friday morning, which is the beauty parlor. There’s lunch and the afternoon’s wide open. The bed’s open and inviting, especially now that I have those new Egyptian cotton sheets from Penney’s. God, they’re luxurious!

I don’t have anything of consequence at the church for the foreseeable future. I’m not volunteering for the fish fry in November, I’m gonna take Vivian, eat, and leave. I do enough elsewhere, I don’t need to be charging around in everything.

Jim’s going to be after me to go get Jimmy’s trash. He likes to use my pickup so his Jeep won’t get smelly – those trash bags usually drip gross juice and often tear. I’m not going to go. Can’t. Gotta rest. I’m NOT endangering my meds.

I’m going to bed. I have to get up in the middle of the night – AGAIN – to do this glasses thing. Then it’s bedtime for Bozo.

Oh, but I love to write, so much. Joann said to plan my time so I can get that creative urge out, but in planned blocks of time. Looks like I’ve got a lot to learn.

4:00 p.m. Wensdy:

After the glasses fix, we went to the crafts store to check out wreaths. No luck. Vivian asked what was in the old furniture store space at the other end of the strip mall. Drove down there, and it’s a new store. Had to go in, of course. Found a set of curtains she loved. “Original price - $129.99. Sale price - $109.99.” Then the store’s sticker: “Our price - $9.99.” I picked them up. I can afford $10. Made her happy, too. No, I’m not gonna hang them. We have a maintenance man who’s happy to do that stuff.

Finally got home. Up here I shucked my duds and the bed called so loud I’m astounded the manager didn’t come running from the office – which is in the next building over! I mean, it was LOUD!! Yeah, I gave in. Got in and was gone before my head touched the pillow. That was bad, because I didn’t get my CPAP on. Woke up after a bit and slid it on, then went right back out. Soooo good.

Went downstairs for lunch at 3. Great food, good coffee, superb company. I’m gonna finish this…then get back in bed. I’m exhausted.

Right now I’m looking at tomorrow – Thursday – as being a day of long naps with a little work on Buster’s book thrown in for excitement. But mostly sleep. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

It’s 6:15 p.m.

I’ve just finished dinner – a hale and hearty gourmet peanut-butter sandwich, thank you – and read my email. I had three Facebook notices, which were interesting. Found my nieces today, by the way. There’s some wonderfulness – the older (who got married last June – yeah, the ceremony I missed) is studying to be a specialized lawyer. She’s interesting. The younger is a wild-and-crazy college student. Fun contrast. But I got contacts with them.

I slept! I got in two hours of deep unmoving sleep this afternoon! Now THAT’S great news! Especially since I usually get maybe an hour before popping back up, wide awake. Boy, I really must need down time.

Right before I hit the rack, I uploaded my latest edition/revision of Directions to Lulu.com. I had to cut my song stories. Yesterday when I was at the publishing lecture, Skye talked about copyright laws. “Print’s one thing,” she said, “but you don’t want to quote anything from a song or a poem without express written permission. Their lawyers – and they have thousands of them – will come after you hard and fast.” This echoed something I’d heard long ago, about running afoul of copyrights. Since I got an ISBN for Directions, it’ll be picked up by Google AND Amazon. I can’t have that puppy out there with offending material. I went into the master document and excised the section. Now I have a possible pamphlet – when I get enough song stories written – I could print for myself. It sure won’t be available to the public – just like my volumes of Thoughts, which are the compilations of my blog posts over the last 4 years. Those won’t be available anywhere. I’ll get a copy of each volume – it looks like there’ll be 16 or 17 – and have them here so when I die, there’ll be something dirty for the family to go through. Well, that and my collection of lingerie…fetishes are fun!

So now I have the FIFTH edition of Directions available. And I still have to upload the new/revised editions of my other four books. I’m keeping the same cover – no reason to wrestle with art again – but the mss will be different in subtle ways.

Lulu sent me an email today saying they’d shipped the two copies of Choices I had to order to make up the order for all my books from the gallery owner in Del Rio. I specified enhanced shipping, so they’ll be here Johnny-on-the-spot, and I can get the package in the mail. Jim’s going down there for First Friday, but I think I’ll mail them instead. That way there’s no forgetting on his part.

Speaking of the song stories – my Songs For Sarah - I keep getting more and more story flashes. My mind gets this piece of a song – a phrase, a snatch of the verse – and it plays…over and over and over and over and over. I’ve heard WAAAAYY too many people tell me they have the same thing happen. I just decided to write out what I get as a result. Right now I’m getting about one song/phrase a day. As the music/words play on my mental jukebox, a tale pops in. I got Paul McCartney’s “Ticket To Ride” last night, and a “sort of” story. This morning while I was driving us around between stores, a fuller line came in. When I sat down here and typed it into my “catalog” of story ideas, the full version popped out. Now I have a story, all I gotta do is sit down and let’er rip.

Facebook’s amazing. Seems like everybody’s on it. Yesterday I got a tickle from Elin. She’s a librarian in Norway. We used to be on an internet group thing called “Coffee Shakes,” that was folded due to harassment, that was resurrected as “Front Porch” – which I wrote long spews to. This was when Sherry was bedridden and I needed all the escape I could get. Anyway, Yngve got on there, and invited Elin. She wasn’t much of a contributor, but when she added something to the conversation, it was a zinger. Now on Facebook, Yngve’s completely unstoppable. He’s got diarrhea of the keyboard, continuously dumping messages about rock bands, heavy metal bands, off-the-wall social commentary, etc. etc. etc. I get an average of 25 posts on my wall every day.

Because he has Elin as a friend, she saw my profile showing up on his Friends page, and dropped me a note. We touched base and I found out she’s a librarian…and has a blog about libraries – in Norwegian! That’s interesting. Oh, well, another link from the past. I also get messages from Robert. He was the manager of the satellite TV studio for the start-up station TV35, way back in 85-87. I ran the equipment, he was on-air talent (he read the news for a microwaved transmission to San Antonio). Anyway, we’ve kept in touch over the years. Now he’s doing real estate in Dallas and drops ads on my FB wall all the time. No, he wasn’t on Front Porch, but he’s another contact from those tumultuous years.

I want to be writing. Right now. I wanna sit here and let it flow out. Well, why not try?

Later

Okay, it happened. I pulled up one of the song lyrics and pasted in the bit about what I was gonna say, and let it out. Voila, got another one. Well, that’s good. I feel better – a LOT better.

Now to go downstairs and see how my girl’s doing. Maybe I can get some crosswords worked tonight – that’s so peaceful. The flowers I got her Monday – it was raining, gloomy, cold (!) and lousy, she ached all over from the arthritis – still look great. I’m real glad I got them. Maybe those Europeans know something, buying flowers all the time. Somehow it helps with the drears. Of course, now that I’ve done it once, it’ll probably get to be a regular thing. Lordy, Lordy, there’s gonna be some REAL prosperity coming in, huh?

Foot In Mouth

Just did what I hate: I sent a political email to everybody on my email list. Yeah, got swept up in the screaming on Google News (The sky is falling! America’s going to collapse tomorrow! We’re gonna burn in Hell!) and decided to Google the health care option…find out what all this blather and bullshit is really about.

Here’s my email. Yes, there really is more blog post below it.


I've been ignoring the news - as I've been doing for the last twenty years - and doing just fine. Thunderous issues have blown over like tempests in a tea pot - on some distant neighbor's stove. Somehow the country's continued to operate, just fine. I'm really glad I didn't have to forward every other email to 45 people in12 minutes or a.) the country would fall to an army of jihadists who are lurking in Mexico, b.) Jesus will be hung back up on the cross in a desperate attempt to atone for our non-forwarding sins, and/or c.) I'll have super catastrophic bad luck for the rest of eternity and my dick'll rot off today, with cancer setting in tomorrow.

Yeah, it's been pretty bad. And I haven't had any of those things happen. So I feel like I'm doing the right thing - FOR ME.

Which brings me to this latest debate, about health care reform. I'm not really involved - I go to the VA for my care, thank you - but there are millions of people who can't afford health care. Most of the residents of this apartment complex fall into that category. You might say the issue hits close to home. Several residents eat VERY sparingly because they're paying for supplemental plans - and forget the cost of prescriptions. Walgreens is a black hole that sucks wallets dry.

This morning's iGoogle News had another flurry of stories about "how the public health care option will cause the American free enterprise system to collapse next week," and it finally got my curiosity up. I went and (GASP) Googled "public health care option." Yeah, I did it all in lower case. Among the 576,819,406 hits was this link. I went, I read, and what I saw made some sense. I felt moved to share it.

If this isn't your cup of tea, please delete it and don't shoot the messenger. I'm only telling you of my curiosity - and don't want any holes in my butt. This also does not mean I want thousands of emails telling me how to become a ... or urging me to support ... After all, I'm on a disability check and it only goes so far. I CAN'T give $5,000 a month to return Newt Gingrich to Washington. And I'm NOT gonna carry a huge wooden cross on my shoulder across this great country, America, in a march to Washington to return family values to government. Yeah, I actually got one asking for that. Ain't email amazing?

Version:1.0 StartHTML:

Who's afraid of the public option?
Health care debate is stuck on a straw man
By Josh Greenman
Friday, June 19th 2009, 6:01 PM
http://www.nydailynews.com/opinions/2009/06/19/2009-06-19_whos_afraid_of_a_public_option_health_care_debate_is_stuck_on_a_strawman.html
The official new sticking point in the fight over health care reform is the "public option," a taxpayer-sponsored medical insurance plan that Democrats want to offer as an option alongside a menu of private insurance plans. Republicans have turned this into the wedge of the moment - pillorying it as big government sticking its smelly foot in the hospital door, on the way to sitting its whole morbidly obese body in the waiting room, never to be removed.
Scott Harrington, a Wharton professor, summed up the argument in a Wall Street Journal op-ed: "The public plan would inexorably crowd out private plans, leading to a single-payer system." The American Medical Association put it this way: "The introduction of a new public plan threatens to restrict patient choice by driving out private insurers, which currently provide coverage for nearly 70% of Americans."
We shouldn't be cavalier about the public option. It's true that government would instantly become the biggest and baddest insurer on the block, able to effectively dictate terms to many doctors and hospitals. We must be very careful about how that would work.
But we do know that in many other sectors of the economy, government and private offerings happily compete and coexist. Well-established government options are available as backstops for millions of Americans, especially those without the money to afford any alternative - without denying customers who want to pay more for different or better services the right to buy what they want.
There's the government option in schooling. All across America, local and state governments, with increasing involvement by the feds (thanks to George W. Bush and No Child Left Behind), educate young people. All told, it costs us about $1 trillion a year. That hasn't kept 10% of students from enrolling in private schools and growing numbers from being home-schooled. Is government doing a particularly good job with its dominant market share? No - but the point here is that America is pretty comfortable with the powerful, effectively mandated, public sector role.
There's the government option in security. This one, like education, is in many respects a government-imposed monopoly. Keeping people safe has long been considered the quintessential public sector duty. That hasn't stopped businesses and individuals from supplementing government security with their own private providers.
There's the government option in shipping, the post office. The USPS is a quasi-governmental agency with special privileges. But that hasn't stopped FedEx and UPS from peeling away customers by offering premium services and greater convenience. Right now, the USPS, FedEx and UPS split the overnight delivery market share with about a third a piece. Cats and dogs, living together.
There's the government option in scientific research. Government agencies dole out most of the money seeding experiments in fields from basic physics and chemistry to energy and astronomy to biology. Through the National Institutes of Health and National Science Foundation, in fact, government selects winners and losers. And by most accounts, it does a decent job.
There's the government option in travel. Amtrak has been propped up by the government for years; it competes with private sector planes and buses. Some Americans choose the train. Some choose other modes of transportation. The sky does not fall.
There's the government option in recreation. The federal government is the nation's largest land owner. National parks compete for tourism business with privately owned resorts and businesses, and attracted some 13.8 million visitors in 2008. That's a few million fewer than visit Disney's Magic Kingdom in Orlando. And don't forget government-run and funded museums, from the Smithsonian (funded by the feds) to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (whose buildings are owned and whose operations are supported by the City of New York).
There's the government option in book lending. For years, libraries have coexisted alongside brick-and-mortar and online bookstores. They offer services to those who can't or don't want to pay more. Do they make it harder for book stores to survive? Perhaps, but they're considered a true public good.
There's the government option in retirement. We call it Social Security. To many elderly Americans, it's the only thing standing between them and poverty. None of this stifles private retirement plan innovation. And public-employee pension plans, run by government officials, regularly throw their weight around the private equity markets.
And, like it or not, there's already a sizeable government option at work in health care. Medicare, Medicaid and the Veterans Administration may be plagued with problems - just like, ahem, private health care - but, each in their way, do the job.
For political reasons, a health overhaul looks increasingly unlikely this year. Given the legendarily devilish details, Obama was probably deluded to suggest Congress could come up with a plan by summer's end, given everything lawmakers have to deal with.
Plus, though the President may not have spent all his political capital yet, he's spent about all the literal capital we've got, and the public is rightly alarmed by growing deficits. Indeed, Obama's claim that we must push through huge reforms now or runaway health care costs will drag down the economy sounds a bit like a NASCAR driver pleading for speed limits.
But it will be a terrible shame if the "government option" bogeyman is what sinks reform.
jgreenman@nydailynews.com

-- Well, there you have it. Now at least I feel better, knowing what all the screaming is about.

And I sit here, keyboard sprawled across my lap like a loving pet cat I used to have, riveted to this chair in fear that I’ll be buried in counter-attacking viewpoints. Of course, that’s what the delete button’s for. Oh, well. I reckon if I’m gonna run this blog all these years, it may as well be my bully pulpit.

- - - -

Now, back to our regular programming. I got up this morning at 6:57, right before the alarm was set to go off. I’m gonna take a shower and go to coffee at our local HEB grocery store. Jim’s bringing his girlfriend to meet the band of BS’ers, and I felt I should be there if for no other reason than to say, later, I told you so. About what, I have no idea, but I felt I oughta be there.

Now it’s 8:15. I’ve been wrapped up in this “public option” thing since 7:15. God, I’m glad that’s over with. I know what all the stink’s about – money, for the insurance industry – and can safely ignore politics for the NEXT 20 years.

I’m off to the showers, and down to Vivian’s. Catch ya later.

At church:

Well, this morning was interesting. I got to coffee at HEB at 10:20. There was the Gang: Rod, Jerry, Jim, Fred, Jon, and an empty chair for JoAnn. I had a plate with breakfast, so I sat down and ate.

I’d brought a copy of Directions, to show Martha. I thought she’d be there, with Marty. They weren’t, he has the flu. So I put the book down on the table.

Jerry wanted to see it. So he went looking, and read a couple of stories. That was nice, that he was interested.

After a while Fred Jr. showed up. He and his dad were gonna do something, so big Fred left.

Jerry’s wife Pat came in. (Still no JoAnn!) I remember – extremely faintly – meeting her once at the Shelton estate. Now she sits down next to me. She’s very attractive…and picked up my book.

Pat read through parts and I asked her if she liked it. She replied, “I’m not convinced it’s a good thing to buy, yet.” I think she was perusing it to see if it was clean and/or spiritually oriented. She went on scanning, and later handed it back to me, saying, “…not too bad.” Oh, well.

I left and came over here to the church. Fred and I had a good time talking. He went through Directions and read a story. Then he gave me a critique: I need to write a mystery. Ursh. Now there’s work – and a lot of it. Plot, sub-plot, intrigue, three or four side-plots, hidden clues, very careful attention to settings, time frame, medical details (my GOD, those better be right!), police action/speech totally correct, subtle details…yeah, a LOT of work.

I had him read “Blue,” the story about the guy who’s ignoring the news media as they froth at the mouth about everything turning blue. He mutters in his beer, sour and dour, wondering if he ought to keep a copy of the paper – as the last issue not to be totally filled with stories about things blue. Finishes his beer and walks out of the bar. And his world turns blue – exactly like the news was saying. All he can say is, “Shit.” Yeah, it happened to him.

Fred wanted to know what the point of the story was. I told him it was just a story, and explained the guy’s feelings. I don’t think he was impressed by the content. He DID go on, however, about what a good writer I am. That was wonderful, to hear those fabulous words of praise.

Left to my own devices, I remembered I had to download the sermons today. There are orders for CDs. So I rushed through the email reminder “This Week At Unity,” pasting in what needed to be there, embellishing what was there already. Oh, I know no one reads it closely, but **I** know it’s there. So I write it a little different each week. My OCD.

And got over to the Sanctuary. I went through the steps to download the sermons, and only missed once. I forgot to hit “Exit.” Had to start over. That shook me up enough I got the manual and did it by the book. Oh, well, I’ll have that process down in another couple of months.

Aside:

This morning I put on a short-sleeved shirt, my khaki pants, and slipped into my sandals. It was raining and I thought it would be a good idea if I had on footwear that could stand being wet. Grabbed my keys and headed for Vivian’s for coffee. Stepped outside and turned to pull the door shut – and immediately went back inside! It was COLD! Pulled off the shirt, grabbed a long-sleeve oxford-cloth model. Dug a sweater out of the back of the closet. Sat down and pulled on socks. Put on my tennis shoes, donned the sweater, and THEN went downstairs. WHEW! 50 degrees! What a huge change from yesterday’s upper 70s!!

Okay, it’s been a while. Gotta go check to see if the sermons are downloaded yet.

Ah. Done. Now to upload and then make the dub copies as requested.

Later…too much later:

I’ve just finished doing battle – hand-to-hand vicious fight-to-the-death armed muddy-sweaty-bloody combat – with the Goddamned Microsoft Windows Media Player. Why anybody lets Bill Gates’ people live after they’ve foisted this obscenity on us, God only knows. I’m on a Mac – which is entirely intuitive. This PC disaster is so frustrating I want to go capture Steve Jobs – the founder of Apple Computers – and torture him very, very slowly, for not flooding the entire WORLD with HIS computers. Instead, he let Gates sneak in and now look what we gotta put up with!!

It’s late: 3:00 p.m.

I’ve spent since 2:00 fighting the program, trying to get it to let me rename the CD tracks so they’ll conform to a reasonable convention. I kept getting error after error. I think - THINK - I have the result I wanted. Won’t know until two weeks from now, when I have to do this CD dance all over again. Ursh.

Now I’m off to the house. OOPS. Gotta stop by the grocery store on the way home. Vivian forgot her list the other day and I’m gonna pick up the stuff she forgot.

At least it stopped raining. There was a 90% chance, with flash flooding warned…now it’s just chilly and wet.

7:15 p.m.

Just up from my nap. Really needed that. Still tired out, I think the hassle over the Media Player got to me worse than I thought. Dammit.

And I’m still feeling rocky from the creative high I hit on Saturday. That’s when I spent almost all day on Buster’s book. When I get into that writing mode, I’m lost – literally – in that magical place of being At One with God. I’m doing what I’m meant to do. Problem is, I’m finding I get to flying high on the energy, on the fabulous good vibes. Then I’m buzzing for the next two-three days. This happened, again, so that on Sunday I was electrified, super-energized, all day. I kept feeling like I was gonna take off flying when I was running the podium. Now, Patty and Fred both said I was wonderful up there – not a mistake one – but inside I was sizzling. And Sunday afternoon I STILL had that energy.

This morning I was beginning to taper off. I was still high when I got to the church this morning, and Fred and I talked. It lasted until I hit that mess with the CD player-burner. When I got back here after the grocery store, I felt very level. I hadn’t gotten depressed or anything. Doing mundane stuff like taking garbage out, getting the mail, eating dinner, was normal. But I NEEDED this nap. And now I’m feeling sludgy. So, we’ll see what I’m like in the morning.

Saturday’s Shot

It’s 5 a.m. I got to bed at 1 this morning, exhausted. And woke up at 3:45. Lay there, tossing and turning, until I dozed off somewhere around 4:15. Then woke up at 4:30. Tossed and turned until I finally got up just a few moments ago.

I’m tired. Ditsy from no sleep. Going back to bed now will just get me more tossing and turning. Dammit. Saturday’s shot – I’ll be up and down all day, trying for a 15-minute nap here and there.

Why me, God?

Now it’s 5 p.m.

This morning’s agony wasn’t all lost. While I was awake – barely – I went speeding through one of my old stories and edited as I read. Did some pretty good fixing, made it a lot easier to read. Yeah, I really was into it. Figured, as long as I’m up, might as well do something productive.

This gives me great hope about working on Coffee At The Zoo. If this old story flowed along so easily, then Coffee should speed right on by. And then I’ll be able to finally get that one published. I’ve put off working on Coffee for so long, because I haven’t felt like I could do it justice. I’ve had deep fears of messing it up totally. Don’t wanna lose it, I put too much effort into writing it. So now there’s hope.

Got back to bed at 8. Slept pretty well until 10, when Vivian called, offering me coffee. I begged off, and went back to sleep – for a while. Finally pulled myself out and took my meds. Called her and set up lunch for 2. Then it was time to go do what I was supposed to be doing all day Saturday: working on Buster’s book.

At noon I finally got myself together enough to go figure out where I was on Buster’s BStone. And started. Worked till 2, then headed down for pot pie – turkey, from Marie Callendar. Pretty good, pretty good. Had a salad, too. Tasty. Too much food, but tasty.

And since then I’ve been sitting here putting his words into the book template. It’s a flowing, living thing I’m doing. And I love it.

Later, 7:30:

I’m done on Buster’s book for the evening. I’ve gotten the second folder inserted into the document, and am now back on the first folder. I only have an inch, inch-and-a-half deep pile of typewritten pages to enter into the book. I’ve already entered almost ¾ inch worth. There’s a lot there. I think it’s gonna run two volumes – if I ever get time to work on it.

Now to go eat salad at Vivian’s. And in the morning’s church.

Prosperity

Hmmm. Always comes back to money, doesn’t it? Well, I’ve been amassing cash all through October, and with some buffer under my belt I’ve gone looking for stuff I need. NEED, not want. Got a long list of stuff with prices on one of my agenda pages. But kept not doing anything about buying any of it. It’s that inertia feeling. I know I need it but I don’t want to spend the money. That’s a Duke-ism, from my dad’s attitude toward money when I was a tad – learning by watching. Sherry used to scream at me after I’d dance around, often for months, saying I needed something but not getting it. She’d tell me to go get it, I had the money, already!

Since she died, I seem to have eased up a lot on how long I take to make my move. Now, since last May, I am moving on things a lot quicker than I ever have before. That’s progress.

Then last night, I was sitting there, agonizing over this list of stuff I need, pouring out all this angst about buying things. Vivian looked at me at said, quite calmly, “He’s saying, ‘Do you trust Me?’” That hit me like a truck load of bricks. Yeah, it’s all about trusting God. I’m proving, daily, that I always have money. Since I started tithing, I have money in my bank account and in my wallet ALL MONTH LONG. Every month. Without fail. There’s nothing that happens that I’m not prepared for. And now I’m having to learn to completely trust. Okay, I wrote that down, to make a large sign for my bulletin board.

Thus, today I moved on several items. Vivian and I went to Penney’s and took advantage of their big 50-70% off sale. I got another set of those exquisite Egyptian cotton silkie smooth superb feel luxurious-to-the-max sheets, in a dark blue. Now I can change sheets once a week, like real people. Man, I’m coming UP in this world! While I was choosing my color (from the just-a-few muted offerings), Viv got to drooling over a set for her bed. After finally getting her to choose a color, I grabbed a set for her, deciding to put it on my card. I could always move the money over from the other account.

She demurred, of course, not wanting to be in debt to me. I insisted. We headed for the cash register. Nobody there. I waited a bit to see if anyone came charging around a corner, but no luck. So it was off to another register in the other part of the store.

As we’re walking away from the counter, Vivian reaches down and picks up $40 cash that was lying there. Talk about God-sent prosperity!! That paid for her sheet set, on the spot. And I had another $40 in my pocket.

Went over to the shoe department. Nunn Bush shoes were on sale. I found a pair of penny loafers and asked for them in EEE width. No such luck. The gal looked online and they only come in wide, which ain’t wide enough. Saved me more money right there.

Looked around some – Vivian likes to shop, look at stuff she doesn’t have room for in her closet – and headed for the house. I felt like I wanted the taste of ice cream, and didn’t wanna get a Mickey D’s cone. I think their dairy product isn’t all that good. So I swung by the grocery store and got some Vanilla ice cream.

Back at the house, Viv fed me a bowl of the sugary confection. I scarfed it up, happy as a clam. And came upstairs.

Now, I had a choice: I could work on my books, so I could upload the new editions to Lulu.com and order copies to fulfill Pam’s order for a copy of each book…for which I’d need another copy of Choices, and be out of Water. I knew that’d take a couple of hours, anyway.

Or, I could work on Buster’s book – get his manuscript and continue typing it into the template.

Or, I could blow off the book work and sit quietly, read Anita’s book that’s been sitting here over a month…

Or, I could dribble around on email etc. and see what else popped up.

I felt the pressure of Pam’s order – it takes time for Lulu to print and ship – and went to see about uploading the rest of the books’ new editions. Somewhere in there, I caught myself. I really only NEED a couple of copies of Choices, because it’s the only one I’m out of. Yeah, I’ll need to order more Water For Gas - I’m going to be out when I ship to her – but I have to upload the new edition first. And I just didn’t wanna take the time today. I uploaded and revised Choices the other day, so it was fine. And I have plenty of the others.

I bypassed revising and went straight to the shopping cart on Lulu. Put down two copies and opted for “ground” shipping – a premium service, at $10 – and hit “Buy.” Grabbed the checkbook and wrote it down.

Okay, that’s two things on my list, done. I’m feeling pretty good. To insure I have buffer, I went to the bank site and transferred cash to my checking account. That covered everything.

A feeling of peace is coming along now. I go to the list on my Agenda document and check off what I’ve done. Then I read the list again. And realized I’ve dithered about getting a new version of Word too long. Every time I email Buster a copy of the updated manuscript, his PC says the version of Word I’ve used may not save correctly, that formatting will be lost, that I’m not patriotic, that I’m a Commie for using a Mac in the first place, that I need to get a PC and advertise on the internet for viruses that Windows purposely leaves holes for so they can sell anti-virus programs, etc. etc. etc.

My disgust with Microsoft was overridden by my desire to have Buster’s books in the latest version. And I already checked with my Mac Guru, James Craft, who said Office 2008 would work. Gave up and went to Amazon, found the Home and Student Edition for $129. When I plopped that into my shopping cart, a recommended flag popped up – I could get Office 2008 full edition for only $189. I dithered around some, then went for the full.

Entered that into the check book and did the math on the balance column. Went back to the bank site and moved more money over to cover.

And that tired me out. Spending money’ll do that to me. Bipolars have trouble with money – tend to spend it like there’s millions where that came from. Well, in God’s terms, there is – and always will be. The small catch is that **I** have to fully – completely – believe this. No doubt, no what if’s, no questions, period. When I fully, totally, completely believe that money’s always, permanently, inexhaustibly here now, then it will be. In the meantime I sit and stew, Vivian says, “He’s saying, ‘Do you trust Me?’” and I get a review of this Money Lesson all over again.

You’d think I’d get that lesson once and for all – it’s such a huge part of our lives, y’know? Well, I WAS doing pretty good there. The bucks keep rolling in and I’m putting it aside, feeling VERY good about myself. Secure because I have the cash sitting here. But that’s NOT the lesson. The Lesson is to feel secure, protected, happy, satisfied and complete NO MATTER IF THE MONEY’S HERE OR NOT!! Yeah, THAT’S the lesson. To stand here and KNOW I’m always provided for, totally. That if I need it, it’ll be here, right now.

Now THAT’S Faith. And I’m still working on mine.

Golly, Forrest, why don’t you pay attention to what you’re writing? All you gotta do is get quiet and let God. He’s always here. Always. Can’t get away from Him. Period.

Ah. Relax. It’s all okay. Anyway, after I bought the software package – had to buy the whole Office, can’t get Word by itself anymore – I put this machine into “Sleep” mode and went to take a nap. Got a good half hour in before I realized I was tossing and turning like a rock star dancing on stage. The towel I use on my pillow, to keep from getting it wet with sweat, was all wadded up under my cheek. My CPAP hose was stretched halfway across the bed, and the sheet was half off the side. Yeah, it was time to get up.

Back here on this keyboard, I cleaned up a few odds and ends, got some iced tea, had some cottage cheese (I’m a real healthy eater), and decided to do a blog post. Talk about today’s steps forward. Well, here it is.

In cleaning up odds and ends, I came across my list of story ideas for my “Songs For Sarah” series. Bemoaned the fact that I didn’t get the last four songs down on paper before they disappeared into the haze of short-term memory. Looked at another list and found a story idea for either a blog post or a short story. I figured it’d be better as a short story, there’s not enough there for a full post. But it’s a good idea. I can have fun with it.

Flipped over to my list of “Topics” and pasted it at the bottom. That list is getting longer and longer. I need to finish my book projects so I can start writing regularly, daily, like a routine. Vivian said I’d be writing like that. No more bursts that keep me locked into this chair for hours, but on a regular schedule, almost every day. Hmmm. That shoots the hell out of my life-long pattern of “waiting for inspiration then going till I fall over.”

But that’s the whole thing: I’m NOT boom-or-bust anymore. I’m even, I’m normal, now. I don’t have those wild mood swings anymore. I’m taking my meds every day and I’m doing wonderfully. I look at Rod, at coffee, and he won’t take any meds because it’d stifle his creativity. Yeah, I understand that feeling, but now I don’t have it. I CAN sit here for an hour or two every day and let the words come through, easily and naturally.

THAT means I can finish up Buster’s book, finish up my novels, finish up my Thoughts volumes, get in there and finish the re-write of Coffee At The Zoo - which has been patiently waiting in the wings since 2006 – and publish it. I like that story, I think it has merit. It’s also a good read. Just gotta finish it. I went into it in early 2007, during the sturm und drang period after Sherry died, expecting to be able to whip it out and have that as my escape from all the shit storm I was experiencing. It didn’t work, all I did was delete huge chunks out of it in hopes of bringing it down to the neighborhood of 80,000 words, instead of the 150,000 I poured out when I was writing it during the agony of taking care of Sherry. So I have ended up with two full folders of the chapters, one folder full of the original (I hope) and the other stuffed with the edited versions, with documents in another folder of all the verbiage I took out. And there’s a lot.

I feel good. Good about myself. I’m at peace. I’ve taken action on my needs. I’ve taken care of ME today. I’ve had a nap, such as it was. I’ve rested this afternoon. I’ve caught up on my emails. I’ve balanced my checkbook and it’s okay, there’s still money in it. I’ve had a good day with Vivian, and will have a good evening. I might even get to sit and work some crossword puzzles. I LOVE that, it’s so relaxing! The only drawback to going down there is, I gotta get up and put clothes on. I sit here keyboarding in my undies. I know, I know, the standard Writers’ Uniform is pajamas, but I feel better in undies. It isn’t cold enough yet to pull on full coverage garments. Besides, I sit right under the AC vent, so if I get too cold the heat’ll kick on and toast my side. All I REALLY need are house shoes.

OH, WOW!! I have my Koala Slippers in the bedroom!! Last Winter – no, the Winter of 2006-2007 – I wrote on this blog about sitting here in my undies and my bunny slippers. And bemoaning the fact that my bunny slippers were another figment of my imagination. Umph. Be careful what you ask for: my beloved sister Pooh sent me a pair of Koala slippers. They’re HUGE! They have Koala bears on them and when I try to walk in them it’s like I gotta do the snowshoe thing – pick up my foot, step WAAAY out there, set it down easy, repeat, repeat, repeat, then turn the corner into the bathroom (bladder screaming), repeat, repeat…

I learned. Park them under this computer table and slip into them when I’m sitting here with this keyboard on my lap. Yeah, they’re warm, which is why I’ve kept them. Well, that and they’re a wonderful reminder of my sister’s love when I was in the emotional toilet after Sherry died. I’ll probably have these for the next 40 years – or until they decompose on me.

Got my reminder call today from the VA. In hopes of cutting down on vets missing appointments and wasting resources, they have people who call and remind you. I have my counselor appt. Tuesday at 5:30. Yeah, that does seem late, but they’re trying to be there when most patients are able to get there. I think that’s good.

Tuesday afternoon I’m going to a class on how to publish a book. The gal’s supposed to talk about ALL the ways you can get a book into print, including print-on-demand (like Lulu), and there’ll even be a section on agents and publishers. Hmmm. I oughta tell Garland about this. He has a book he wants to get printed…

Vivian just called. She wants to know where I am – I’m late, again. Well, I have coffee, iced tea and ice cream waiting. Not to mention the crosswords. See ya later.

Leslie Obit

And I thought Monday was busy…

Tuesday I went and talked with Gwen for a couple of hours in the morning. He’s a very interesting guy, has had quite a career. Now he reads a lot and has a very wide range of interests. Nice to spend time with him.

Got Vivian to the eye doctor at 1:15 – just barely. I cut it kinda close. Have to be sure to get going a lot earlier from now on.

And we went to the pizza buffet for lunch. I hadn’t had any pie in a long while, so I stuffed myself. That was very nice. Got my taste buds sated for a while.

Came home and crashed. I was BEAT. Slept an hour or so, got up, looked at email (nothing here) and went back to bed. Got another nap – which is NOT a usual pattern. I felt tired all over. Slept through the League Of Women Voters meeting on our constitutional amendments. Dammit. Now I have to rely on the insert in the newspaper. Gotta run vote, too.

Last night I got Vivian’s clothes cart and my stuff, and we went to wash. At 11 p.m. That’s so there won’t be any competition for the machines. She needs four, I use two, which only leaves two in the room. No reason to wait around for a machine during the day, when we can just walk in and have the whole place to ourselves at night. We were done by 1. I stumbled back upstairs and hit the bed.

That was fine. I got some sleep. Then this morning reared its ugly head. No, no sleeping in late anymore. I made my way downstairs and had coffee, then went to Lavonne’s. Sat down with her and did an expanded obit on her husband for the hometown paper. Her niece emailed a couple of photos. Came back up here and put it together. She okayed it, I emailed it to the funeral home – they have to send in obits, the paper won’t take them from individuals anymore – and that was that.

Now I’m too late for a nap before I gotta be at the church for an interview of a member for the next bi-monthly newsletter. After that, I may have time for a nap before I gotta be back at the church for the monthly Board Meeting.

All this is okay. That’s because I have tomorrow off – or, rather, my schedule isn’t booked. There’s nothing there. I thought I’d get my revised manuscripts uploaded and order some more books while I have the money. Then I want to get back on Buster’s novel.

So we’ll see what happens. Meanwhile, last night I was sitting at Viv’s, minding my own business, and got another song to write a story around. At least I wrote it down. We’ll see how fast that one comes out.

It’s now 5:30 p.m.

I’ve just finished the interview with Nancylee. I’m gonna try for a quick nap. I’m tired, again. And I have the Board meeting tonight…

The Race Is On

By Forrest Landry
October 19, 2009

Static danced all around the song, making the words hard to hear. Didn’t matter, he knew them by heart.

Lord I feel tears wellin' up cold and deep inside like my heart's sprung a big break
And a stab of loneliness sharp and painful that I may never shake

The tears mocked him, dancing just behind his eyelids. He’d never felt like this before, and it was almost more than he could take.

You might say that I was taking it hard oh she wrote me off
with a call
But don't you wager that I'll hide the sorrow Lord I may break right down and bawl

His chest spasmed, his eyes burned, his throat was closing up…

“Oh, God, I can’t cry! I can’t let it get to me! Oh, God, I hurt so bad! Why? Why me? Didn’t she care at all? Why me?”

His thoughts raced, tearing up the ground he’d been over – and over, and over, and over – all day yesterday, all night last night, and now all day today. He was just a total wreck. At this rate he’d miss work tomorrow, too, and he had a truck payment to make this month.

Now the race is on and here comes pride up the backstretch
Heartaches are going to the inside

“Dammit, Troy, if’n you don’t get yerself in hand, you’ll be walkin’ ‘cause yer truck’ll be repo’ed. You gotta do somethin’ about this! Get yer shit together!”

But his stern talking-to made no headway against the screaming pain he felt. It was more than he could take. He had to do something.

My tears are holding back they're tryin' not to fall
My heart's out of the running true love scratched for another's sake
The race is on and it looks like heartaches and the winner loses all

The cold wind snuck in between the sheets of corrugated tin his pa’d put up last Summer.

“That was when Uncle Nudge rammed the house when he was drunk over Aunt Marlys runnin’ around on him with Dub Hankins – the second time. Can’t blame him, but damn, it’s cold now.”

He shivered, thinking of the warm bay he worked in, down at the Lexus plant. It was too bad they’d stopped the guys from hangin’ out in the employee lounge. It was warm there, and too cold at home. But some of the guys’d been taking advantage, staying all night. Troy sat back and sipped his Jack Daniels.

“Gotta DO somethin’. Can’t let Jeannette get the best of me. I’m too good fer that. Too good fer her. Yeah, I’m too good fer her. She’s shit. I never shoulda gotten that deep.”

He suddenly saw her pale white thighs, luring him in the moonlight, and the immediate pain in his crotch slammed him, hard.

“Dammit, Jeannette, you’re MINE! We loved each other! How could ya just throw it all away?”

One day I ventured in love never once suspectin' what the final result would be
How I lived in fear of waking up each morning and findin' that you're gone from me

“Damn Jerkins! He weren’t no good, nohow. Couldn’t even get his dogs to obey! Ran that damn deer to death. And then they bit Homer. Damn Jerkins. He don’t deserve to have her. She’s too good fer him. What’s the matter with her?”

Cause there's ache and pain in my heart for today was the one that I hated to face
Somebody new came up to win her and I came out in second place

The glimmer came softly, at first. When he turned to it, to see what it was knockin’ on his mind, he saw it clearly.

“Makes sense. Ain’t nothin’ else gonna work where she’s concerned.”

Another sip of Jack Daniels and he got up.

“I ain’t even walkin’ crooked. Yeah, I’m okay. I kin do this.”

The cold wind, whooshing around the corner of the ramshackle house, didn’t phase him. His mind was set.

The pickup door blocked the wind. He reached under the seat.

“Yep. Got plenty. No sweat.”

Slamming the door, he cranked the engine. Started right up.

“These new trucks always start. Man, I like a new truck. Let’s get some heat in here.”

The tires squealed as he peeled out the driveway onto the county road. He was up to 65 in no time.

“This’ll be easy. I kin do it fast, get away quick.”

Jeannette’s house was right there, so fast. He had to slam on the brakes hard to get slowed down enough to get into her driveway. As it was, he slid across the dirt yard almost up to the house.

“Do a Uncle Nudge if I’m not careful. An’ I ain’t even drunk. Watch yerself, boy, you might mess this up.”

A shake of his head told him he wasn’t too messed up to do it. It was gonna be all right.

“Now to see if she’s home.”

He reached behind the seat, grabbing Ol’ Blue. Yep, even felt warm.

Stepping over the bad boards on the porch, he grabbed the screen door handle and whipped it open. Turned the knob and the door opened inward.

She was in her bedroom, listenin’ to the radio, singin’ along. When she saw him come in her door, her eyes widened.

“Troy! What’re yew doin’ here? Yer sposed to be at work! What’s wrong?”

Then she saw Ol’ Blue. She started in fright.

“Troy! What’re yew gonna do? Troy! Troy? Yew aren’t gonna do anything…”
Her head jerked back when the bullet tore into her breast. The look of fear on her face just made him mad. He pumped two more into her, the first one for the hurt she’d caused him, the second makin’ sure.

The echo of the shots had made him deaf. Her small bedroom had held the report, echoing it all around, super loud. He hadn’t ever heard a shot sound so loud. It was like it was slammin’ his heart.

“Oh, God, lookit whut I done. Oh, God, this ain’t good. But she deserved it. Cuttin’ me off like that. Jerkins don’t deserve ya. Now he won’t have ya.”

Automatically he squatted, picking up the cartridges. Reloadin’ was a fact of life around here.

Troy shook his head, to clear it of the super-loud shots, and headed for his pickup. Ol’ Blue slipped into his rack behind the seat just as natural as always. It was like she’d never happened.

As he pulled onto the county road, suddenly tired, the radio station finished up the song.

Now the race is on...
Yeah the race is on and it looks like heartaches and the winner loses all

“I got Jack Daniels left. Might as well finish it off, today’s shot anyway. Too late to go in.”

Writing Is Back

It’s been an exhausting week. I don’t wanna do that again, ever. I probably will, of course, but I’m don’t want it to even THINK of coming around again anytime soon – like in the next year, at least. But for now I’ll take it easy.

Yesterday morning I pushed myself out of those delicious super-soft utterly sensuous sheets waaaaaaay too early. But I got up anyway, knowing damn well that if I stayed even for five minutes I’d miss church altogether.

Rushed through getting ready, and found myself sitting here, bored, with almost an hour to kill before time to leave. Yep, overeager all over again.

But damn glad I did – I was at least awake and able to DO it. Left early and did the book study – very good insights – and it was on to the service. As Patty and I were going over the stuff I do, I mentioned I’d had a flash of talking about the Yard Sale as a living entity, but that I hadn’t written it out. She said that sounded interesting, but nothing else.

I got up there and began. Did the only announcement – a quiet week at the church – then started the ad libs. First, the request for all of us to wear our name tags. “I really would like for you all to wear them – I can’t remember your names!” “You, too, can get tiny pin pricks in your shirts or blouses – and have holy clothes!”

Then it was on to the yard sale. I worked up how much effort and love it takes to plan the whole thing. The work involved in setting it up, working it all day...and then the hardest part: the sheer guts and stamina needed to clean it up, when everybody’s gone, it’s hot, and you’re all tired from being there all day. And I announced the grand total. They applauded mightily. Well, it WAS a good amount!! Better’n last year!

I’d approached my upcoming interviewee and asked if I could speak with her for the bulletin. She almost instantly demurred, saying there wouldn’t be anything interesting to say. I said I understood, and backed off. I’d just go to the next one on the list.

But after I’d counted and was putting stuff away, she came in and said she’d reconsidered. Could I interview her? I said of course, and will get to her this coming week. That’s great! I’m looking forward to learning all about her!

Did the Abundance Sunday dance: when we finished counting I went out and ate at the potluck. I’m glad Kathleen got us plates – there wasn’t anything left! Hustled over to the bank and headed home.

Went down for coffee at Vivian’s. Then it was bedtime. I got my CPAP ready and almost – ALMOST – jumped into bed. I DID rapidly slide into the embrace of those deliciously slick Egyptian cotton sheets, though. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was gone! Yeah, I was tired out.

The long week I’d been through took its toll on me. I was beginning, now, to let go some of the tension I’d carried, to keep me alert and energetic, going and going. I’d pushed through some tough days, and gotten everything done. Now it was time to start resting.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, I reluctantly got up. Had to, I had begun tossing and turning, unable to sleep any more. In here I sat down and read my email.

Had one from my cousin Bobbie. She was home from her jaunt down here, when she came by and picked up her copy of Directions, autographed by the author. I’d sent her an email asking for a review of each book she’d read. Well, she has them all. I was hoping against hope she’d have a whole slew of comments I could plug in.

Nope, she was as cryptic as ever. But there was enough to put in every one of the manuscripts. So I opened up each one and massaged the “What People Are Saying About” sections. While I was there I redid the other comments, adding several really laudatory ones and deleting the blahs. Took out the negatives, too. I feel better about my books now. I don’t want anybody running them down – not even me, when I write those fictional ones.

Got the mss. fixed and it was time to go see Vivian. Got down there and I was falling asleep, I was so tired. My eyes burned worse than I’d felt in a long time. Put my head back and went right off, in spite of the cup of coffee I’d just finished. Leaded, too, no decaf yet this year.

This morning I got up and checked email. Wow! Got a review from Carol! Holy Shit – it’s EXTREMELY nice! I had to read it three times just to get the full feeling. And copied it to a document, to keep it with the book’s earlier versions.

Hopped into the manuscript and re-worked the comments. Got it. Now to upload that and print out a new version. Gotta get some ones, anyway.

Because I feel so good about her review – of Artesia - I decided to go do something about the song playing in my head. Yeah, I have it, too: get up in the morning and there’s a phrase from some tune I heard years ago, running over and over. This morning’s mental juke-box stuck record is The Race Is On, with George Jones whipping it out. Hear his voice and phrasing and that catch in his voice, everything, in full stereo. Well, that brought to mind my Songs For Sarah group, that I put in my new book, Directions. That’s some stories I wrote around songs from the past. That I heard in my head.

And “the winner loses all” got it this morning. I hopped over to the Songs section to check on the format, then whipped it out. No, I didn’t have any idea what was gonna come out. It just flowed, like they always do. I started with a phrase from the song, and Troy’s story was just there. I’m posting it first, today, so it’s just below here. Scroll down and see if you like it.

Now it’s 9:30 a.m. and I’m gonna go see Vivian. She’s got that eternal pot of coffee going and I’m in need of caffeine.

4 p.m. Monday afternoon:

The Disorder is Back – with a vengeance!! I’m unable to walk by a keyboard without falling under the spell of words. Today I’ve put together two stories – in a heartbeat. This second one is Up Up And Away. It’s below here, too.

Man, this is amazing! I sweat blood worrying about the inspiration, and then WHAM!! BAM!! SLAM!! It’s back. Whew.

Dear God, it’s already 7 p.m.:

In other, non-consequential news (from this morning), I went to WalMart, returned some slacks (too BIG!! YEAY!!), deposited at the bank, then at the church I went bonkers. Got all SORTS of stuff done. AND gave Fred a treatment, which he direly needed. He felt a LOT better afterwards, too. If he’s available Wensdy I’ll do him again.

And POOF! My entire week closed up like sinuses having an allergic reaction. I mean, TIGHT!! Monday, for instance, went from two things to EIGHTEEN things!! It’s now 7:15 and I don’t have time to do any more. I AM gonna push and get three of those items crossed off – one is finishing this blog post – and another is posting those two stories. And I gotta email Race Is On to Fred, I bragged about it to him.

Okay. Enough. I’m fading, fast. I need some quiet time. Think I’ll go down to Vivian’s, sit and work some crossword puzzles. That’s relaxing. See ya tomorrow.

Yard Sale

I survived the 2009 Yard Sale. After getting home at midnight, I managed to get SOME sleep. Viv called me right in the middle of that night – 5:15 or so – and I stumbled into clothes. The wrong clothes. I put on a short sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts. As I walked down to her place I thought maybe I’d need to come back up and change. But right then I needed coffee.

After a HUGE breakfast – a frittata with cheese and peppers, three just-out-of-the-oven-hot biscuits, hot coffee – I managed to waddle into the recliner and try mightily to stay awake enough to drink some more coffee. I don’t know if I did very well, can’t remember much except looking for toothpicks to prop my eyelids open.

Received an Act Of God: He got me up from that cozy warm superbly comfy recliner and on my feet, then out the door heading for the church – at 6:40 a.m. It was still DARK, for Christ’s Sake!! But the truck started right up – not a qualm on its part – and away I went.

Got there early - **I** thought. At 6:55 there was an entire crew of people running boxes of stuff out to the hastily-set-up tables in the parking lot. I joined in. My Lands, what a LOT of stuff. I thought I was gonna freeze, out there in shorts when everybody else was in heavy jeans and jackets, but as soon as I broke out in a sweat I knew I was fine. Either that or my internal thermostat is REALLY broken, due to the meds. Well, the side effects DO say I don’t have the temperature extreme tolerance. Maybe these drugs take away the pain a little TOO much. Have to be sure to watch and not take chances.

With the tables loaded and dawn’s light spilling over us, the early birds came roaring up. Soon we had a parking lot full of people. Stuff was grabbed and gone in no time.

I retreated into the warmth. Got on the computer in the office and dug out the CD with the last two sermons on it – the one I burned Wensdy and didn’t have time to upload – and ripped it to the file. Named it, named the tracks, saved it in the right folder, got the list of sermons updated, got the note to Lynne updated, crossed all the i’s and dotted all the t’s, got the p’s and q’s in line, and lined up waterfowl. Pulled out a blank and burned the requested CD for a gal who’d ordered it. Everything labeled and put away, I took a short break – went outside to mingle with the crowd, found it had warmed up nicely, people were at least friendly…got a cup of coffee, drank most of it – and came back to the computer. I’d remembered what I had to do: find the list.

I’ve become the de facto interviewer for the newsletter. It’s not a hard job, or big, because it’s only a couple of paragraphs every two months. But I have to remember to do it. That means reading the list to see who’s next. And I forgot where I put the list. I KNEW I’d made copies, just didn’t know where I’d stashed them. Finally flagged Patty down as she made another flight through the office, tearing off between putting out fires and fixing things. She quickly sat down and showed me where the list was. I opened it and found it WASN’T the list. It was an early stab-in-the-dark guessing that was superceded real fast when Patty and I went over names, choosing who to put on the interview list.

I shook my head and went to the file drawers. Maybe there was a printed copy somewhere. Dug a bit and SHAZAM!! There it was! Made myself a copy, for MY folder, and thought I needed to update it. The first one we’d flagged three months ago, I’d gotten last time. Went snipe hunting in “My Documents.” And there it was: the list I was looking for (the all-inclusive one) and the complementary one, of those who’d been interviewed. Got smart and moved that folder to the other one, so now all that stuff’s together – logically.

And I have the name of the next interviewee. Oughta be interesting. She’s a real hoot, too. The problem here will be keeping it short enough to fit on the ridiculously small page. Oh, well, someday we’ll figure out how to put pages on the web site that are different from the ones we have to print.

It’s Saturday night in the middle of October. There’s NO email. Facebook is as dead as a doornail. My phone’s not ringing. I can’t seem to get enthused about working on Buster’s book – or any of mine. I still have those updates to upload before I order more copies. And I NEED copies, I have an order. Oh, well, I’ll get there.

This last week has been a pedal-to-the-metal pandemonium period. Leslie’s death threw the whole schedule off.

This coming week I have laid out an easy string of days. After tomorrow’s church extravaganza – book study, podium, counting, potluck – I’m coming home and taking a power nap. Then take some time for ME: upload a book or two. That isn’t a major brain drain. The evening’s for Vivian, as usual.

Monday’s the church office gig. That’s always nice because I can relax and get the weekly email reminder out. The hardest thing there is getting the list of people who need prayers. Patty hasn’t been real “up” about doing that. I’ve been winging it with those names I know are having trouble, and that seems to do well. There haven’t been any complaints. After I get that email tickler sent, I have time to write on my blog, or just a letter to myself. I tended to do a lot of that earlier this year, but haven’t been as prolific lately. Haven’t felt the need to talk to me as much since I’ve been knee-deep in Buster’s books. I might take one of my books with me to catch up on my reading. I have three I need to be poring through.

Tuesday Vivian’s got another doctor’s appointment. She’s going to see the eye doc. That’ll be a nice jaunt. We’ll go to lunch afterward, get pizza at the buffet place. I’m planning on stopping by Penney’s and picking up another set of those Egyptian cotton sheets. Those are the most AMAZINGLY slick bed dressings I’ve ever slid between. I REALLY like them. And the big sale they’re having isn’t gonna last forever. Then Tuesday night’s the League of Women Voters. They’re having a meeting where elected reps talk about issues in the coming election. I missed the one last week, and realized this morning that I’d better find out what the hell I’ve got to vote on. These constitutional amendment elections are where the Texas Legislature sneaks some VERY shady stuff past the ignorant uncaring electorate. I at least wanna know about the issues.

Wensdy’s clear, open, easy, non-pressured, and the only thing is the monthly Board Meeting at the church – at 6:30. That’s gonna be smooth.

Then Thursday: AAAAAHHHH, Thursday. MY day. I may take this Thursday off and simply sit, maybe read, nap, and rest.

RIGHT! Like I’m going to have time! Well, I can always dream…

Del Rio

Dammit, I did it again. I am blasted – totally blown out tired – from a hard day doing Leslie’s funeral Thursday, then pulling a turnaround trip to Del Rio today to drop off Jim’s paintings for his show in November, and I drove half the way each leg. I come upstairs, crawl into bed, and wake up exactly an hour later. Man, this internal alarm clock is infallible. But I WANTED to sleep longer. Oh, well, maybe tomorrow.

It was a good trip. Jim and I had a chance to talk, over a long period without having to rush off, for the first time since sometime last year, it seems. I mean, I don’t remember us making a road trip since then. So we had time to ramble about and discuss all the stuff that’s normally forgotten in a rushed catch-up session.

He’s doing exceptionally well – like me. He’s far from being the same guy who arrived here from Chicago traffic in January 1997. Totally different, and most of the huge leaps forward have been since his divorce, in March 2007. This past Summer’s been the great smoother for him. That’s really nice to see.

While we were in Del Rio we went to lunch with Pam, the gallery owner. We got to talking about my books and she ordered a copy of each for her husband, who has a lot of time where he sits around and waits on his clients. So now I have to sign a copy of each and mail them to her. This is turning out to be a VERY profitable year!

But first I have to revise all five books. Just minor changes, but necessary. Since I got up just a bit ago, I’ve uploaded the new edition of Choices. So it’s ready to go, all I have to do is order it. I have to get some copies of the others, too, so I’m gonna do it all at once. Save on the mailing charges.

In the morning’s the church yard sale. I gotta be there at 7 to help set up. Ursh. I’ll sleep tomorrow afternoon.