Rish Outcast 320: In Security 8

Rish tells more stories about being a security guard. Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know.

In this one, Rish talks about being at the library for one year, as well as the lady who has seizures, and what seems like actual progress with her. He also talks about the relationship between librarians and security, the girl whose first day it wasn't, his limited Spanish-speaking ability, and in a bit of a downer*, the girl who was covering her face.

*A bit??

Download the file directly by Right-Clicking HERE.

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Logo by Gino "Sit & Spin Security" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 281: Happy Birthday, Mister Cundy

Rish shares--against his better judgement--his recent story "Happy Birthday, Mister Cundy."

Ashley is a caring and sympathetic nurse, even when it comes to the nastiest old man on the floor. It happens to be his birthday, and you know what they say about no good deeds.

Warning: Unsubtle politics.

You can download the file by Right-Clicking HERE.

You can support my Patreon by clicking HERE. 

Logo by Gino "Mister Coondey" Moretto.

The Person Falling Here Is Me?

I have been REALLY good to go to the library these past two weeks.  I ought to give Big Anklevich the credit or blame, since he just keeps writing and publishing and, I dunno, swinging from the monkey bars at the school playground without being afraid to look down.

Today, I was sitting at one of their little cubicles, typing away (or dorking around with A.I., or answering inane questions for eBay*, or reading about James Clavell's time in a Japanese POW camp, etc.), when I caught a whiff of something considerably foul.  It was the smell your clothes can get if you soil them, then forget to throw them in the wash (you know what I mean by "soil").  I've met homeless people before that smell like that, but I feel bad saying so.

Anyway, there are often lots of homeless folks here at the library, since they can come in out of the cold or rain (or sunshine, I guess) and sit around until the place closes, and hey, I take advantage of this place myself, so I'm totally not judging), but I looked about me and didn't see any around.  In fact, I didn't see any other people around.  So what was making that smell?

I couldn't tell, but I stood up and looked around the cubicle, looked down on the floor, and there was nothing.  Nobody else was sitting nearby, and I didn't see anyone walk past, trailing a stench behind them.  

It occurred to me that . . . jeez, what if it's me?  I've smelled bad a time or many, so I put away my laptop and went straight to the bathroom, just in case.  In the stall, I smelled my shirt, I smelled my shoe, and I did that thing where you scoop at the air around your butt to draw the bad smell up into your nostrils.  I checked my shorts too, you know why.  But nothing.  

Was it me?  If so, why hadn't the smell followed me into the toilet stall?

I went back to my desk, puzzled.  I figured it might be the area I'd been sitting in.  Someone may have, you know, stained the floor there below the cubicle, and it wouldn't hurt to sit someplace else.  So I did.

I started typing again (or more likely, surfing the internet, stupidly spending my very last moments of youth, like I was a teenager sleeping until one in the afternoon), and before too long . . . I smelled it again.  It wasn't as bad this time, but it was definitely there.  Nobody was around this cubicle either, and I really did suspect that it was me: For some reason, I smelled like a corpse that was found at the bottom of an outhouse.

It upset me quite a bit.  I'm not a vain man, quite the opposite, but except for my "buddy" Mark, nobody had ever told me I stunk before.  At least not since I was a kid.

I didn't wait for the library to close, but went straight home, meaning to shower away the funk, but when I did, the smell was totally absent, not even on my socks.  I sniffed the seat of my car too, and there was nothing.

So, who or what was it?  I've mentioned before that the library has a reputation for being haunted (one of the librarians approached me as it was closing--I HAVE to have blogged about this--and told me, "Oh, it's totally haunted."), so I suppose . . .  Nah, come on.

*"When you say that it's new, do you mean it's unused, or you took it out of the package and then put it back in when you decided to sell it?"

Rish Outcast 264: I Don't Care What Tannen Says

In one of those oversharing episodes, Rish ponders why he cares what people think of him.  Warning: BTTF and TMI.

To download this episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support Rish on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "I Do Care, Kids" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 226: Hero Worship (TMI)

In this episode, Rish talks about heroes, and how they fall.  To illustrate this, he shares his story "Hero Worship," and a TMI warning.  Or two.

If you wanna download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

If you wanna support me on Patreon, well, die a hero HERE.

Logo by Gino "Hero Warship" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 220: Q&A: Broughton To The Core

Rish answers some questions by listener Rob Broughton.  Again.

Rish answers (again) these questions by listener Rob Broughton:

Which supernatural encounter would you want to have?  Would you "go" with a fairy?  When did you last "go?"  What's the nicest thing someone has said to you?  Which audio production makes you most proud?

To download the episode, Right-Click THIS BIT.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE, and may Bossk have mercy on your soul.

Logo by Gino "Already Been Broughten" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 215: What's Normal?

Rish waxes rhapsodic about not being normal.  As he does.

Go ahead and download the episode by Right-Clicking HERE.

Go back and support me at Patreon by clicking HERE.

Logo by Gino "Para-Normal" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 210: Cry Uncle

In this TMI show, I talk about my Uncle Len, who passed away.  I drone on about his funeral, and then share a new story in his memory, "Here With My Childhood Friend."

Note: The story is a sequel to "Who Can It Be Now?" which was presented in Episode 170 of the show. 

Download the episode HERE.

Support me on Patreon HERE.

Logo by Gino "My Adulthood Friend" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 206: August To August

Sorry about being a month late on this one.  

We've got something of an experiment here. Rish from 2020 interviews Rish from 2021 in this--their admittedly most indulgent episode ever.

Go ahead and download the episode by Right-Clicking HERE.

Go even further ahead and support me on Patreon by clicking HERE.

Logo by Gino "Oddest To Oddest" Moretto.

September Sweeps - Day 585

I nearly didn't come to the cabin today.  I was here for the weekend, and felt, I dunno, lazy or indolent or something to return after two days.  But it occurred to me a little while ago that I won't be able to come next week, because there's a convention out of town (the first since the pandemic), so it's a good thing I'm here.

My mom had left me a list of chores to do every time I came to the cabin, and one of them was to take the remaining pile of gravel beside the house and spread it out in wheelbarrows along the driveway.  The next door neighbors had done so a couple of weeks back, but they'd used a machine to spread it.

I only managed five wheelbarrows full of gravel, but it was so darn hard to wheel them down the hill without it rolling out of control that even five was an accomplishment.  If I do five every time I visit, I'll have the whole driveway completely done by, say, January (despite November being when we close everything up for the year).

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In September: 905

On Monday, I had my oldest nephew re-bait all of the traps around the property because I hadn't been able to catch anything with the stale peanuts I loaded them up with (in fact, my brother moved one of the traps, leaving the peanuts on the ground, and they were still there a few days later, the animals deciding to steer well clear of them).  And to my surprise, there was something in the biggest trap waiting for me as I pulled up to the cabin: my friend the badger from a couple of months ago.*

I think I mentioned how pretty an animal I thought it was the last time I saw it, but that its dog-like growling disturbed me.  Well, I still feel the same way, that it's an interesting mix between a rodent and a dog, but when I got near, it raised up its nose and growled, producing a long stream of saliva from its mouth--something I've only ever seen in movies featuring wolves or vicious dogs (slavering, I believe the word is).**  

It was a large animal, between two and three feet long, and shaped unlike any other animal I've encountered, with their wide, flat body and stubby legs more turtle-like than rat-like.  Anyway, I didn't dare get very close, just because I'm a coward, but I did take a couple of pictures, and then decided to drive up to the dam to ask my brother what I should do about it.

See, I figured he was just going to shoot it, but that you could also choose to drag the trap into the sun and see if the heat would kill it (like it does to woodchucks or ground squirrels), or maybe drown it, like we sometimes did to skunks on the farm.  But I also thought that there might be value in leaving the animal undamaged, so that it could be stuffed and displayed, since I've never encountered a badger before, and thought it might make a cool . . . what do you call it, taxidermy trophy.

But my brother said that they're greasy, stinky animals, and it would be like trying to preserve a skunk, and was worried that it would pry up the cage and escape if I just left it there for him to retrieve on Saturday (it occurred to me that I could have dug a hole and buried it alive in the trap, if I didn't have access to a rifle that he keeps at the cabin).  He said, if I wasn't able to shoot it***, that I should put logs on and around the trap so it couldn't get away, and he'd deal with it on the weekend.

Well, the sun was going down (it gets dark earlier every time I come here, sad as that strikes me) while I was talking to him, so I told him I'd take care of it, but I'd better race back before it got too dark to shoot anything.  I did ask him how many shots it was going to take to kill it, and he said, "One, if you get it in the head."

So, hey, skip two paragraphs ahead, if you don't want to read about this bit, okay?  I drove back, but it was already dark by the time I got to the cabin again, and the animal was completely hidden by shadows.  There are no outside lights at the cabin, and I considered just leaving it until tomorrow, but I worried that it would escape during the night, and I'd have let both my brother and myself down.  So I pulled my car up in front of the cabin, turned on the headlights to point toward my prey, and went inside to get the rifle.  I'll not pretend to be tougher than I am: I was a little bit afraid to shoot it, having a delicate constitution, and remembering my brother's botched execution of a skunk a couple of years ago****.  But time was wasting, I chambered a round, walked right up to the trap, and put the barrel inside one of the spaces between the bars.  

The animal, meanwhile, was hunkered down, hissing and drooling, its razor-sharp teeth bared, its eyes black with threat, and I thought, "I'm going to miss, aren't I?  Even this simple task is beyond me."  But I aimed, right above its eyes, steading the weapon, and squeezed the trigger, expecting a deafening blast.  But it was just a POP!, and then, the animal flipped over, like a dog playing dead.  A ghastly noise issued forth from the badger, and a pool of bright-colored Dario Argento blood spread out from beneath it, it shuddered, and went still.

I have to admit that I was disturbed by it, and the experience was something I did not enjoy.  It makes me a bit sickened to describe it here, and most upsettingly, it reminds me of watching my father die.  I went to the car, turned off the lights, and took the rifle back into the cabin.  I'll take care of the corpse tomorrow, since I had no desire to dig a hole in the dark.

Push-ups Today: 217
Push-ups In September: 1095

I had intended to record a piece from a new book of short stories I grabbed from the library today (one which hopefully has normal-sized print in it), but ran out of time.  I did get my lines from the second-to-last episode of "The Deadbringer" audio drama recorded today, though.  I guess I should plug that show better than I have been.

As far as my writing goes, I think I have one more section, or mini-section (like a couple of paragraphs) to write, and I'm done.  That's nice, and I know if I just did a few jumping jacks, I could find the energy to write those paragraphs now, even though it's 2:11am.  But I'm going to go to bed, resting assured that with my book 99% finished, tomorrow will be The Day.  See you then.

Words Today: 592
Words In September: 7901

*My brother had shown me on his motion camera that it had been lurking nearby again, and something that torn open one of the traps to get at the potgut (squirrel) that was inside, so he put two and two together.

**Xenomorphs apparently do this as well, in a strikingly similar, mechanical way.

***There was an implicit criticism in this statement, that I wasn't man enough to kill the animal myself, but that he could do what I couldn't when he came up here.  It didn't insult me--hey, I'm not a macho dude in any way, shape, or form, and have been known to sing Air Supply and Elton John songs with gusto.

****Which I retold almost exactly in "A Sidekick's Errand."

Rish Outcast 190: Stay Positive

So, I got sick.  Was it Coronavirus?  Well, I'm pretty positive.

Feel up to downloading the episode?  Right-click HERE.

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Logo by Gino "Way Positive" Moretto.

November Sweeps - Day 293

I have to get some editing done today.  I have left it too long undone (I didn't get any songs done this week either--I started watching one the other day and turned it off in disgust).  

And speaking of disgust, boy, I'm not in a good place today.  I'm feeling down, and angry and incredibly worthless.  Oh, that's not new, not hardly, but it's been a while, and honestly, the exercise I've been doing since spring has helped.  But right now, that's far away from me.  I just feel empty, and sad, and lonely, and like such, such, such a failure.  All the sit-ups and jogs around the neighborhood and push-ups have all been for nothing.*

And I'm not blaming anybody here.  It's not your fault, or my parents' fault, or God's fault, or her fault, or life's fault.  It's on me.  I could've done better, worked harder, been less lazy, made better choices, tried more, etc..  It's not a new sensation.

I remember that time, earlier this year, that I started walking up to a girl to talk to her, and like the scared fifteen year old I will never not be, I turned at the last second and slumped off in the other direction.  How am I still that guy?  

But hey, none of these feelings are new.  It’s just been a while (and even that’s not true, it’s just that it hasn’t hit as hard as it did today).  And tomorrow will be better, or at least has the potential to be.

              "Even a housewife in Nebraska can sing the blues.  Anybody can sing the blues."
                                                                                                                         --Janis Joplin

I need to just keep going, to work, to try to be productive, and remember that I can’t be somebody else, but I can be a better version of me if I really try.

Guess I will head over to the library early, see if I can’t get a few words on (virtual) paper, and improve my mood.

(this is supposed to illustrate how hope and despair can occupy the same space,
but it hits me in a much more negative way)

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In November: 2326

I guess it's fair to say that I hit the writing as hard as I could.  I got another new idea, this time for a sketch that may or may not be funny.  If it is, I've got a part for Big and a part for Renee, and we'll see if I work on it again. 

It's not that late and I've gotten all my exercise and writing done.  I really ought to sit down and record another chapter or two . . . but I won't.  Sorry.

Words Today: 1830
Words In November: 18,359

*Heck, I remember Big Anklevich, six months ago, saying that, "Hey, at least when you get the Coronavirus, you'll recover faster from all the exercise you've been doing."  And then I didn't get it . . . like some sort of cuck.**

**Sorry, this is the first time I've used that word, and it absolutely doesn't work for me.  There are certain words I cannot sell, and that's one of them.  I've also never had a post script with an asterisk before.

August Sweeps - Day 190

Cabin-bound, I'm cabin-bound. 
Cabin, where only the ghosts will stare;
Cabin, where I cavort in my underwear,
Cabin, where I smell bad but just don't care,
That rutted road is leading me there.

I had to stay up pretty late last night to get packages shipped (some asshole* paid for a Spider-man at five in the morning, and by one in the afternoon sent me a "When are uyo shipping?" email), and wow, I was wiped out after my sit-ups and run.  But I had to at least try to get some words written (this ended up being a truly worthless scene with Talia at work post-breakup, but hey, I did what I could), and then go to slee--

My alarm went off, and it was barely daylight out, but time to get up and go to the cabin with my family.  My mom was going, my brother, two sets of uncles/aunts, and my cousin's kids.  I didn't go this week, so I had this idea of just spending the night and coming back tomorrow, even though everybody else was just going up for the day (basically a picnic on steroids).

I complain a lot about being alone (even in this very post), but I come from a big family.  My mom had eight brothers and two sisters, and several of them still get together fairly regularly.  My Aunt Blanca just moved away from Vegas, so I've seen more of her this year than I have in twenty, and she and her husband hadn't seen the cabin before.  

My Uncle Jerry, who I've mentioned before (he was raised Mennonite in Pennsylvania), helped build this cabin and has always had a great deal of affection for it.  And like my dad, who many of my cousins felt friendlier to than I myself did, my uncle has often been agreeable and fatherly to me.  He is a very smart guy, who tends to know a lot about everything, and we got to talking about the pictures I've been taking whenever I come up here, and he said, "I have a pretty nice camera I bought to take photos of scenery and such with, but I never use it.  I'll have to let you borrow it sometime."

I said, "That would be great.  I'm always trying to take pictures of the moon, and they never come out right."  

To which he said, "Well, in that case, I'll just give you the camera."

That actually made me feel something unusual and undefinable.  Not sure what it was, except that I think I've often had a void in my gullet (or soul?) that a healthy relationship with my father might have filled.  Who knows, exactly?  I'd ask my therapist about it, except the last time I saw him, he said, "Outfield?  I thought I heard you'd killed yourself."  Then he shook his head in disappointment.  "Must have been someone else.  Damn."**

It's interesting how men and women are different.  For some reason, my mom was showing off the front door of the cabin, which has long glass panels in the middle of it, and boasted how she picked it out herself, wishing the front door of her house looked like that.  My two aunts cooed over the door like it was an attractive newborn.  And my Uncle Ed said, "Yeah, right.  That door would be so easy to break into.  You'd be crazy to install it in your house."

My Uncle Ed doesn't come up much in my blogs or conversations.  I've never written a character based on him, even though most of my relatives have shown up in some form or another.  This afternoon, he was telling us about going deep-sea fishing (I'm not sure if that's really what it's called--basically, you charter a boat and it takes you out in the Pacific to catch marlin or tuna or sturgeon or Shoggoths), and he made it sound really fun.  Not something I'll ever do (you have to have money and friends to do stuff like that), but it would be quite an adventure.

There's a big electric gate at the entrance to the lake that you have to know a code or have a passcard for (last year it had instructions as to what to do if you encountered a bear, but this year those instructions are gone), but today it was wide open.  It turned out, there was a wedding out here this morning, and many people had come up to attend it.  In the fourteen years I've been coming here, I've never seen a bunch of people in dress clothes wandering around.  It made me wonder, when I sing along with you, what my own wedding might have been like.

Weird past tense usage there.

That's not something I've much thought about.  Oh, I've imagined what I'd say in my vows, what song I'd want to dance to, what the reception might consist of--come to think of it, maybe I have much thought about it--but never where the wedding would be, if it were up to me.***  This cabin in the woods is unreasonably remote and isolated, but you could do a heck of a lot worse than get married up here.

Let's see, where was I?  Oh yes, blogging as an excuse not to write.  Good, good.

I was listening to Marshal Latham's Patreon address (he'll often do this thing that's pretty great, where a female voice with a British accent will pop in and remind him of stuff.  She's actually an AI, but I am delighted when it interrupts his podcasts), and in his most recent one, she advised him, "Your better health will lead to more happiness."  I wonder, since I've gotten in MUCH better shape this year than the rest of my adult life, if that's true for me too.  

And yeah, I guess it has, since I enjoy the hikes, enjoy doing my running (some of the time), and . . . well, I've decided that I've needed less sleep since I started all this, and having an extra hour every day is something anybody would be jealous of, right? 

They're really very ugly birds up close, just not in this picture

My cousin Ryan's three daughters came along, and they really wanted to go looking for frogs or salamanders, and I volunteered to take them out.  I wanted to go in my mom's car, since it would be so much easier, but they all insisted on taking this ATV vehicle called a Mule that I've only ever driven a time or two.  I didn't want to take it, because it's slow and unpleasantly loud, but they insisted, and so, I backed it out of the space it was parked in, and as I shifted it into Forward (it only has F, N, and Reverse), we started to roll back, and for a moment, the Mule began to tip, wanting to fall over on its side.

It only lasted a second, and then it righted itself as I hit the gas and we started moving forward, but I keep thinking about that, and how my cousin's kids were sitting in the back of it and might have been injured if we had tipped over.  Later, his oldest daughter told me she never wanted to ride in that thing again.

I took them out behind the lake, and it's sad, this summer has been so hot, most of the lake water has been drained (the farmers in the valley use it for irrigation), and it's at the level it usually doesn't get to until October or so.  By the end of the season, I absolutely guarantee the entire lake will be dry, which means every living thing in it will die.  Already there were dead fish all around the receding waters, and we saw about a dozen turkey vultures circling and scooping them up.

This was all lake just a month ago

That means all the frogs and salamanders will die too, but today, there were plenty to spare.  When we finally found the little pond with life in it, the girls were delighted to see not a handful, not dozens, but hundreds of salamanders (in various stages of development) swimming through the mud and weeds.  They were all troupers, taking their shoes and socks off and wading in to catch them.  Salamanders, despite being fairly large, are quite fast swimmers and hard to catch.  Their weakness is that they breathe air, so you can just wait for them to surface, taking a gulp before hiding down in the muddy water again.

While we were doing so, a twenty-something couple came by, and they too caught some salamanders, but just took pictures of them before letting them go, moving on to someplace where they could be alone.  I was mildly jealous.

At some point, one of the girls pointed out a flat worm swimming in the water, and we discovered that there were leeches aplenty in the pool.  Every single one of us had leeches on us when we got out of the water (none of us waded in any deeper than our knees anyway), but Katie, my cousin's oldest daughter, got it the worst.  She had cut her food the other day while skateboarding, and a leech had discovered her wound, and unlike the others, that were brown and skinny, this mo-fo was huge and bright red and swollen practically to bursting.  I pulled it off Katie's foot, and the wound began to bleed like she'd just stepped on a rusty nail.****

After that, I said it was time to quit, and I used the lid from the container we were putting the salamanders in to wash off everybody's legs.  Girls, as I alluded to earlier, are different from boys, in that none of them enjoyed being muddy and dirty, whereas my three nephews wouldn't have blinked an eye and muddying up their legs or clothes.  But all three were fun to go hunting with and not at all squeamish about the leeches . . . which it would only be natural to freak out over.

In other news, I thought this might be interesting:

Could be wrong, though.

Today I continued where I left off yesterday, but I'm so tired I keep typing "Natalie" instead of Talia and "Mason" instead of Rick.  Funny, that.

Once again, I wish I weren't alone in this world, but number two on my list, I wish I were a better writer and was confident that this was a solid story, totally worth the hours of work involved.

I'm now alone in the house, so I guess I should do what I want . . . except what I want is to take a nap.  It's already five o'clock, and I at least have 418 words.  A lot of times at the cabin I do even better with exercise than I do with writing.

Sit-ups Today: 216
Sit-ups In August: 1471

As is my tradition, I drove out to the lake (in my mom's car this time, but I had still remembered to bring my tripod) to record a song.  My brother had given me a job to do which I had left until the last moments of daylight, so by the time I ran out there (I literally ran out there, carrying my tripod like a walking stick, in case I stumbled), I had no time to do a second take or find the perfect place to record.  There's a section that was lake last week, where my brother-in-law took the boat to fish, that is now just wet mud this week, littered with dead fish, and I angled the camera to catch the reflection of the dying light in the mud, and did my song.  Because of the angle, and the whiteness of the sky, it looks remarkably like the lake is already frozen over behind me, despite me singing in a t-shirt and shorts.

I screwed up partway through the song and just started it over, because I literally had no time for a second take (though I could have gone up higher on a hill, or ran across to the dam, to get more light from the elevated viewpoint), and then flipped the camera around to see if I could record another bit with the pink light on my face.  But when I looked at that footage, I looked literally uglier than I have ever, ever been.  I looked ghoulish--I mean, Halloween-costume-you-spent-the-entire-month-on-level ugly.  It was more than a little unsettling, and though I haven't deleted the footage, it's nearly enough to make me swear off ever taking another picture of myself this whole year.

Words Today: 813
Words In August: 7112

*And I recognize I use that word a little bit (lot?) too much, but I've gotten less and less patient with buyers over the years, and now, I get infuriated by people (assholes) that send messages like, "HELLO??"  I swear to you, on what's-her-name's very name, I block buyers when they send that.  I don't know that child predators make me as angry as those people do.  Maybe they fall halfway between Trump supporters and child predators on my spit list.

**Of course this is a made-up story.  My therapist, in actuality, committed suicide himself not long after my first session with him.  Odd, that.

***And even that's not accurate.  Twenty-five or so years ago, I did think about that a bit more, because I was young and naïve enough to think I would meet somebody, the music would swell, and every door would open up ahead of me.  Sometimes I'm ashamed that I thought life would be easy and romantic.  But it happened for everybody else--not literally everybody, but fucking close to it--so I can't fault myself for thinking I could be happy one day.
Gosh, that reminds me, I spoke to somebody just the other day who told me--even though I didn't ask him and it was certainly none of my business--that he tried to kill himself last year.  He bought a gun and everything, but it didn't work out.  Even though this'll make me look like a bucket of congealing diarrhea, hearing this story made me feel great affection for the guy, and a little bit less alone on a desert island, with Wilson the Volleyball impaled on a sharp rock the way he is.

****I understand that leeches have some kind of natural anti-coagulant that they emit so the blood flows more freely, but this was ridiculous--Katie was bleeding so badly she stopped to take pictures of it.  Hopefully, those pictures grossed everybody out that she showed them to.

Storage Unit Serenade 22

Here's the second of those extended installments where I explain why a song is significant to me.  I think these are my favorite ones to do, but if you don't like them, don't worry, I haven't done another one in weeks.

Stats
Pre-Eighties Songs: 7
Eighties Songs: 6
Nineties Songs: 5
Aughts Songs: 0
Teens Songs: 4

Logo by Gino "I Lost A Fiend" Moretto.

June Sweeps - Day 131

First things first: I checked the word count on my short story "Only Have Eyes For You" and it's over forty-thousand now.  While I can't remember if that's a novel or not (seems like it might have been, but it also seems like 50K was), it'll definitely be one IF I finish it.  That's a fairly big if, but I do keep on working on it.

Yesterday, I saw that dude Tanner for the last time (whenever I picture my character Mason Bradley in my mind, it's Tanner I see rather than myself).  I told him as many nice things I could, preferring to seem overly-affectionate rather than let him go unappreciated but not convinced I am gay.  Gosh, do you remember how frightened we all were years back that people would call us or think us gay?  I've really decided I give no craps about that anymore, so maybe that's progress.

So, I did decide to go to the cabin, but not until (almost) all my work was done.  I got going over an hour earlier than I did last week, but I needed to stop and get food for meals (I always buy a loaf of bread and a couple of cans of soup) and filled up on gas (I was worried that I'd run out out in the middle of nowhere, which is where long stretches of the drive take you . . . probably one of the things my dad most liked about this place). 

A decade back, it was my dad and my uncle that would most often trade off using this cabin, but now, it's my brother-in-law (usually with the kids) and me that use it the most.  I need to stop and sigh and think about how fortunate I am to be able to come up here as often as I do.  Except I'm always alone (which is nice, don't get me wrong), so it makes it a bit less wonderful, especially when there's an awesome sunset or the greens of all the trees and plants are more amazing than usual.

Oh, let me go ahead and be as shamelessly confessional as I can be here (we're all friends here, right?).  The other night (Monday?) when I was doing sit-ups, it seemed more uncomfortable than usual, and last night, I was afraid I had chafed myself somehow in a less-than-pleasant place.  Well, no, it turned out to be one of those things you don't talk about in polite conversation.  The type they have special pillows you can sit on for.

So, when I came up to the cabin on Wednesday, and was faced with doing sit-ups on the hard wooden floor of the cabin, I thought, "Yikes.  Now's when the men and separated from the boys, aren't they?"  I only managed to get twenty-five of them done, and I gotta say, they were the most painful sit-ups I've experienced, and I had to stop.  But not to be deterred, I took myself to the lake around sunset and decided not only do do some running from one side to the other (I even touched a rock there as a sort of tag marker, before turning around and doing it again), but I also picked another song to sing at the water's edge, just as the sun is going down over the trees.

It was, if anything, more beautiful than last week, but unlike last week, there was one other person there this time, so I felt super self-conscious.  He was an old man, fishing, and was just quitting for the day (he didn't appear to have caught anything).  "What you doing, taking pictures?" he asked, eyeing my tripod.  I should have just lied (or half-lied, anyway) and said, Yep, but I told him, "I'm going to sing a song, embarrassing enough."

He surprised me by saying, "Oh, hey, that's nothing to be embarrassed about.  Good for you."  And then he made his way down the other side of the dam toward his truck or cabin, leaving me all alone again among all this nature, ducks, fish that were jumping in the water, and magic hour pinks and oranges reflecting off of everything.  I sang a Peabo Bryson song from my youth, and only did a single take, before I grabbed the camera and took a couple of pictures that probably aren't as spectacular reproduced here as they were in person.

Here is one from where I sang my song (on the dam):

It's one of those things where it's hard to see where the surface world ends and the reflection begins.

Here is one on the other side of the dam, where I had intended to sing last week, but didn't manage (I did try to do a second song there as the sun disappeared and the shadows got really long, but I couldn't remember the damned lyrics, despite having sung the song a hundred times since 1995 or so):

It makes me want to keep coming here, and keep racking up songs with incredible backgrounds (honestly, some Country band could shoot a whole video out here and people would gasp at how pretty it all looked), but I'm certain that one of these Wednesdays, there will be boats out on the water and fishermen all along its shore.

I came back to the cabin, tried to build me a fire (I am the worst pyromaniac the world has ever known), and got some lukewarm soup in me.  Then I watched a movie with Patrick Schwarzenegger in it, and marveled at how much like his old man he looked from certain angles, and how he didn't at all from others.* 

He sure seemed affable in the movie, and definitely handsomer than Ahnold ever was, but he seemed to struggle with the performance, especially any emotional bits.  Guess I should be embarrassed to admit I watched a chick flick aimed at teenaged girls, but I just spoke about my butt problems, so I've not got any pride left.

After it got dark, I went upstairs and sat on a pillow on a bed instead of the floor, and got fifty more sit-ups in.  Despite decades testifying to the contrary, I'm not quitter.

Sit-ups Today: 75
Sit-ups in June: 1312

Words Today: 718
Words In June: 9807 (with that, I drop below a thousand words a day.  Sad, in't it?)

*I met the guy when he was just a kid, the one time I met his father, who shook my hand in these gigantic Hulk hands-sized mitts, and I found it strange that Patrick didn't speak with his father's accent.  But of course he wouldn't.  I can't really say why Ahnold still does.

June Sweeps - Day 124

Today is my mid-week weekend trip to the family cabin.

I had meant to get up and spend the whole day at the cabin (my first visit on my own since November), but I had work I needed to get done first.  Don't get me wrong, I'm pleased to have income in an America with the highest unemployment rate in a century, and I'm especially fortunate since no business in their right mind would ever hire me.*  But it took a lot longer to get going than I anticipated.  I hoped to be out by eleven or so, then at noon, and then set the goal for one.  But it was two by the time I hit the post office, and then I grabbed lunch at the East Bay Burger King.

To my surprise, their lobby was open, and as I was about to go inside, I saw the sign posted on the door (there's a single glass door, and it was marked "Entrance Only," which was vexing) that said that both gloves and masks were required inside.  I went back and grabbed my mask, and went in, seeing a handful of customers eating, but none of them had gloves or masks (how on earth would you eat with a mask on anyway, I wonder**).

Burger King (or Queen!)

The girl behind the counter (who was wearing a mask) told me they had been open for three weeks, which seems incredibly unlikely, and that no, there was no policy for us to wear masks.  I asked her if there were any pandemic rules that had changed, no refills, for example.  She said no, though I did see marks on the floor where we're supposed to stand to social distance ourselves from other customers.

I hadn't eaten in a restaurant since March, possibly the trip to Las Vegas, when my nephew got a call that school was cancelled.  It felt . . . I dunno, kind of decadent and immoral, like when my roommate John and I walked past a strip club once and dared each other to go in (neither of us would).  I've cut down on fast food greatly this year--partly for the same reason I try to drink Coke Zero instead of the regular stuff, partly because of lack of opportunity--maybe I'll do it as a social thing only, once it all opens up again.

I drove up the canyon and for the long drive, tried listening to the audiobook I got from the library (I just wasn't feeling it, finding it a little too formulaic, and getting angry at all the ridiculous names like Freya and Fatima and Issa and Thea that she's saddled the characters with), but I probably won't stick with it.***  I have another audiobook in the car ready to go, and it's one of those multi-disc bastards that take me a whole season to get through.

I was surprised to find that it was eighty-five degrees in the little town that is the last remnant of civilization before you go up to the cabin.  Not a complaint--I love the heat, as you may know, and marvel at how much people around here like to bitch about it, yet I wouldn't dream of bawling about the cold of winter to strangers, because I wouldn't want to sound like a spoiled baby, which is exactly how they sound--but as I drove up the mountain, the degrees began to drop off, and it was seventy-three here, which is pleasant.

I didn't need to build a fire, and the heavy pajama bottoms that I made sure to bring along were unnecessary for me.  My three goals in coming to the cabin by myself are to write, edit, and read.  I also brought a DVD to watch for Marshal and my movie review show, and I found a spot on the floor to do some sit-ups.  I spent a while answering an email to Gino Moretto about the state of America this week and his point of view down there in New Zealand.  There was no way to send the email, so I saved it in a text file . . . and that turned out to be wise, because the computer crashed in the morning the next day, and everything that was open--including my word count and the first version of this blog post--was wiped out.

This is one occasion where working with Google Docs would not have saved me, since there is no internet at the cabin.  Luckily, it was not the first time (or the fifth) my laptop has crashed on me, so I had saved my work last night before I went to bed (er, couch).  I only ended up losing a page or so of work.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In June: 350

I got some writing done--quite a bit of writing, the Rowan story is inching along, and I opened up "Podcatcher" just as the sun was getting low on the horizon.   Then I decided to try my run again.  Last week, I was unable to make it even a quarter mile without gasping and heaving, and I blamed it on the altitude, so this time, I drove my car out to the dam that goes alongside the lake (I think they built it around 2015 or so) because it's fairly flat on the top, even though it's not paved.  I started up some song--"Happy Hour Again" by the Housemartins--meaning to at least run until it ran out . . .

. . . and I could only barely make it.  It has to be the altitude.  After three or four minutes, I was as winded as if I had been running as fast as I could, or doing the steep stairs at the park.  But, I paused for a minute, selected another song, and ran back to the car. 

Then I grabbed my camera, and did a Serenade in front of the lake, only realizing halfway through that I should've been filming the sunset, which wasn't visible anymore when I turned the camera.  Even so, it should replace the "Electric Blue" one as the video with the prettiest background, in October or so when I release it.

I finished the song--doing only one take because of the fading light**** and headed back to the cabin, hoping that it at least looked good, if not sounded good.

Then, before it got fully dark, I wrote a bit more on "Podcatcher."  Because I had been influenced by the protests and outrage of this week, it affected the scene I wrote.  The character who I wrote as black just for the novelty of it became relevant in my current mindset.

I debated using the n-word again, which I don't tend to even consider including, and haven't since "A Sidekick's Journey," but I felt like I needed to, because the whole reason for writing that particular scene was the tolerated racism that has existed in this country throughout the 20th (and now 21st) century.  I'll try and find somebody to ask about it, but I felt it needed to be there, to make a point about what blacks have suffered because of hatred, religion, and generational racism.

Look, I don't know how "Podcatcher" will end, or if it even will, so it's doubtful anybody will ever read it, so it's all probably a moot point.

The first time I wrote this blog, I didn't mention that part, focusing more on what the cabin and the forest looked like, and it is beautiful, but hey, you get what you get with me, and it's on my mind lately.  It's on everybody's mind.

Note: A couple of days later, I was on my run and thinking about it, and I wonder if I should try changing THAT word to "colored" and see if it retains the same feeling.  This story takes place in 2019/21, so the use of the n-word is different from the story I wrote that took place in 1896.  It may be that I'm a good enough writer to have a black character acknowledge hatred and bigotry without using that particular word.

Writing Today: 1621 Words
Words In June: 3556

*"I noticed it said 'mad genius' on your application when I gave you the job.  Well, now I see it was half right."

**I'm reminded of a Seventies Star Wars comic I read as a child, where Carmine Infantino had drawn Darth Vader with a cup of coffee in his hand, talking to Imperial Officers.  Even as a kid, I wondered how that would work.

***I have a personal policy of always giving every audiobook a chance to hook me: I'll listen to the entirety of the first disc (unless it's "Tick Tock" by Dean Koontz, of course), and then I will take it back, if it doesn't improve or catch my ear.  The first disc is like the first episode of a TV show--its job is to get you to want to watch the rest by introducing the characters, the world, and the situation.  That reminds me, I spoke to a lady last week about "Star Trek: Discovery" and she just went on and on, sacrificing a good long stretch of her morning to tell me about it (which does NOT happen in my social life, ever), the things that made it "Star Trek," the things that made it unique.  She told me she liked it better than "Picard," and that it's her favorite Trek series.  That made me want to give that show another chance, but everything I have heard about it, over the last three or so years (I don't know how it could have had two short seasons but been on since 2017, but that seems to be the case) tells me it is not for me.  And I did watch the pilot of that one, and wanted nothing more to do with it beyond that (Chelsea, the lady I was talking to, did say that one of the things I didn't like about the pilot--that the Michael Burnham character flaunted the rules and her orders--is one of the things she loves about the show, so we may just be too different).  But after that conversation, I did talk to my cousin about it, who has been bugging me for at least two years about giving the show another chance.

****I often have some kind of mishap that requires me to start again, whether it's a car alarm going off, something falling from the stack in the storage unit, the camera falling off the stand, the entire tripod falling over, discovering I've left my pants off, or most often, me forgetting the words.  I'll then have to go over, delete the file, and try to do it again.  Every once in a while, if somebody drives by or honks, or gunshots ring out (not an Elton John fan, I see), or I stumble, I'll just keep going, and that's why you get the occasional jumpcut in my videos.  But I'm not a fan of those--my favorite YouTube has around a hundred jumpcuts in every one of her videos, and I always wonder just what the devil she's cutting out all the time (probably just "ums").

May Sweeps - Day 120

I took the laptop to the park today for a late lunch (I worked until two, then I'll go back and get a bit more done), and there are a couple of young men (around twenty, probably forced home from their missions early) standing in the stream, picking out the biggest rocks they can throw up onto the banks.  I've watched them do it, first with curiosity, now with mild disdain, as they toss the big
rocks out of the water, move along to the next one, and do it until there are many rocks alongside the stream.  Then they get out and pick each rock up and toss it further up the bank.

My assumption is that this is exercise.  The gyms are all closed, they aren't allowed to have sex, so they're doing what they can to keep themselves occupied and in shape.  Except that they--

Oh, I get it now.  I watched where they were tossing the rocks, all in the same place, and now I understand: they are damming up the stream.  They're using the biggest rocks to stop up the waterflow, I presume just for the fun of it.  Maybe they're younger than I thought.  But no harm done, I think I value what they're doing more now than I did.  Plus, it's keeping me from writing, and that is the most important thing.

The dam-in-progress

Despite the unseasonal heat of the day, there is a strong wind blowing that is making this all pretty pleasant.  I am one of approximately seven people here, in the whole park.  To put that into perspective, when I'd come here in the wintertime, there would usually be five or six people jogging or milling around.  On a normal weekday afternoon, there will be thirty to forty, but for there to be practically nobody on a Saturday, something is going on I'm not aware of.  Maybe it's a protest somewhere.

There are a bunch of protests going on across America right now.  Half of them are Trump supporters up in arms (literally, the fucks actually take weapons to these protests because they know they'll not be bothered, even by police) about the phony left-wing COVID-19 hoax the Democrats invented to tank the economy and try to trick good old boys into wearing facemasks.

The other half of the protests are about a man who was killed while being arrested by Minneapolis police.  He was a black man, unarmed, who expressed "I can't breathe" as one of the cops knelt on the back of his neck.  It's one of, I dunno, a thousand cases of this sort of thing happening, but it both happened to have been documented and occurred in a time when tensions are super-high, so there has been a huge outcry about it, with marches, vandalism, messages on social media, and looting.  The response to these demonstrations has been very different, and that has only enflamed the tensions.

Tensions between the races have been high for my entire lifetime, and I don't know what the solution is.  I used to think that one day, the racists would die out, and we'd enjoy a more golden age as people, but racism is taught and passed on, like religion or storytelling or language, and there's always a new generation willing to say that "____ aren't like the rest of us.  They're not really people."

The black voices have been very loud in all this, because they're sick to death of this sort of thing continually happening.  Being a policeman is hard (my cousin started out as a deputy and is now part of the local equivalent of the Special Crimes Unit, and he sees the worst mankind has to offer), but there are people who get a little power in them and it seems to increase their racist or violent tendencies, as much as a gang or prison does.  I do understand that being around criminals all the time can make you think that everybody's a criminal, but it will always be hard for me to fully grasp the plight of the black man in this country.

When I lived in L.A., I became friends with several African Americans (only one of which, sadly, I still talk to all the time), and they did have an innate sense of Us versus Them when they got together, which I often found myself on the outside of.  I always wanted them to know that I liked and respected them, regardless of race, but it just wasn't possible for me to blend in with them like it was on the rare occasions that I spent time around Latinos (where at least I had the language as an advantage).

My friend Matthew once told me, "You have no idea what it's like to feel eyes on you every time you walk into a 7-11, because the clerk is afraid of your skin color."  And he was right--the only comparisons in my experience have been when some employee came after me and my cousin in a Walmart one night absolutely certain we were shoplifting, or a time when I got pulled over (again, with my cousin) by a cop who said, "You just couldn't help yourself, huh?  You thought you'd drive by one more time."  I didn't know what he was talking about, and said so.  He accused us of being the guys who were driving around, making trouble, getting chased by the cops all night (or several nights, maybe).  But I explained we'd just come from Taco Bell, and I hadn't been in town until just now.

And he took our word for it and let us drive away.  But you hear stories ALL THE TIME about black guys getting pulled over and harassed like that because they've got dark skin, or because their car is too nice, or because their grandparents wouldn't ride at the back of the bus.  Would that policeman have just let me go my way, if I hadn't been a dorky white guy?  I do try to understand, try to empathize, but I admit that I don't know what it's like, and the few glimpses I've had--somebody locking their doors in a parking lot as I walk past their car, for example--are almost always the exception rather than the rule.

I remember telling Matthew, "When you and I are older, we'll get together and your kids will play with my kids, and we'll raise them to believe we're all the same and they'll look at us, white and black, as best friends, and their lives will be better."  It seems charmingly naïve to repeat it now, but it was heartfelt at the time, because I had found in him a brother (not a brutha, but somebody who I loved like he had always been there, part of my family), and I thought that would last forever.  My friendship with him changed me, for the better, as a human being, but not everybody has that kind of relationship, and like the Cash song says, everyone I know goes away in the end.

I've heard some of the protesters say they don't want whites on their side, that this is our fault, so we should save our tears and expressions of support.  And I sort of get that, or at least I'm trying to.  But They win every time we're divided against one another instead of against Them, you know?  The best I can do is try to do what I can in my small sphere of influence, open my mind up a little more than it has been, and see if I can't make myself better.

Once again, I'm blogging when I should be writing.  If blogposts counted as daily words, I'd be over 200,000 by now.

Since I sat down here, the rock-dammers have stopped and gone home (leaving their job only half-finished), a small group of about ten came and sunbathed for a little while (too far away with my eyesight to really ogle), and a boyfriend and girlfriend went over to the baseball diamond and practiced batting with each other.  Such a dearth of activity I again wonder what I'm unaware is happening elsewhere that everybody is so focused on.

I just checked yesterday's post, where I was at a park with a swimming pool and it was filled to the brim with people (if I had to guess, I'd say two hundred, maybe three), and it was just as hot as today, only a day different.  I can't explain it.

I got VERY little writing done as I sat on the blanket under the tree in the empty park.  Well, I did the word count, and it was six hundred words, so maybe not so very little.  I may have mentioned this, but Monday, the library reopens.  I feel like I did talk about this, but I'll reiterate that, you have to wear a mask to go into the library, and you have to ask permission to use their computers (after which, they'll wipe down the mouse and keyboard, and probably the seat).  No one is allowed to stay longer than two hours, apparently (my guess is that this rule--and the mask one--will not last beyond June first, just because of human nature).  My plan, if I can get my work done in time, is to go there and sit and write like I used to, but REALLY focus my time--no surfing the internet, no messing around on Wikipedia.

Shoot, I just remembered I have to do a Patreon address this weekend.  I will be embarrassed to admit I haven't even started recording "Three-Time Visitor," which was a goal for both April and May, if I recall.  And I can't make it a priority tonight, because I haven't gone running, and I need to sit down and record Abbie's story, which is called "Lucky."  She and I spoke for a good while today, and I regret mentioning that we butt heads in yesterday's post.  She's good people, and have a couple of profoundly similar things in common.  I must just be intimidated by her intellect.

Sit-ups Today: 82
Sit-ups Total: 1738

I got no more writing done at night.  I sat down and started recording "Lucky," and before I knew it, I was falling asleep.  It takes a tremendous amount of concentration to get all the accents, words, and performances right, so I stopped and went to bed.  Tomorrow I will try again.

Words Today: 607
Words In May: 31,080

May Sweeps - Day 117

My story "Only Have Eyes For You" is up over thirty-four thousand words now.  It feels to me like one of those projects I'll never be finished with, like "The Wolves of Winter."

 I really need to focus on this screenplay.  Why did I tell them I'd have it done in a week?

Well, today was pretty bad, I guess, as far as writing goes.  But wow, it's another day where I cannot muster a shit to be given.  I worked on my script for as long as I could stand it, and even though it's nearly done, I fear it's also worse than it was a week ago.  The point of the story was to be a small, heartwarming story for one person.  I can't make it mean more than that.  Oh, I'm trying, but I fear I'm actually taking it farther away from what the producers want with this draft.

And that can only lead to more drafts.

But who knows, maybe I'll look at it again tomorrow, and it will all come together, or I'll be inspired on how to fix it, or it'll just look better because of magic.

Regardless, I'm pretty disappointed with myself today, and when I went running, with every car that passed me by, I cynically hoped I'd be run over, just to show the universe how pointless this all has been.  So, so pointless.

Like my sit-ups.

Sit-ups Today: 118
Sit-ups Total: 1443

Words Today: 891
Words In May: 28,003

February Sweeps - Day 33

I didn't have much time to write today, though I believe there were still twenty-four hours in the day.  I don't know what happened, exactly.

Except I did go to the library for a little while, and I finished my script (the first draft, at least).  I explained in February that I wrote a short story version of my idea, because I expected it to get rejected.  But to my surprise, they wanted me to go ahead with it, which I got done in three days.

Actually, it was pretty easy, just taking my story, pasting it into a new document, and stripping it way down for a scripted version.  I didn't even change all that much, really, just a few lines of dialogue here and there, as well as softening the tone a little (it was one of the notes I was given, despite me softening it anyway, since it's not really about my dad anymore).

Unfortunately, it looks like my short story may never see the light of day, as the contract they gave me says they own everything, from the finished product to the idea, from the dialogue to the title, from the music to even that stuff that ends up in my bellybutton after I've worn a dark sweater all day.  That upsets me, because of the story I was going to send Marshal, but what can you do?*

I haven't signed the contract, but if I expect to be paid, I'm sure I have to.

Tomorrow I have to be up really early for work, but I fully expect to get some excellent writing done.

I also wrote the first kill in that horror story I keep not finishing.  It really should've been the screenplay, and the script I wrote today should've been the story.

In other news...

'Nuff said.

I was going to go on a hike today, as a reward (??) for finishing my first draft, but my nephew called me to come get him.  He got a headache and had to come home from school early.  My mom is worried that that will happen when I take him to Vegas next week.  And I wasn't worried until she started worrying, like the Coronavirus.

I'm going to set a friendly goal for tomorrow of 2000 words.  One never really knows how long the day will be, which sounds like a song lyric, but isn't.

That reminds me, I (vaguely) know a guy named Tanner and on Monday, that one One Republic song (at least I think it's One Republic) was playing on the radio when I heard him say, "Hey, I'm really sorry" to somebody** and I immediately said, "Oh, it's too late to apologize."

He surprised me by laughing really, really hard at that.  He said it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.  That made me feel really good.  I think I'll name a Dead & Breakfast character after Tanner.

Or maybe I already have.  It gets hard to remember when you write that many stories in such a short period of time.

Which reminds me, it's four days into the month and I haven't published a doggone thing.  Perhaps I should take a couple of blank sheets of paper to draw cover art with tomorrow.  I keep meaning to (I can always switch it out later).

Words Today: Only 813 (but two were "the end")
Words This Month: 4,791

I was going to leave it at that, but in doing a Google Search (I don't actually use Google--it's too cool for me) for a picture of Jon Lovitz as Harvey Fierstein (that's what the above photo is, in case you're anybody who's not me), I saw this heartbreaking statement come up:

As I have said multiple times in 2020, I'm trying to be more empathetic toward people, and not just focus on me all the time (but hey, focus on me every once in a while, couldn't you?).  There's a downside to empathy, though.  I've read this person's statement/post/message several times through, and it just makes me so sad.  It makes me want to do another #youareenough video.  And other things.

If you've never asked, "What is so wrong with me that I'm friendless and alone?" then take a moment to count yourself fortunate.  Or to consider the less so.  I want to put my arm around this person and say, "Whatever you need, I'm there for you.  You wanna punch me in my stupid mouth?  Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better."

I assume "f 22" refers to the poster's gender and age.  I think of when I was twenty-two, and my best friend and I had made all these plans of stuff we were going to do, bust out of that one-horse town, all the places we would go, drive across the country to hit Disneyland and Universal or Six Flags, find a band we liked and go to their concerts in more than one venue, be each other's best mans at our weddings, go for an aimless drive one afternoon and just camp out under the stars when we got tired of driving . . . and then we went to McDonalds one night and he told me, "I'm sorry, man, none of that stuff is going to happen."  He had met someone, and had inadvertently gotten engaged (oh, I might have only been twenty-one when that happened), and now, all bets were off.

And he was right, we never did any of that stuff.  She didn't like me much, or him doing things away from her, and our friendship just ended up atrophying a little, then a lot.  Guess he was wise beyond his years.

But I shouldn't be talking about me here.  I worry about the above poster.  Man, that sucks to be going through that.

I hope she found friendship and acceptance and someone to share private jokes with and someone to quote Bruno Mars songs to her first thing in the morning.  I hope she didn't give up, and woke up one day and realized that the heartbroken person she was at twenty-two was miles and miles behind her.

It's a nice thought.  But I don't know that life works out like that.  I honestly don't know.

Damn you, Jon Lovitz.

*I guess I could just do it on the Rish Outcast, or in a Patreon address.  Nobody's ever going to listen to those.

**Okay, it was me, but the story works better if it wasn't.