March Sweeps - Day 56

Can I keep this writing thing up for one more day?

Can I go a single day without feeling sorry for myself?

Yes, and no.

So, one of the nearby counties went on lock-down today, the one where, I assume, they had the most cases of Coronavirus.  I think my childhood friend Dennis lives over there, but I may be dead to him, so I'd never know if he's locked-down or not.

Last night, I was worried that I might have caught it.  My chest burned and I was in discomfort, so of course I assumed the worst.  If I had it, then everyone in my family would get it, and . . . well, it was inevitable anyway.  But I looked at the symptoms, and they didn't match.  But eating homemade chili dogs did match . . . with heartburn, anyway.

But I hope I can be forgiven for being paranoid about every sneeze or body ache, or looking nervously toward anybody I see coughing or wiping their nose on their sleeve.  I imagine other people are feeling something similar, hence the dirty looks I get whenever I am caught picking my nose in public.

Let's see, what else do I talk about?

I recently had some arsehead buy a figure from me, then email me claiming (in broken English) it was the wrong size.  I emailed him back pointing out the three--count 'em, THREE--times I described the size in my listing, including the fudgin' title.  He then issued a dispute, and eBay gave me the choice of paying to have him return the figure for a refund, or just give him a refund.  There wasn't even a forum to plead my case this time around.

(Comelón was a really filthy thing to call someone in Argentina)

Well, the figure arrived back on Monday, and immediately, eBay was emailing me to give this guy a refund.*  I did nothing.  It was the only protest I was capable of.  They emailed on Tuesday, I did nothing.  They emailed on Wednesday, I did nothing.  Finally today, eBay just went ahead and took the money out of my account to give back to this dirtbag.  This isn't a Tale of eBay Horror or anything, because it's not very interesting, but it's endlessly fascinating that a buyer can just lie, and get his money back, and they've made it even easier than it used to be.

But nobody makes me sell on eBay, do they?  Just like nobody makes YOU read this awful thing each and every day.

What's that?  You don't?  Oh, okay, never mind then.

I went to both the storage unit and the park today (neither of which will be allowed soon, right?), and I actually got more writing done than exercise (at the latter--at the former, I didn't do nothin' except try to get a song recorded**).  Although the Meechelle story is not done (it needs one more beat at the 75% mark), I did write that one through to the end, which is nice, though I wonder if it's any good.  This was the one I was trying to make scary, and once I decided what the threat was going to be (big surprise: it's a ghost), it was easier to steer it in the direction home.

I like Meechelle.  It's a pity about her name.

I didn't get a lot of blogging done today, but that's fine.  I got our latest "Delusions of Grandeur" episode edited--even though it took me so long, it's hopelessly out of date now.  But ah well: not every day has to be a marathon.

Whoops.  Wrong analogy.  Too soon?

Words Today: 1609
Words In March: 36,396

*In his defense, he at least returned (paid for by me) the same figure I sold him, instead of mailing me back something else, which I'm absolutely certain eBay would've let him get away with.  It's like they're always saying: they need him more than they need me.

**It took so many takes that I started to question the whole affair.  One of the times the video was out of focus, once the wind blew the camera over (and if the wind is blowing that hard, why haven't I learned that the sound will be ruined by now?), one of the times I sort of stumbled and then tried not to laugh for half a version, two or three times I couldn't remember the "sits on the porch swing watching them fly" line, and twice the video just turned off before the end.  On the second-to-last take, a truck drove by, and someone in it whooped and hollered in what was surely a loud voice of encouragement, but I interpreted as them mocking me.
Come on, you know they were mocking me.  I would too, if I rode in a truck.  And so would you.