Christmas Carol Scene

 

Last night, I read the Jacob Marley section of "A Christmas Carol" and tried to get it posted.  Then the program crashed, and suddenly, it was Christmas day.  But ah well.

December Sweeps - Day 327

It's 11:19am on Christmas Eve, and I haven't gotten up yet.

Oh wait, I showered and brushed my teeth.  But here I am in bed again, surfing ye olde internet.  My laptop restarted during the night, and for once . . . I didn't lose any audio files or the open text file I was working on.  After what happened last week (losing all of my library writing, but in a different way than I lost it the week before), I have programmed myself to save my text file before I shut down my system EVERY time I go to the library.  

So, no reason to gripe today.

I want to thank you for reading my blog over this past year.  It has not been easy to blog every single day since January 31st, but it has been pretty fun.  One day, I'll stop, and I'll always have a record of The Worst Year Of All.  I appreciate you if you've been on this journey with me, even though I can get sad, I can feel sorry for myself, and I can get repetitive (how many times have I written "I don't want to write today" or "I had a real hard time writing today?" this year?).

Well, I'm going to get up now and see what work there is to be done.

And bam!  The day is done.  I guess I did some editing, I did my run, I did some sit-ups, I ran over to the storage unit to grab my nephew's present (it's a Mandalorian costume), I spoke to Big Anklevich (twice), who is stuck at work, the only editor over the holidays, in what is certainly a lonely few shifts down in Houston.*

I finished editing another "Delusions of Grandeur" episode, but before I can get to work on the next one (we've fallen behind, mostly because I insist on editing everything myself, and I'm not that fast), Marshal is going to try to re-record his half of it . . . because the poor guy lost all the audio.  Believe me, brother, I've been there.

So, I started editing the audio of "Three Time Visitor," one of the Dead & Breakfast stories.  I don't really know why I grabbed that one, since I'm not going to release a two hour audiobook, but there will eventually be something like "Dead & Breakfast Volume One" which includes The Night Clerk, Touching the Other Side, The Old Man and Me, Fatherless Child, Three Time Visitor, Never Let Him Go, and Suckers For Mystery.  And maybe Meet the New Clerk, Same As The Old Clerk and The Last Friday In December, depending on how long that all is.  Oh, and I ought to put True Ghost Encounter in there somewhere too.

If you'd like to read "Three Time Visitor," it's available at THIS LINK.

Push-ups Today: 112
Push-up Bra: 2572

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In December: 2710

Words: oh boy . . . 327 (and only because I squeezed two sentences out late, late at night)
Words In December: 23,129

*He said there was another coworker there with him, but once he went home, he was alone enough he didn't have to wear his mask anymore . . . or his pants.

Storage Unit Serenade 38

Happy Christmas, folks.

Stats

Pre-Eighties Songs: 9
Eighties Songs: 12
Nineties Songs: 8
Aughts Songs: 3
Teens Songs: 6 

Oh, and this week, I recorded my first song that doesn't fit any of the previous statistics.  Fun.

December Sweeps - Day 326

Not sure I'm going to manage today.

I got up early, like I usually do on Tuesdays, and I have to admit that I started out my day a bit sour.  It was still mostly dark when I got up, and it stayed relatively sun free throughout the day.  I got to see my cousin and a couple other people that I like, and while that sometimes gives me a boost of positive energy, I began to mope a bit, knowing that Christmas time will find me, where the lovelorn lay . . . in a puddle of their own filth.  So that was fun.

Sit-ups Today: 150
Sittys In December: 2610

I couldn't shake the melancholy, which is gonna happen, especially around the holidays, and will dog me for the rest of my time, and I'm only a tiny bit ashamed to admit that I put on Marshal Latham's Christmas Journey Into... episode and took a little nap in the late afternoon.

I woke up as the sun was setting, and instead of continuing to sad-sack around, I got some library books from my mom to take back (she reads one every other day or so), and she had gotten me a meatball sub from Subway that I left in the microwave.*

But then, I came to the library, and on the drive over, I tried to think of a Christmas story I could write about the Noble Oaks Bed & Breakfast.  How do ghosts celebrate the holidays?  Does Mrs. Bice throw a little work party where the clerks and housekeeping staff (as well as the unseen cooking staff) get together and wish each other good cheer, all the while exchanging knowing looks about the ghostly presences that might be among them?  I thought about tying it to a story I began in February, where Natalie Whitmore tells Mason Bradley about her one true love and Mason arranges for a ghost to talk to her, but I'm not ready to tell that one yet (since Mason, technically, has to be out of the picture for that story to work).

But then I got another idea: I could do a "Lara and the Witch" Christmas story.  I sat down here in my usual spot--almost zero other people came to the library tonight, the last hour before it closes for the rest of the week--and just started typing, mostly in uncountable-as-words present tense spit-balling.  But then I came up with a premise that is best summed up in the following exchange:

"Oh, I got an idea!" Lara exclaimed, and ran over to Holcomb's side.  "You and me should exchange magic Christmas gifts!"

"You and I, Lara," Holcomb corrected.

"Who else?  We could each cast a spell for each other, something the other would like."

That idea filled me with joyous anticipation.  

Well, for the next hour, until the library started flickering the lights to get rid of us (maybe we're cockroaches to them), I wrote on it.  Not a lot of words, but a lot of fun that, amazingly, cleared up my sad, lonely mood.  Once again, my imagination pays me back for all those terrified sleepless nights as a child (and teenager).  I was creating something, putting together words in various orders in the attempt to create a tapestry that was uniquely mine.

I gotta say, it turned my whole attitude around.  I mean, yeah, I'll still die alone (and soon), but for the rest of the day, I had a much brighter outlook.  And when I went on my run, despite it being below freezing . . . it was the easiest 1.6 miles I've ever done (the whole time I was thinking about story ideas, and stories to record and put in collections, and all these ambitious feelings that are so much more welcome than the dour self-prognosis of lonely misery and eventual eternal darkness).

Not bad, day before the day before Christmas.

Words Today: 1016 (I  wrote more than this, but could only count actual prose and dialogue)
Words In December: 22,802

*Which is sad, because just one of those now costs approximately one U.S. stimulus check, precluding me from going to Subway ever again.

Rish Outcast 188: The Many Faces of Christmas Eve

Over on the Dunesteef, we've been producing the entries for last year's Broken Mirror Christmas Event.  In a crossover show, Big Anklevich and I present my story "The Many Faces of Christmas Eve" for your wistening peasure.

To download the episode, just Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, just Left-Click HERE.

Logo by Gino "Christmas Heave" Moretto.

Note: This was originally posted as Rish Outcast 186, but I was two behind.

December Sweeps - Day 325

Yesterday was the shortest day of the year.  Or, to see the cup as half full, to vampires, it was the longest night of the year.*  There was a conjunction between Saturn and Jupiter that a lot of people were excited about (I saw some pictures that were dubiously awesome . . . kind of like when you see hot photos of Amy Adams and you go, "Nuh uh, she doesn't look that good."  Sort of the opposite of the time I met Hilary Swank and thought, "Damn cuz, she's super hot," but no one ever believed me), so I went outside to look.  

I couldn't see either planet, or any light to the Southwest that might have been them.  But I went on my run anyway, and stared up at Mars throughout, ruminating on the thought that I've seen Mars in the sky every other night this year, and that hadn't been a thing in any years past.  Here, at the end of the longest year in anyone's memory, I sometimes wonder what the me of last December 21st/22nd would think if I told him I went running, at night, in December, or I wrote, what, three hundred thousand words this year?  Or that I've seen the Capital One commercial with Taylor Swift in it over eighty times now and only now got the "Cardigan" joke in it.

I like to think that 2019 Me would be proud of 2020 Me, and say, "You can do HOW many push-ups in a row?" or "You've written HOW many short stories this year?" instead of the usual, "You've eaten HOW many pizzas all by yourself this year?" or "You've crapped yourself HOW many times?"

Just occurred to me that those two things might be related.

I'm at the library today again.  It's a little tradition with me, isn't it, to sit down, start up my laptop, and immediately blog before doing any of the responsible things.  For the first time, I've brought my water bottle with me up here, because none of the other people I've observed that brought food or drink have gotten a hard time, and I guess I'm a hypocrite.  But I come here often enough, I ought to have learned all the employees' names by now, and it's clear that they're not going to admonish anybody drinking, talking on their cellphone, not wearing their mask, or rubbing one out in the corner by Nonfiction.

When I first came in, I saw the deaf guy I occasionally run into here.  He was wearing a black hat instead of a red one, so I greeted him warmly.  He actually said something to me, which hadn't been the case before, but I couldn't understand any of it.  It occurs to me that he probably does a hell of a lot of lip-reading, and COVID has absolutely effed that up for him.  Poor dude.

I got a pretty darn good writing session in today.  I could actually have stayed another hour, but I decided to head back early so I could go on my run before it got too late (it's already pitch black out there, though, which is disheartening for only 5:40pm). 

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sittys In December: 2460

Push-ups Today: 111 (a special number)
Pushys In December: 2181

I went to publish my Christmas Rish Outcast just now, and I realized that, in skipping ahead to the Halloween episodes, I had had two Episode 185 and 186es.  It screwed everything up, and I spent a good waste of time re-saving the episodes, re-doing the cover images, and trying to get them re-uploaded.  I don't know if that will mean the links no longer work, but I've done what I can.  Just support me on Patreon, okay, then we wouldn't have to go through this.

Words Today: 1933
Words In December: 21,786

*Guess I could write a story how December 21st is a holiday among the undead.  But I won't.

P.S. You may ask yourself, "Rish, how have you seen that Taylor Swift Capital One commercial almost a hundred times?  Are you some kind of sick nutjob?"
To which, the answers are: That commercial plays every time I stream an episode of "30 Rock" and I'm near to the end of the series.  And yes.

December Sweeps - Day 324

I ran over to the library, after the sun had started to set.  I had four things I needed to get done, and now that I'm here, with an hour to write before it closes, I want to surf the internet and blog.

But I'm stronger than that, if only by a little.  I'm going to write 300 words before I allow myself to blog even one more.

I made it twenty-six words before I came back to my blog.  Ugh.

Okay, I put my head down and got to 502 words.  Now I can get on here and say what was so darn important--

And I've forgotten what it was.  Shoot.

Since I've started blogging every day, I often make note of something and think, "Oh, I ought to mention that in my blog."  Like today, in line at FedEx, there was a guy ahead of me who was picking up a package, and he started telling the lady behind the counter what was in it--presumably so she would know which box to look for, but surely they have names on them, right?--and I thought about how amusing it would be if he started to tell the whole story of the package, while the rest of us were in line, listening to stuff we had no business knowing.

"So, I got gored in the scrotum by a Brahma bull, and I hadn't been able to give my wife the pleasure she's legally entitled to, but I read in a magazine about this device that can be worn by a man, sort of like an athletic cup, but with various attachments you can swap out, like bits on a drill.  There was a regular version, and then the deluxe, with vibration, self-lubrication, and a built-in fan.  And I figured, My Janice hasn't O-ed since the Fourth of July, I'll go ahead and splurge on the premium model.  It includes this unique attachment with two prongs you can't get anywhere else--"  And the woman behind the counter says, "Sir, sir, keep your voice down, please.  And why didn't you just orally pleasure your wife?"  And the man shudders and says, "That's disgusting, lady!  What do you think we are, some kind of deviants?"

Well, that's what I THOUGHT about putting in my blog while I was standing in like at FedEx.  But I wisely reconsidered once I sat down and thought about it.

You're welcome.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In December: 2360

The only angle I could see the sunset from.

Right before the library closed, I focused, as hard as I was able to, on writing my little Outpost-apocalyptic story, which is a fantastic title I just came up with just now.  I need to write down on a piece of paper the total number of people living on Outpost 3 (let's say, 2000), so I can start winnowing it down--when the disease first strikes, maybe 1000 die, then from disasters and lack of safety supervision, we'll lose another 500.  The fun after that will be what happens to the rest (maybe half go to Module C and half to Module B, depending on whether they want to follow Flagg or Mother Abigail, right?).

There is, if I had to give Vegas odds, only a 32% chance that I will actually finish this story, but I'm aiming to reach a certain storypoint, and when I do, I will allow myself to give up the project like I brown underwear stain . . . but not before!

Words Today: 1502
Words In December: 19,605

December Sweeps - Day 323

I went to Ross today and talked to the same Lost Prevention guy I talked to last week (they opened at seven am last week and I asked if anybody was actually there at seven.  He said, "Aw, hell no, Big Anklevich!" which I appreciated*).  He and I are going to start exchanging Christmas cards (I did wish him a happy Christmas, as I left).

I saw a pink and white sweater on the rack that said "Live Your Best Life" on it, above a group of dancing skeletons.  It sort of baffled me, and I honestly considered buying it (if not for my niece, for myself).  I've never been cool, and I'm certainly not cool enough to rock a Womens Large pink sweatshirt.

I wonder, though.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In December: 2260

Push-up Today: 110
Push-ups In December: 2070

Tonight was the first night in a week that I went on my full 1.6 mile run.  I did go out a couple nights last week, one time doing a single mile, and the other time (it being in the low twenties outside) just four blocks, but this one was easy enough, and it was above freezing so there was no chance of hitting any ice.

Words Today: 585
Words In December: 18,103 

*Today they opened at six.  I asked him if he was there at six, and he said "I got here at five-thirty."  Then I asked him if anybody showed up at six.  He said, "About eight o'clock, we got our first customer in."  That didn't explain why the store was STILL beat to shit, but that's how Ross always looks, and maybe the security guards don't help restock shelves.

December Sweeps - Day 322

I'm nearly done with Tina Fey's "Bossypants."  It has been the fastest read of recent years, and I'm a little bummed I've burned through it so quickly.  I wish I had the charm and talent (and fame, of course) of Tina Fey, because I'd love to write an autobiography like hers.*

Now that 2020 is finally coming to a close, I should think up some resolutions for the new year.  I made a list of 20 goals for 2020 last year, and I guess I could do that again.  I think I set Collaborate on a story with Big Anklevich as the first goal, but stuff like Finish "Only Have Eyes For You" and Start saving up for a mail order bride and Finish "Balms & Sears" might belong on my list.  I'll keep thinking.

Heading to the library now.

I got set up, started to write, managed 78 words, and then started checking emails and news stories.  This is the deadest I've seen the library since that time I came when it first reopened, and the blind Korean man asked the librarian for help and the lady said she couldn't go near him.  It made me wonder if there was a football game in town (that does occasionally happen--causing bad traffic on a Friday or Saturday evening--but I don't believe spectators are allowed in the stadium at this time), or if something else was going on (maybe some huge news story had broken and everyone was glued to their TV--probably Donald Trump holed up in the White House belltower with a sniper rifle, picking off secret service agents who were desperately trying to get the President to safety).

(this was on the rack at the library)

Regardless, here I sit, all broken-hearted, tried to write, but only started

to surf the internet, which I could be doing at home.

I thought about doing another Fake Sean Connery song today, and thought I'd do a cover of "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett.  I was even singing "I know I've got a bad reputation, and it isn't just talk, talk, talk" in Connery's voice in the car.  But when I looked it up, Joan Jett's song isn't anything like that (it may be that song that "Freaks & Geeks" used as its theme song, one of the Jeopardy! questions I couldn't get when I auditioned for the game show in Culver City).

No, the song I was thinking of was by Freedy Johnston, who was a male One Hit Wonder in the Nineties.  Whoops.

That was a good song, but totally forgotten now, like the first hit the Rembrandts had before the "Friends" theme.

Now the sun is going down, and weird, I'm starting to feel sorry for myself.  There are four other people at the library, all of them happier than me, and I guess it's time to take another unflinching look at my life.  I was hoping to set some writing goals for 2021, but now I'm thinking I might have to set some of more significance, and those never work out.

Of course, in 2020 I've done thousands of sit-ups and run hundreds of miles, two achievements I've never experienced before, and that ain't nothing.

Regardless, the sun went down, and nobody was alive to see it, and after a while, I went back to my story.  I think I'll dedicate this one to Marshal Latham, if I finish it (and it's really bad), though dang, this is gonna be a long one.  It's a story I could only have written in 2020, but it takes place on another planet, far enough into the future that pretty much all technology will have changed.  

I have never been a big writer (or reader) of Science Fiction, and I just plain don't want to come up with new slang and new inventions and new wrinkles in what humanity has become.  I just want it to be today, except in space.  I've used the word "Comms" instead of "phone" and "Terran" instead of world or Earth, and "rang off" instead of "hung up," and the damn metric system, but it's really not my bag, baby, and I've never responded to Sci-Fi that says "we took a transpo to the employdiface" rather than "we took a taxi to work."

So far, the best world building I could come up with was that the main character sees a teenage boy in the elevator who has enormous breast implants, and he just goes about his day.  There, it's the future, okay?

Sit-ups Today: 200
Sit-ups In December: 2160

Words Today: 1277
Words In December: 17,518 

*Of course, now that I'm nearly done with it, I'm thinking that it isn't an autobiography at all, but a series of essays, some of which were previously published in The New Yorker.  I wonder if she has a sequel planned.

December Sweeps - Day 321

So, Jeremy Bulloch died yesterday.  He played Boba Fett as well as the Imperial officer that manhandles Princess Leia when she's trying to tell Luke that he's walking into a trap.  He was also in one of the Prequels but . . . come now.  Only Liam Neeson came out of those films with 100% of his dignity intact.*

Up until 2020, people who weren't deep into Star Wars could never get Boba Fett.**  Why he was cool, why he was sexy, why we wanted a dozen action figures each of the guy (why there were a dozen DIFFERENT action figures of the character), when he did so very little.  But Boba Fett was the bomb, before that phrase meant anything.  And before it stopped meaning anything except for ironic use in the last few years (what can I say, I'm white.  I just barely discovered "badass" and the abbreviation A.F.).

It's the look, obviously.  He the best designed character in EMPIRE, a movie that features Yoda, Lando, 2-1B, Snowtroopers, probe droids, Tauntauns, three seconds of Bossk, and if you don't blink, Willrow Hood.  Boba Fett just looks so cool, the armor has an amazing design, and then he's all covered with dents and scratches and marks that describe to us without words that this guy has seen it all.

Jeremy Bulloch was a real stalwart of the convention circuit.  I saw him on three or four occasions, and did pay to get his autograph the same year I did the same for David Prowse, who also just passed away.  He was a cheerful, decent-seeming man, and I am sure he felt loved and appreciated . . . because holy smoke, do we fans love Boba Fett.  

I'm sure Marshal and I will have a bit to say the next time we record our "Delusions of Grandeur" podcast, which is only a few days away.

A guy sent me a message on Facebook yesterday about my book "Ten Thousand Coffins."  He was in the UK and let me know that when I referred to the main character as weighing 100 kilos, that was not the svelte, athletic young lady I was describing (and when I referred to the Skipper as weighing 200 kilos, well, that's a much bigger guy than I intended).  What had happened was, originally, the measurement was in pounds, but because the story takes place in the future, I figured we'd all be on the metric system by then (which begs the question, why the hell aren't we on it now??).  So I must have just copied and replaced every use of "pound" with "kilo," which explains why Brook kilos on the door with her fist, and the men onboard sometimes fantasized about kiloing her in the crewmen's lounge. 

I went into the text version and changed the numbers, but I wondered about everyone who's ever read it--did they think Brook and Gustafson were just really big people, or did they not even notice?  The audio version, of course, is much harder to fix.

I spoke to this listener/fan for quite a while, discovering that there are plenty of other errors in my audiobook for "Ten Thousand Coffins," and it just makes me tired to contemplate it.  There are errors in "You're In Good Hands" too, and the process to fixing an audiobook is to request that they replace the file, and then send along a zipped folder with every single chapter of the book, including title and About the Author, in numerical order, which they will upload when they get around to it.  My worst nightmare--besides the one where I attend the execution of my Cousin Matthew and realize I have forgotten to wear pants only after I'm told that I have to say the closing prayer--is that I waste all the time necessary to do this, and then they say they can't use the file because of some new technical specification that didn't exist when I first submitted it . . .

. . . AND I have no pants on.

Honestly, I wish I had the confidence to send my book out to three or four people and ask them to find all the errors, but I tend not to be able to.  If you want to be my wingman (or wingwoman) (or wingboy, for that matter), let me know, and I'll finish up the audio and send it to you to listen through.

I also need to buckle down and finish the next episode of the Dunesteef.  I can't believe it's the 18th of December and I've not finished the last one.  I've never hated life more than in 2017, when I sacrificed my whole Christmas Eve to get our X-mas show done, only to discover that Big Anklevich had gone to bed early (he was sick) and wouldn't be posting it that night anyway).  But I digress.  I can do this.  Heck, I could stop blogging and do it now.

Sit-ups Today: 166
Sit-ups In December: 1960

Push-ups Today: 109
Push-ups In December: 945

Yes, I finished the episode.  Now I can rest until New Year's.  Except for my own show.  And "Delusions."  And the last chapter of "My Friend of Misery."  And whatever's next.

Words Today: 772
Words In December: 16,241

*Followed distantly by the man or woman who played the Neimoidian that exclaimed, "They've gone into the ventilation shaft!"

**Now that he's appeared--and kicked all kinds of white-armored butt--on "The Mandalorian," it's easy to see why people would like him now.  But that feels to me a little bit like when you have a crush on smart-but-cute Marnie Seamons in junior high, but when she gets to high school, stops wearing her glasses and grows enormous boobs, everybody starts talking about crushing on her.  (true story . . . except I didn't notice M.S. until the transformation happened.  Whoops) 

December Sweeps - Day 320

I've got a headache again today.  I can't believe this.  This must be what my nephew goes through all the time (except his range from painful to absolutely debilitating, and mine is just trying its best to ruin my day).  

I went to the library yesterday and recreated the lost writing session (and like when it happened to me last week, I wasn't able to replicate my work exactly, but just wrote the same two story points in a slightly different way, trying DESPERATELY not to dwell on the fact that this was all a big waste of time, that soon I'll be dead, and nobody will care one way or another how this story went, and was this the best use of the time I have left, when I could just be watching YouTube, or slightly better, lying down and reading a book?).  It didn't take a lot of time, but there's no way I'm going to finish this story by the end of the year (not that that's my endgame, or even one of my monthly goals), though I am starting to get to the bit that appeals to me: where the main character (Clayton) starts to realize that the plague he's witnessing is not going to get better, and soon, there may be no one left.

Then I'll get to write the whole point of the thing: what does Clayton do when there is no one left but him* and becomes, in essence, the Last Man On Outpost 3.

I should be working right now.  I've gotten practically nothing done this morning, and my desktop computer was so slow that I realized I'd have to turn it off and turn it back on.  But experience has taught me that I always lose something when that happens (heck, my laptop taught me that lesson a day ago!), so I went through and tried to save every one of the dozen Word files that were currently open (Audio Collections in progress, the file for "A Sidekick's Errand" that I'm revising in preparation for publishing, two short stories I'm writing Author's Notes for, two Dead & Breakfast stories that need to have links to the other published installments put in, an attempt at writing a birthday card for my muse that I'll never end up sending, and a story called "Roll With The Changes" that I like but when I read it aloud I thought I ought to add a section to).

Now it is rebooting (has taken about fifteen minutes so far) and is doing an update that is currently at 31%, so I might as well write this blogpost.  

Did I mention I have a headache?  

Pardon the profanity, but it's currently effing lunchtime, and I had errands I needed to run this afternoon, but I haven't gotten any of my morning work done, so I don't feel like I can stop for lunch (though, had I known that rebooting my computer would take half an hour, I could've eaten lunch while waiting for it to start up again).  But my headache rages on, and I'm hazily cognizant that it's 1:04pm and my caffeine withdrawal may be about to kick in, or may be already contributing to my headache, so I really ought to get some kind of lunch, even if it's just microwaving a burrito** and chugging half a can of Coke Zero.

Goddamn computer is still not booted up, and it's 1:06.  Guess I'll keep typing.

My nephew (now 10) didn't get to go to school this week or last because of testing positive for COVID-19, despite not having any symptoms (he can even smell and taste, the lucky bugger), and he's been home, watching television for the last ten days or so (this is the last week of school before Christmas break, so he actually doesn't have to go back to school until January).  Sometimes it doesn't bother me the shows he watches, like "The Loud House" or _______*** (I'll think of something when my headache goes away).  But he often watches this super-grating asshole play video games on YouTube, filling every possible second of his videos with yelling commentary, and that absolutely blows.  When my mom sees him watching this, she goes nuts, becoming her mother yelling at me about reading "libros satánicos," which is how she described "IT" by Stephen King.

But worse, my nephew has started (today and yesterday) to watch the "Pokemon" cartoon, and when Pikachu does his brain-piercing chatter ("Pika! Pikapika!") I want nothing more than to kick the set in.  Honestly, if somebody gave me the choice between never having to hear that hellish voice or seeing a random TikTok performer's boobies, I'd struggle with the decision.  Maybe it's just the headache making me not immediately jump on the boobies, I dunno.

I HATE that Pikachu voice.  More so than even Tom Kinney's abominable Spongebob laugh.  I may sit down and do a drawing of a comic-con booth where, for $25.00 you can get the autograph of the Pikachu Voice Actor.  And under that is a second sign that says, for $50.00 you can slap the Pikachu Voice Actor.  I think it might be popular.

Okay, my update is at 100%.  And it's 1:14pm.  Fugger.

Whoops, silly me.  I thought that that would mean that I'd be up and running, maybe have my work done by one-thirty.  But no, it is taking just as long to start programs up as it did before--honestly, loading Microsoft Excel (a blank Excel document, no less) should take approximately two seconds.  It may well be that I have made some damningly bad career choices.****

Sit-ups Today: 100 (absolutely last minute--it was past two)
Sit-ups In December: 1794

It snowed a great deal today, and I thought I'd put out my terribly-constructed Kotobukiya Chewbacca on the back deck to get some pictures of the snow gradually covering it.

Unfortunately, when I went out an hour later to take a second picture, this is what I saw:

Chewie had taken a tumble off the railing and lay in the snow in two pieces down below.  I put him back together (the arms will not stay in their sockets, despite having been glued and re-glued), and set him up again.

Just as unfortunately, it wasn't cold enough for the snow not to melt, so I didn't get any really good pictures.  Ah well.

At the end of the day, I sat down and recorded another chapter of "A Sidekick's Errand," wrote up an author's note for it, and in discovering that the brother's name in "My Friend of Misery" is Brent 95% of the time, but is called Brenton the other 5, decided to go back and replace one of the first Brents with Brenton.

Not content to just call it finished and put it out there (especially now that I have excellent cover art for it), I decided to put a callback at the very end to a setup in that same scene where I now call him Brenton, and that necessitated re-recording part of Chapter 37.

Then, noticing that the red light on my recorder was flashing whenever I read one of Brielle's lines, I discovered that I had the volume set to Auto again (something that derailed a whole chapter when I was recording "You're In Good Hands").  So, I sat down and did that section again, only much, much faster, eating up time I could've been either writing or recording another chapter.

Even so, I went right ahead and published the text version of the book, and will get on Audible soon and start the process of publishing the audio.

Words Today: 820
Words In December: 15,469

*And a handful of others who I'll have to isolate in some way--maybe I'll have them travel to Module C, which is unfinished and currently unoccupied, thus getting them out of the way for the rest of the story.

**I used to adore those microwave burritos, but somewhere over the last five years or so, I realized that I don't like the taste of them anymore, and they're often hard and not unlike eating paste in the first grade.  But I keep on buying them because they're cheap, and I've eaten them for thirty-plus years.

***How about "Boss Baby: The Series?"  That seems pretty well done.

****That reminds me, I watched MANK the other day, David Fincher's fun film about the writing of the CITIZEN KANE screenplay, and at one point, Herman Mankiewicz's little brother Joe tells him that he's been fired from MGM.  "I've never been fired before," Joe laments, taking it hard.  Unmoved, his brother says, "I've never not been fired.  You get used to it."