Rat

 Last night, I was woken from my sleep by the sound of 'something.'  At first, I thought it was just the squirrels playing on the roof. But then the sounds persisted and they sounded like they were coming from inside my bedroom.

I got up and turned on the light, then proceeded to check out my room. Nothing. On a hunch, I opened my bedroom closet door and a goddamn RAT burst out of the corner. It ran through my bare feet and tried to hide in my bedroom. I pulled on some boots, grabbed a broom and hunted for the little bastard for 30 minutes. I couldn't get close enough to whack him (the little fucker was quick!), but I think I put the fear of god into him.

I popped upstairs to get the dog, and when we came back there was no sign of the rat. I did leave the bedroom door open so the little bastard might have escaped the room. But I was so damn twitchy, after hunting the thing for 30 minutes, that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep in that room that night.  I would think every sound I heard would be the rat, moving about, and I kept envisioning it climbing my bedclothes to exact its revenge. Ridiculous, I know, but I went upstairs with the dog and slept on the couch for the rest of the night.

The next morning, I told my roommate what happened. He was very blase about the whole thing. "I'll pick up some traps tonight." Afterwards, I searched the room again but still no sign of the rat. So, I'm pretty sure it made its escape when the door was open. (Hopefully.) 

I eventually crawled into bed again, and tried to get some more sleep with very mixed results.

When I come home tonight, if I hear or see the rat, I'm going to go sleep in the back of my car. And maybe start looking for a new place to live.

Sick Day

Bit sick today. A touch of stomach flu I think. Stayed home from work because I was up this morning puking my guts out. Lovely. 

Feeling a lot better now. Been drinking water as if it's about to run out and just finished some saltines and pedialyte.  Think I'm good enough to go to work tomorrow.

*fingers crossed*

What do you want? What do you need?

When we're children, we're often asked by adults what we want to be when we're grown up? The usual answer is some kind of profession. Fireman. Policeman. Soldier. Doctor. Dancer.

If someone asked me that question today, I don't know how I would answer it.

What do you want to be?

I don't know. Rich? Happy? Powerful? Younger? Healthier? Slimmer? Hairier?

You'll note that no profession entered into my answer. Because a job is not a goal. A job is a means to a goal. And I think everyone's goal should be something more intangible than physical.

I would like to be rich. A million dollars would suit me just fine.

I would like to be happy. Sometimes, I don't feel like I'm happy, just 'content.' Not the same thing.

I would like to be powerful. As in, I would like my voice to carry real weight with the world at large.

I would like to be younger. If I could turn back my personal odometer, I'd set it so my body is 23 and my mind is unaffected. (Oh the trouble I could get into!)

I would like to be healtheir. I'm doing okay, but there's always room for improvement en regards to health. Right?

I would like to be slimmer. Because I'm a bit vain and I think it would be nice not to have to struggle to find clothes that fit. I've come a long way in the last few years, but my weird girth can still be challenging.

I would like to have more hair. Again, this is all about vanity. I started to lose my hair when I was in my teens and now, well, throw me in a cassock and I could probably pass for a monk of some type. At least, in appearance. So it would be lovely to have a full head of thick, black hair again.

But, these are just things that I want. They aren't things that I actually need.

So, what do you need?

That's a good question and, beyond the obvious stuff like food, shelter, etc. I don't really know.

I suppose I should give it some thought.

The Perils of Tsundoku

The problem, when you finish reading one book, is that you must choose a new one to start. For most people that isn't a problem, but I, alas, am a victim/practicioner of tsundoku.  For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the practice of acquiring and stacking books that you intend to read at some future point.

I have several stacks of books, scattered about my bedroom. And I have absolutely no idea what to read next.

The current candidates are:

Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior by Chogyam Trungpa

The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

and Magic Lessons by Alice Hoffman.

Any suggestions as to which to read next?

Nomadlife

 I just finished reading Nomadland by Jessica Bruder. I tried watching the movie, but the pace was fucking glacial and I got bored. So, while I was out the other day, I bought a copy of the book.

And you know what?  The book is better.

Shocker! Right?

Heh.

Anyway, the book is very interesting. In case you don't know, Jessica Bruder is a journalist who reports on the various subcultures in American society. In Nomadlife she focuses on the vanlifers, people who have chosen to live in vans and cars, to escape the crushing debt of 21st century life. Most of the people that Bruder interviewed and focused on were senior citizens, who seem to have lost everything through bad luck and the accumulation of debt. She focuses predominantly on the story of a woman named Linda May, who is in her sixties, when she becomes a vandweller.

I'll admit that this wasn't my first exposure to the whole vanlife experience. I know who Bill Wells is and I've seen younger vanlifers posting trendy videos on YouTube. Also, vanlife videos tend to get lumped in with the 'tiny house dwellers' in YouTube algorithm. Start looking at tiny houses and you'll eventually come across a video of someone living in their van.

Bruder's book, however, is a lot more honest than most of the videos. You get a strong sense that the people she's interviewed don't see themselves as victims. They see themselves as hacking the system, getting out of a rigged game that they just don't want to play any more. The vanlifers on YT are younge people who seem less genuine, in comparison, and more slick with their sponsored ads and curated content. More affected. Less real.

Overall, I'd recommend Nomadlife. It was a good read and I learned things that I did not know before I picked it up. It's scraped away a lot of the romanticism of living life in a vehicle, while portraying its interviewees, not as victims, but matter-of-fact pragmatists.

God Smiling

Sun shining so bright,

it was like God was smiling.

More days like this, please.

Books & Movies & Writing, oh my!

 I slept in today and it was nice. Because when I finally got up, the sky was gray and it was drizzling rain. Again. 

I am so tired of rain.

Thank heavens it eventually cleared up and the sun came out. It was the sun that drew me out of the house and along the streets, to one of the few bookstores left in my city. There, I bought a copy of Nomadland, the book that the recent movie is based upon. I tried watching the movie, mainly because I think Frances McDormand is an excellent actress, but found it far too slow and boring. I'm hoping that the book will be more engaging.

And, speaking of book, I have the urge to write something for the first time in ages. I've had incomplete works flitting about my head for a while, but I feel like I can maybe get something short down on paper. (Well, on screen. I haven't written anything on paper since my old electric typewriter packed it in, ages and ages ago.) So, I may have something new showing up on my Amazon Page in the future. *fingers crossed*

Less a Pleasure, More an Obligation

On Sunday evenings, I get together with a group of friends. We play games: tabletop RPGs, cards, board games.  It's generally a nice time and I usually look forward to it.

But today, the sun was out and the sky was clear and the thought of gaming just didn't inspire excitement or joy. Perhaps, because of the weather, game night felt less like a pleasure and more like an obligation.

And then, game night was cancelled. Two of the group weren't able to attend and our host wasn't feeling well. It was probably something he ate. So, all of a sudden, I have the night to myself.

And what do I do with this wonderful free time? I drive. I drive out to the overpriced book store in the fancy schmancy mall on the northeast side of town. I drive to a cool little gas station I know of that has the BEST hamburgers. And then, I drive home.

And now I'm sitting in my bedroom, on a second-hand couch that is super-comfy. I've showered and my scalp is still a bit damp. The lights are off and I have a couple of candles burning, as well as some lotus incense.

And I'm sitting here, typing this, feeling cozy and warm and generally content.

There are worse ways to spend a Sunday night.

Sunny and clear and DRY!

 I'm writing this at work, which is weird and I feel like I should be hurrying even though I'm actually a partner in the business and not an actual employee. But it's been a pretty good day so far, even if I am doing a water fast. Plus, the weather is nice (sunny and clear and DRY!) which is a nice bonus.

Hope y'all are having a good day!

Tired

 It's been a long, tiring day.  So y'all will please excuse me for not writing anything tonight? I just want to take a shower and maybe go to bed early. 

A Sad Day :(

Today is a sad day for me.  This morning, I received word that my friend, J. Tuberski, had passed away. I am not entirely surprised by this news as Tuberski had a history of heart/circulatory problems. He was about 7 feet tall and I'm told that very tall people often have similar issues. I know that he was on a plethora of blood pressure related medications.

It's been a while since we spoke, but we would email quite a bit.

I'm sad, but I'm doing okay. I'm sitting here, thinking about my friend and remembering his life. I think he had a good one. I think he enjoyed his life. I think that the one thing that would have made his life better is if he could have found a quality lady to share it with. I think he would have liked to have been a husband and father.

My friend is gone now and I will miss him. But I take comfort in the fact that he had a good life that he seemed to enjoy. I hope his passing was gentle.

Goodbye, Tuberski.

Boozy Writers Withering Away in Unheated Garrets

It occurs to me that when I write poetry, I am seldom inspired by anything 'bright' and 'good.' I usually write when I'm feeling down or angry. Negative emotions seem to fuel those particular creative fires, and so I wonder if I need a more stressed and negative environment to write anything at all?  It's an interesting question, at least from my point of view. And if it's true, it might explain that old trope of the boozy writer whithering away in an unheated garret.

If there is any truth to it then I'm afraid I won't ever be a successful write. I enjoy comfort far too much to sacrifice it for 'art.'

Does that make me weak? Or sensible?

Apple Whiskey and Nina Simone

 I'm sitting here this evening sipping apple whiskey and listening to Nina Simone.  I should feel very chill right now but I don't. I feel restless, like I should get up and go run around the neighborhood. Or get in my car and just drive into the night and see where the road takes me.

It's not a great feeling.

Annie Lennox was too right....

The rain never ends.

It falls in sheets of gray doom.

I'm ready for sun.

Yes. In case you can't tell, it's been raining cats and dogs here for the last three days and I am sooooo over it. I'm more over the rain than I am of the pandemic. 

Still, it could be worse.

At least, I don't live in Texas.

Valentine's Day

I don't like Valentine's Day.

I don't think I ever really did.

Even back in grade school, it felt like a chore, like a lie. You had to get a valentine card for everyone in the class, even the kids that you didn't like.

As time went by, thankfully, that ridiculous ritual came to an end. You could pick and choose who you showed your affections to on the day.

And that's my biggest problem with it. A lot of people wait until Valentine's Day to show the person they care about that they care in a deliberate, meaningful way.

There are 364 other days of the year when you could give someone flowers, or candy, or take them out for a nice dinner.

Valentine's Day is kind of a day for thoughless assholes making a token gesture of affection.

February 12

 I hate February 12th. It's always been a bad day for me and today doesn't look like it's going to be any better this year.

Over Time

Over time

grief cracks,

like ice,

like glass.

Over time,

memories fade,

like a painting

left in the sun.

But we cling

to the grief,

to the memory,

because the heart

is treasonous

and wants

what it wants.

Over time,

the traitor heart

looses its grip,

memories fade,

grief slips away,

and we are left

with only the

vague impression

of loss.

Over time,

things get better,

even if the end of grieving,

feels like betrayal,

and tastes of ash.

Vampire Dreams

Last night, under the influence of either vodka or fruit, I dreamed of vampires. The dream was set in Washington D.C., during the 1990s, and the vampires were mainly hotel staff, concierges and the like. They were established and friendly, and a bit put out by the arrival of a new group of vampires that called themselves the Golden Mob.

Honestly, I would try to write this down as a story, but I don't think I could do it justice. The dream felt like it wasn't mine, as if I had somehow tapped into something dreamed by Hunter S. Thompson or Terry Pratchett. It was very peculiar and I woke up this morning feeling unsatisfied that I never learned the resolution of the conflict with the Golden Mob.

(I must admit that I LOVE the name Golden Mob for a group of vampires.)

Drunk

 So, I have had a bottle of vodka and some lemonade and I am quite drunk as I write this. Please forgive any mispellings because, well, I'm smashed off my tits.

I suppose that I shouldn't be writing at all, but I have said I 'm going to write something here every day for a year. So, this is what I'm writing. If you don't like it, go read someone else's blog. Ha!

Why do I drink? Well, why shouldn't I drink? Why shouldn't we all have a drink? It can be relaxing and it can release our inhibitions so tha we say what's on our minds without that pesky editor in the way. Honestly, when I drink, I think I become more truthful. Also, horny. Booze just seems to set off my libido in a way that wine does not.

Sadly, I am meant to get up tomorow and take my friend out to do his laundry. Thank God we have scheduled this for later in the afternoon, because the morning is going to be completely out of the question. Honestly, 2PM might be too fucking early. Ha!

Anyway, here is today's entry. Enjoy. If you have some booze in your house, pour yourself a glass and join me in a virtual slug. 

I shall talk with you all tomorrow.

Rodentia

 I'm sitting in the living room, which I normally don't do, writing this. Normally, I stay downstairs in my bedroom because it's cozy and private. But today the house is empty and my room feels weirdly oppressive.

As I sit here, I can hear some critter running around in the attic above my head. We have rats up there, according to my roommate/landlord, and he is currently waging a protracted war upon them. He has used traps that snap and has advanced to poison. (Obviously, the poison isn't working because I can hear the critters scampering about. But then, I don't think the traps have been very effective either.)

There's supposedly a mouse in the kitchen as well, but he thinks he got that one. (I didn't have the heart to tell him that where there's one mouse, there's bound to be others.)

So far I haven't seen any sign of rodents downstairs. If they do invade my little area of the house, I may have to take steps of my own to knock off the little buggers.

But for now, I'm content to let J handle the matter.

For now.

Thoughts on Overindulging

 I ate to excess last night and I deeply, DEEPLY regret it this morning.  Which makes one wonder why we do it in the first place? I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world who knows they're having too much, that they should stop, but they just keep on going.  Is there some neural circuit in our brain that doesn't close? Are we, on some level, petty masochists? It makes one wonder.

Getting Older is Weird

Getting older is weird.

Last night it was 34 degrees outside. Rainy. Windy.

Inside, I was sweating beneath my blankets, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable.

Apparently, I have reached that stage of life where my body temperature becomes somewhat erratic. It is most irritating at night, as I'm trying to sleep.

I've learned to go to bed wearing layers. And if I get hot, I take something off until I'm comfy.

Of course, inevitably, I get chilly but I don't put layers back on. I refuse to do that. Don't ask me why. Call it willfullness or capriciousness on my part. I don't know. But instead of putting clothes back on, I'll just huddle beneath the blankets until I go back to sleep.

Getting older is weird.

Prayers

Who do you pray to?

Whoever will listen.

What do you pray for?

Whatever I want.

What if you don't get what you ask for?

Then I don't get it.

What if you do get what you ask for?

Then the world changes.

Worse Ways to Spend Ones Time

This evening I finished reading Sir Terry Pratchett's Guards! Guards!

I've read it before, more than once, as with most of the Discworld books, but this time I reread it as a reaction to having watched the terrible BBC America show The Watch.  It's a fantasy show 'based' upon Sir Terry's books and focusing on the characters from the Ank-Morpork City Watch.  Sadly, the only thing the show has in common with the books, are names. Everything else is different and just bad. (You know something is Truly Awful when a word is not only italicized but italicized in BOLD.)

After watching The Watch I wanted to cleanse my mental palate. So I've reread Guards!Guards! and enjoyed it immensely. That's the nice thing about good books that bear up over time. When you return to them, as you inevitably do, reading them is like visiting with beloved old friends. It was nice to meet Captain Vimes, Sgt. Colon, Nobby, Carrot and Lady Sybil again for the first time. And I had completely forgotten about Lord Vetinari and the rats. (I don't believe Sir Terry ever did anything else with that in other books. Did he?)

The only problem is that, now I have the horrible urge to go and reread all the other Discworld books. Including the later ones where Sir Terry got a bit preachy and heavy-handed.

I suppose there are worse ways to spend ones time.

Nothing to see here...

 I have no idea what to write today so I shall not write anything. :P

The Girl in the Ashes

I built a shrine to you,

to praise you,

to raise you up,

and you ignored it.

Until I set it afire,

catching your eye,

your pyromaniac's heart.

You wanted to know,

"What will you do next?"

But I just walked away,

leaving you with nothing

but ashes.

Making the best of what I've got.

Today is Candlemass. 

Or Imbolc. 

Or St. Brigid's Day. 

Or the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple.

Or the Festival of Torches.

Whatever you want to call it.

At the moment, we're in a liminal space, the dreamtime between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. 

Once upon a time, people would use the weather on this day to predict the coming of spring. If the day was clear and sunny, winter would linger. However, if the day was overcast and rainy, it meant that spring was on the way.

If that's the case, then spring is definitely on the way for me.  It's been pissing down rain here all day. The back yard is drenched.

No worries, though. I have sequestered myself in my bedroom with a bottle of Italian sparkling wine, some lit candles, fragrant incense and good music.

So, even if the weather outside is crappy, the environment inside is quite lovely.

I'm making the best of what I've got.

I suppose there are worse lessons to take away from this particular day.