Category: Information

Amazonitis

A brief bout of Amazonitis hit our house this week. Don’t know if you’ve ever been afflicted. Essentially, it’s a common medical condition brought on by something that Amazon or its affiliates do. First, someone’s mood grows foul. The person is then often afflicted with spurts of anger and short temper, accompanied by swearing at the computer. Side-effects include swearing at other people, the news, and animals.

My wife was afflicted first. Her book club is meeting on Wednesday next week. The book chosen for 2021 is Girl, Woman, Other. As soon as the announcement was made in early December, I went online to the library, checked for copies, and put it on hold. I was number two billion on five copies. (Yes, that’s an exaggeration for effect; actual number was seventeen on six copies.) (My wife’s library card doesn’t permit her to put books on hold online. Her card is part of an older system. The system was revamped five years ago. One needed to go in and get a new card. She never did that, so my card is used for her requests along with my requests. I don’t mind; I need to keep the karma points.) (Okay, I mind a little.)

I tracked progress of the book on hold. I’d reach number nine by the last week of December. Okay, the library book wasn’t going to be received in time. In lockdown, finding it locally was something she shied away from doing. The book was ordered online from Amazon.

Amazonian wheels began turning. The order was processed. Shipment took place. Estimated delivery was by 8 PM on January 8th. Candles were lit. The vigil began. Shipment notifications claimed it was out for delivery. The front lights were turned on to help the deliverer find their way.

Eight PM passed without a delivery. “It’s not here,” my wife growled, the first stage of Amazonitis. “Let me see what the tracking notification says.” She opened her computer. “What the actual fuck! They say it’s in Hillsborough, Oregon.”

Hillsborough is a suburb of Portland, about two hundred ninety miles away.

My wife turned to me. “It’s not going to be here until between the twelfth and fourteenth now. Book club is on the thirteenth. I won’t have time to read the book. Where can I get it?”

I did online searches of local bookstores to see what could be done. Wasn’t in.

“Can you order on Kindle?” my wife asked. “Do you have an app? Can I read it on the iPad?” Lots of questions, for which I thought, sure. That’s when my Amazonitis struck.

I went to Amazon, found the book, and ordered a digital copy. Amazon said, “Download our free app and read it now!” I downloaded the app. “Your devices don’t support the app,” Amazon answered. “Want to buy a new device that does?”

WTAF? You’re telling me that I can’t read it with your app on my ‘puter? WTAF?

I didn’t realize it then, but I’d already caught the Amazonitis.

The bug was spreading fast through me. Two of our floofs, Tucker and Boo, started a hissing and growling contest under my desk. “If you two don’t stop now, I’ll give you two something to hiss and growl about!” I yelled.

My wife laughed. “That’s something that I bet your Dad never said to you.”

The Amazonitis had attacked my sense of humor. I wasn’t in the mood. I’d followed a link to another app they recommended, downloaded and installed it. Then I clicked to read the book.

Unfortunately, the book was completely blank. Hundreds of blank pages. In fact, there were no pages with any words, letters, or numbers.

The Amazonitis crept deeper into my muscles. “What the actual fuck?” I snapped. On the Kinder app, my newly purchased book didn’t even show up. As Amazonitis wrapped its tentacles around me and my anger surged, I went back to my orders. Under the book on my order page was a little ‘Read Now’ button. I clicked it to see what would happen.

The book opened.

That was it? Why, oh ‘great Amazon’, I snarled in my angriest internal voice, did you have me go through all that shit about downloading apps and chasing links if I could just order it and click and read it right there on the page? Huh? Why? Why, why, why?

The crises had been averted, more or less. My wife couldn’t read the book on the iPad but she could read it on her Mac. (None of the apps had been downloaded and installed on her Mac, BTW. It was all done on the iPad or my Dell. So, she could read it on her Mac without any app.) No, she couldn’t take it to read in the bath, but, oh, well. The Amazonitis began to creep out of our systems.

Today, she checked on the tracking notification for the other book. You know, the hard copy that was supposed to be delivered by 8 PM on the 7th. The one which had suddenly been changed to a delivery date of between Jan 12 and 14.

“They say it’s been delivered,” she said.

“Where?” I asked. It was about two PM. I went to the front porch.

There it was, sitting on the mat.

I felt a new bout of Amazonitis coming on.

6

Dream Slices

To say that I didn’t have dreams last night isn’t correct. Nor is it correct to say that I don’t remember them. More correctly, I don’t have sharp, coherent memories of them.

I have slices of remembered dreams. One involved cars. I’d gotten out of one car. We’re at like a busy outdoor fair. Someone had been driving me. Another couple arrived in a car. I notice it, a convertible. They have the top retracted. A man I meet says something about it being a special car. Someone else asked why. I replied, “It’s an expensive car, a Maserati, isn’t it?” The man replied, “Very good, you noticed. You know your cars.”

I’m then off to be driven away again. I comment that the car that I was in was a Jaguar. “I’ve looked into buying one,” I said to the driver. He’s become quiet. I wonder why. He was smiling and talkative before. When we walk around the car, I discover that the car I’m to enter is a glistening black Mercedes stretch limo. Then, taking a more focused look, I realize that it’s extremely long, maybe forty feet. I then realize that’s probably why the driver became quiet. How did I mix up a Jaguar with a Mercedes stretch limo?

In another slice, I want to order a beer. That beer isn’t available; “Only one kind of beer is available here,” I’m told. “I know, I know,” I reply, accepting an opened bottle of that beer.

Then there is a bizarre sequence involving a water spray, lush green grass, a water sprinkler, and a hose. I’m soaked. I have both ends of the hose, one in each hand; it seems like I’m holding both of those ends up to keep the sprinkler from running so that the giant water spray can do its job. I don’t know what its job is now, although I knew in the dream.

Altogether, it seemed like a lot of unfocused chaos. Maybe that’s because I don’t remember enough, or maybe it was just chaos. Seems odd that three different makes of cars were seen, but all of them were foreign luxury cars, one Italian, one German, and one English.

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The Security Lawnmower

I was helping others create security devices. That’s how it was put in the dream. It was a firm, and we were working outside, in the world. My security device ended up looking like a lawnmower chassis, the sort with a little gas engine that you push and walk behind. There was no engine, handle, or wheels, just that shape, from below. Hope you get the visual from this explanation. The kicker was that it was huge, and high up in the sky.

I pointed it out to people, laughing about its lawnmower resemblance. “I didn’t realize that when I created it,” I said. Then I went on to tell them that it would perpetually filter the world against security threats, and never come down. Then they showed and told me about their security devices.

Weirdest thing about this dream is that I had three other dreams. In them, I’d look up, and there was my security lawnmower. I laugh even now remembering that.

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Commercial Break

My wife informed me she’s ordered snail mucus.

The snail mucus is good for her skin. It comes from South Korea (aka, the Republic of Korea). The procurers assure us the snails are not harmed when the mucus is milked.

We’re talking about opening a snail farm in southern Oregon. Gotta figure out how to milk those snails. Don’t think our fingers are small enough. Must be really tiny fingers to milk those snails. Maybe it’s done by a machine. Hope they’re not using children. They have tiny fingers. Just sayin’.

I gather that South Korea is on a roll with skin and hair products.

Meanwhile a relative sent us CBD TheraReleaf lotions and creams in the mail. They’re extra-strength, of the Arnica+ variety. I applied some lotion to my sore left hand last night. That was the one I broke. Still swells and stiffens after strenuous flexing and exercise. The arm, hand, and wrist all felt mighty improved after the lotion was applied. That could be my mind thinking it should be better, right? Yes, but I think it’s the lotion. I’m going to keep using it.

I like its smell. It reminds me of licorice.

I’d like some licorice. It’s been months since I’ve had any. Why don’t we keep licorice on hand? Answer: because I gobble it up like a cat hoovering in catnip.

My wife mentioned ordering Kitty Chups for our felines. I searched online for more information. The first result was from Amazon, and was for women’s apparel. Whaaat? I clicked on it to see what came up. Cups came up. Cups, not Chups. Kitties were featured on the cups. No women’s apparel was on the page. No wonder half the world seems confused about what’s going on.

Amazon said, “You can search instead for kitty chups.” I clicked on that. Products similar to the Chups came up but the page asked, “Did you mean kitty cups?”

Oh, my, just watched a trailer for a new show, then the first seven minutes of the first episode. That would be Resident Alien on SyFy starring Alan Tudyk. Looks promising. Hope some streaming service picks it up fast. You listening, Netflix?

Bet Amazon gets it.

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A Dream of Angst and Symbolism

Dream hits keep coming. In another busy night, one stood out.

I was welcomed into a luxury hotel, room 506. There, I found wonderful devices. Connected to my brain, they enabled to accomplish things with simple thought. Think the words and they’re typed. Imagine a food and it’s there. Ponder a drink and it’s at hand.

Wow, of course, right. I was giddy with amazement. Enjoying myself, I went off. Dream time zipped by. I found myself lost. Struggling to find my way back to my hotel and room, I ended up down on an airport tarmac looking for a way in. A woman gave me a white cap. Realizing everyone was wearing one, I put it on so I blended in. Then, trying to sneak into the building past the others (I was casual about it), another woman with a loud voice accosted me, demanding that I write three things on my cap. That confused the hell out of me. (Love that expression: look, no more hell in me! It’s a temporary state, though.) I asked, “Why should I write that on my cap?”

She snipped, “Because you’re part of my security team.”

Removing the cap with a smirk, I answered, “No, I’m not.”

I just walked past her after that. Suddenly back in the hotel, I asked the staff, “Where’s my room?” They replied, “Who are you?”

Although it irritated me, I gave them my name. Then I asked, “What room am I in?” They told me that I should know my room number. Irritation growing because they weren’t helping me and I couldn’t remember my room number, I began guessing. I recall something about two. “Two something, two something. Two oh five. Two oh six.” Then it hit me, no, no, it’d been eleven. One and one was two. I’d reached that by adding the numbers together. Right, five oh six.

Knowing the room number and suddenly the key, a card, was in my hand. I rushed to my room. Shock and dismay quickly displaced my happiness and satisfaction. The room had been trashed. All my neat stuff was damaged and broken. Walking around, I demanded, “What happened? Who did this?” As answers didn’t come, I thought, I must fix these, and began picking up the pieces.

That’s when this dream ended. Yes, this one was weighted with all manner of symbolism and angst. Still fun, you know?

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Thursday’s Trinkets

  1. Feels like a Saturday. Odd, for me. I haven’t worked for a company where I kept a schedule for several years. You’d think the days of the week would’ve lost their feel by now.
  2. How does Saturday feel? Less structured. Freer. More relaxed and less stressed. Comfortable as a pair of your favorite shoes. Full of expectation that something good is just about to happen.
  3. Mood was dark earlier in the week. Ah, the standard black cycle. Went into a snarling depression. Thinking about what/how to write a scene, I sulked. ‘Thoughts went, I’ll be sixty-five years old next year, struggling to finish a novel. Written fifteen. Published four on Amazon to no great success. Agents are barely interested in what I submit to them, and I don’t pursue getting published with any great energy. Why am I wasting my time with this shit?’ Then I went mumbling away, did some other things, and thought, oh, this is what happens, and went back and resumed writing. Mine is a fickle mind, probably like most people. The fact is, I enjoy writing, and employing my imagination to create puzzles for my mind to solve, then scrambling to find he words. That’s writing, innit?
  4. Some of the week’s hours were spent helping my wife. She belongs to an exercise class. They meet every MoWedFri at nine AM via Zoom. Pre-COVID, it was an hour earlier at a gym. The instructor has been teaching this class for forty years, and my wife has been going for fifteen. We’ve made many friends through the class, including the instructor and her hubby. The class also launched my wife’s book club. Each year for Christmas, the class members take up a collection and sign a card for the instruction. Well, hard to do that this year. So I set up a private Gofundme for them. We worked with the Y on a letter that was sent to the members. Then I created an eighteen inch by thirty inch prop check for my wife to use to present the collection to the instructor. The prop came out okay, although elements reminded me of a fifth-grade project. But we had to use what we had on hand. It’s the thought that counts, right? The class took up over eleven hundred dollars. Knowing the instructor and her hubby, who aren’t in need, they’ll share it with others who are in need. They’re quite generous people.
  5. Setting up the Gofundme was extremely easy. It impressed me with how simple it was. Which had been my impression, leading to why I helped my wife. She and her friends were thinking it was technical and required computer savvy. It doesn’t.
  6. Reading Bill Bryson’s book, The Body: A Guide for Occupants. It’s rich with history and details. Great expanding knowledge. I’m not as intimate with my body’s functioning as I’d like to be. That’s one reason why I selected this book as a read. As I’ve aged and endured some minor health issued (enlarged prostate gland, broken arm, high blood pressure), I wanted to know more details about myself. I’ve been reading on the net, pursuing symptom after symptom, organ after organ, getting more granular with processes and functions. I suspect many people take up the same pastime of learning more about their body as they age. I keep thinking that I should’ve paid more attention when I was younger. You know, before things began giving me problems, right?
  7. Ran into a friend at the grocery store. I was checking out, he was coming in. About eight AM on Wed. We were both masked and had hats on. I said, “Pat.” He stopped in front of me, six feet away, and stared. “Who is that?” “Seidel.” “Michael!” A smile lit his eyes. “Didn’t know you. Hat. Mask.” We chatted for about ten seconds, and then pressed on. Not great socializers, either one of us, but it was pleasant encountering him.
  8. Watched Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom last night. Fraught with dialogue, tension, and foreshadowing, the film kept me focused. Strong characters…well, strong in every area and value. Viola Davis is on the shortlist of actors that always shade my opinion of a movie. If she’s in it, I’m more likely to be drawn to watching it. All that I’ve seen her in, she impresses me. Chadwick Boseman had also joined the list so it was crushing to hear of his death. Gotta say again, though, white people are often cruel, greedy assholes. Which, as a white person, pisses me off.
  9. It’s been a windy week. My cats DO NOT LIKE WIND. Tucker refuses to leave the house. His position is fine with me; he’s safer in the house. Boo the house panther likes to go out in the morning for a few hours in the back yard (if there’s sunshine) and an hour in the evening on the front porch. Papi, though, (aka the ginger boy, Youngblood, and Meep) despises the wind. He goes out the back and returns to the front, banging on to get back in. Does this six to eight times a day. Bored in the house but too bothered by the wind (and the cold) to stay out. Poor boy. I wrote about his feelings about the wind last month in The Despised Wind.
  10. My Fitbit report said that I did eighty-seven miles last week, three less than the week before. I thought, bullshit. I don’t know how that thing counts. Yes, I know the principles they employ; I’m just dubious of the results. Still, I keep trying to maintain a twelve-miles-a-day average. Need some sort of goal to focus.
  11. Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Happy holidays, whatever one it is which you recognize or celebrate. Remember, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, social distance, and get the vaccine. Cheers
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Next Year

Picked up some library books the other say. The library set up is working for this lockdown era: go online, put a book on hold on my account. They send an email when it’s ready. I have a window before it’ll be put back on the shelf, giving me time to plan when I’ll go down there to pick it up.

I go several times a month. There’s a table set up outside, under a canopy, Saturday through Thursday, noon to four. Tape is used as markers to indicate the traffic flow and safe distances. Patrons line up six feet apart. The librarian comes out. We’re all masked. You give your name; the librarian goes inside and return with your books. Your account number is verified verbally via the last three numbers. They give you your books and you go on your way.

As part of the process, a slip of paper with the book’s title and its return date is printed. On that little slip are also two little financial gems. One states how much money you’ve saved yourself by borrowing from the library. The other tells how much you’ve saved this year.

The first is $26 on my slip of paper today. That was for two books. Both are hardcovers. Neither were published this year. I suspect I could get them for less than twenty-six dollars used.

The second number is $660. That’s how much I saved this year, they said.

Well, I don’t know about that. I pay a little in taxes each year for this. It was a bond issue for the county library system, and it’s part of my annual property taxes. I don’t think they take those taxes into account when they tell me how much I’ve saved.

But I like the system. I’m a writer. I’d like people to buy and read my books. It’s great that the library system pays books to fulfill that for writers. I hope my books end up in the library some day. It’s also an excellentway to save on trees, innit? Buy a book and let multitudes read it.

All that led to ebooks. These books were available to be borrowed as ebooks. ebooks do even more to save trees, although we then get into the sticky situation of electronic waste.

I don’t do much ebooking; I like the personal heft of the thick books in hand as I carry them around and read in various postures. I know I’m silly and sentimental that way. I could use ebooks and save more trees. Yet, I resist.

I blame blue light for some of that resistance. I watch television (so cut down, you reply) while I’m running in place (oh, you answer, that’s a little different) or using the Stairmaster as part of my exercise. I’m not good at reading while walking (though I’m trying). I also spend a lot of time on the ‘puter reading news (so cut down, you suggest) (I probably should, I answer, as not much of the damn news is good for my spirit), writing, and editing. I don’t want to add the strain of reading ebooks to the strain I already thrust on my eyes.

Nothing is as clear cut as it first appears any longer, whether it’s environmental impact, saving money, or selling books. Our lives are choices, decisions, and compromises. I could, instead of running in place or exercising while watching television just curl up with a book. I could, instead of using a hefty volume, make it an ebook and reduce other strain on my eyes. Or I can go to audio books —

Yeah, don’t even go there. I am a fan of audio books; I’ve used them when driving long distances, and I’ve used them while exercising. I’ve found, though, I prefer the inner voice that I create when I’m reading something.

So, I’ve thought about these things. I recognize some of my habits are comfort ruts. Comfort ruts can be pretty useful in periods of stress, such as, say, a global pandemic. Then again, it may be that I’m just too lazy to change, modifying that ‘too lazy’ to ‘too old and set’.

This is just one facet of existence. These same sort of exercises go on with other things as we live, from medicines to using plastics to cars to public transportation to fossil fuels to recycling to GMOs to organic food to nutrition to healthcare to eating healthy to money to politics to welfare to taxes to social security to war to equality to fashion to music to film to being healthy to relaxing to having fun to —

Well, that point is hammered in. Life is a busy process of constantly re-balancing all these choices. I wonder what’ll it be like in another hundred years.

Strike that: let’s just see what it’s like next year.

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Friday’s Fumbles

  1. Well, the Pittsburgh Steelers lost. Not completely unexpected. A loss isn’t the end of the world. Now riding eleven wins and one loss, they should have won the game. They had a lead, blew it, and then couldn’t come back, leading to a lot of teeth grinding on my part. What’s most disturbing is that the issues that fans like me were worrying about (the inability to execute the run game, dropped passes, offensive predictability) bit them as expected, the second week in a row. This time, they couldn’t overcome it. The question before Sunday’s game against Buffalo: can they address these issues? They have their #1 RB back, and DeCastro to the lineup. Those two things should help. Over on Defense, though…injuries thin the roster. It’s a hold-your-breath game this weekend. Most experts are predicting a Steelers loss. Which pleases me, as they seem to play better as underdogs.
  2. The lawsuit to overturn the results in four states disturbs me. It’s being led by Republicans who always insisted that states’ right are paramount, on behalf of a president who always insisted that states’ rights are paramount. Their rank hypocrisy and desperation to overturn the democratic process is revolting.
  3. Meanwhile, the writing days are going great. Always uplifting to have that going. Not going fast as thoughts are weeded, characters formed, pacing is monitored, and the story is honed. Very rewarding, though, satisfying. Writing for me is often creating and then solving complex logic problems, over and over again, and that’s fun. I hope I’m not jinxing myself by putting this out there.
  4. We helped some folks out with an online order. It’s an interesting situation. These people are twenty-three years older than me. Grandparents, their daughter and her family live down in LA (we’re ‘up’ in southern Oregon). Daughter (L) brings her children to see their grandparents every year for Christmas. That means…L and her family have no Christmas decorations! Amazing, right? So, the grands wanted to order something to decorate their grandchildren’s home. One of those blow up lawn ornaments would do. Being older, with vision issues, they struggled with the net. My wife and I stepped in to help. We found one, recommended it to them, then ordered it for them. The package was delivered. Except…the daughter said that she didn’t receive it. No, nothing there. WTF? Were we ripped off?
  5. The delivery company said they gave it to a resident. Our friend called her daughter to talk it through. “You didn’t get it? It’s a big package addressed to all of you.” Well, no, it was a big blow up ornament, but the shipping package is only ten by ten by seven inches, and weighed only seven pounds. And, no, it was addressed only to the daughter.
  6. Why, yes, that package did come. Daughter didn’t know what it was, and just set it aside and forgot about it. Whaaat? It seems strange to my wife and me. When we receive a package, we basically vet it by looking at the address, seeing who it’s for, wondering what it is, and then opening it, you know? This idea of setting a package aside and forgetting it is foreign to us. But then, perhaps our military background plays into it. An unexpected or unattended package was treated as a threat. Could be an explosive device. That was drilled into us through my twenty years plus of service. Also, getting packages always feels like a special moment for people of our generation. These young people…smh.
  7. So now, two friends are dealing with cancer, one local, and another across the country. Oh, that cancer. It’s not shying off just because of COVID-19. Both friends are coping, as are their families.
  8. Fitbit has notified me that I’ve done one hundred three consecutive days of meeting my walking goal. I enjoy receiving Fitbit’s weekly report on what I’ve done. It’s tangible. I’m maintaining a twelve mile a day average. I usually do eighty-five to eighty-eight miles per week. It gets harder to do twelve on some days. I’ve found that the eight mile mark is particularly challenging. If I make it through to nine miles, the other three miles seem pretty easy. Guess eight miles is where my wall comes up.
  9. This week’s soup was a vegetarian chili, but not the one I was hoping for. No, I’m not complaining, really, just commenting. I wanted the black bean vegetarian chili; she made the regular vegetarian chili. The one made incorporates chickpeas, black beans, and kidney beans, along with onion and green peppers. Very tasty on these cold winter days. She also baked cornbread, because chili must have cornbread. Yes, it was awesome. I had it for dinner on Monday, then lunch the rest of the week. Love it.
  10. Made fresh coffee. Time to return to writing like crazy, at least one more time. Please, stay positive, test negative, and wear a mask. Others will thank you. Cheers
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The State of Things

I was thinking about being on Okinawa in December, 1982. I’d arrived there after thinking about other Decembers, starting with here and now. I’ve been in Ashland for fifteen years, the longest period I’ve ever spent in one place. Fifteen Decembers in Ashland. That’s extending the current record. I’ve spent Decembers all over the place. Decembers in the 1950s were in Virginia, California, and Texas. I don’t really remember them, except for glimpses, as I was born in 1956. Family lore, and old Kodak glossy black and whites, tell me that this is where I was.

For the 1960s, I was in and around the Pittsburgh, PA, area — Wilkingsburg, Verona, Plum, Penn Hills, Monroeville. These are more sharply remembered. Then I left Mom to live with Dad, ending up in Ohio and West Virginia. Graduating high school in 1974, I joined the military. Decembers were spent in Texas and Mississippi; Ohio and the Philippines; West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Korea, and Texas. There’s split time, as I often started December in one place in that decade and ended it in another. The last December of the 1980s was spent in Texas, and then the next four were spent on Okinawa.

But I stopped at Okinawa, remembering people and events. I struggled with one event: was that 1982 or 1983? Well, I’d look it up. That’s what the net is for, right? Goofing, I just put in, “On this date 1982”. That search brought me in information on November 27, 1982. May, 1982, July, June. December? No. What the what? Thinking, maybe I’m crazy, and this isn’t December, I checked my computer’s date: it showed 12/9/2020. Okay, twelve is December, right? (Yes, my computer shows month, day, year. In the military, we always showed year, month, day. Took years of weaning to unlearn that.)

Blame it on the search engine. Had to be. I tried other search engines. Weirdly, they all came up with information about those dates but none sprang up with what happened on this date in 1982.

That’s the state of things. The computers don’t return what you want, but what others looked for, or maybe, trying to second-guess me, what they think I want. I kept flipping through search pages: April, August, October. One December result, for December 2nd, from Facebook, something about Michael Jackson.

Maybe my memory is doing things to my mind, but I recall being able to put in such a nebulous search and having today returned, along with happened on this date in history. Not any more, though. When I put in December 9, everything came up as I thought it should.

Yeah, just another rant about the way it used to be, innit? Or maybe I’m just imagining what I think I used to remember.

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Sunday Stewing

  1. Argued with my muse earlier this week. She told me, “Write this.” I replied, “But why? This is going in an unexpected direction.” Her response: “Just write it.” It was the disdainful tone she employed that precipitated the argument. I was all, “I’m the writer here. I’m in charge.” She loosed mocking laughter in answer. Eventually, she told me that I was obsessing over the novel’s concept to the detriment of the plot, story, and characters. Ouch. Harsh words.
  2. This kind of novel-writing confusion often happens to me. Wait, what am I doing? Where am I going? What’s supposed to happen? I’m a pantser, not an outliner. I generally want to know where the story goes and leave the details to my muse (or muses) to fill in for me. I’m a person prone to overanalyzing matters, though, why often helps me confuse myself. Sitting down and doing a session to address where I’ve gone awry generally puts me right. I often indulge in several of these sessions while writing a novel’s first draft.
  3. We were doing the laundry the other day. The dark load finished washing. I transferred it to the dryer. My wife loaded the washer with a load of whites. The dryer finished with the darks. I pulled them out, then put the whites in and went off and folded the darks. My wife was busy reading, so when the whites finished, I pulled them out and started folding them. As I did, I thought, what does she do to these socks? They’re not very clean. My wife, looking up from her reading, said, “Did you do the whites?” Her question confused me. “No, you did. I just put them in the dryer.” “Um, were they wet?” I thought back: actually, no. Sheepishly, chased by her laughter, I put the whites back into the washer. This happened two days ago; she’s still teasing me about it and laughing.
  4. Cancer strikes again. Another friend in the hospital with some cancer variation. One of those things that elicit a long sigh even as I intellectualize, well, it’s life and death, isn’t it? Where we all end. Yeah.
  5. My formerly broken arm (the left one) continues improving. Did pushups this week. First was just a half one. Lot of quivering arm with it, some mild pain, greater worry. I think worry was holding me back all along. The arm just remains so thin looking, and the wrist still doesn’t move right. Hence, my worry. But I’ve done more pushups since. This morning, I managed two sets of four. Yeah, baby, progress.
  6. Wrote this post during the AM hours. Then sat on it while I drank coffee and wrote like crazy. Now time to run to the library. They do a door service. Books are put on hold; we go to the door where a table is set up. They come out, we identify ourselves, and then the librarian goes in to find the books for us, check them out, and return. After the library, drop off some muffins to friends, then back home to eat a late lunch and rake leaves. Stay positive, test negative, and wear a mask.
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