Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Sometimes, I come across something on the net that makes me pause and address my screen. “I’m gonna read this later,” I say. What my brain is telling me when those words leave my mouth is that I need more time and coffee to address whatever it is I’m facing on that screen. “I’m gonna need more time and coffee.”
The words I live by.
It’s hard to stop writing when it’s blistering along but the allocated time has skidded to an end. Difficult to push the pause button while editing and revising the other project when the timing bell rings to announce, move on to the next matter.
Doesn’t help that the muses are especially active, like they’ve been gorging on chocolate cake and chugging coffee. They just don’t want to stop and it pains me to tell them that I am.
I need a longer day or the means to carve time out of everything else going on. How much sleep is really needed anyway?
I had a strong and productive writing session yesterday. But being so involved, my sense of time evaporated. I found myself leaving the coffee shop an hour later than usual.
I couldn’t go directly home, but had to go buy light bulbs. Finishing with that errand, I jumped into the car to head home. By now, I was an hour and a half later than usual.
My phone rang. It was my wife. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Where are you?” she answered. “You’re much later than your usual time. I’m calling to see if you’re dead or unconscious in a hospital.”
“You called to see if I was dead or unconscious?” I laughed.
She did not.
I overheard two strangers chat a little in the coffee shop. One asked the other about the book he was reading. The other replied, “It’s Dostoevsky. It’s written as a series of letters.”
Poor Folk, I guess, sneaking a glance over. I’d read it, I remembered, wondering if that was the book he was reading. I took a minute to hunt down when I’d read it, remembering it was the summer of 1989, when I was living in Germany. I took summer college courses which addressed different Russian, Jewish, French, and American authors. Dosteovsky was one of three Russian writers.
Over thirty years ago, I suddenly realized with a mental thud. The race of time surprised me once again. I’ll be 68 years old this year. That just amazes me. It shouldn’t, I know, yet it does. It feels like just yesterday that I was thinking, wow, Dad is 68 this year. Gonna be seventy in a few.
And now it’s me.
Mood: sufficient
T’was the Monday before Thanksgiving, and all through the town, people were hurrying, rushing around, making their plans to have a good meal, or shopping online to get a good deal.
Yes, it’s Monday, the 20th of November of 2023. This is the last time that we’ll experience this day and date combo until three different things happen. One, time travel is finally achieved, enabling us to return to this date to see what really happened; two, the Recreation Society decides that this will be the day/date that is recreated as a do-over. But I know for a fact that time travel is still a few decades off and the Recreation Society won’t be here for over fifty years. In fact, its inventors aren’t even born yet.
Windy is the word for the weather in Ashlandia, where the wind is charged and sharp, and the cats are unhappy. After dipping to 30 F last night, we’re now up to 45 F under a flash blue sky and sterling sunshine.
Looking out and seeing no rain, The Neurons cranked up “I’m Only Happy When It Rains”, 1995, by Garbage, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark drenched). While it was a bit’o mischief by Les Neurons, who love pranking me before I’ve had coffee and I’m defenseless, I’ve always found IOHWIR to be a terrific sing along rocker. Shirley Manson delivers on vocals with audio sneers dripping with contempt. Terrific fun, and hard to resist as she teases, “Pour your misery down on me.”
Stay positive, be strong, and lean forward into that dark wind until we break through the other side. Pour some coffee down for me. Never mind, I’ll do it myself. Here’s the video. Cheers
PS: The third way we can experience Monday, November 20, 2023, again, is if we come unstuck in time. It’s been known to happen, although they didn’t know it at the time.
Mood: perky
Sunshine clashes with multi-layered grey clouds over Ashlandia, where the weather is variable and the people are resigned.
It’s Sunday, November 5, 2023, and 57 F degrees, close to the projected high of 62 F. Was raining a short while ago, not a ‘oh-no-the-flood-is-coming rain’, but a light shower that had the cats curled up outside with their heads up asking, “What’s making that sound?”
We did the deed of turning the clocks back. I prefer that expression, ‘turning the clocks back’, over ‘setting back’ or ‘falling back’. Setting back sounds like something has gone wrong. Some wags will declare, “Well, that’s exactly what all this Daylight Savings Time clock changing is about. It’s government control and regulation gone wrong. We don’t need it.” Falling back feels like we’re retreating, as in, “Everyone fall back. Retreat.” So I will go with turning the clocks back, if and when I remember.
By Dog, I did enjoy the extra hour of sleep. When I first rose and saw the time, I thought, oh, please, just give me a little more sleep. Then I realized, hey, time change, and dove back to bed, pleasing one cat (Tucker) and dismaying the other (Papi). Papi doesn’t give a damn about any time but his own, and no schedule but his own. (Neither does Tucker, but Tucker likes cozying up to people in bed.) Seeing me go back to bed made Papi’s little face fall as he realized that he wasn’t getting his wet food breakfast yet.
Given that time was on my mind this morning, it’s not surprise that The Neurons began playing time-oriented music. I can list multiple songs that entered the morning mental music stream (Trademark derisive) as I stumbled in and out of light dozing with Tucker purring in my ear, but the song that finally found a firm grip in the MMMS is “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” by Green Day. Some people will know this gentle, reflective song from Seinfeld‘s penultimate episode, but I know it from driving around the SF Bay area when the song was released in 1997 back and forth to work or out shopping. Although the song has such a sentimental and nostalgic air, it’s about a breakup with a girlfriend who moved to another country. In that light, with the “Good Riddance” aspect of the title, you realize that the singer is being sarcastic. That actually makes more sense for its inclusion in the Seinfeld‘s episode; Jerry never wanted any sentimentality on the show, although it seems to me that the montage shown as the song played was completely sentimental.
Stay pos, be friendly, strong, and optimistic, and lean forward. With coffee safely in hand yet again, I’ll try doing the same and maybe we’ll meet on some future date and place where we say to each other, “Isn’t this great?” Here’s the video. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 