I wish I could figure out how to make money with this. There should be some way to get this thing to be productive.

I hit my peak a couple days ago.

I'm still pumping out the words on The Pastel Cowboy, finished Chapter 15 and got it out the door. Chapter 16 is muddling right now. I need to make a time shift. I need to be a couple months forward, but I also need to use the gun introduced a few chapters back, get two boys back together, get two other people (note how I don't say who) together so they can have sex, start a major plot event that will culminate with the death of one of the characters, then set up the last bit and try to decide how I'm going to write it. You see, it involves a young, supposedly naive boy, an extreme sadist, a room full of danger, and a big decision; and, then we're at the end. I don't want this story to go on and on. I don't like writing, or reading for that matter, the neverending story. Just because the internet has unlimited memory doesn't mean you have to use it.

"Oh, hi, you must be the new character. Are you gay, too? Would you like to be gay? We can go up to my room and have sex, then we can go down to the mall and boy watch. Oh, look, there's a new character. I wonder if he likes to have sex. Maybe he'll have sex with me. I wonder what my boyfriend is doing. Oh, look, there's a new character. Hey! Buddy? Want to have sex with me? Wow, it's neat coming to the water park and I like it when you wear those Speedos. You're nice. Want to have sex? Oh, look over there. Haven't seen him before. Must be a new character. Let's go see if he wants to do a threesome. Oh, darn, he's old, but maybe he can give us some good advice. Then we can go up to my room and lock the door. We'll have lots of fun playing video games. Then we can have sex." They just go on and on. Life goes on, but a story has to come to AND, THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER. THE END.

I'm on the down escalator, again.

Well, you'd expect that, wouldn't you?

Next Tuesday is my last day with the company. I'm in our drop yard south of Columbus, OH, without a trailer or load to take me where I'm going next. There is an empty trailer here, but it has a busted hinge at the top of one of the back doors. It won't completely close. The last thing I want is a valuable load and a leaky door. See, I still care, sort of.

I need to be in Salt Lake next Tuesday getting out of this company.

There's a certain amount of stress involved in this whole situation and it's affecting my mental stability. And, I've gotten off the up escalator. It was fun. I had a blast. You know I used to drink to have fun, then I realized I could have a lot more fun if I just let my mind go a little bit. I didn't need artificial stimulant to have a blast. Now, I'm paying for runaway cyclical depression moderately ameliorated by a purple pill. The peaks aren't a blast and the valleys aren't hazardous to my health.

The limbo song was on the radio yesterday at the Bloomsbury, NJ, T/A. How low can you go? Well, I've been down where there are two doors. One is signed UP. The other is rather shoddy, unpainted, and there ain't no escalator behind it. The handle is cold to the touch, so cold it burns the flesh on your fingers. There's soft, lilting music. A bright light leaks in around the edges. You want to go through. I've held the door open a couple times and look out across the vast emptiness and wondered if my future was out there somewhere. I've closed the door everytime and opened the other to get on the up escalator.

For a while, a long time ago, seems like ages now. I used to go to a place far back in my mind, back where you run into godlike things. It's a nice place, but you have to walk down this staircase hewn from native rock and have the courage to walk out into a vast cavern. There's a bench where you can sit and watch the stone turning, the dim light reflecting off its flat surfaces. Sometimes, but not everytime, there is a small boat, really nothing more than a raft slapped together out of a few boards, that you can pole across the crystal lake. It's nice on the island as long as you don't get too close to the stone. You can get lost over there. I remember I liked going there.

I liked going to that other place, too, but they don't like me coming there. They can burn a hole right through your soul and then you die a horrible, agonizing death. Some people have been known to jump off very high places when that happens because they know you can't continue with life if you're already dead. "I can fly!" Well, no you can't and you can't land, either. It's usually a head shot. Just like dropping a not too ripe watermelon. No, I don't go there. It was fun, but I'm not suited for the trip.

I'm not down, yet. I'm still way up where the going is slow. I can't even seen where the slope steepens, so there is still hope, but I've been this way too many times not to expect to finally succumb and let myself fall away knowing there will be two doors at the bottom.

If I could only figure out how to use this to my advantage.