I just finished Chapter 17 of The Pastel Cowboy. I wish I could tell you what happened, but I can't because it would ruin everything, literally. (Was that a pun?)

What can I tell you?

Well, nothing, actually because what happened was so unexpected. It was another one of those creative moments when everything comes together and out pops a plot twist. And, let me tell you right now, it was one heck of a plot twist. It certainly surprised the heck out of me.

See?

It's like winning PowerBall or MegaMillions ($148M this Friday, $85.2M cash in Washington state) and not being able to tell your debt-ridden friends and relatives 'cuz they're gonna want all the money. "My knee hurts, can I have ten thousand, you won't miss it, you've got millions."

So, I guess I'd better get busy on Chapter 18 because, although I jumped two weeks in time, I didn't get all that close to a significant point in time that's going to be the death of someone. As, I've said before, I know too many times, this has to happen so Zach can meet the man who might be the death of him.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Could I actually kill of the lead? He's a nice kid, but could that save him from the ax? (Which is it ax or axe?) He does come close, though, so close he could die a most horrible death.

But, I can't tell you about that, either.

Secret.

Oh, I went to the doc today. He was very, very happy I'm doing so well. He was concerned about me being tired. Did some blood tests, but the results seem okay, at least from my uneducated view. There weren't any flags on the results. A little close to the bottom of the scale on potassium, but is 3.6 bad when 3.5 is the low point? 3.4 would be bad, but is 3.6 good because it's just on the other side of the fence? Don't know, just tired. Maybe it's the depression.

I'm thinking about calling my psychologist and seeing if I can get back in for some counseling. I feel like I'm on the verge of something. Well, I am kind of on the verge. I've quit my job in anticipation of working somewhere else. They haven't called to make the arrangements for me to come down and get introduced to their company. I thought they were going to call, but they haven't.

I'm literally f**ked in the head. I feel like walking away. I can almost see myself as some derelict street person spare changing in Seattle, but I think I'd go to Portland, at least until autumn, when it would be time to head south to CA. Who wants to try to stay warm when there's a cold rain falling?

Of course, I could opt for the original plan and just commit some petty crime and then attack the arresting officer and get sent to some government housing facility with razor wire instead of shrubs and flowers. I could pretend to be nuttier than the other nuts. It's not hard. I write fiction. Nothing nuttier than fiction.

But, that really isn't an option. I've got to finished Pastel Cowboy first. You guys (I'm not implying this isn't being read by someone of the other sex. I'm just not used to referring, generically, to other people as girls, which is just as generic as guys, but without all that masculine angst attached to it. I know, confusing!) will want to know how it all comes out. Who lives, who dies, and who is horribly disfigured for the rest of his/her life. No, that isn't going to happen, but it could. I write fiction. They're just characters in a story. It's pretend.

You know, this is getting bizarre, maybe I should call.

I bet you girls (there!) are getting f**king tired of me whining about this depression shit, but no one else seems to be around to listen.