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CarlHoliday

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Blog Entries posted by CarlHoliday

  2. CarlHoliday

    Four more weeks

    By CarlHoliday,

    I went to an orthopedic surgeon on Tuesday and he said to come back in four weeks, not to do any exercises or physical exertion, and definitely don't go to work. Four more weeks of doing what I've been doing for the last four weeks, except not going to physical therapy. Rest my wrist for four weeks. If it's not better, then he'll do an MRI and see if there's a tear that needs to be repaired.
     
    The long and short of it is that I'm very depressed, so depressed I'm actually trying to remember to take the extra antidepressant at lunch time.
     
    You know you're really bad when you check to see if you still have the number for the Crisis Line. (It's in my wallet.)
     
    And, I haven't worked on either story or either blog for too many days. Writing seems to be a little difficult right now. I have all this time to write and I'm not writing anything. Even this little bit has taken nearly two hours. It wasn't too many months ago when I could write a 1,000 word short story in an hour.
     
  3. CarlHoliday

    Not Guilty!

    By CarlHoliday,

    It had to happen.
     
    Eventually, your number comes up and you got to go.
     
    I did my civic duty yesterday and answered the request for jury duty at our municipal court. The only other time I
  4. CarlHoliday
    Early this week, probably Tuesday night, I was watching an episode of CSI: Miami when I experienced something I haven't experienced in quite a while because I don't watch television when I'm on the road. Oh, I catch a program or two in trucks stops, but I don't have a television in my truck so whatever entertainment I utilize comes via the internet or what I have saved on the laptop. Anyway, this particular episode triggered a shot of adrenalin quickening by pulse, changing my breath rate, and triggering the ever popular fight or flight response.
     
    Damn, don't you just love watching television and getting those jolts of hormones. Well, it's certainly better than being in a copse and realizing a leopard is sharing your tree; or, bedding down in some tall grass and hearing a bear snuffling around for a tasty morsel of long pig.
     
    Well, anyway, that jolt of unexpected hormone lasted a few days and triggered a number of unwelcome changes in my behavior like more aggressive behavior out on the road and an unwelcome exposure to the dark side of my creative process. The aggressive driving was quickly recognized and dealt with in an appropriate manner. The expression of my dark side, however, was allowed to progress to a logical end.
     
    I'm working on Chapter 11 of The Pastel Cowboy an Zach is seeing a psychiatrist because of the gay bashing that occurred in Chapter 10. He is suffering from Anxiety/Panic Attacks and the psychiatrist is helping him deal with that and other issues he has with being gay. One of those issues is Zach's submissive tendencies with partners. He's probably totally a bottom, but, unfortunately, he's not very good at recognizing inappropriate behaviors in that regard, which, as in the case of the bashing, sets him up for violence.
     
    Anyway, I was doing pretty well with Chapter 11 until yesterday when Zach remembered being sexually abused by his oldest brother. I know, as I'm sure most everyone else is aware, that male to male sexual abuse does not have anything to do with causing a boy to become gay. But, there are those who may interpret the writing in a negative sense.
     
    So, I'm at a quandry as what to do. I can rewrite the chapter and do away with this section and, possibly, come up with some other logical reason for Zach's submissiveness, or I can add sufficient supporting narrative and dialog for Zach to realize that being gay has absolutely nothing to do with the abuse he suffered. I'd prefer the latter, but at the same time realize the former is probably the safe solution. You know, add more than sufficient disclaimers at the beginning so that whoever is reading this chapter hopefully realizes my position on this situation. I've never been one to play it safe as far as writing goes, but in this situation maybe it's better to keep the dark side at bay and come up with another solution.
     
    I've been playing with this entry for a couple days trying to work it out, but tonight we went to our favorite Mexican restaurant and I had a Grande Gold Margarita on the Rocks, a Chicken Caesar Salad, a Sierra Mist with a double Cuervo Tradicional, a side order Tamale (I love Tamales and one of the waitresses has promised to teach the wife how to make them!), and a Gold Mexican Coffee. Needless to say I'm feeling very good and was able to type this after getting home. Nothing like good Tequila to get the ol' creative juices flowing. :wacko:
     
  6. CarlHoliday
    Another night of too much tequila, too much spicy food, a killer giant molasses cookie, an orange, and a couple slices of buttered bread, makes for a restless sleep. The really bad thing about doing this shit is everything tastes so good. It
  7. CarlHoliday
    Actually, I hate snow, now. In earlier times, way back in the days before color TV, automatic transmissions, and multiplex theatres. When computers were took up whole basements, reprogramming involved rewiring the silly things, and they broke down for the stupidest reasons like one of the gears lost a tooth. Yeah, way back then. Well, I did like snow, but I was a kid and what kid doesn
  8. CarlHoliday
    Good


    I woke up at 3:00 this morning and lay in bed hoping the reflux would just go away and leave me alone. I always get this when I have too much cheap tequila, a picadillo tamale, a hazelnut mocha, and a slice of marionberry pie. Mostly, though, I think it's the marionberry pie because I can have the other three and nothing happens. After thirty minutes of feeling like I was going to vomit (I DO NOT vomit. I've vomited less than ten times in my life and have no desire to do it again.) I got up and turned on the ol' laptop. No use in wasting time lying in bed in pain. Might as well get up and type in pain.
     
    Four hours later, I've got 3,555 words done on a new short story. It's about two college guys who've known each other for years, but don't discover they're in love until a crisis hits one of them. Donny Mitchell is about five feet tall and looks like a twelve year old, until you get up close and realize he might be older. According to Donny, David Peterson is "... what you
  9. CarlHoliday
    I don't like this blog because it's taken me away from my LiveJournal blog, but since I don't have that much of an audience over there, I might as well bore people over here.
     
    Chapter 10 of The Pastel Cowboy is up on Nifty, but not yet, as of 2116 PST, on The Cove. I don't know what I hold up is. Maybe it's something trivial, maybe something drastic. I don't know. It's not like I can call the webmaster and ask. This is the internet after all, telephony has been superseded by email and instant messaging.
     
    I started work on a new short story. I'm working off the GA Anthology nomination list, starting with the suggestions with the fewest votes. The first one I'm tackling is "Odd Man/Woman Out." Been there, done that. It's not a happy memory, but one that's full of angst so it should make a good story.
     
    I'm going back to work Wednesday morning. There's no question unless I suddenly come into a lot of money. Bought a lottery ticket tonight, since I don't have a forgotten uncle who's suddenly going to die and leave me with millions.
     
    Actually, I had a forgotten uncle, but he left me with $8,000 back in the early Seventies. Uncle W__ was single. Lived with his mother until she died in 1955 and then moved into bachelor housing out behind a sporting goods place on Crown Hill. He lived there until he died. My parents wouldn't let me be around Uncle W__. He was different. He was single. He had male friends. My cousins, on my father's side who I stopped seeing when my father stopped talking to his sister, got to hang out with him, but then they were Catholic, so probably knew how to hang with older men.
     
    Anyway, Uncle W__ is an enigma. Actually, my father's side of the family is one great big enigma. Eight cousins who I don't know and probably never will know. All gone because of some stupid argument between my father and his sister.
     
    That's the way with some families, though. It's hard to miss someone you've never met, except there's an emptiness over there than I can't seem to fill. Maybe I just care too much about trivial feelings.
     
  16. CarlHoliday
    The other day when I was heading for Denver with a load on non-dairy creamer, I had to stop outside Pendleton, Oregon, and put on chains to go up Cabbage Hill. Now, putting chains on in winter is one of the joys of driving a truck. There just isn
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