CarlHoliday

There's always been this big mystery in my life and it's bugged the heck out of me for I don't know how long. My father's father was an immigrant from Sweden. The story in the family was that when he got to Ellis Island and was asked his name he said, "I am Carl Daniel Y______. I left everything in Sweden including my name. I will be known from now on by an American name." Well, that's the story. From what I know about what happened on Ellis Island, it's just as likely he said his name in broken Swedish and the clerk changed it to Y_______. But, what was his name before? That's what I wanted to know. My dad didn't know. It was a family secret. I didn't even know where in Sweden Grandfather came from. Plus, I couldn't ask him as he died three years before I was born. This weekend I was going through some of the papers my mother saved throughout her life. (Do you know, she saved every letter I wrote to her and my aunt and uncle when I was in the service? I tossed those suckers, quick!) I came across a death certificate for my grandfather's sister, whose last name was also changed to Y______. Seems her father's last name was Petersen and she was from Leksand, Sweden. I also learned my great grandfathers name was Daniel, which is nice since my "real" name is also Daniel. Oh, and the 3:33? Well, strange as it may seem, I've been waking up at 3:33 every morning for the past three days. One of those wide awake, look at the clock and it's 3:33. Maybe it was because I was at home. Maybe it was because I was suddenly busy with the new story, which I don't want to start, but seem to be forcing myself to start.

Nice poll, but not quite appropriate to my line of work, where a day begins when I go to work which may be at two o'clock in the morning or four in the afternoon and end eight to ten hours later. So, I picked #4 because it came closest to what I look forward to while driving for hours and hours. There is nothing like a long stretch of quiet time and listening to music, though I don't have CDs. I listen to iTunes on my laptop. The other choices sounded more idyllic to me as something I might wish for if my life was different. #2 with the wine sounded nice, but a Bordeaux white wouldn't be my first choice. I tend toward a Riesling from Mosel. Interestingly, I imagine a time somewhere in the future where I'll be doing something very close to that at a little table out in the sun in Montreux. Carl

Today, while waiting for a load in our Portland yard, I finished the rewrite of the last chapter of Tim and the Corsair. I wish I could share with you want I wrote, but I can't spoil your own experience with the story. I think I achieved a high degree of poignancy, though. I think I reached a closing for all the necessary characters. I think I came to a point where THE END fit into the story. In the first version, on Nifty if you care to read it, Tim and Geoff don't meet until late in life. In this revised version, I wanted Tim and Geoff to meet while Geoff was still in high school. I think I rearranged their lives in a logical manner to make this possible. Unfortunately, I had to dramatically affect Geoff's life to the point where suicide once again seemed like a logical solution to his problems. Tim, well, he simply needed a way to get back to North Park to meet up with Geoff. I wish I could tell you how it all came together, but I can't. You'll just have to wait. Tim and the Corsair ends at Chapter 20 with this sentence: I took him in my arms and kissed him as if there was no one around. I wish I could tell you where they were kissing. I wish I could tell you who was kissing Geoff. We know it was Geoff because the story is written in first person, but you'll have to wait to find out if it was Tim who was being kissed. I think the last scene was poignant. I wanted it to be poignant. I'll have to wait to see what you think. ************** My next story will aim for a poignant ending, too. I've decided the main character will not be developmentally disabled, but will have survived meningitis. Kevin (I like the name Kevin as it sounds vulnerable. It's a good name for a victim; and, in a sense Kevin will be a victim, even though he will kill at least four times.) will have had meningitis at some pre-teen age and he will have significant injury to cognitive abilities wherein his mental age will be somewhere around eleven, but he will excel at certain physical abilities which will play into the hands of those who will control his life. As I see it, at this moment, Kevin will die from colon cancer somewhere around age sixty-five or seventy. So you see I'm looking at a story that will traverse many years of one person's life. I'd like to be able to have the ending literally soaked in tears. I'd also like to be able to have the reader laugh at inapprorpriate times.

Two days ago when I was driving up the Central Valley of California I saw a cloud of dust over on the other side of the freeway. It was a huge vineyard and I figured a farmer type was doing some sort of farmer job and making a lot of dust in the process. They're doing it all the time all along the freeway, so it's not all that uncommon to see a cloud of dust blow out onto the interstate. Suddenly, a car flies out of the dust cloud and bounces up onto the pavement. I thought for a second it was going to continue across the median and crash into me or some other unlucky driver, but, no, the out of control car heads back into the shoulder for a second trying at maiming a bunch of grapes before flying back onto the pavement where it fishtails as the driver is trying to regain control. Finally the car spins around and comes to a stop in the middle of both southbound lanes. I breathed a sigh of relief because if the fool had rolled it, I would've had to do the good citizen thing of rendering aid. The problem with rolling vehicles is unbuckled drivers or passengers being partially ejected and having various body parts crushed between a heavy vehicle and dirt. The last thing I wanted to see was a squashed head. The car stayed upright and on the pavement, so it was the responsibility of the southbound drivers to swerve and jostle around until the dust cleared; hopefully not plowing into the fool who was probably thanking a favority diety for not allowing Death to do his nasty deed. I bet the driver crapped in his/her pants; or, at least, pissed a bit. Something like that can be so unnerving you just never know what's going to come of it. That stretch of road is long, straight, and very boring. If you're not careful, you to can run right off the road. Today, I worked on my new story as I drove from Corning, CA, to Tualatin, OR. I made myself all teary eyed from a whole lot of poignancy. I think I'm going to do the story in different POVs with each character doing their own bit, while one character will not have anything to say until close to the very end. It's because he is developmentally disabled, kind of like a number of kids I've seen in the past few years. Sort of Forrest Gumpish, I guess. I'm almost finished with the last chapter of Tim, so I'll be able to start on the new story soon.

I used to complain about not being able to turn off the creative switch. At times it drove me batty always coming up with these stories. But now I don't care because the depression wipes me out so much I often can't write anyway. So, this morning before I left Roseburg, OR, I announced I finished The Pastel Cowboy, but was not going to work on any new projects until I wrote the new ending for Tim and the Corsair, wrote my submission to the Winter Anthology (which takes place on Glandar and ends on Earth v.2; involves two boys, one who knows he's gay and the other who suspects, but doesn't want to be like that; and our ever popular robotic species, the B'na, make an appearance, too.), and finish posting either Tim or Pastel. Well, so much for trying to stop the creative processes. Pastel is done and there's a creative hole that needs to be filled. The working title (and probably to actual title) is Best Friend. Two teens, Nick and Kevin, are on a murder spree killing random people at random times. The police, admirably represented by an as yet unnamed detective, are quite a few steps behind them. Kevin's little brother Mikey is on thin ice because he's supposed to be dead. The underlying story is Kevin will do anything for Nick, anything. "Will you kill my father?" Nick asked as Kevin waited with a wad of toilet paper while Nick sat on the toilet. "Sure, Nick, I'll do anything for you, anything. You're my best friend." "Well, you certainly did a good job of killing Mikey," Nick said as he stood up and then bent over to let Kevin clean him. "Any guy who's willing to kill their little brother must be willing to do anything." As you can see, this will not be a bunnies frolicking in a meadow story, either. Oh, and yes, there will be lots and lots of blood and bits of bone and tissue flying out of horrendous exit wounds. Sorry.

It's over! There's nothing more I can do. Nothing. I've come to the end and there's no use in going further. The Pastel Cowboy has been a fun journey, but when Zach said, "____ ______ _______ since I found out I was gay," I couldn't see any reason to do anything other than write, "THE END." Now, all I have to do is write the new end to "Tim" and my submission for the Winter Anthology. Only then will I be in a position to decide what project I'm going to do next. I know I'll be putting my first novel up. That's definite, but it probably won't be until all of "Tim" or "Pastel" are up on GA. I don't need three projects running at the same time. It's bad enough doing two, plus a quarterly anthology, plus wondering if I'll ever get back to writing something suitable Glimmer Train. I've said in the past I might do a side story from my first novel, which will tell's the story of the gay son whose relationship with his father goes from best bud to revulsion to sexual attraction. All of that is covered in the novel, but I was wondering what it would look like from the son's POV. There is also the side story from "Tim" that is about Mark the football player. Or, maybe something completely new. There is the sci-fi stuff that I seem to be hung up on with my anthology stories. I do have a story titled "Game Farm" where humans are the game hunted by aliens who relish our tender flesh, but that's something that's already been written. I really want something completely new. I'll have to think about it.

Well, I'm at home, again. Last night I was supposed to deliver a load of licorice to a local mini-mart distributor, but the delivery dates got messed up and they wouldn't take delivery. When everyone finally figured out what was going on I was sent to the Puyallup yard to drop the trailer and sent home to wait for another load. I leave tomorrow morning for sunny California, delivering on Tuesday. What have I done at home? Nothing. Though, tonight we went to our favorite Mexican restaurant and met the new manager, who happens to be the manager from a location we used to go to. He and the wife were having a dandy conversation about why we stopped going to his restaurant and spent most of our time at the one that has become our favorite. The wife was beautiful in her fabrication of a fictional reason for us to stop frequenting one place in lieu of spending all of our time at another. I thought I was good at coming up with fiction, but she's far better and I think actually believes the stories she comes up with. Tonight's lie was the previous occupant of our current restaurant was a Mexican restaurant, too. Actually, it was a pizzeria, but who am I to correct her when the guy she was talking to probably didn't know the truth. Where she came up with this story is beyond me, but she does this so well. She also gets caught and it's beautiful to watch her being humilated when someone points out everything she said was a baldfaced lie. One of the more memorable occasions was to older women from Switzerland who were talking about wearing a certain kind of coat when they were children in Zurich. From what they were saying, the coats were big, bulky, and extremely unattractive, but very durable. The wife stepped in and agreed, actually claiming she knew what these women were talking about because she had gone through the same embarrassment as a child. They skewered her. So, tonight I let her go on and on with her lie. The reason we stopped going to the other restaurant? Well, at the time, that location purchased their butter from a different supplier than all the other locations in the chain. I guess each manager is able to choose their own suppliers. Well, the butter suddenly became quite sour and had a pickled flavor which was totally unacceptable. That was our primary reason. A secondary reason was the wait staff stopped acknowledging us a frequent customers. We been patronizing that location for over five years and suddenly it was as if we'd never been there. Well, if you're not welcome one place and very welcome at another, the logical answer is to change restaurants, which is what we did. Yet, the wife had to come up with some off the wall story about us frequently all the Mexican restaurants that had been at this one location when there has been only one. You're probably thinking this is one of the reasons I love her so much, but I don't. I stopped loving her a long time ago. I tolerate her, pity her, and am so use to her presence in my life I see no reason to discontinue our relationship. Besides, you never know when you're going to need a good story.

Well, not exactly the community of Home because there is a community on the Key Peninsula called Home. No, I'm at home. Silly me forgot my pill supply when I went out. Of course, silly me believed the recruiter when she said, "We like to get all our drivers home every week." Male Bovine Waste! So, I needed to get home tonight or tomorrow to restock. So, my load delivered in Chehalis, WA, which is 50 miles south of here. I was suppose to get an empty trailer and take it to Puyallup, but Chehalis didn't have any empty trailers they wanted to part with. So, my dispatcher comes up with a plan. He has a load that is supposed to deliver in Lakewood tomorrow night. I take it. Then I remember my car is at the Portland yard. So, I take an empty rail trailer from Chehalis to Portland, park my truck, and get in my car and drive home. I'll go back tomorrow and get the load coming back up here. I'm almost certain my dispatcher was not a truck driver, but has a BA in something. He acts like he has a BA in something. Very smart, but so dumb he comes up with the stupidest shit; or, maybe, he's just dumb to begin with. Some people are like that, just naturally dumb. Just like some people are natural assholes; they can't help it because it's in their genes. Of course, it might have a lot to do with the Full Moon. All the crazies, stupids, dumbs, and really wacked out people come out of the woodwork and try to act normal. Don't tell anyone, but I came up with a new way to do it. My car is small and I figured out I could turn into a semi-trailer. At 70 mph I will mostly certainly die, not that I want to right now, but as I was driving up I-5 tonight, I figured it out. Scared the piss out of me because everytime I passed a semi I was judging the space and if my car could tuck under the trailer before being obliterated. I'd have many a second before a lot of physical forces went about rending my car and me into a tangled mass. Oh, by the by, I've already come up with a storyline for the Winter Anthology. More sci-fi stuff.

I drove for three and a half hours yesterday. I deliver today at noon. It's cold here this morning. Do I sound BORED? I hope this isn't how things are going to be with this company. I mean, I should welcome all the free time, but dilly-dallying down the road is a bit tiring. Well, I wasn't going to go to the customer loc last night and park overnight on a street in Metro LA. Mostly, because I don't have a sign that says, "Rob me, I don't have a gun!" Not that I'm saying Metro LA is a high crime area because it is. We're warned about going down there. "Be careful, watch out, be on your guard, park in a safe and secure location." I don't consider parking on the side of a street near a customer warehouse safe and secure. So, I stopped at the Flying J in Frazier Park. Had an okay dinner last night. But, I didn't work on the two stories I'm supposed to be working on. I'm too bored to do that. Also, I ran off and left my prescription supply at home. I had seven days worth thinking I'd be back in seven days, as in when the recruiter told me, "We like to get our drivers home every week." A week is seven days, right? So, I skipped a day. Now, I can last until Friday, unless I skip another day, which means I don't have to get home until Saturday. It's not like not taking my meds is going to kill me. Well, not taking the antidepressant might make me a little dangerous to myself, but I've been there before. Heck, I'm there quite often, but I don't actually do it. Like most people, I hope, I don't really want to do it; or, heaven forbid, get caught in the act of doing it and lose my job, lose my CDL, lose everything, which would be kind of like doing it, but not actually doing it. It's all a state of mind. I am okay. A little depressed maybe, but I am okay. Really, you can trust me on this. I am okay. It's just I have to get home so I can get my supply of pills so I don't have to force myself to be okay. I can be medicated into thinking I'm okay, which is so much easier. Don't tell anyone, but I've been thinking about my next series. Nothing definite, but it's out there bugging the shit out of me. Well, guess I'd better get going. 95 miles to go. At this time of morning, maybe 3 hours? I-5 to I-605 to customer warehouse. Oh, hey, one other thing. If you get the chance and you haven't already tried reading my stories, how about zipping over to eFiction and checking out some of my stuff. Thanks!

Last night I was in Weed and tonight I'm at the T/A in Santa Nella to get a shower. I'm beginning to offend thyself and when that happens you know you stink! Needless to say, I AM BORED! I drove for six hours today. That's all. If I was at my old company, I'd be delivering early tomorrow morning, not Monday at Noon. The good thing about not being rushed is I have time to think about the two story endings I have to come up with. Today as I drove I worked on Tim and the Corsair. For reasons I can't tell you, I'm not working on The Pastel Cowboy. Let's just say, Zach is a nice kid, but when he __________ he really ___________ and it made __________ so _____ it's surprising _________________. So, you see, I'm at the end of the story and Zach is not helping. Actually, ___________ is not helping because he's being such a __________ that Zach can't _____________ or ______________. He's at his __________________ about what he should do about ________. You see I know they're __________________________________, but it's frustrating because while _______ and ________ are having their ______________, everyone, including ___________ and _____________ have to spread ____________ ashes out in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma. So, I'm working on Tim. Plus, I'm trying not to think about my next series. It's not working, of course, but I am trying not to get distracted so I can finish these two stories.

Good for you for not letting the world get you down. As far as your dad goes, well, from a dad's POV my guess is he's just going through that age old dad disease of watching his offspring getting ready to go out the door. Pretty soon you're going to be on your own. He doesn't know what to do about it except say the wrong thing which you react to negatively, which you're supposed to do because you're his son. My suggestion is pick a moment when you're alone with him, when all is calm and all negative thoughts are at bay, and simply say something like, "Dad I want you to know I love you and whatever happens between us I want you to know that I care for you." And, just leave it at that. My guess is he won't change that much, but when he does open his mouth and something negative comes out, try not to take it too personal because he's just doing his job. And, unfortunately, it's often a thankless job. Take care, Carl

Tonight I'm in Portland, OR, because I don't need to be in the LA area until noon Monday. My trailer is somewhere here in the yard. I'm going to leave tomorrow morning, early, early, like around 4 or 5 because I don't want to have to deal with commuters flocking into Portland and wherever else to go to work. I'm lucky, I take work with me. Already I like being back on the road. I get a very strong sense of calm and I know why. It's because I'm away from home. I miss Bonita, but it's the other one that I don't miss. I'm working on the last chapter of The Pastel Cowboy and Tim and the Corsair. Pastel will end kind of soft and smooshy. (it's not a word, I checked) (okay, I check; that's what I do) (I thought about using smoochy, but smoochy the adjective does not go with smooch the noun meaning kiss, it goes with smooch the noun meaning smudge or smear, which certainly has very little to do with kiss other than a kiss is sort of like a smudge) (do I digresseth too much?) The new ending for Tim will also be smooshy, but I'm not too certain if it will be soft. Geoff's world has collapsed in on him and he's falling back into (darest I say it and spoil what you haven't read? No, I shan't) something that he'd rather not, but doesn't seem to be able to do anything about. If he had one true friend in the world, he might be saved from himself. So . . . . . . Anyway, tomorrow I'm driving down to maybe Weed, CA, or maybe Redding. I don't have to be in LA until Monday. Actually, I don't have to leave until Saturday. I'm used to hauling ass, but around here that seems to be something we don't do. Maybe, just maybe, I'll drive as far as Medford, if I can get into the Petro. If I can't, then it's over the hill to Weed, which I like. (can't say I like it better because I haven't stayed at the Petro in Medford, but I might because I'll need a bath and I'm not too certain about the bathing opportunities in Weed.)

Well, I've had it. I tried being a hostler. Honest, I tried, but 58 year old bodies cannot pretend they're only 35, which is bad. I tried delivering groceries, but that was just as physical, plus the joys of pulling doubles through a city, which is bad. So, starting Thursday I'm back to long haul; or, as they call it in my new company, line haul, which is good. Up and down the I-5 corridor, which is kinda good. Supposedly, I'll be home every week, which is good. Also, I'll be making 3 cents more per mile than my previous company, which is good. But, I'll be away from home for a week at a time, which is kind of bad. :wacko: But, I don't do well at home, which is bad. So, I'm going away for a little bit of time, which is good. I'll miss Bonita and she'll miss me, which is bad. The wife will miss me, but I won't miss her, which is a wash. Good, bad, good, bad, good, bad, etc., etc., etc., etc. On the other hand, I will have more time to write, which is very, very good. The Pastel Cowboy is coming to an end, so soon it'll be time to think of something new. I have lots of possibilities, so I'll need time to consider each and every one. I'll have time running up and down I-5, which is good. So? Why am I so f**king depressed? Because you're in a down cycle and it's only going to get worse until you hit bottom and bounce back up, stupid! You know, I hate this. Hate it, hate it, hate it! F**k! F**k! F**k! F**k!

Ah, but, there's no cost for shipping, other than the cost of your ticket to your new country, but you better be ready to speak Dutch and French or one half is going to hate you, which they do already. So, you'll be in the middle which simply means: bend over, put a target on your ass, and wait for the kick.

Now, that would be something to give to that someone special in your life, but which half? Who wants a country divided by language? Although, the Dutch speaking part probably is prettier; what with all those beaches, but the weather does leave a bit to be desired. Maybe it's a good thing the ad was pulled.

Well, it started as aluminium, in the UK of all places by the gentleman who was trying to isolate it. Later, he seems to have changed his mind and started referring to it as aluminum, but not all the time, which leads me to believe someone down in typesetting wasn't paying attention, again.

Jeez! Four men and four women. That's a mightly small sample, especially if you're picking volunteers who sway their hips a bit too much to begin with. Maybe they should've asked a few guys who were seriously trying to stay in the closet, like maybe half of the other two supposedly straight guys. I've seen too many straight guys sway their hips a bit too much to use that as a possible indicator if a guy is gay. I've always gone with a little more obvious things like the guy draped over his arm, the way he talks about having fun at the gay bar, oh, yeah, and those rainbows are a dead give away, unless he's been to a PFLAG meeting and has finally accepted his brother.

When I got home earlier this evening from a subdued dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and two stops at different grocery stores, I started on an entry complaining about how depressed I was. I'm still very depressed, but that doesn't matter right now. I watched a movie. Oh, god, we all watch movies, I can hear you saying. So what! I don't watch that many movies, especially something new. I just don't like movies, sorry. I watched "Memory of a Killer". It was in Dutch and French, with subtitles, quite good subtitles. Amazing thing about Dutch is that a lot of the words come across as their English equivalents. You also don't get all that extra mouth movement as the foreign language goes on for three or four more words when only one English word suffices. That's what made all those Godzilla movies so great. Actually, this was a fairly good movie. Action, cops and bad guys, lots of bloody killing. Would I see it again? Probably not. It was good and Koen De Bouw is hot. Well, he's hot as far as I'm concerned. Maybe our tastes are different, but I think he's hot. So, I'm still just as depressed, but I feel better. Unless you've been to depressionland you probably don't know what I'm talking about, but you can be really down and feel okay about it. So, maybe watching the movie was a good thing.

Okay, I'm late to the party, so what else is new . . . Voted for Colour, but then I've been an Anglophile for years. I'm stuck with color, though, and aluminum, tires, and all those -ize endings. Of course, if I had a character from that strange little isle off the coast of France, I might want to adjust the language a teensy bit so all of the colour might come shining through.

Okay, this was my last night as hostler on the Perishible Dock. That was a given. Part of my job, the first part, has to be accomplished by 19:00 every night because that is when the Grocery Dock shuts down, is to move the combination trailers, those that have perishible and grocery, from the perishible dock to the grocery dock. I have to do this every night. Well, tonight the Perishible Dock was behind. They were delayed. For whatever reason, they were behind. The Grocery Supervisor is giving me shit because he needs the trailers because his people go on overtime at 19:00. Well, I can't move a trailer until it's ready. So, at around 19:00, say 19:05, all the trailers in the Perishible Dock are ready to move. Like seven trailers. It takes time to move a trailer from the Perishible Dock to the Grocery Dock. That is a given. The Grocery Supervisor is giving me shit because he needs those trailers. I can move only one at a time. While all this is happening, three of my co-workers, the three senior hostlers on duty are having a BS session at the end of the Perishible Dock. Plus, one of them is working overitme. I'm busting my ass moving these trailers over to the Grocery Dock and three of my team members are having a BS session in full view every time I go to the Perishible Dock to pick up a new trailer. Needless to say, I got PISSED! I tried not getting pissed, but everytime I went back to the Perishible Dock, there they were and I got seriously PISSED! I finished my job. Got all the trailers moved. Then I went into the night manager and told him, "I don't feel well, I'm going home." I went to my favorite Mexican Restaurant and had three Cadillac Margaritas and now I'm not PISSED! I'm quite drunk. You know, if those three assholes had been BSing somewhere out of sight it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but there they were every time I rushed back to pick up a new trailer and the more I noticed they weren't doing shit, the more I got PISSED!

I finished the short story I will probably submit for the Fall Anthology. Worked on it all night. Actually, I went a bit beyond all night, but I felt I needed to finish it so I could submit it. (Does it sound like I haven't had enough sleep?) It's sort of a prequel to my Summer Anthology story. This story is about the First Watcher and kind of everything leading up to the establishment of Glandar. What I like about the new story is I was able to bring in the 'xrsc and other members of the Argottean Federation. A number of years ago, a couple computers ago, I wrote a history of a group of beings living on a planet far, far away. I really haven't finished the history because it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Basically, the history started out as the history of the Universal Marketing Scheme, Ltd., or more commonly referred to as UMS, sort of like PMS without the headaches. UMS is successful because it utilizes what each of its members provide best. The Argotteans are experts with bureaucracies and no business can be a true success without a firmly structured, fully entrenched bureaucracy. The Belendans can make anything you want, they have the manpower and expertise to construct anything from a complex computer program language to an imitation Volkswagen Beatle useful for nothing more than a big paperweight. The Orcolians can write the best users manuals in the entire universe. Once, they wrote the operation manuals for a weapon suitable for destroying entire planets. It was quite effective in destroying the planets of a number of their enemies. Not the weapon, the instructions on operating the silly thing. The L'nthdreans will demonstrate how to use the simplest tool. Having trouble making that screwdriver work. Hire a L'nthdrean and you'll be sleeping for hours. The Gurdians are born salespeople. Of course, they suffer from the schtickist gene. Well, most of them, some of them are faking, but who can tell who threw the creme pie when everyone seems to be throwing creme pies. Don't think you need a new planet? Watch out for the Gurds because not only are they going to sell you a new planet, but a weapon to destroy the planet you're currently living on; and, at no extra cost, well not specifically stated in the contract, they will provide a couple L'nthdreans to demonstrate the weapon; a conveniently located Orcolian publishing office to not only produce the 250 copies of the full manual, but 600 copies of the abbreviated manual suitable in those suitations when a quick aim and shot means life or death (whatever you do don't aim the silly thing at your planet when using the abbreviated manual because there's a small deletion that will be corrected in an upcoming revision); a factory on Belenda, not too close to the beach, which is nearly impossible because Belenda is one great big beach, to construct your weapon; and, for only a few dollars more, a Argottean consulting firm that will completely recognize your country's bureaucracy into something that can't make a decision for a hundred years, or so. But, it's the 'xrsc who hold the key to the entire operation. The 'xrsc aren't actually anything more than one humongous computer program that operates outside of reality, somewhere close to the sixth dimension to be exact, sort of. They have what are referred to as kiosks because, well, they look like kiosks. They have a screen and a keyboard, but since they actually exist three dimensions removed from reality, sometimes the kiosk isn't quite where you think it is; but, then, they also move on these itty-bitty multi-dimensional wheels. The 'xrsc came into existence because someone came up with the idea there were six physical dimensions. Well, someone thought there's got to be money in that idea, so they decided to build some robots to operate in six dimensions. Well, you need a computer program to operate robots. Then someone got the bright idea of writing a computer program that would construct a six dimensional robot. Well, things kind of got out of hand because the computer program, operating in places where its writers couldn't physically exist, kind of took things into its own virtual hands and rewrote itself, conveniently leaving out all the tidy checks and balances that might prevent it from doing what it was doing. Then the program decided it needed a spaceship and built one. And, then, it figured out, "Wait a minute, we've been acting like we're aware of our existence. By golly, we think that's right." And, they promptly disappeared, only to come back a few days later and completely rewrote the history of their creation and successfully sued the publisher of the earlier history. So, finally, I get to use the 'xrsc in a story. What does this have to do with "Worth Fighting For?" Well, you're gonna have to read it to find out.

Sometimes, real happiness only occurs after letting go and seeing your future present in the freedom it represents. Sometimes, love is fleeting, only a shadow of what it once was. Sometimes, real love and happiness are but a step away. The courage of love comes in taking that step. There is no happiness in rending the heart apart, but birds sing, flowers bloom with sweet scent, and love grows upon the smile of true happiness. Love is but a journey. A simple journey from one smile to the next. Carl

I guess LOst Cause started this, then Ieshwar got into the act, and then I said I'd do one, too. But first, a word from our sponsor: I was working on Tim and the Corsair tonight getting things ready for a totally remodelled ending and caught myself laughing at the jokes. Do you ever do that? Can you go back and read something you wrote a year ago and still laugh at the jokes? Or, is it just me? Anyway, I think I've got the ending fairly well figured out, but not totally scoped out. Basically Character A is in love with Character B, but they haven't seen each other for a long time, which means that Character X has a real good chance of stealing Character A's heart, except that Character X's life isn't all that rosy and something very familiar to Character A is going to happen whether Character A wants it or not. This enables Character B to have a chance to re-enter Character A's life if the Three Fates can figure out a way for them to meet up without destroying the world in the process. Only Character B's life has to be revamped in such a way that he is available for the interception when it comes his way, otherwise the meeting will never occur and Character A will be doomed to go through life totally loveless, or not. Thanks, I needed that. I hope I haven't revealed too much about the plot, but if I have you can be assured the ending won't be close to the above example. Now back to our regularly scheduled program: Okay, so I did the list thingy: TEN EMOTIONS. 1. are you missing someone right now? Yes, someone to love. 2. are you happy? No, want to be, but I

It's all a matter of economics. How much are you, or your government for state run health care systems, willing to pay for new syringes for every patient. And, if you want new, sterile syringers for every patient, then you're going to want clean gloves for every patient. But, rubber gloves in medical situations are not worn to protect you. The person who is wearing the rubber gloves is protecting themselves from whatever pathogens you're carrying, knowingly or not. You think, "Oh good, they're wearing gloves they won't be touching me with their dirty hands;" but they're thinking, "I better wear gloves because I don't know where this person has been or what disease they're carrying." Carl

Of course it's all about making more babies. Most of Biblical Law is about keeping people alive (you can die from poorly cooked shellfish and pork, so don't eat them, put them on the banned list) and ensuring every guy does his duty and makes babies. If the husband dies, the wife goes to the brother who makes more babies. It's all about fertility. Homosexual acts go against fertility and have to be banned. It's bad enough when you go down to the local pagan fertility temple and waste your seed, but to mess around with a member of your sect, both of them are wasting their seed and the whole suffers. Carl