***TALK WHORE***

The two words came blazed on my computer screen a couple of nights ago. I was in a writer’s chatroom discussing motivation. There are several published authors who frequent the chatroom including W. She saw our comments, gave her answer, then followed it with the now two famous words on what she asks her Muse when she’s writing.

Hilarity ensued, of course, in chat. But the words have stayed fixed in my mind. I now mouth those words when I start that evening’s writing session.

Well, something must have happened for I’ve been getting back into the (writing) groove better, faster, and quicker (sounds like certain sex toys, doesn’t it? That’s what I’ve heard, anyway) each and every subsequent session. Last night was especially good; I felt the scene read more punchy, less passive, and the main character more interactive with other characters and the environment.

I will have to do something about the profanity, though. Hmmm.

***Organizing Orgy***

WARNING: This is rare rant from me.

One of the symptoms of madness is trying to get control over what you blatantly cannot. That’s how I feel about my life at the moment.

I know a lot of this feeling stems from the current chaos that is our home. As you faithful (mostly. I know what you did last summer night….) readers know, we’re currently remodeling our home. And we’re not talking about a small job, either: the entire kitchen (including appliances); the entire downstairs flooring; the staircase and upstairs landing; all three bathrooms; the washroom; bookcases the family room; and smaller jobs like the bar. Recently we added the kitchen and bathroom windows to the list as well.

The result is living within an apartment within our house. We currently live in the master bedroom, our two offices, and two bathrooms. The rest of the house is either for storage (the third bedroom, the living room) or left empty for more (smaller and additional) work (family room, kitchen, dining room).

Mentally adjusting to this downsizing hasn’t been easy and I feel it’s affected me more than R.

Every couple has differences, some of which are significant. R. has one that grates me to no end. I’ve had to compromise to deal with it. But I’ve never liked the quirk or the fact it was I who had to compromise: R. was never going to change in that manner.

The remodeling has magnified the quirk, its issue, and—again—brought to my attention what I give to keep the relationship healthy.

I’ve developed several coping mechanism to deal with stress. One is organizing certain elements around me to give me a feel of some semblance of control in my life.

First are my activities. R. and even some of my friends and family have whined that I spent a lot of time at the gym. I look at their fat arses, bellies, round faces with hanging or even double chins and politely remind them where I was four years ago: overweight, high-cholesterol, bad breath, body odor, night sweats, mold (between the layers of fat), high pulse rate, back pains, low self esteem, uncontrolled asthma, and other symptoms of being overweight and under fit. That satisfies them to return to eating their heavy meals while telling me their latest excuses of why they can’t lose weight (or what they’ve been doing to lose weight like the latest fad: eating power bars. Course they gloss over their double helpings of their regular meals, etc.)

More time writing. This is one of the benefits from my current negative outlook. (The other is a lowered sex drive.) I’ve already written three weeks pretty much straight with only 1-2 days off. Now this hasn’t necessarily translated into more words, mind you: the Muse has been most reluctant to get out of bed except for the past few days.

(To be continued….)

***MOVE your idiocy out of the way***

I have not been in the best of moods for the past few days. Whatever the cause--weather, (lack of) exercise, junk food, the idiocy of people—has left me tighter than a newbie’s first time. And Wednesday I just exploded.

I know the trigger. Frustrated with our contractors (lack of) response to our (repeated) requests to GET THE FRIGGIN’ JOB DONE IN A TIMELY MANNER SO WE CAN LIVE IN OUR HOUSE AGAIN, I just imploded. Unfortunately, that meant my poor spouse bore the brunt of it.

I have to be very careful when I’m in such a negative mood. Not because I’ll do anything rash, physical. I’d rather amputate my limbs before striking out against R. (now other people, on the other hand….) No, words are my weapons of choice: I know many of the vulnerable areas of my family (too numerous and wouldn’t make sense unless you’ve live through them), friends (“you’re such a lazy arse that it’s no wonder your lover left you. Oh, and you’re terrible in bed as well, Mr. Limp Biscuit.”), and, especially R.

Unfortunately, I didn’t hold back.

I won’t go into details, obviously. But it left R. fearful and distraught for much of the day. By Wednesday night I had sufficiently calmed down to say the magic words (rhymes with ‘glove’) and sound like I meant it.

Time and, more importantly, maturity, has helped us weather such episodes in the past. I know they’ll do so for the future as well. We’ll look back in 10, 20, and 30 years and laugh at such childish outburst.

But that’s in the future. So if I don’t laugh at one of your idiocies again, move out of the way.

***Organizing Orgy (Part Deux)***

Unfortunately, while all of these are personally pleasing, they’re not addressing practical issues like bills, housework, and all the minutiae that make up living in modern society barely tolerable. I have neglectful of late and need to get to them.

Thus the title of this post. I’m not what you call a “slow and steady” person. I like to put massive amounts of effort in short bursts over and over again, preferably twice or even three times in one day. (Perverts). That is, do an initial sweep, check to make sure I got everything during a second pass, and one final pass. All in one day.

I used to apply this philosophy successfully. While it sounds tiring, a lot is mental. Unfortunately, I’ve lost that drive and the body—already getting older—followed all too willingly. And it doesn’t help I’m encouraged by friends and family to try to relax.

Well, enough’s enough. I want—heck, need, some feeling of control no matter if it’s an illusion.

This weekend. Afternoon. Just me and our stuffed animals. They will be organized by Sunday, damnit!

***Weekend Words***

We had contractors out (again) on Saturday. I ran errands and wrote while R. worked on, well, work-related stuff. After the contractors had left, we drove up Saturday to attend L.A. Pride.

We immediately noted how fewer booths stood in comparison to last year. But unlike Long Beach’s festival, more of them were community services rather than outright businesses. We did see, however, three remodeling companies but didn’t stop after seeing their wears.

Because R. had one choir tickets at Long Beach, we checked out all booths that had games of chance. The first one offered $75k towards a new car. We signed up for (possible) vacations at may others. After bumping (finally) into our friends GAC and CS, R. spun for lesser prizes like a bead necklace.

We were, of course, inundated with bags of free mags and even DVDs.

We bumped into other friends and acquaintances during our six hour tour, a sharp contrast to (again) Long Beach Pride, with all from our (former) association with A/PC years ago. To me, it was amazing how many of these folks hadn’t changed: they were still active within our community or (with one) still looking for cheap thrills.

I had made reservations at a local restaurant. So, after feeding the parking meter one more time, we lunched over our favorite meals. We later walked about to check out the stores, most of which we were familiar. I admitted, though, that a few had changed beyond recognition. Later in the week, GAC and CS would tell me more changes of familiar landmarks of our youth.

We re-entered the festival later in the evening. There was a dramatic change: the number of people had significantly increased and many booths had closed. And many of the staff for the open ones were less friendly; they weren’t unpleasant, just less enthusiastic. But the biggest disappointment was the stage show: none of the local bands played during our two hour visit. We finally called it a night and returned home.

Sunday we both spent working. Later I would work on my novel.

***I’m still around***

(Image found on the Internet and all rights belong to its owner.)

Sorry I haven’t posted regularly for a bit. Been extremely busy helping another department over at work and it all involves documents. Thus, the last thing I want to do when I get a break or go home is see more words (with the exception of my writing efforts which are going well. I’ll post about that later.)

***Trapped***

An old acquaintance of mine (I hesitate to call him friend at this time) called me late last week. I was surprised: I didn’t recognize his voice and, when I did, even more so shocked. We hadn’t spoken or even sent e-mails to each other for a couple of years.

And, after chatting for a bit, I realized why.

I won’t go into much detail about our conversation. A lot of it, quite honesty, was personal. But the gist was that he was falling in love. Again. And I couldn’t believe him.

I’ve seem him in this state before just like many others: fall in love, get bored but compromise yourself because you’re afraid to be alone, then find a new person to declare your love. Until the cycle repeats again. And again. And again.

What’s more scary is the excuses: the reasons he stays in these destructive relationship. They’re so reasonable. My favorite, for example, is when he claims that, since he’s been misunderstood in the past, he’s more understanding of the psychological abuse from his lovers. Uh-huh. Going nearly bankrupt—again!—to satisfy a so-called “loved one’s” material appetites across the world sounds a bit more than understanding.

I know this train of thought too well: I stayed with my first lover two years too long. But I was young and naïve and it was my first relationship. I hope I know better.

But my acquaintance can’t claim such reasoning. I’ve lost count how many times he’s been in such cycles. And before you suggest therapy, he has been seeing a psychologist for some time. If this is the result, I’d be scared for this guy.

He’s in a loop and he’s too scared to get out.