The Valley

Goddamn, and it's hot and dry here. For as far as they eye can see. Wish I had a smoke now.

I dared God didn't I? Said next time I would hold up my goddamned dead cat as the accusation it was meant to be.

'xcept, cat didn't die. Just got that damned luxury hoe disease: diabetes. Yup, right when I finally thought I got my life back where I wanted, with dad living in his own place, crazy mom in the other, 'social' brother somewhere where everybody can see the pics and nobody ever question whether dude has his very own mom and pop alive yet besides mom-in-law in the pics.

It's in the little big things, isn't it? Seriously, I'm so happy it ain't the kidneys that went kaphloey. Slightly gnnnignni at the vet for not wanting to check his blood earlier because something's been wrong for a while, and no it's not a sudden flea allergy but hey in the meanwhile he lost all his ballast and more.

Happy happy. But this is me, getting up at least 7h30 to feed a cat and jab him with insulin, for the next ten years or more. Being home at 19u30 to 20h to do the same. Shit bastards were supposed to be my freedom in comparison with kids.

I hear you say, digiblips, that's where and when one learns not to dare God and shit.

You're using my cat against me, bitch? I'm going to find the nastiest chthonic bastard and team up to bring that fuck down, yeah.

Spring

There's no fresh eyes like your own after taking a break from writing for whatever reason.

Existence of flow, and happiness, proven when you encounter well written scenes that you don't remember writing. Might look like modesty failing, saying such, but imagining some other genius writer hacked my computer to patch up my stories might be more than modesty fail alone.

All that was planned is either filtered and crystallized or erased.  In this time has a no nonsense, firm and patient hand.Choices I hesitated to make, now obvious.

Starving the Cow Watcher may have shriveled my language skills, but it seems I came out of the dark tunnel with a map in hand. Places I needed to go if only I knew the route lay waiting.

Let's go.

Oh hay.

Am back.
Stuff happened.
Let's make this a new beginning,
but mind, easy does it.
Slow steps.
& small sips.

Oh.

Probably I was.


Not so much reading now. Kill Tinkerbell on sight, daft idiot twinkling firefly.


If I survive this shit with my soul intact, I'll be able to log this filth as "research" for a book or two.

It's probably gonna be Man of Mercury and the full rewrite of the Barynn trilogy or quadrilogy (when/whatever I make my mind up about the amount of human ugliness the average reader will shovel).



I'm losing my writing muscle, dear old digiplips, and it makes me thoroughly unhappy.

Because nothing matters *that* much.

Marker

"Kevin liked to say, 'On judgment day when I'm brought up before the great judge I'm going to say, "Hold on a second," and then I'm going to whip out my dead cat from inside my coat. "How do you explain *this*?" I'm going to ask.' By then, Kevin used to say, the cat would be as stiff as a frying pan; he would hold out the cat by its handle, its tail, and wait for a satisfactory answer."

~Valis, Philip K. Dick


I've got a feeling I'll be reading Valis again, because I need something of substance. Something tougher, sharper, more naked underneath the escapist magic tricks.

Life's a bitch, and my life's been a particular bitch for a while now. Not to be bitching about the bitch, and unlike David Byrne, I'm not wondering where the beautiful car is. I'm simply wondering where every-fucking-thing went. 

So here we are, more than a year after the hubby and me took in dad, because he could not return to his old place and live alone there, and we were all that was left, for a myriad of reasons that will get me spitting bitter foam as it is, so no need to go into that. Sucks to be the idiot that believes there's something as an honest draw with one short straw in the stack, hah.

Anyways, in the meantime my mom's boyfriend passed away, leaving a shadow of the strong and independent woman that raised me, and on top she'd been actin' funny too for a while and it ain't really passing even now she's finding herself again. Unless I personally visit her every day. Capisce?

See, in the life I had planned, there was a hole for one parent to take care of daily, and my dad wasn't it. He's sleeping in the guest bed reserved for mom years ago, imagine how that goes for a gall whose parents divorced 35 years ago. Things are just peachy!

Meanwhile I had a great job except for the idiots I had to deal with in the workplace. Luckily it was a substitute thing, so when the substituting was done and they offered me a real position I bowed out, and found THE JOB OF MY LIFE, except I'm not allowed to continue doing the job, because I don't have a bachelor degree, which the Flemish authority of sports federations thinks I should have. *Any* bachelor degree is better than someone who's been gathering directory secretary competences by doing for over 10 years the job of the better qualified and better paid person over head ("over-head" got it? I made a joke there, see?)

And just when you think: ah, well, when the going gets tough, the tough get going (*eyeroll* I know), GOD KILLS MY GODDAMNED CAT!

There. I just needed a marker for just this day, see. Because I've got plenty of dead cats stowed away in my coat. But Pipsqueek, right here right now, is where this crap stops, okay? Next big thing that happens better be ME WINNING THE EFFING LOTTERY ARRIGHT?

Jeez, fuck karma, man, what was I supposed to be in my former life? The guy who butt fucked Charlie Manson when he was 5?

Never mind April's either. Hello May!

Hi there digiblips, thought I disappeared, didn't you? Well, I might be fading at the edges, but I'm still here. Last couple of months have seen a lot of reading, too lot even.Words go in, and in, and in, and some day they'll have to come out again.

I'm as displaced as the weather these days. Medium temp of 9° C in April, really? Making up for global warming are we? And only three days into the month, May is already trying to beat April in precipitation records. But even with these wintry wet past weeks, there's ticks all over the cats, garden surging into jungle again, and still no 30 hours in a day to fix my eternally fumbling time-management. The long weekend was the first relaxed one in over a year, with dad spending a short stay at a home and our life and house shortly returning to whatever normal was. Slept awfully well, but now Cow Watcher's all caught up and so I've had two restless nights with Dungeon Congestion and yet, no writing. Just thinking up correction on texts I haven't touched eyeball with for a long time.

Displaced. What was that thing I was doing again? Where did I do it? And when?

What was that name you called me? And why did you go so soon?

The crows lift their caw on the wind, and the wind changed and was lonely.

Somehow cold wet dark autumny days always remind me of this Carl Sandburg poem...

Where did February's rant go?

Ummm, into the private slice of life, digiblips, that's where. When life throws me lemons, I like to throw my dingy old juicer back at it, screw the lemonade.

Then things get messy, and it takes a whoooole lot of efforts to put things back together again.

No, seriously, things just keep cascading for the moment, and the balance between fencing stuff(1), life stuff(2), Russian stuff, work stuff (3) and supernormal daily toil(4) is very tight.


So like, I've spent all my ranting energy at walls and the hubby, and a tiny little bit at the cats (their expression of sympathy is slightly better than that of the walls). I've squared things with life and bought a new juicer. Let's not rock this boat by even thinking of making time for writing (5).

(1) everything from me fencing to fencing federation related things like me volunteering to help out with the accounting, because, really, what would I do with all that free time? *le sigh*
(2) things to do with dad
(3) busy busy stress with a good helping of conniving self-serving bitches and managerial idiots
(4) laundry, grocery, cooking, cleaning, and generally managing the necessary check-ups (dad, cats, car...)

(5) Though truth be told, nobody can stop the Cow Watcher. I've penned down a couple of pages worth of revision-paragraphs for Barynn, a tweak or two for Dreams of Cold Stone, and a dialogue for the UTA trilogy that has opened up much needed perspectives.

Actually, that's already a pretty damned lot of writing for not-writing. Thanks for pointing that out! I knew I could depend on you digiblips to turn my lemonade into Pepsi Max.