I am very sorry that I had to, but I resigned. Actually quit on my mom’s birthday, what a fangèd child I am. When asked why via email by my supervisor, I supplied two words: Poor fit. But I got to go to work for a while, and my dipsy doodling has brought some of my fans out of the woodwork, and I may be able to talk my way into another job in January. And I did get paid.
I’m healthier, mentally (Jeff might quibble) and physically. I was in situations where I didn’t eat much for days at a stretch and lost 10 pounds. (Read, holy shit, stress, cause when the hell do I forget to eat?)
My last day worked at the hospital will be Christmas Eve.
I feel terrible about it, but a lot of stuff happened that was rather disheartening, and a little bit was terrifying, and a large amount of it was super disrespectful and classist, so there you go.
I may have mentioned that I’m writing fan fic set in my own universe, which is fourteen kinds of wacky; two of the characters from the Upsun universe fall in love and then the course of true love gets messed up and then ALIENS plus WHOREHOUSE so there’s at least a possibility of someone getting a happy ending. I’m reading more about gay men’s sex than is likely good for me to and I’ve learned there’s 151 Million references to bukkake on the internet, per google. Not that our One True Pairing does that, but they do get into some pretty weird stuff mostly while giggling like schoolkids and not talking about their feelings very effectively, quelle surprise. The novel will be sixty thousand words long, and I have written half of it. HALF. At least two of the streams of dialogue are some of the best I’ve ever written, too bad ’bout the subject matter, hey? Oh well.
The best part of all of this is that even though I’m writing unusual characters and sweetly bizarre porn, my mOm is still yoinking sheets out of the typewriter as fast as she can, figuratively speaking. Since it has a fan, it must be good. I’m enjoying it, but I just got to the half way mark where they break up and now I have to go through the VALLEY OF THE TROPES to get them back to each other. They must traverse the Bridge of Well Meaning Advice from Friends which When Taken Goes Awry; squeeze past the Troll of He Only Loved me for My Looks; suffer the attentions of the Juvenile Alien who keeps trying blatantly stupid Shit to Get Them Back in the Same Room; have AT LEAST TWO dream sequences, because why not; etc. etc. I enjoy tropes at the same rate I subvert them, I fear.
I’m at Mike’s, a refugee from snow and how chilly my end of Geekhaus is (it’s my fault, I’m not really complaining) and also the sad ugliness of feeling like a failure for quitting a job AGAIN; last night he fed me chinese egg noodles dressed with oil and scallions, hothouse tomatoes with salt and cilantro, perfectly baked salmon fillet with a crust of garlic, salt, pepper and oregano, and baby bok choi with garlic. Then, after, a digestif of baiju, the stuff I bought him at the Farmer’s Market. IT WAS SO TASTY. Just finished the tomatoes, they were so nom I thought BREAKFAST.
The world looks less ugly this morning. For this we thank our friends.
Then I think about Aleppo, and the project that’s gathering soil from every lynching site in the US, and the fentanyl crisis, and how hard it is to find a decent job, and … no wonder I flee back to writing. There is a universe which I alone control, but it ends at my nose (Ashleigh Brilliant).
Saw most of the front part of Spectral. It was apparently a big budget movie ditched by its studio and brought back by Netflix. I eventually will see the whole movie. I quite liked the special effects.
No one wants to perform at the Trump Inaugural. I’m sure they’ll dig someone up.
Keith and I are supposed to see a movie together today; maybe Arrival, maybe Moana, maybe a coin toss.
