Jayiin and the Crazy, Awesome, Very Insane Day

Okay, so I tried to parody the title of the book Alexander and the Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (I probably got the title wrong) and failed at parody. Does anyone else remember that book? I want to find a copy of it, but I never can.

I remember it being awesome when I was a kid.

So. I have less than an hour to write, edit and post what will prove to be one of my more complicated posts. Why will this post be more complicated? Because it's going to be my first real religious post, and that will open up a huge can of worms for me.

Really? My spiritual walk, my faith, my church - these are important, vital and central to my life. Blogging every day and not dealing with these topcis isn't something I can do - because of that, there will be posts centered on that. I've thus far managed to skirt it, even in posts where those factors played major roles. Mostly, I haven't touched on them much because I'm a coward. I haven't wanted to have religious debates on my blog or deal with some of the questions that might arise.

Until I now, I could get away with it beause I was a fairly casual blogger. However, at least until October 31, I'm a fairly serious blogger. Though most of my first few entries have been short on substance and long on failed wit, not all of them will be. I am not going to friendslock any of my blog challenge entries because that feels a little like cheating.

So. Read at your own risk.

I'll put most of it under cuts, so no one has to read. Those of you following on blogger or a blog reader that doesn't support cuts - you have been warned.

Today's service at church was one of those services where the Holy Spirit was working overtime. Usually, when a month has five Sundays in it, the Well has a contemplative prayer service. Usually, this combines mystical, liturgical, prayer and praise and is focused around directed personal time with God. Dreamsaint will lead off with an explanation of what we're doing and why, open us in prayer. We'll sing a bit and then get started. At the end of the service, we'll have Communion and break for lunch before having a Baptismal service.

This week, we already knew two of the kids were being Baptized. I've have had the privilege of watching several of my students accept Christ, which as been an awesome, humbling experience.

Today, the service was an Ignatius Examen, except instead of focusing on a single day, we focused on the first six months of 2009.

I wrote a lot in my journal and had some profound revelations about where my head is at. A lot of it, I liked - I needed to realize that I am doing better at focusing on Christ and acting as Christ than I thought I was, but I also needed to see the places where I have failed utterly or need to work on more. There's a lot more of the latter than the former, but that comes with the territory - none of us perfect. We're all broken in some ways. Damaged goods. No matter how hard we try, no matter how hard we work, how much we do and how far we go in our walk with Christ, we will never reach the pinnacle of what we are capable of, let alone reaching the goal of living and acting as Christ.

That's where Grace comes in. We don't have to. If we truly believe in Christ, then we're going to try. We're going to fall short, we're going to fail...but we're going to keep trying, because we believe it's the right thing to do. Because we believe, because we love Christ and because God keeps His promises, we're already forgiven. It's not about the end result - that will work itself out, one way or the other.

Except...once you've given yourself to Christ, once you've truly decided to believe and truly decided to follow Him, you know what the end will be.

But that just means the journey is that much harder, because once you set your feet on the path of Christ, then God will direct you, and sometimes it's harder to follow Him than it is not to. We follow, not because we're earning some Heavenly reward, but because we know it is the right thing to do.

Sounds corny. Sounds too good to be true. Just believe, and be given eternal life with God? To be promised Union (if you want to get Evelyn Underhill mystical about it) all because you believe?

Yeah. That's all there is to it. Except, it's hard to admit you're broken and you can't make things work on your own. It's hard to admit you're wrong about things in your life, that you can't succeed, you can't become all you need to and should become without God. It's the most brutal, visceral kind of humility and it comes on you like a metric fuckton of acme anvils hurtling from the sky as if they were meteors on a crash course for an extinction-level event in your brain, heart and soul.

It doesn't matter if it's a slow, gradual thing like it was for me or a blinding instant of realizing - for a moment, you're standing naked in front of the Creator of the Cosmos and you realize how small, frail and hurt you really are. You're buried under the weight of everything horrible you've ever done. Drowned in all the things you can't do. Crushed by the undeniable and utterly horrific fact that you are empty, alone and there is something awe full and awesome missing.

For that moment, it's just you and God.

There's no words to describe God. There's no words to describe that moment - and conversion is the greatest Mystery in faith, I think, because it's so different for every person. So personal and individual that no writer or artist or poet or philosopher is ever going to codify it any more than we can truly codify people. There's no way to explain all the factors or moments or decisions or thoughts that push and shove and nudge a person toward that moment where they accept Christ. It's a cosmic Butterfly Effect so personal and powerful and unique that you almost never see it coming until you don't know what to do about it.

Accept Christ. Now there's some hard words to write about. You accept Christ is real. You accept God is real. You accept you are broken. You accept you are flawed, imperfect and unable to ever escape that. You accept Christ loves you. God loves you. God not only loves you...God likes you. He wants a relationship with you because you are His creation, you are His child. He wants you in his existence. He wants to know you, to talk to you, to listen to you, to help you. You accept that love as something bigger, greater and more consuming, more powerful and overwhelming and incomprehensible than you can ever grasp.

You accept God knows more than you ever can understand. You accept God's leadership, guidance and authority over you. You accept the only way to make being broken truly livable, the only way to be free of it, to face it and to make it better is to accept God's love. God's sacrifice.

You accept God is right and you are probably wrong about how your life works, where it should go and what you should do with it.

Talk about hard. No one likes to be told what to do, least of all me. I hate havig people in charge of me, telling me who and what I should or shouldn't be. I hate rules that say what I can or can't do, what I can or cannot be.

You've all heard me say it at one time or another.

But.

I am broken. I am flawed. There is more wrong with me, more ways I am a horrible, no good, terrible, very bad person than I can ever write or speak or tell in any way.

God still loves me. God still likes me. God still wants me around.

God.

The Creator of Heaven and Earth. The beginning and end of all things - alpha and omega. The being, force, power, Prime Force - the center of the universe, the all-encompassing ineffable, indescribable, incomprehensible, omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent Lord and Master of All Things loves and likes me. The fat, stupid little geek who spends too much time writing and reading fanfic who can't get out of debt and can't help but fuck up everything he does.

Today, I got to see that moment on the face of my brother and on my friend.

At the end of the service, right before Communion, Dreamsaint did something he almost never does: he offered an invitation for people to stand up and say: "I need Christ."

I know the invitation is pretty much tradition in most churches, but the Well doesn't usually do it, because we don't work that way. We try not to push people, pressure people or put people on the spot. We don't want to make them feel uncomfortable or like there's something wrong with them if they aren't ready to stand up in front of the church and deal with that moment with dozens of strangers they might not want to have to talk to about it.

But Dreamsaint said he was 'under orders' to give the invitation today, so he did. He said his piece, almost in tears because of the sheer presence of the Holy Spirit being there, working on us all...but my brother stood up.

So did my friend.

My brother has been coming to the Well for a couple of years now, off and on, and has been moving towards this for awhile, I think. My buddy has been dancing on the edges of this for a few weeks, too.

We already had the robes. We already had the service planned. It was the easiest thing in the world to add them in the line-up.

Off to Barton Springs spillway we went. Now, I know some people don't hold with the idea of Baptism, because once the decision has been made to accept and follow Christ, the act of Baptism is just a formality, a ritual - a public confession of faith (which is necessary for accepting and following Christ, but that's a topic for later). There are lots of ways to publically confess, lots of rituals and symbols and formalities.

It's true. Once the decision is made, that's it. You're a Christian. You're a follower of Christ.

But there is something truly transformational about Baptism, and it has to be important, because otherwise, why would it have such a prominent place in the Bible? Baptism is part of the mystery of conversion (and conversion happens whether or not you're raised in the church. Every Christian is born again and a convert.) Baptism is part of that process. What part is plays...I'm still working on that. It's different for every person I've talked to. For some, it was just a formality, like signing your name to a contract or shaking hands when you meet someone. It didn't do much for them...but other things did.

For others, Baptism was a profound and life-altering experience with profound consequences for their Christian walk.

I'm glad I was there when my brother was Baptized. I'm glad I was there when my buddy was Baptized. I don't know what role it will play, but I'm glad was there. I'm glad to have been there when my students were Baptized.

It was humbling and inspiring and full of awe. Did I mention humbling?

(Just for the record: I claim no part in their coming to Christ. It was all God working his miracles. If I did play a role, it was incidental at best.)

I will say, however, that Baptizing in public like we did was something of an experience. We do things this way for several reasons. For one, we aren't going to hide who and what we are, and people seeing folk being Baptized and seeing how we treat it, seeing us - as normal people, with kids in swimsuits playing in the water. Seeing us drinking sodas, smoking, laughing and enjoying hanging out, just like they are...but also seeing us as Christians.

It's a way for us to be incarnational and to try to be a part of the community.

It's also practical. It's free and convenient. We don't have much money and we don't have space of our own, so we have to find a way. The Barton Springs spillway works as well as anything we've tried, and better than some.

None the less, it's not easy for me. I am not an outdoorsy person. I know, a lot of people scoff when I say that, and think I'm not appreciating nature or think it's because I'm fat or lazy or just don't care to try to enjoy it.

Maybe they're right.

Then again, maybe not. I'm allergic to nature, for one. I have fibromyalgia for another. It's painful to walk down the trails to the spillway, and it's no picnic navigating the rocks and wet out there. I'm hot, sweaty, itchy, hurting and generally miserable. The water is cold enough to make me hurt when I get in, and the amount of energy walking down there and walking back up take is simply staggering.



Needless to say, I've ended up with hives, a limp, and a bit of a sunburn.

Not too high a price, really, for getting to be there.

I have, however, finished re-writing CH6 of HPU.

I still need a haircut.

And I still want my new computer to come!

Because I can't thnk of a title

First off, congratulations to Ozy for finishing Torch Song in time for her to get in for printing with the NaNo winners' offer from last year.

And yes, that sentence made sense to me. If it doesn't make sense to you...I'll probably edit it later.

Also, congrats to MuggleMomma for finishing her TwiCon fic. I beta'd said fic today, so that was one thing off my to-do list. Which, really, makes it sound like it was a routine thing. I've been looking forward to beta'ing that fic for a few days now.

I'm getting a new computer. It's been shipped. I feel like a little kid waiting for Christmas!

Really? I'm not sure what to blog about, because although I had topics earlier, my brain has deleted them for some reason.

Today has been made of fail. Most of what I wanted to get accomplished, I didn't.

I didn't finish the rewrite of CH6 for HPU. Or start CH36. Or post a chapter. Or clean the bathroom. And I still need a haircut.

You get the picture.

That's it. I need kids to make this thing more interesting.

Anyone got any I could have cheap?

New computers and vampire poo

So. Today. A recap? I think not. Too easy. Too simple. Too boring for me, because I already lived it. Instead, you get the highlights.

First - random. Barack Obama likes Jalapenos on his cheeseburger. Why is this important? I have no idea. But I've seen it on two different sites tonight. So, it must important. The internets told me so.

*sage nod*

This morning, I went to work. Surprised? If you are, you obviously don't know me.

At work, I have a co-worker. She is a Transient Being, an abstract concept made flesh by the combined will of all living beings. She is the embodiment of a terrifying Idea, brought into existence by a terrible act of the cosmos.

She is the Little Sister.

She can find your weakness, your kryptonite and will find a way to push every button you have. She will slime you with hand sanitizer. She will poke you at in opportune times. She will make the dirtiest jokes in the cutest voice. She will torture you with things you never wanted to know existed.

And she will tell you about vampire poo.

Yes. Apparently, vampires poo. Always diarrhea. And it would be sparkly and metallic, because they would strip the useless minerals from it. And like vampire bats, they would have to pee while they feed.

Talk about takikng the romance out of vampires. "Sorry dear, I peed on you."

Also. I bought my new computer today. A netbook. The Asus Eee PC 1000HE. I can hear the outcry now. I wasted my money, I should have saved more and bought a 'fully functional' laptop or whatever. But here's the thing: I don't play computer games. I don't do much more than write, do basic web design, surf, and listen to music. And the netbook? Will have three times the ram of my current, five-year-old laptop. It will have almost three times the hard drive space, and a similar processor.

It will be smaller, have an awesome battery life, and not be five years old.

Don't get my wrong. My Dell laptop is awesome; it has lasted me five years and is still going strong. I could get another couple of years of life out of this thing, easy. But it's time for me to upgrade a bit, and to get a portable computer I don't have to plug in to use.

I'm really excited about this. I read lots of reviews, did lots of research, talked to several IT professionals who have one, and really? I think I made an awesome purchase.

I also bought a carrying case and a 500 GB external HD. It'll all be here next week, and I will be happy.

I hope.

Yeah. Boring post is boring.

I need a haircut.

Finally - you know it's a good day when you can give your boss a hummer.

(In this case, a remote-controlled Hummer for her nephew. Pervs.)

Video games are cool. Who knew?

I'm sitting in darkjediprincess's living room, waiting to go pick up fuds. I have to do newsletter for the store, but as I have my computer and internets where I am, why drive all the way home and not be able to inflict my running commentary on someone in person?

I went over to her place because I had the dumb this morning and forgot to bring her DVDs with me to work. DVDs I've had, mind you, for over a year. We keep missing each other when I try to get them back to her. Or I forget. I brought them over and made myself comfortable in her living room and she started showing me this game called Mass Effect. The game is pretty damn cool.

Strip clubs, politics, lesbian sex, courtesans, lesbian sex with courtesans, gratuitous violence, cool sci-fi settings, fast ships, hot blue chicks, lesbian sex with hot blue chicks...

You get the picture.

Did I mention there's lesbian sex?

I think I finally understand why so many gamers sit around on their couches and play these games. They really can get almost everything they need from video games, including a virtual fuck.

(And to think I was worried about what I would blog about tonight.)

Okay, really, today was boring. Busy, but boring. I mean, who wants to read about me fixing the girls' toilet or hear about me being alone at the front during the busiest part of the day - again? I figure people get tired of hearing the same old stories from me time and again. Hell, I get tired of that story.

It's sad that I don't have much else to say, I think. But, I manged to blog.

Though, I will also say some of my co-workers don't know me very well. When they pulled my books last night, they didn't pull the Star Trek Omnibus.

I'm still watching her play the game, like a stoner watching a disco ball. I can't look away and have the random urge to say: "Whoa. That's freakin' cool," about every ten minutes. I have no desire to play the game m'self, but I sense it has a story.

I want to know the story. All of it. Right now.

But I can't, really, because the story shifts subtly every time she plays the game, or so she tells me. It looks like it would get boring after playing awhile. Grinding is not for me. Repeating the same action time and again is not for me.

I know the arguments that D&D is the same. Find yon ancient ruins. Invade. Kill the inhabitants and steal their stuff. Save the world. Lather, rinse, repeat. I think the difference is in the human element, the interplay between the characters that is lacking in video games.

And why, I think, I'm still not interested in playing. But watching while I try valiantly to make my brain focus on writing newsletter? That, I can do.

Also, there's lesbian sex.

Standing Witness

Today, I played a small role in a big event.

Long story short: last summer, my friend JK adopted four kids - as a single mother. Four siblings, actually. J, S, A and R. Over the course of the last year, I've gotten to watch as they became more and more of a family. I've spent time with the kids both in and out of church and have gotten pretty attached to them. There's an earlier post, , where I talked about going to R's school for the 'bring your dad/uncle/brother/male family friend' to snacktime.

It's a powerful thing she's done. A powerful statement about who she is and what she wants to do with her life. She's a social worker for CPS, which means she deals with hurting kids all the time. I've watched her play Aunt to about half the kids at the Well. JK is a woman with an endless capacity for love and an iron will.

Today was the connsumation hearing for the adoption. JK had asked that as many people who could be there. Dad and I went; it took some wrangling, but we both managed to get the time off and get Mom situated enough she didn't need us for the afternoon.

When I first set out to write this blog, I figured I'd say something like 'today I say a family being created', but that's not true. They've spent the last year creating their family, and JK spent years before that preparing to have a family.

Even saying that today made it 'official' isn't right, because what law or proclomation or signature can make real what already exists? It can merely acknowledge, through ritual, what is already there. During the proceedings, JK accepted parental rights and responsibilities for the four kids, but - she'd already done that, long ago. She's been their mother for a year now. They call her 'Mom' and they've been using her name.

All the judge could do today was acknowledge what all fifty or so of us who came to support her already knew.

Yes, I did say 50 or so. Dad and I weren't the first or last to arrive, and as we sat in the chairs set aside for fat people (comfortable armless chairs set against the wall), people kept arriving. A few here, a few there - more and more people trickling in to be a part of the legal ritual.

People do love their rituals, don't they? We have rituals for almost everything. Physical expressions for abstract concepts, rote routines created to symbolize and commemorate moments and events and milestones. Rituals permeate our culture; we're fascinated by them, both the ones we understand and the ones we don't. We're flattered and honored when we're invited to take place in them, and we get offended when other people don't take our rituals seriously.

"What we hold sacred gives our lives meaning," - yeah, it's a quote from Babylon 5, but it's been a few posts since I used sci-fi to make a profound point.

Today was a moment, I think, that will define the meaning of 'family' for those kids for the rest of their lives. Even if some or most of the people who came to the courtroom drift away, or they outgrow the memories of today, I think knowing that many people came to support them as they were officially adopted will leave it's mark.

It was an amazing thing.

Small towns in Texas are places out of time, combining hints of modern with the past. The courthouse was no exception; it was beautiful and old and steeped in history. The seats weren't made for people my size, but there were some modern chairs off to the side, behind the jury box, that worked well for it.

The judge walked in and we all stood. When it came time to swear in the witnesses...the judge was flabbergasted that he would be swearing in the entire courtroom. More than fifty people stood, raised their right hands, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

The attorney questioned the placement agency representative, presented an affadavit from CPS, questioned JK - and then questioned the other witnesses. The rest of us. All fifty of us. We answered yes - JK was the right person to raise those four kids.

Question after question, a ringing, echoing chorus of 'yes' reverberated through the high-ceilinged room, leaving the judge smiling and the attorney grinning. (The attorney had been forewarned about the possible turnout - the judge had not.) The attorney questioned the kids, and then the judge brought them all up to bang the gavel. Each of them got to bang the gavel.

Of course, the youngest banged it the loudest. *grins* RK is still my boy.

It was over faster than I thought it would be, but I think the statement was made - no matter what happens, JK and her kids won't be going it alone. They have a whole community behind them, willing to be there for them and with them as they go forward, officially a family.

One saying I've heard all my life is "you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends," and the older I get, the more I think that's a lie. JK chose her family - and the rest of us chose to be her family, too. Families stand together and stick together.

Friends, you can walk away from. Family, you can't.

Awkward. (And happy birthday xdrumrboi

Why yes. Yes, this is a backdated post.

It's not cheating, because I haven't gone to bed yet, even if the calendar changed from May 26 to May 27. I'm still awake because xdrumrboi and I went to see a late showing of X-Men Origins: Wolverine.

Happy birthday, bro.

So, I've been thinking about this blog challenge I've set myself and all the things I'm doing to make sure I keep it. Blogging before I surf the net, keeping a list of back-up topics and taking it one day at a time instead of thinking about just how long it is between now and Oct 31.

I'm not thinking about all the things I have to get done between now and then.

A list of 'backup topics' you ask? Why yes, yes, I really am keeping such a thing. Most of them are boring rambles, and some of them will 'expire' after awhile. None the less, I have them for days when I have nothing else. But so far, I seem to have a lot more to blog about than I thought. In fact, my brain seems to be writing the posts as I walk around during the day. Hopefully, I don't need to tell you that everything sounds much better in my head and I can never remember how things were worded when I finally sit down to pound on the keyboard.

The problem with having more to blog about than I thought? That means my lack of blogging in the past wasn't due to lack of content, as I've been pleading for years, but intellectual laziness, which is more than a little embarrassing.

*clears throat*

Enough about that. We can explore all the ways I humiliate and embarrass myself in later posts. There's plenty of time between now and Oct 31 and there's no reason to rush into things, now is there?

I thought not.

But since I think it's cheating to have an entire post about blogging about about my challenge, I figured I'd find something more interesting to say. I could review X-Men Origins: Wolverine or any other movies/books/comics I've partaken of lately. I could talk about birthdays and what it means to pass milestones and get older and get gray hair in your beard. (Not that I know anything about that.) I could talk about family traditions, hanging out with my brothers, or even about being a comic geek going to a comic book movie.

All kinds of good, psuedo-deep stuff that would make me feel intellectually superior and make me think I'm actually saying something important.

It's way too fucking late at night for that kind of intellectual masturbation, so I'm going to tell you about Madi instead.

Awkward moment was awkward.

So there I was. At work. (No one die of shock, now.) A customer comes in the door. Obviously female; has all the right curves. Has boobs. Nice make-up, if a bit much of it for my taste. Earrings, pale green nails. Headed straight for the yaoi manga.

Yep. A girl. Probably the annoying kind, too.

Nope. Wrong. A guy dressed as a girl. Now, this doesn't bother me. I work in Austin, TX. Normally, it doesn't even phase me or make me think about it. I do the customer service thing and move on. Well, Madi wanted to rent anime. After I gave him/her excellent sage addvice on what to rent ("go ask someone who knows what they're talking about. I don't like much anime, let alone watch it."), I gave her/him a rental form to fill out.

She/he does. (Sorry about the pronoun thing. I really don't know the etiquette here, and no one I've asked has ever explained it logically. Since I don't know what pronoun she/he prefers, I'm erring on the side of caution.)

I check the ID and the credit card. The name? Not Madi. A decidedly male name. Definitely his/her ID, though.

So I look again. I get that faint throbbing right behind my eyes that always happens when I have to have an awkward social moment with someone because they've done something that means I have to cross one of those invisible lines people aren't supposed to cross in the social context of retail clerk and customer. (I never get the headache in non-work situations. I suppose because I'm only making me look like an ass outside of work. At work, everyone else looks like an ass, too.)

But I have to tell him/her. It's policy, after all.

The name on the ID, card and form must all match. I tell Madi so, apologetically. I don't use the 'sir' or 'ma'am' I normally would, because - pronoun confusion. Since the ID indicated an age less than mine and I have gray hair in my beard, I pulled rank and used 'Madi' instead.

When I told Madi she/he had to use the other name, the look her her/his face was so hurt, crestfallen and disappointed I felt like a right and utter prick. But it wasn't my fault this time! It's store policy! We have lots of people with odd nicknames they go by. Toaster. Pumpkin. Bumper. They have to have their real name on official documents too!

Madi, to her/his credit, didn't argue. Just changed the name and signed with the correct name.

I hate making people feel bad when there's no reason to.

Like I said. Awkward.

The Rule of LAW

The Rule of LAW is simple: He (or she) who writes the fewest pages buys the beer.

'tis a good incentive to write every month, really. Especially when you make as much (read: little) money as I do. LAW, of course, stands for Lazy-Ass Writers. It's a writing group started by a former Dragon's Lair colleague of mine - The Red Haired Ninja.

No. Really. She's both a red head and a ninja. Just ask her and she'll tell you Hopefully while smoking a cigar. (Which is a story for another time, I think.)

Regardless, I attended my second LAW meeting tonight, and did not have to buy the beer. The (former) Bounty Hunter, the Red Haired Ninja's fiance, had to buy the beer. It's good to get into a writing group agian, especially one where I'm not The Guru or the Newbie. It's a good fit and a lot of fun to have a nice dinner, some cheap booze, and talk about writing until long after we all should have gone home and gone to bed, especially considering we meet on Monday nights.

It's a very writerly thing to do, really. Especially since it's just a 'we'll meet on a Monday roughly every three or four weeks'. No set date. No set schedule. Keeps us on our toes, because we never know when, exactly, the next meeting is, so it's hard to schedule a serious speed writing session. It's kinda like NaNo-lite all year long.

Oddly enough, it seems to happen the Monday right before payday (I get paid every other Tuesday).

It's a helluva lotta fun. Oddly enough.

And to my dismay, fanfiction doesn't count. Because really? If it did, I'd never have to worry about losing. I could just keep churning out HPU and steamroll everyone. I mean, the story is over 500k words and I haven't even gotten them to Hogwarts.

Also: yes. Anyone bothering to read this is NOT imagining things. I am blogging two nights in a row.

Why, you ask, am I tormenting you with more drivel about my boring, geeky life? After all, you've gotten by just fine with my quarterly epics for some time now, avoiding having to pretend to care about my existence for most of the year.

Well, bad news. I'm going to try to blog every night between now and October 31, 2009.

I'll fail, of course. You know that. I know that. But it'll be fun to try, while adding another level of delicious, self-imposed stress on my already strained brain. I figure it's both good training for LAW, NaNo and in brevity. Because if I dole out my life and thoughts in a miserly manner I am unaccustomed to, I might have enough almost interesting, psuedo entertaining thought vomit to make it from now until October 31.

My inspiration for this noble quest? Aggiebell90 has blogged every day since September 2008. I figure if she can do that while managing Phoenix Song, ringing in a couple of handbell choirs, singing in a choir, working a full-time job and raising four kids, I should be able to churn out a post a day.

All sarcasm aside, it's been awesome to watch her dedication to her writing and to be part of her cheering section.

(Considering the absolute flood of comments I've gotten on the last two posts, I'm sure I'll be cheered on.)

(So much for putting sarcasm aside. Sorry!)

I've got a few ideas on how to do this, other than not writing everything that comes to mind every time I blog. I can blog before I start surfing the net and checking my sites, because then I won't be distracted. I can blog right when I get home, before my body has had time to realize how tired I should be. And I can take my copious notes about the world and use them as blog material. Because talking about myself all the time?

Well, there's a reason I normally blog about once a quarter. I'm boring.

Now the rest of you? Are just good material.

Or, at least, I hope so. Otherwise, I'm gonna end up buying the beer.

Pouting & puppy eyes make me do bad things

Yes.

A meme.

Ozymandius Jones pouted at me and gave me puppy eyes, so my will power and meme-shielding collapsed. So, without further adieu, I give you Ozy's Writing Meme.

Under the cut (or not, if you're reading this on Blogger) is a list of my current writing projects. Ask a question about something. Ask anything about any idea listed here, and I shall attempt to answer it. I reserve the right to not give away Important Plot Points, but otherwise...have at it!

Major Works

• The Katheryn Story - I haven't written on this for far too long, but I am untangling the story and have had several good scenes and revelations pop into my head in recent days.


• Starfire Quest - not much written on this but one NaNo draft that will forever be condemned to the depths of my hard drive and LOTS of notes. Story has lots of potential, if I can only figure out what the actual plot it.

Other Works

• Semepr Fidelis - written for a contest a few years ago. Won Honorable Mention. But it wasn't quite good enough, so I'm re-writing it before November.


• In Absentia - sequel to Semper Fidelis. Will be this year's NaNo.


• Worlds Asunder - old novel idea. Still has potential. Needs to be re-written.


• Path of Thorns/Path of Tears - same as above, but needs a lot of work.


• Addictive Community - a non-fiction peice about smoking and smokers' culture

Fanfiction

• Harry Potter & the Unforgiven - finished CH35. Gotta work on the re-write of CH6 and starting CH36. Epic Harry Potter fanfic.


• Zoidsfic - post NC0 fic about the powers controlling the Backdraft. Started.


• Voltron Fic - a Keith/Allura fic about what would happen if the Galactic Alliance wanted to take Voltron for it's own. Started.


• One Moment - a semi-erotic little HP ficlet about one moment in time. Not started, but fully plotted.


• Ascension's Shadow - semi-abandoned Buffy fic. Would need a serious re-write before I could do anything with it.

So ask questions. Or pass along the meme. Whichever strikes your fancy.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all the proud Mommas on my friendslist! Y'all do more than you know, working a more impossible job than I can ever know.

Thank you.

Happy birthday day to em2mb. I can't believe you're already 21...or that we've known each other this long. Normally, I know I'm supposed to call you on your birthday, but you called me. *grins* A fact which I may even let you live down one day.

A happy belated birthday to fancifulreality. You're gettin' there, kiddo. You're gettin' there. Not too much longer and I might have to start telling you half the things that go through my brain.

A post on Star Trek and the new movie to follow at some point in the relatively near future.

Missed Milestones

So, I've been getting those poking feelings in my skull. You know the ones. Where people poke you when you don't post in your blog.

*rubs head* Some folk got sharp fingers. Just sayin'.

I should totally be better at this blogging thing. I have so many random thoughts, running narrations and absurd moments in my life that it should be easy to keep a daily record of all the things that go through my head that I really shouldn't share. Somehow, I never get around to writing them down.

Some people would think this is a good thing.

Some people would bug me to get on twitter. Which isn't happening. Because I would post nonsense. And follow no one of any import. Or ignore it completely until people with sharp fingers poked me.

Which really? Some of you should trim your nails.

(I am in a really strange mood tonight. I'd say ignore me, but some of you wanted me to post.)

Milestones. I thought about going deep and emo with this, but I decided instead just to comment on two missed milestones. My car - which used to be 's - finally broke 100,000 miles, and I completely missed it happening. Poor thing.

And on April 3, Katheryn turned 14.

Don't judge me. I'll finish the damn thing someday. Before I die. Or after. Lots of authors have finished stories after they die. JRR Tolkien did it. Twice!

To punish myself, I'm going to do a writing exercise. (Someone said it was a meme, but I don't do memes. That makes it a writing exercise.)



Concept

One of your OCs is being interviewed. Make up a reason why, if you really need one.

Rules

1. You must choose only ONE of your OCs. Do it again if you wanna use another OC.


2. Your OC must answer every question as truthfully as possible.


3. When you're done, tag as many people as you want.


4. Have fun!!!

If this were really just a meme, I could get away with writing it with questions and answers as opposed to writing a quick scene. So, I'm going to write a scene.

The girl sits across the white marble table, in front of the windows. The sunlight spills around her in a halo - a spotlight she'd never want. She is a tiny thing, with the delicate features of a child. Her pale skin is washed out against the stark, unrelieved black of her clothing. High-collared and military cut, it makes her seem even smaller, even more striking against the bright white marble and the golden sunlight.

It's hard to believe this girl is the one they say will save us all. At least, until you look into her eyes. Her eyes are dark blue, flecked with violet and streaked with silver. They are alien eyes that remind you who her mother was. It makes you think maybe, just maybe, she really does have Immortal blood running in her veins.

She smiles, but the expression doesn't quite make it to her eyes. Her mouth quirks into a half-smile, charismatic and knowing and enigmatic while seeming to share a private joke. It's hard not to like her, despie the distance she tries to keep between herself and everyone around her. She's alone in the room; she wanted to answer questions without anyone else around.

Some might call that brave, but it seems more like she doesn't want witnesses to what she might say.

"Everyone knows you as the Daughter of the Stars, the Silver Champion. What's your real name? What do your friends call you?"

She shrugs, her eyes following the holo-drone recording the interview. She sits perfectly still, utterly motionless, except for her eyes. She's at ease, calm, relaxed, with the hint of barely suppressed motion. Like a predator. It's vaguely disturbing, but seems to fit her well.

"I'm Katheryn Tariana, gaija of the First Blood of House Neila, Second Blood of House Liera, Heir-Apparent to the High Seat of the Outworlds Alliance. Duchess of the Katarian Holdings, Knight-Defender of the Empire of Terran Worlds, Warlady of the Disinherited." She pauses. "Most people call me Katheryn. Others call me less flattering names."

It's hard to know what to say to that. She's not the most popular girl with the First Blood or the Houses. She did start a war - two of them, actually. She's never so much as apologized for either.

It's also hard not to think she might have been right. What would have happened if she hadn't killed the Eridani envoy? What would have happened if she hadn't led the Disinherited to attack the Combine?

Regardless, no one can deny her tiny hands are soaked in blood.

"You've done so much the past few years, been at the epicenter of so much. You look to be so young, but no one knows for sure. How old are you?"

She shrugs again, putting layers and depth of meaning into the simple action. "I don't know. It's been...15 years, give or take, since Lord Treshair took me from my home and brought me to New Ontario. I don't know how old I was when he took me. I could be anywhere from 20 to 25."

So young to have done so much. To have so much blood on her hands, to have so many lives resting in her hands. On her word, millions go to die. By her decision, our entire civilization rises or falls. It's sometimes hard to put faith in prophecy or Power when you don't walk the Halls or stand with the Houses, but sometimes, it's hard to deny that logic or reason make it impossible that one girl could do so much, be so much without some greater reason.

But who is she?

"You're a mystery, Warlady. You're known for galactic upheavel, epic grandstanding and starting fights other people have to finish. But what does the interstellar heroine eat for breakfast? What's her favorite food?"

She smirks. It's a smirk that's just a fraction of an expression away from being scorn or a sneer or even a snarl. "Simple stuff, mostly. Sandwhiches, wraps. Food you can eat on the go or sit down and enjoy. I grew up eating fancy feasts or field rations, so 'normal' food is a bit exotic to me."

Her answer feels honest, at least. Maybe she's opening up, de-mystifying herself?

"What about a favorite drink?"

She actually looks a bit sheepish. "Herbal tea."

While she seems off-guard, it's time to find out something deeper, something to give people a way to understand her.

"People want to know more about you! Do you have a lover or someone you're courting?"

Her expression changes, becoming unreadable. Her strange eyes grow hard and sharp and her head inclines ever so slightly, her long, dark hair shifting with a whisper of sound.

"Next question."

"There has to be someone! Have you kissed them? Have you had the romance every First Blood girl dreams of?"

She shifts and the air crackles around her in a not-so-subtle reminder that she doesn't need a weapon to be dangerous.

"Next question."

"Right, then. How about another classic? Favorite color?"

Her expression changes and the tension drains out of the air. She relaxes a bit again, the half-smile tugging at her lips. "Not black."

It's hard to remember that she wears black because she's gaija. Tainted blood. A bastard child. Some say she wears it as a concession to the Houses, others say she has other, deeper reasons.

Stick to safe questions for the moment. Let things stay calm. "What about a favorite author?"

She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I don't know. I don't read much for fun, though I love the works of the bard StarFreedom."

Of course. The bard who set her on her path, who inspired her to stand against what she saw coming. Against the Combine and the Immortals she claims control it.

"What about your biggest fear?"

A smirk again, eyes bright with bitter amusement. "I'm living it."

"Many claim you're a hero. Some claim that you're their personal hero. What about you? Is there anyone you look up to?"

"My father." Her voice is a whisper. Her father is a dead man; a warrior who stood against a veritable army of Treshairi Assassins on the steps of his own Palace. He died with his blade in his hand and the blood of his enemies running in rivers to stain the reflecting pools red.

She continues speaking. "He never doubted me. He never let me want for his affection, his love, even when it was forbidden for him to give my even that much. He stood against a corrupt system, held to his Oaths to protect his people. He gave up the love of his life, his daughter, his family, everything that mattered to him to do what was right. He was killed for it."

Time to press deeper. "Your worst enemy?"

Her eyes flash, flaring bright with luminescence. The air crackles again and the temperature drops in the room as her Power wraps itself around her in a mantle of barely suppressed energy. Silver and indigo burn on the edges of vision.

"Lord Treshair. Treadwell. The Grey Lord." She whispers his names as if he can hear her voice. And it's possible he could; the Grey Lord is the boogeyman in every closet, the knife at every back. Ageless, powerful beyond hope or reason - the last of the Immortals. A remnant of a lost age, the only survivor of a war that shook the foundations of the universe.

The most powerful man alive, some say. A myth, other say.

"He was my teacher, my friend. He was my father's closest ally." Her smile grows, but it is a cold, hungry expression. "He killed my mother so he could manipulate me into being your fucking messiah. He let my father die so I could take his place. I'm going to kill him."

The matter of fact delivery of that statement is enough to make anyone shiver.

"You face things most people can't even imagine, Warlady. You've seen things, been a part of things in ways that defy understanding. What would you do if you met your creator?"

Her face contorts. "Which one? Does it matter? I am already what they made me. I know why I am. I know what I am. I was never allowed to know who I am, because if I know that, they can't control me."

Enigmatic, much like the lady herself.

"What's your worst nightmare?"

She shakes her head, her hair falling around her like a curtain. Her voice is strained. Hoarse. "That everyone is right. That I am a savior, a messiah. That I have a destiny."

"You say you fight for everyone who can't fight for themselves. Do you have any dreams for yourself?"

"No," Katheryn chokes the word out. "No. I can't. I can't have that hope, because if I do, I might forget the path."

Okay, that sucked. Next time, I spend more time on it. Now, bedtime.

Maybe a bit of reading. I do have a signed copy of Turn Coat to read.

I has a sick (and that meme of Aggiebell90's)

Yes. I has a sick. As in, I have a virus. I know I was just sick at Christmas, but now I have to be sick again. The symptoms are different, so I know it's not the same thing. I'm not sure if I'm grateful I got something new or if I'm pissed I'm getting sick all the time. When did my immune system start to fail like the rest of me? Time was, I couldn't get sick for the life of me because my allergies were meaner than any bug out there. I suppose as I've gotten older and tamed the allergies, the mean and nasty bugs out there have decided to prove their worth in the natural order of things by destroying the one part of my body that actually worked.

I even had to go home early from work today due to excessive hacking. For some reason, no one wanted me coughing up my innards all over the store. Something about health hazards and no one wanting to share this wonderful experience with me.

Except my boss. AB was also home sick today. She and I both missed something cool, which further proves she and I share the same luck-fairy. One of these days, we're gonna find the little blighter and fire 'em. Litearlly. Just wait. I always have matches. And lighters. I'm a smoker, after all. I'm good at making things burn.

*coughs* Right, then.

So. A meme.

Yep. I got suckered by one. Aggiebell90 got me. My fatal flaw - curiosity!



This was posted on her LJ:

Association Meme: Comment to this post and I will give you 5subjects/things I associate you with. Then post this in your LJ and elaborate on the subjects given.

I couldn't resist! I had to ask her what five subjects she associated with me. After I posted the comment, I realized I would have to reply to the meme and write this post. So *shame*. I am participating in a meme. I can hear homicidalsh33p laughing now.

So, without further adieu - five subjects associates with me. Be warned. I get a bit...well, snarky in places. Maybe a tad sarcastic. I know. I know. Shocking, right?

1. *That* - Yes. The word 'that.' The most overused word in the English language, in my opinion. I am on a crusade to liberate the poor word from the chains of over-use and mis-use! When used wrong 'that' can aid in the creation of such things as passive voice and construction, excessive verbage, and imprecise language. 'That' is needed less than half the time it's used, and even the times it's 'needed' the sentence an often be re-written in a more active voice without using 'that.'
   
   If Aggiebell90 thinks of me in conjunction with 'that,' it means one thing: I have beta-read for her! I even asked her about it! She said: Every time I catch myself writing 'that', I ask myself, "What would Jayiin say about this?" and either check to make sure it belongs there, or I totally reword the sentence so I don't have to think about it.
   
   See? My great crusade proceeds apace!
   


2. Percy Jackson and the Olympians - by Rick Riordanis one of the best YA fantasy series out there. I rank it up there with anything by Tamora Pierce. In short, the titular hero, Percy Jackson is the bastard son of Posideon, the Greek God of the Seas. It's a fantastic series, well worth reading by anyone who likes fantasy, YA books, or just good stories. I discovered the books through a young friend at my church, and in turn helped Aggiebell90 discover them. I even sent her a spare copy of the 4th book in the series. I had bought my own, but was given a copy at Christmas.
   


3. WizardTales - WizardTales is, in my opinion, one of the best growing fanfic archives on the web. I've got more history there than any place except maybe FFn. Its one of the few archives I've stuck with for more than a few months. WizardTales was closed for a time, but has recently re-opened. Originally just a Harry Potter fic archive, WizardTales now accepts stories from Harry Potter, Twilight, Lord of the Rings and The Inheritance Cycle.
   
   WizardTales offers something a lot of archives don't: moderated fanfiction without enforced restrictions on 'ship, canon-compliance or any other niggling pains in the ass most places impose. Now, don't get me wrong - there are reasons, and good reasons, for archives that are 'ship-specific or who insist on canon compliance. I respect those archives for providing a safe place for fans to go and read what they want to read, just like a respect places like Dark Lord Potter for providing a place for people who want anti-canon and darkfic exclusively. WizardTales is a place for people who fall in the middle. People like me, who are writing stories that have one or two 'ships that make them ineligible for canon-compliance sites or 'ship-specific sites, but which still hold to trying to remain in character and in line with the vision of the original author. My own story, Harry Potter and the Unforgiven is being re-posted there. Each chapter is being beta-read by MuggleMomma.
   
   With the re-opening of WizardTales, I've found myself with an actual position there - I'm the Associate Director of Public Relations. What that means, exactly, we're still working out, but it does mean I'm on the Executive Board. I'm excited about this - excited enough that I've invited a few friends to post their work there, including Aggiebell90. I beta-read her amazing story Impressions and - she posted it! She's visited our forums and chatroom.
   
   Her story made a huge impression on the people who read it! My buddy Carpelocke got to mod her story, but I got to approve her request to join the forums! She's already been added to our 'featured stories' - and is sure to stay there awhile! Though, I now owe her Neville-centric HPU outtake, because she came to the chat.
   


4. Austin - As in the city, Austin TX.
   
   Fun city. Where I live (sort of). 90 square miles surrounded by reality. Weirdest place in Texas. Gay Mecca of the south. Live music capitol of the world and capitol of Texas. That embarrassing rhinestone on the Bible Belt. Home of Leslie. A place where even bums can (and do) run for public office. Home of Eeyore's Birthday Party and other random excuses to publicly smoke pot and otherwise become stupidly shitfaced for not other reason than excessive dumb and the need to express it in a way that offends people with manners, rednecks and most people who bathe. We're a liberal college tourist town that also happens to be one of the most conservative places in the whole country. We're indie, hip, full of new ideas, live music, art and artists, hippies, corrupt politics, dirty politicians and more tall tales than you can shake a weed whacker at. We have rednecks, hillbillies, professors, more colleges than any sane town should have, and enough 'friendly' rivalries to make other places violently riot. We can do mardi gras as messily as New Orleans, upstage Washington with political antics, and produce more than our fair share of Presidents hated by the civilized world. Oh, did I mention we have politics?
   
   We also have local color to spare. We can give any two entire nations their own brand-spankin' new cultures and still have culture and color left over. We have coffeeshops, bars, historical monuments, municipal modern art projects and enough bleeding hearts to fix the world blood supply deficit - except most of our bleeding hearts only bleed when they're getting a handout from someone else. After all, why work when you can be a hippy, bum, or starving artist and have everyone take care of you?
   
   We've had O'henry, pun-offs, Bobby Flay flipping over Flip-Happy Crepes, new agers, vikings, SCA, geeks, and even scientologists hanging out in the same place at once - and no one killing each other.
   
   Truth is, folks - I make a damn poor Austinite. I don't visit the local places to eat or drink. I hit fancy (read: cheap) chains, scarf fast-food at places like Whataburger instead of Dans'. You won't catch me dead at anything having to with the torture called live music (crowds? Me? FUCK no. Not now, not ever. I'd rather have a root canal without novocain than deal with a crowd.) I absolutely loathe most coffee houses. They aren't built for guys my size. I don't drink coffee. I break the second-hand kitschy furniture, or get stuck in cushy couches, and end up spending way too much money on cheap tea or bad fancy soda - when I would have been much happier with an ice cold coke. There's never a power strip outside where a guy can smoke a pipe in peace - so my poor laptop (and thus my writing) get no attention at coffeehouses. Most of which play music I hate, have food I can't eat (MSG and tomato in almost everything. Or, it's all diet with all kinds of artificial sweeteners I can't have) and people who see a fat guy dressed in all black and grace me with well-practiced sneers.
   
   To my shame, there are a few Austin places I couldn't live without. Dragon's Lair, for example. Or, Pipe World. Or all the book stores. So many beautiful book stores. I also seem to know the city pretty well. I'm not a human map like my father, but I can get anywhere I need to be with relative minimum of fuss, as long as I have decent directions. I've eaten at or visited most of the local restaurants (enough to know what they do to my digestion) and have delved the divine dairy goodness of Amy's Ice Cream.
   
   So while my city is a cesspool of many of the things I hate in the world and can barely tolerate most days, I don't think I could live anywhere else. Because I certainly do my part to keep Austin weird.
   


5. HPU - Odd, that this one comes up last. I think when people start identifying me with the stories I've written lasts and other things first, they're actually becoming my friends. Scary, that. Before too long, Aggiebell90 will be calling me at midnight needing a favor or having me drive out someplace in the middle of nowhere when she's got a flat just like the rest of you. *grins* But at least she reads my writing. Unlike most people I know.
   
   Speaking of my writing, that's what this part of the blurb is supposed to be, yes? Harry Potter and the Unforgiven. My insane fanfic. I've been writing fic of one kind or another since I was a little kid and was addicted to Star Trek fanzines. I've written papers on fanfic. I've given talks on fanfic.
   
   But Harry Potter and the Unforgiven is my fanfic albatross. Or opus. Or whatever you want to call it. I started it four years ago during one of the darkest and most painful periods of my life as a short fic that would take place over the course of the summer after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
   
   I read that book and got so mad at Dumbledore and the Order. They had Stupid Mentor Syndrome worse than anything I'd seen! None of the adults in the HP-verse, except Molly Weasley and (somewhat) Sirius, have a leg to stand on. Did you notice McGonagall never apologized to Harry, Ron and Hermione for not believing them in Philosopher's Stone? Where was Remus Lupin most of Harry's life? Where were all the people who suddenly love and adore him and care about him most of his life? Where was Albus Dumbledore?
   
   If McGonagall hadn't liked the Dursleys, why hadn't she gone to check on him a time or three while he was growing up?
   
   Out of sight, out of mind, it seems.
   
   The whole idea of it made me mad, so I decided to answer some questions I had from Chamber of Secrets about the magical bond between Harry and Ginny (I was a H/Hr shipper at the time) and play with a plot bunny I had bouncing around my head.
   
   So I did. And the first draft of HPU was born. From that brief interlude into fanfiction, a character sprang forth - Gracie McCallister. And from her, Harry's journey began. I started to ask myself other questions. What if Dumbledore had a real reason for what he did? What if most of the adults in the HPverse were really as pig-ignorant of the real situation as they seemed? How did magic really work? What about Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel? They used magic we hadn't seen before - and they fought in a very stylized, almost formal way. What if there was a reason behind that, too?
   
   The story began to take shape. The plots began to take shape. What if Voldemort really were as evil as Rowling thought? What if Voldemort had a plan to deal with Harry? What if the Ministry were as corrupt as it was inept?
   
   With each what if, HPU got an added dimension. Except, I wasn't feeling H/G. Not until I read Harry Potter & the Power of Emotion by Melindaleo. Then I was a H/G convert. I read more H/G fic, just letting my brain steep in it.
   
   And HPU really began to take shape. However, I stopped writing it for a year or so, when my life was complete and utter...well, it was bad.
   
   When I took the story up again, I completely re-wrote it, and I've been refining that re-write ever since. I always ended up stuck at the same point in the story, though - right around the middle of the second story arc.
   
   Though, it appears I have broken that particular block, as I have recently finished ch35! It's been a four-year odyssey, but I seem to finally be cresting the hill I've been trudging up for awhile. I think, if I can get some momentum on the story, I'll finally get it done! Maybe the end of next year! (There's a lot left to write).

Okay, so that meme is meme'd out. I shall not succumb to another! (Except maybe the one Aggiebell90 tagged me on yesterday. Because I have to keep being nice to hear until I can write the Neville fic I owe her.)

Also, random moment:

• A met a girl with the name Kitiara. Yes, named for the Dragonlance character.
  

Brain Dump 2008

Once again, I should be getting into bed and falling asleep, because I have work tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Once again, I'm sitting at my computer, writing.

Every year, I do a bit of reflection about New Year's in my journal, but this year, my hands are hurting too much to write it by hand, so I'm sharing it with the rest of you.

Have you ever thought about how arbitrary New Year's is? Or what it really means? Everyone talks about New Year's the same way they do about birthdays and anniversaries, only - there's less reason for it.

Birthdays and anniversaries mark events that are celebrated. We've lived/been together/done something for another entire arbitrary 12-month cycle. Still, considering it's human nature to impose artificial order on anything and everything, it makes sense. Though, why twelve months?

I know there's a historical reason for it. I might even have known it at one time. Still, here we are. One number up on the
millennia.

Maybe because my birthday and the New Year are so close together, I've never really seen the New Year as a big deal - or that I don't want to go out and get drunk in a huge crowd of people. Because me and crowds? Never a good idea.

Getting drunk in a small group of people? Probably also not the best idea, all things considered. Most of the folk I hang out with these days aren't too keen on getting quietly drunk, and those that are probably wouldn't like a melancholy drunk.

I'm just not much of a partier. No big revelation there.

Getting drunk on my own? That's just lame.

So, New Year's for me usually consists of writing in my journal, avoiding driving, hiding in my room with my pipe, and pondering why everyone else is making such a big fuss over something that's never made much sense to me.

Which is to say, it's much like any other day for me, except more people are drunk.

Somehow, though, I've found myself rather superstitious lately, seeing signs and omens, patterns and tides and tendencies.

I'm sure it says something I took my last dose of antibiotic, got my tax form, and had my mother visit the store for the first time all on the last day of the year.

But I suppose it does me no harm to sit down and reflect on the big picture a bit, no matter how depressed it gets me.

(Huh. Now I think I see why so many people get drunk on New Year's. Thinking too much does that to you.)

2008 was the first year since 2001 I haven't been in college in one form or another, and though I missed it, I think it was good for me to try to break away from academia, at least a little bit. Even though Austin Community College is no St. Edward's, it's not as bad as some folk make it out to be.

I've discovered a great love of comics and the stories therein; which, if you know my love of stories, you know is a huge deal for me.

2008 is also the first year in awhile that I've had full time employment for the entire duration of the year. At the same place, even. I know a lot of folk fuss at me for working too much, but I actually like my job. Dragon's Lair, despite paying stale peanuts, is a fun place to work with decent co-workers, great management, and awesome customers (99% of the time).

And damn it feels good. I got my year review recently. Aside from my perfectionist annoyance at not being perfect, I'm pretty pleased with what was said.

And amused. Apparently, I'm a very methodical, detail oriented person. Who knew? /sarcasm

2008 also saw me get Baptized (in a hot tub, no less) - I know some of you want pictures, or even the illicit video someone took, but I'm probably never gonna post that stuff online. Now, I'm on Church Council at the Well, teach a kid's Bible class (really young kids, too), have discovered a talent and affection for dealing with babies, and I have yet to burst into flame or be struck dead by lightning from Heaven.

Which goes a long way to proving God's infinite forgiveness in my book. I woulda' smote me a long time ago.

I've lost weight, learned that I still have the strength and endurance to hold down a job even with the fibro and arthritis. Managed to even start getting up on time without needing a cattle prod.

While these are all laudable things, and things I'm proud of, truth to tell - 2008 has been a total and complete failure of a year for me.

Talking about the big picture here?

I'm 28 - closer to 30 than not - and I'm working a job that doesn't pay a living wage, living with my parents, still being partially supported by them (and yes, there are many extenuating circumstances, not the least of which is my health and my mother's health), still without a degree for all my troubles and money on college.

It bothers me more than a little.

Looking back at my life, I also realize that I have no idea where I wanted to be when I was this age. Marriage was always a vague idea, but considering my luck with women and having seen the hell my parents' marriage is, I never really considered it a serious option.

Kids? I don't know if I'd be a good father until I get at least one book published. Seriously - I think I would resent the amount of time a kid would take and how much effort and pain taking care of a kid would cause me, to say nothing of passing my genetics (fibromyalgia, arthritis, and everything else) on to another human being...

Yeah.

A bigtime job making lots of money, with a fancy car and a ritzy place to live? Never wanted it. I never saw money or status as worth all that much. Money buys me food, books and a place to live. Other than that, it's just a lot of math and a lot of misery to earn it. I'd rather have my job that pays nothing and the contentment that comes from it than a job I hate that pays well.

Been there. Done that. Got the baggage.

Worse yet?

I haven't really succeeding in much of the writing I wanted to do this year.

Why not, you ask?

Discipline.

Back before college, I had lots of it. I could discipline myself, make myself write even when what I wrote was crap. I was able to sit down and just pound out a few hundred words every day.

Not so much anymore.

I used to be able to stay organized, stay focused, and make myself do what I needed to do, when I needed to do it, without whining, bitching, moaning or ignoring it. I could do chores, keep my commitments, and still have time for a read and a wank before bed.

Not so much anymore.

This year, I've missed opportunities to do great things, dropped the ball on commitments I've made, and left some folk hanging in a lurch; friendships have faded, with little to take their place. I've missed opportunities for what could be great friendships (or, at least people I could help out a bit), and been unable to step up all the times I needed to.

And that bothers me, more than a little bit.

The shift hasn't happened overnight, or even over the course of a single year.

I partially blame it on college. Going to Stedwards was a good thing for me, because I learned a lot, discovered I had fibro, got engaged, got dumped, got voted off the island, and discovered I really just might have the skill to be a successful writer.

But going to Stewards required a different kind of discipline than I had used before. When I was living at home, my parents didn't ask me to do chores - they asked me to do homework. My grades were fantastic and reflected my academic discipline. It was okay to be a bit frazzled and a bit disorganized.

Not so much anymore.

I really sat down and noticed it a few weeks back, right around Thanksgiving when I had some time off work, and I didn't manage to get a single freakin' thing done.

So I tried to figure out why. At first, it was easy to say I was resting and recovering from work, and I was tired and hurting. But even though I was, I still had energy to go play and read fanfic and watch B5 DVDs and read books and generally slack.

Which really? Isn't me.

So I took a look around, and what I saw disgusted me.

My room was a mess, disorganized and cluttered. My desk was messy, and my books are all over the place. My writing notes are scattered, and I haven't been journaling the way I need to. I've got plans-a-billion, but no action or execution or even plans to get my plans moving.

I didn't even have a 'to-do' list or an active calendar. My whiteboard was blank. My laundry was piled up, my room covered in dust, and I was drinking more soda than tea again.

Some of it is complacency on my part. Sitting on my fat ass and getting falling into a routine of feeling sorry for myself because I don't make much money and I'm always tired and always hurting.

Wah. Woe is me.

I'm better than that.

So I pulled out a fresh notebook and set about doing what I should have never stopped doing. I wrote down everything I needed to get done. But instead of doing what I've always done before and color-coded it or
categorized it or anything else fancy, I just wrote it down in pencil.

It's a fairly extensive list, and every day, I notice something else I need to add to it. But then I realized, a lot of things on there were things that I've let slip by or things that I should have been doing all along.

I also realized it's been over a year and a half since I re-organized myself; every six months or so, I used to spend a couple of days just putting myself back together. Clearing out
detritus, clutter and shit I didn't need, doing a deep-clean of my room. I would sort out my papers and files and books and would re-prioritize.

This sounds so corny, I bet. And I know my brother is sitting there shaking his head and laughing at me. My 'resets' always annoyed the fuck out of him - and for good reason.

In truth, most people do this to a certain extent; I was just more deliberate about it. They way I taught myself to deal with my learning disabilities was to control my
environment. If my brain wouldn't accept the outside systems already in place, then I would just create and impose my own systems.

Resetting those systems was a good way to keep them from falling apart around me, streamline them, and keep me from going crazy. Spring cleaning for my brain. See, part of my problem is that my brain doesn't process information the way a 'normal' brain does. It's the whole dyslexia/dysgraphia/dysplaxia thing. Most people have a mental filing cabinet, with folders and labels that are mostly organized (to a greater or lesser extent, depending on the person).

I don't.

Things don't get filed unless I force my brain to do it; and even then, small things build up in piles around my mental office, things I miss or forget or just don't need to worry about. In order to clean all that out, empty the mental trash cans, I have to consciously do it.

It also helps control the depression. Changes things up a bit, keeps me from falling into the complacency and bad habits that I've developed. Helps me take stock of things, notice tendencies I've developed and take steps to correct them.

The problem?

I can't do the physical part of it by myself anymore. I need help to get in a move things to clean and I need help to figure out where I've gone wrong, because I don't always see it.

Getting that help is the problem. I could probably recruit one or two people from the church, but honestly? They'd end up spending as much time talking to my mother as helping me. She's something of a figure of mystery and interest there, because most of them have never met her, but they have heard about her.

And the Well is about people - and my mother isa person in great need of help.

So I can't really blame them for that or ask them not to do what God may ask them to do.

Still, I have a list. I have plan. Get back on top of the day-to-day crap first. Then figure out what I'm going to do about the rest of it.

So there's 2008. A waste of an arbitrary 12-month cycle.

The good news?

If I'm going to put any stock in omens, portents and symbols, the last day of 2008 has given me a few to think on.

When I woke up this morning, I felt like shit. I hurt, I was exhausted beyond belief, the depression was kicking my ass in a bad way, and I had no idea how I was going to get through the day without breaking down.

It was so bad I even posted on LJ. If you only read my nonsense on Blogger or Inksome or who aren't on my LJ flist, you missed it.

(Thanks to everyone on LJ who commented on my post this morning. I needed the support.)

Yet, today went well. Good weather, so my pain got a bit better once I started moving. My co-workers pitched in and we kicked ass on getting things done. The store looked good when I left.

I got to go home early, even. Not for a great reason, mind, but I still got to go home early.

One of our customers, a lady I'll call B, asked to read the Katheryn story and actually overcame the Curse. She brought in a printed copy with notes on it this afternoon. She and her boyfriend ZD are awesome, and I think might end up being friends outside work.

Hell, she even wants to check out HPU and read some of the Katheryn story history.

My muse was awake today, and gave me plenty of thoughts for both of those stories, especially once BL and I chatted a bit about the Katheryn story.

She came in specifically to see me and talk to me about the story. She lives very far south and didn't have to drive all the way - but she and ZD did.

After I got Mom settled tonight, I went out to my favorite place to eat - Whataburger. I'm friends with some of the people who work there, and one of them hooked me up with her discount.

I got gas at the Valero next door to Whataburger and filled up the tank of the Mazda for $15. I accidentally gave the cashier too much money and didn't notice it - he could have easily taken the extra $20 I gave him and pocketed it and I would have thought I'd lost it somewhere.

Instead, he gave it back to me. Seems silly and incidental, but good service and good deeds seem to be in rare supply these days.

Tiny things, but - good omens, I would think.

And right after the New Year starts, I'll get to see a couple of very good friends I don't get to see often at all. I'll spend a whole day chilling with a guy who can always help me get my head on straight.

People talk about resolutions around New Year's, but I think I would prefer to talk about plans. Resolutions are what I've been making all year, and it's gotten me nowhere. I'd much rather have a plan and know how I'm going to get back on track.

Time for me to figure one out, I think.

In all truth, I don't know where I want to be this time next year. I think making those kinds of plans for me never work out; instead, I always end up someplace I never expect to end up. The long term goals are still the same - write, get published.

Instead, I think I'll focus on smaller plans, plans that will help me take things step-by-step to get to the larger goal.

I can still point to 2004 as being one of the worst years of my life; 2008 is nothing more than a blip compared to that.

So 2009? Just another arbitrary 12-month cycle that will see me writing another boring brain dump as it, too cycles out.

Hopefully, my brain will be in better working order, though.

The First Lady of Star Trek

Today is a sad day for me.

I don't know how many others on my flist will feel the same as I do, but I know a few of you will.

Majel Barrett Rodenberry passed away today.

(Yes, this post will be cliche, corny, and melodramatic. You have been warned.)

This lady was married to one of the great visionaries of our time - a man who dared to have hope for the human race, and dared to share that hope with everyone else. I can't imagine what it must have been like, or what kind of a woman she must have been to capture him as totally as she did. Nor can I imagine what it must have taken to keep his dream alive and moving after his death, nor what a heavy responsibility it must have been to try to carry on with that dream.

I can only say that Star Trek shaped much of who I am, and I am very sad to see her go; though I know she has re-joined her husband and she now flies amongst the stars with the Great Bird of the Galaxy.

All's Well

I want to thank everyone for the prayers and support while my mother was in the hospital; it really did me good to see all the comments and get all the phone calls.

Thank you.

My mother is back home, and is doing better; she's on the mend, but it'll be a long trip back to where she was before this. But we're going to be able to make that trip, so I think we're heading in the right direction. As usual, the hospital visit was hard - North Austin Medical Center performed to thier usual sub-standard of fail. The internist who treated her after she was admitted ignored a direct request from my father that he request my mother's GI doctor come see her.

See, without the attending Doctor's permission, Mom's GI doc couldn't come see her; it would have been considered assault.

So, the attending doctor (read: raving worthless fuckwit) decided not to do as my father asked. Because obviously? He knows better than the GI doc who's kept her alive and functioning in the past. Obviously, he is so omniscient and skilled that he didn't need the assistance of a specialist when dealing with a woman who has more medical problems than a med school textbook. Obviously, with only the barest of medical histories, he was fully capable of diagnosing and treating a woman with delicate and complicated health issues.

Because's he's just cool like that. He's a third-party doctor, one a service sends to the hospital to help with the admissions and such. Obviously, he's fucking Gregory House or Leonard McCoy and can avoid making stupid mistakes, like giving my mother, a chronic pain patient, a medicine that flushes all her meds out of her system and putting her on a pain med that doesn't work for her. Or giving a woman with a damaged, dysfunctional and disabled digestive system a full course of stomach-rending meds the evenning after she's been admitted to the hospital because her vomiting and dehydration were so bad she couldn't get out of bed. Or, taking eight fucking hours to get her an IV of fluids and such. To say nothing of antibiotics, because someone on two or three immuno-suppressive drugs wouldn't need those, oh no. A compromised immune system in a hospital full of germs? Why would that be a worry?

Instead, he stick a catheter in her and leaves her sitting in a room for a few hours. Admittedly there was an emergency where he was needed, assisting the on-call GI doc.

The on-call GI doc? Was my mother's GI doc.

Or, instead of being patient and getting a nurse capable of putting an IV in a patient with damaged and small veins, he just had a ham-handed intern tech jab her with a needle until she's covered with bruises the color of rotten plums smashed against a whitewashed fence by a sledgehammer. The spread pattern even looks similar - you know, all over her freakin' arm?

The emergency room floor was covered in debris - syringe caps and other, less idenfiable bits of plastic that may or may not have, at one time or another, been inserted in a human person.

The tech that moved my mother from the emergency room to her hostpial room almost got himself curbstomped into yet another stain on the floor when he was raising her bed. It had a foot pump and he was stomping on it like he was doing some insane white-boy dance at a geek fraternity rave.

One more foot pump that made her wince in pain? And my brother and/or I would have given him an urgent need to see a doctor. Luckily for him, the Fuckwit was around. I mean, with Fuckwit's careful and concerned care, he'd get well in five or six years. If he didn't die, first.

The clincher? The last time this happened, Mom's GI doc had her out in 23 hours. This time she was in three days.

She never saw her GI doc. Her GI doc was never informed my mother was in the hospital. On the night she was on call.

Mom's GI doc is a very aggressive, take-charge kind of lady. I get the feeling she's gonna staple fuckwit's balls to his stethescope.

Austinites, if you ever end up at that particular dungeon - erm, hospital - and you get Steward McKenna as your doctor, demand someone, anyone else. Say, a records clerk. Or a janitor. Or the janitor's pet monkey. The pet monkey will only bite you, give you raibies, and fling dung everywhere.

Much more helpful than fuckwit.

On another note, fuckwit gave my father his card. If you know my father at all, you realize that giving him a peice of information like your name, contact info and place of employment is tantamount to giving him a loaded gun with a pre-labelled bullet.

Dad isn't going to do anything so prosiac as sue. See, malpractice insurance takes care of that, and all we'd get at the end was whatever the lawyer didn't claim. Instead, my father is going to make his life a living hell with complains to anyone and everyone who has authority over him. Like the state board of medical examiners. The hospital director. That sort of person. The kind of person who just loves hearing about a doctor that fucked up a simple thing like 'please let my wife see the doctor who treats her for this condition on a regular basis.'

Still, Mom's okay, and that's what's important. Next time she gets admitted to that hospital (which is the only one her GI doc practices at), we're going in force. As many people as we can get. Dad can take care of Mom and I can do what I do best.

Be a royal and utter pain in the ass.

I'm the most stubborn person I've ever met. There is no beauracratic system invented I can't stubborn my way through. It hasn't been invented. God gave me a gift to put my head down and charge right in, making a right mess of things until people do what they need to do.

Dad can take care of Mom. I'll get the morons to let her see the right doctor. They won't even know I'm conning them until after Mom's doc has handled the problem.

/angry rant

On other, more random notes - the last two blog entries have usurped my blog on the Twilight movie. It's almost done.

I fit into three of my old, smaller shirts. This makes me happy.

Barack Obama is a smoker. For some reason, I like him better now. People best lay off him 'bout that, too. Yeah, yeah, bad example for the kiddies and all that but, shit. It's not like the man isn't about to start a stressful job or anything. Better he take care of his stress with nicotine instead of, say, bombing someone.

(Says the conservative. Go figure.)

Long Day is Long

Wednesday morning started like most other mornings: I woke up. I scratched, I peed, I checked email and my Dad told me he was calling the ambulance to take my mother to the hospital.

Okay, so it's not like most morning. Just some. It's always morning when these things happen. It was morning when I found out Mom was moving out - I hadn't even gotten to fully wake up for that one. It was morning the last two times Mom got taken to the hospital.

Have I mentioned I am not a morning person?

So I pulled on pants and shirt and I stood outside and waited for EMS. I listened to the sirens as they got closer, and I realized I hadn't even gotten a chance to go look in on Mom myself. The problem didn't sound bad. She just couldn't get out of bed. Too lethargic, too sick, too much pain. That sort of thing.

It's happened before. Muscle spasms cause a migraine. The migraine causes nausea. Nausea causes vomiting. Vomiting means her meds don't stay down and her blood sugar spikes. A blood sugar spike causes the gastropareisis to act up and her stomach shuts down.

Sucks balls when that happens.

So, we take her to the doctor. Only this time, she couldn't get out of bed.

It started late Monday night. The vomiting, anyway. Called her doctor, got some anti-nausea meds. She seemed to be getting better on Tuesday, until late in the night, when she started vomiting again. Enter Wednesday morning.

And me, standing outside, waiting for the EMS. I listened to the sirens getting closer, as they navigated the maze of the community we live in. I saw my next door neighbor giving a concerned look as he realized why I was standing outside.

I was calm when the fire truck got there. They grabbed their gear and came in, and started the process of getting her read. Blood pressure, meds, medical history, etc. Not four minutes later, the EMS showed up. I wasn't much help, because Dad was handling things, so I got a coke from the fridge. Odd, how normal this all seemed to me. I drank my coke, printed off more med lists (she takes A LOT of strong meds). One paramedic talked to Dad and took down information. Two others were in with Mom and were asking her questions she wasn't coherent enough to answer, so I went in and gave them answers. They paramedics were surprised at how on top of things Dad and I were and how we were able to give consistent, informative answers.

Impressing paramedics with your ability to handle complex and dangerous medical situations? Not sure how I feel about that, really.

They loaded her in the ambulance and said they were going to give her an IV. Knowing that could take awhile, I drank more coke, called dreamsaint and my brothers. Dad got her meds and some other stuff ready to go and followed them to the hospital. They took her to the hospital we trust least because the doctor we trust most works there.

No, I didn't go.

I do well at hospitals, especially when I'm needed. When I can answer questions, help Mom, help the doctors. Otherwise, I'm just a fat guy who's in the way. All I can do is sit down somewhere and read a book until someone needs me to go buy a soda or grab lunch.

I suck at sitting and doing nothing. I would have to say of all the varied and often useless skills I have, sitting and doing nothing is perhaps the thing I am worst at. I have patience. I have calm. Hell, sometimes I even manage zen. But sitting and doing nothing?

Fuck that. I have to be doing something.

Luckily for me, I had something else I needed to be doing. A most welcome distraction, and a task I've been looking forward to for awhile. I had taken today off work, because I was going to snack time with a four-year-old at his Head Start class.

A friend of mine from the Well adopted four kids, all siblings, recently. As a single mother. She is, perhaps, one of the few people I know who are more insane than I am. You wouldn't know it, even talking to her, but kids are her calling and her passion. Her job is to protect them. She's always helped raise her friends' kids - and trust me when I say there are a lot of them. About, oh...15 or so. Conservatively. Kids, that is.

She adopted her four; they're roughly a year apart in age. Two boys, two girls. The youngest (a boy) RK, is the one I went to see. His class was having this 'bring your father/brother/uncle/favorite adult male to snack' thing this week. RK asked for me to go. I was his first choice - and I was glad to do it. Flattered, even. I mean, how many times in life can a single male with no intention (or prospect) of having children can claim that they're that loved by a kid?

So I got the day off work and I went. Driving out to Bastrop was, to say the least, an adventure. Though I'm somewhat familiar with the area and the highways out there from the Kallven days, it's been awhile. So I got directions, climbed in the car and off I went. As some of you know, with the fibromyalgia and arthritis, driving is painful. Driving all the way out there? Very painful. And directions and I? Not always the best of friends. I can get lost in my own room, to say nothing of unfamiliar back country roads with signs you don't see until you've passed them.

But I made it there. On time, even.

RK was glad to see me - came running right up and wanted to be picked up. I probably shouldn't indulge him (or his sibs) as much as I do, but I couldn't say no. He stuck with me like glue the whole time I was there - he got shy and wouldn't talk at first, but there was a little girl (BK) in his class that seems very fond of him. She also, for some reason, clung to me. RK didn't want me to leave, actually - it wasn't until his class was over and he was in his after-school care program that I had to go. I could hang out with him, but the rules were I couldn't mingle with the other kids. BK wasn't happy about that.

I left him with his after-school care people and went on my way. I had to physically hand RK over to his teacher; he was very unhappy with me. BK, to my surprise, cried when I left.

It was a fun afternoon; it was hard balancing giving RK most of my attention while not ignoring or hurting the feelings of BK - but I managed. RK's teacher is an awesome lady, and very brave, teaching a room full of four-year-olds. It's not so much controlled chaos as it is purposeful chaos. She had a masterful hand with the kids, able to maintain discipline and keep control without being mean or nasty. I learned a lot just watching her for an hour or so.

I drove back home. Stopped at convenience store on my way back in for more coke. I needed the
caffeine by then (eating a snack meant for a four-year-old is not enough to give any kind of energy to man of my prodigious girth, especially when it's the only thing you've eaten that day). One of these days I might even write something about why I like convenience stores so much. Especially highway convenience stores.

I got back home, called people. Called xdrumrboi again, because I know he never checks his messages. Talked to Dad. Rescheduled the video shoot I'm supposed to be doing, picked up xdrumrboi, grabbed
whataburger, and battled traffic to the hospital, met with Dad and saw Mom. Ate lukewarm fast food (which, trust me, I'm regretting right now).

Everyone knows my mother and I don't often see eye-to-eye. Most people don't even realize why. A lot of the time, I don't understand why. I think it's because we don't see the world through the same eyes. I don't think we can.

But no matter what, she share a bond no one else in the family does - we share some of the same diseases. I learned to cope with what I have by watching her...often times, doing just the opposite of what she does, just because that's the way things have always worked. What works for her doesn't work for me and vice versa.

It seems like Mom and I aren't close at all, to most people. Oddly enough? We are. I'm probably closer to her than anyone but Dad. I took care of her for a long, long time. Did you know I drove her to and from work for years? That we worked in the same building for almost two years? That she's the one who convinced me to go to St. Edward's University? We talked every day, multiple times a day, about everything for years. She always gave advice, a lot of it bad, some of even with good intentions.

She's been trying to fix me my entire life, since before I knew there was anything wrong about me. Before I'd had the great revelation that I, for whatever reason, see the world so differently than most people. Since before I knew had I depression, since before I knew I wanted to be a writer. Since before I knew I could be a writer.

She taught me to read. Honestly? I don't think there's any greater gift she could have given me. Even now, I chew through books and reading material at a rate that astounds even me. Arrogant to say, but deal with it, folks. I can go through four or five novels in a week, to say nothing of fic, comics, and things people send me to read. I remember sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of the waterbed, in the house in San Antonio, her bribing me with M&Ms to read word after word. I remember crying, I remember the headaches, the mental pain of trying to make the words hold still on the page. To sound out each word. She taught me using phonics, like she was taught.

She made me do it. I hated it. I hated her. I even hated the fucking candy after awhile.

She never let me give up. The only things she's ever wanted me to give up? Being a writer. Being me. Small things, really.

Well, KH, if you read this, there you go. A bit more insight to me and my mother. A tidbit or three that might give you some of the answers you want.

I told you if you read this thing, you'd get hints every now and again.

All the times she's been sick? I haven't been this worried. No matter how serious it was. No matter how bad she was. Because no matter what, she soaked up the attention. She loved being the center of attention, having everyone worried about her, thinking about her, changing up their lives to take care of her.

This time, it's different, and it scares me.

She didn't want anyone there with her.

Big change. Scary change. I wonder if it's because she's realized how serious it is, for once...or if this is worse than it ever has been.

If you're the praying kind, I'd appreciate the prayers.

For now, I'm going to try to sleep. Or, at least, lay in bed and read until my alarm clock goes off and I have to go to work.