News Flash

Before I get into posting chapters, I need to stop and say that today has been the best day in my life so far. A great weight has been lifted. Earlier last week, I had gone into a gas station to fill out an application and had been told to go back when the manager was in. This morning, I went in again and the manager was finally in. I filled out the app, did a quick preliminary interview, then came home.

I went to pick up my mom for lunch, since I had her car (I currently do not have one) and had just barely got home when the phone rang. It was the manager of the gas station asking if I still wanted the position. After saying yes, and after a second list of questions, I was hired. Tomorrow, I start my new job. after training, I will be placed on evenings and weekends. I will be working some holidays, but I will also be paid double for holiday work.

Tomorrow is also going to be the last day I drive. I do not see how I can do two jobs. at least not that will cause a conflict in scheduling. the driving job and the new job will conflict with one another. especially when I am moved to evenings.


On Being A Little (A Lot) Rusty At Asking Someone Out…

For those of you who have been following my travails at trying to end this deafening silence I live with every day, perhaps I need to relearn how to do the social thing. I knew the minute I asked that it did not sound quite right. I will not go into what I asked, even though it was harmless. I will say that I think it was just the tone.

I am shy around women anyway. I get all nervous and I go to ask the right thing and…I automatically stick my foot in my mouth. suffice it to say that I embarrassed myself today. I was trying to ask a lady if she was interested in me, and the wrong thing came out. No, I was not rude. I was not crude. I am always polite.

I am a politely awkward man. Even in shyness I am polite. I can stumble all over myself and make people laugh at me, and still remain polite. But that is me. Polite even in embarrassment.

So I did not get the girl this time. I am not as assertive and self-assured as others are. Granted, I am harmless but when your tongue tends to bypass the brain and blurt things out, you tend to find yourself wondering what you could do different to fix your nerves or your social skills.

Add to this the fact that I have not dated for at least six years and you can see that I am not “up” on the current etiquette in dating. Besides. I do not know a lot of women in my area. Hell. I don’t know if there are any who are even interested in what I am.

I am not reclusive by nature, but this morning was enough to make me want to find the biggest rock to crawl under and hide. It did not go at all well. And it sure did not go how I planned (I had planned to ask other easier, less abrupt questions to lead up to the one that came tumbling out, but like I said my tongue overruled my brain.). No, I did not get suggestive or anything of that nature. I am too polite for that. Too nice.

Oh, well. Back to the drawing board. Maybe I will figure this all out. Who knows?

Welcome To My Life…

I have tried to envision how the reclusive authors survived. All that silence, broken only by occasional sound. Sure, if they liked music (and some surely did), they could listen to records. But silence drives one nuts.

I need interaction. Sure, my mother stops in from time to time but that is not the interaction I am talking about. I need constant interaction. I need someone to keep me from crawling the walls.

I hate being alone. I have too much quiet. Too much time alone to think. Not enough stimulation to keep me from being bored.

I drive a van almost every day. I have clients that I can talk to, but I have no one when I get home. And I can’t stand it.

I admit that I was partly to blame for the failure of both my marriages. I was too eager to please. Too eager to keep the peace. I detest conflict, especially in the form of arguing. It solves nothing.

My only desire was to work with them to make the marriages work. The problem appears when you become the only one working on anything. Any relationship is a two-way street. It takes both to make it work.

When only one works at making things go, only half the job gets done. Sooner or later, the side that isn’t being built caves in. Something that a normal relationship can withstand kicks the prop out from under that side and the life you build just crumbles. When the dust settles, you finally see just what it was really worth to the other person.

You watch them walk away. You listen to their abuse. You feel the pain as everything is taken away. You lose your pride, your dignity, your self-respect, and all that builds good self-esteem.

What replaces it is anger, hurt, a feeling of betrayal, and a myriad of other ugly feelings that eat away at you. And these do not go away very quickly. They tend to burn through you every day.

Once you get over those, you are faced with loneliness. Deep, dark, and depressing. And the boredom. I hate being bored. even in my time away from driving. It is bad enough that I find my job boring, I don’t need more boring to come home to.

Like everyone, I need to feel wanted, needed. Loved. Yes, I know I sound sappy. But I need the distraction of someone talking to me and interacting with me. It makes me feel like I truly exist.

A Time Of Mourning

A Time Of Mourning

Yesterday I watched as
They buried my son
My Heart ached so bad
I thought it would break
Yesterday I watched as
My dreams began to run
Away with all I had
And hope seemed to be a mistake

Today My heart is empty
My life is so cold and lonely
Guess it’s becoz I’ve lost
something I’ve always wanted
Through these tears, I’m straining to see
That I, alone, can free
My heart from handling all the cost
And move on undaunted even if it is still haunted

Now I’m goin’ through
A time of mourning
Yeah, I’m mourning the loss
Of my precious son
Now I’m goin’ through
A time of mourning
And I’m mourning the loss
Of a little one.

Yesterday I saw the future
Slip out of my hands
And I sat wonderin’ why
It was passin’ me by
Can you tell me?
Yesterday I knew for sure
I’d made some empty plans
And I wanted to die
But I could only cry
And mourn a baby

Today I write songs
To express my sadness
Hopelessness and helplessness
As I think about him
Today I try ti right imagined wrongs
So that I might feel some gladness
And perhaps so heaven might bless
This home once again.

Now I’m goin’ through
A time of mourning
Yeah, I’m mourning the loss
Of my precious son
Now I’m goin’ through
A time of mourning
And I’m mourning the loss
Of a little one.


Yesterday I watched helplessly
As they buried my son
And all my hopes were gone
And I felt the tears burn
As I had to say goodbye
Yesterday I couldn’t see
That it wasn’t what I’d done
But that as a family we weren’t as one
And that the next turn
All desire would die

Today I visit his grave
Honoring the memory
Of his short life
That ended before it began
It’s the memory I save
But I’m glad h didn’t see
All the strife
That haunts his old man.

Now I’m goin’ through
A time of mourning
Yeah, I’m mourning the loss
Of my precious son
Now I’m goin’ through
A time of mourning
And I’m mourning the loss
Of a little one.

(solo out)

JTB, 1997

I believe I added that last two-part verse after the implosion of my first marriage. I watched everything self destruct shortly after his death and burial. She quit taking her medication and ended up being hospitalized for a mental breakdown. More than once. The final time, the doctor advised me to leave the marriage before my own health was destroyed. Little did he know, it was already shot. As were my nerves.

Two Pinched Fingers And A Bunch Of Fire Wood

I am home this evening nursing two very sore, but not smashed (luckily), fingers. My Thumb is missing a chunk of skin, but is fine. My index finger is extremely sore, but I will live. But…we got half the pile of logs split.

Now, I am extremely tired and know that my fingers won’t be the only thing sore tomorrow. 100 pounds of log does not feel very good against a finger. Neither does 1000 pounds of pressure. Makes typing a little more of a chore.

At least I can say that I do not smell like cow shit this time. I just feel like shit. And I am all out of ideas for something to eat. Yeah, you read right. I haven’t clue what to fix.

Even worse is the idea that I just don’t have the will or inclination to write much of anything. Tends to be the result of helping on the farm. Means I will have to make up for two days tomorrow. Shit. And then I will be off until after the first.

Crap. Life sucks as a taxi driver. Low pay. Long hours. No real appreciation for what you do for the company. Except from the client.

I have the nicest clients. Sure, I got to pick and choose, but I dreaded several of the past clients I had. Some asked me questions, wanted advice, I wasn’t able (or supposed) to give answers to. Others were rather pissy. Or just downright nasty in habits.

I only deal with a single client. Sure, that is the reason I do not get the best pay, but it beats risking having accidents due to sleep deprivation. It also beats having to worry if I am going to survive the day.

Days Off…

It’s amazing. I have reviewed many books and all my reviews have helped others buy those books. So if they trust me to write reviews, why don’t they investigate my books? I am mystified.

I am not sure where I have gone wrong. I write. That is my life. I do not pigeonhole myself or get cornered into writing a single genre. My heroes didn’t, why should I?

I know. I should be different. But I AM different. I may pattern my career after my heroes, but I am not exactly as they are. I am not writing my own “Martian Chronicles”, “Tarzan”, “Conan Saga”, Or “Dennis Dougan” stories. Instead, I have veered off into Deep Space and begun sagas of my own. “Rivers Of Blood”, “Strange Journeys”, and “”Saints & Sinners” just to name a few.

Ok, so I have gotten off topic. I was going to talk about days off, which do me no good at all. I am no work-a-holic by any stretch of the imagination, but the lack of a day of work does make a dent in the ol’ paycheck. But so does no sales where my books are concerned.

Things are getting a little thin here in my corner of the world. Work is not that easy to find. Sure, I may be a little picky. But I cannot afford short term work for long term bills. 90 days is not enough time to build anything. Neither is the spotty, inconsistent record of a temp service. A day here and a day there solves nothing for me either.

Job security does not exist in my corner of the world anymore. Neither does full time work. All you can get is temporary work. Or what I am doing right now, which is almost as bad…seeing how I am making less than minimum wage as a volunteer.

Cow Shit, Sore Muscles, Headaches, And Democrat Bugs.

So I have been playing in a pasture again. No, I wasn’t chasing cows. Those were moved to another farm last week, although the calves are all still there. And that is where the cow shit of the title comes into play.

It is quite amazing how many calf patties (mini cow patties) tend to end up in someone’s path in the matter of seconds. And that is why I smell like a cow pasture. Of course, I need to explain why I was in the pasture, don’t I?

Mom, being the person she is, called me last night and asked if I could help her haul some more fire wood from the pasture. Of course, she also promised to have me home before 3. But that didn’t happen.

And that is where the sore muscles come in. For those of you who have never run a chainsaw, it is a very taxing occupation. It makes you ache in places you wouldn’t dream you could ache. And so, I hurt all over now.

Not only did I cut and help collect the fire wood, I also ended up splitting some of it. And that is where the Headache comes in. I suffer from migraines. Most are triggered by stress, but some are triggered by loud noise. (this is why I do not go into casinos.) And so, between the chainsaw and the log splitter, I had the beginning of a migraine. And my ears are still whistling and ringing.

Now we come to Democrat bugs. Their other name is Box Elder bugs. I am not sure of their genus or species, all I know is that they are three things:
1) annoying as all get out.
2) harder to kill than a cockroach. I am not sure that there is any type of bug spray that will kill them. I have seen them survive Black Flag, Wasp spray, roach spray, and every other specialized and non-specialized bug spray known to man. you can even step on them, swat them, run over them with a car, and try anything else to kill them and they will live through it all. If we happen to become extinct because of some nuclear war, there are two species of bugs bound to remain alive after us…cockroaches and Box Elder/Democrat bugs.
3) They infest more things than the cockroach. You can walk into a roach-free house and probably see at least three Box Elder bugs crawling around.

Anyway, the reason I have come to mention this infernal nuisance is the fact that I was just sitting here looking through my email and lo-n-behold, there, walking across my chest is a Box Elder bug. Now, even though I have taken care of the nuisance, I still feel as if I have a bug crawling on me.