Crazy couple of years

So, a couple years ago, they told us we might have to spend a few weeks inside because someone in China ate soup with a bat in it. (Yes, I know the bat thing was bogus. We all know the damn virus was made in a lab). And yes, that is plausible, considering we are talking about a country that enjoys weaponizing stuff. If you don’t believe me, just ask yourself the last time you heard of a virus that makes your sense of taste go away. It might kill you, it probably won’t, but if it does it will be like drowning for a week or so.

So, we spent going on two years for some of us inside. Some of us drive around with masks when we are alone. All of us have been affected by some form of depression or anxiety by the process.

The USA is more polarized than ever. I won’t get into the discussion much, but let’s just say it was suspicious that the person who became POTUS, who even his own party was lukewarm about, won more votes than the most hyped President elect in history, who at the time had more voter turnout than anyone in history. Until his second banana won this election. Just sayin’.

Then people got arrested for meandering into the Capitol Building, after the cops let them in, and that was a bigger deal than when people burned down businesses in several cities. Canada experienced soft facism. Which is fitting for a country normally very polite.

Gasoline costs twice as much per gallon as it has for years. Food is expensive (when it’s on the store shelves).

Oh yeah, Russia invaded Ukraine.

It strikes me how strange it is to see a modern city like Kyiv with Toyota Priuses and freakin’ missiles sticking out of the ground. It’s not the view of war we’ve been given for the last 70 years. It’s surreal.

The amount of dumbass rednecks posting shit on social media about how they are warfighters and gon’ fight fer ‘Merica is fucking astounding. You aren’t the Wolverines. You aren’t Mad Max you piece of shit. You aren’t John Wick. You’re a fat, ignorant redneck who couldn’t pick Ukraine out on a map. Yeah yeah tough guy. That’s why you are stockpiling guns and ammunition. Fuck you. You’re gonna do the same thing you’ve always done about anything in life ever.

Not a goddamned thing.

“Back in Dubya Dubya THree, I fought on the front lines of the meme wars!”

Good for you. Fuckhead. What were you doing for the last couple of years? What have you ever done? Watched other people do all the heavy lifting. Spilled Natty Lite on yourself yelling at your ol’ lady because she didn’t have the house clean when you got home maybe. Told the kids to leave you alone because the game was on.

Not that I’m all that my damn self. But I’m not running around talking tough, beating my chest, and bragging about some bullshit. “Just let me at them Rooskies!” I’ve seen tough guys crumple like a folding chair so many times. It’s always fucking hilarious when they do too.

It’s not Call of Duty out there, Cap’n Warfighter. You don’t just get to duck and regenerate the arm someone shot off. At the end of the day you’re sleeping on the cold hard ground and you don’t just get to hit pause and get tucked into your snuggly-wuggly bed.

Meanwhile, there are civilians watching tanks roll into their towns. And the world just watches.

It’s been a crazy couple of years.

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Tough on myself

Today was a day of working on the book. I’m pretty sure I clocked in over 6,000 words. Yesterday was a little lighter with only about 3k. Tomorrow I have deadlines for paid assignments and last night I felt a little bit blocked because I kept thinking about those deadlines and how I should probably be working on them instead of writing the book.

I always feel a little bit guilty with my time, especially if someone else is offering to pay me for it. It’s hard to remember that writing the book is working on my dream, and writing the paid assignments is what pays my ex-wife and lawyers. Which is always a joy.

Anyway, today was a 6k day. Not the 10k day I had a few days ago, but I’m covering ground. I’m closing in on the end of the book. But in the process I am beating the hell out of myself. Tonight, even though I am exhausted, emotionally and mentally, from writing the book, I am pissed off at myself that I couldn’t eke out just a little bit more.

Tomorrow is paid post day, and that will likely mean that I won’t be able to work on the book. So, I’ll feel guilty about that too. Just like I felt guilty today about working on the book and not writing posts that have deadlines coming up.

The work on the book tonight was not easy. The chapters were daring me to wave off and instead go to bed early, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to touch them tomorrow. I’m glad I got them written, but they were challenging. It’s hard leaving a little bit of your soul on the page like that. It takes a lot out of you.

One of my worst qualities is how tough on myself I am.

The other is selling myself short.

I’ve been debating for a while about the purpose this book will even serve. Why am I writing it? My excuse lately has been that the story demands that I tell it. But otherwise, I wonder what the point is. And even based on how things are going in the world, the end depends on things not being too much different than they are today. Since it takes place in almost ten years.

What will the world look like?

I have a feeling is uneasiness the way that writers faced the challenges of writing about NYC and mentioning sunset on the World Trade Center towers in 2010. A friend of mine told me that readers might think it is quaint to be so optimistic that the world wouldn’t have been through WW3 by the end of the book.

This book could be like a story that was written during the 1940s and never once mentions World War Two. I guess the Bogart and Bacall movie “The Big Sleep” kinda did that. Honestly, as much as I liked the film, the plot made no sense.

Maybe that will happen with this book too. The plot will make no sense. Oh well. I wrote today. That’s really all I wanted to do. Tomorrow will be writing for pay, doing dishes and laundry, and pretending like everything isn’t a complete mess.

What I do know is that people believe in me, for whatever reason. And I believe in this story, even though nobody else knows much about it. I’ve only shared a few chapters of it with others and they are polite with their feedback, but if they saw what this first draft has become, they might be wondering what the hell it is I’m doing with my life.

I wonder the same thing myself. Honestly.