Officially Butthurt

You heard me, folks. I am officially butthurt…

pita

Last week I was stripping my bed, and I tripped over a pillow. I lost my balance, but I knew that there was a wooden chair right behind me. No big deal. There were papers on the chair, and they would cushion my fall. Rather than reach and scramble, potentially twisting or spraining something, I went with the fall.

I landed on the chair, but on the edge. Somehow I missed all of those cushiony papers. All I hit was hard wood (phrasing!)

Now I have a bruised tailbone. I don’t know if you have ever bruised your tailbone, dear readers, but it’s a real…pain in the ass (get it? GET IT?). Worse, it takes a long time to heal, I’m assuming because you are almost always putting some sort of pressure on it.

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Original cartoon here

So I’ve been walking around gingerly, making sure that when I sit down or get up, I do so gingerly, avoiding the bruise. It’s not going so well.

The main problem is when I sleep. I am an active sleeper. I roll around in bed, and when I do, I roll right over the bruise. It’s been affecting my sleep even worse than my pre-butthurt insomnia. Today I woke up at 4:15.

At least I’m being productive with it.

Don’t worry, I will keep you posted on the state of my ass. I know that you’re dying to hear all about it.

Hey, did you know that I had two novels published (and a 3rd on the way). Did you know that they are heckin good (as the doggos would bork) and are doing me a proud? You should read one. You should read both. Hell, just read something that doesn’t come in blog form (except my blog. That’s cool). You can pick up my historical fantasy The Watchmage of Old New York or my dark sword n sorcery Song of Simon at any bookstore (they’re order it for you) or on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or most online sellers. They are both getting excellent reviews, and Watchmage even received a 4 of 5 star critique from Writer’s Digest (from a recent contest. I didn’t win, but that puts me in some rare air.)

Note: My publisher for Song of Simon is currently having problems with it’s printing company, so they’re not producing more books. If you have one, congrats. It might become a collectors item.

Watchmage black

SoS Practice Ad 1

guinea pig card

NYC Pride Parade

On Sunday I went to the Pride parade in NYC, what has become a yearly tradition for me. It runs right down 5th avenue, so you can imagine what it does to traffic. Then again, that’s what parades do.

I went with a bunch of friends, and we always set up in the same spot, right in front of Madison Square Park (no, it’s not by the stadium. Madison Square Garden used to be by the park, but they moved a few times. It’s now above Penn Station). We got there early so that we could be in the front row. As usual, it’s worth it.

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Uneasy Riser

I don’t need a rooster to wake me in the morning. My cock is the sun (hehehehe)

Everyday I wake up the moment the sun comes over the mountains (did you know that the suburbs of NYC are all mountains?) like a troop of boyscouts singing a hiking song (why do they do that? Do trees like music?). In the winter it’s not so bad, but for the past two months, I’ve been waking up at 5, even 4:30. Today I was up at 5:15. My brain is boiled like an authentic bagel (no steaming!!!!)

Heck this heckin nonsense. It’s doing me a significant frustrate.

doggo do a hold

On the bright side (no word play intended) I start work early. On the dark side (I love that song), I’m exhausted and unmotivated all day. Only the lure of catching Pokemon gets me outside.

BTW: I just hit Level 31 in Pokemon Go. That makes me super cool.

I am supposed to be promoting The Watchmage of Old New York. No motivation. I’m supposed to be writing a list of questions for my editor. No motivation. My motivosity is on the fritz.

This is why I can’t write nice things.

Heck. Need coffee.

coffee surprised

doge in space card redux

My Gramma

Today my gramma turns 100. While that’s amazing and rightful deserves a party, my gramma isn’t the woman that I remember. Ever since my mother died a few years ago, she’s gone downhill, like she lost the will to live. And yet her body refuses to let her. She has been in constant pain for years from diabetic neuropathy. Over the last year, a series of blood infections have done a serious number on her brain. My gramma was also a kind person, very involved in local charities and organizations. Now she does none. And she’s no longer kind. My aunt gives her nurses weekly tips because she is such a handful.

We’re having a party, and I am very worried about this. My gramma lives in a Bronx apartment. Small and awkward. And the entire family is coming in. I expect about 30 people and decades of family feuds.

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Coffee and Hard Truths (In that Order)

Earlier in the month I talked about how my doctor recommended cutting down on my coffee intake and increasing non-caffeinated fluids into order to regain my scattered concentration. I did it. I cut down to 20-30 oz a day, and increased my other fluids to close to a half gallon.

To my surprise, it worked. Of course this could be that I was in a minor manic cycle and I’ve come out of it. Or it could be that my coffee intake increased my anxiety, triggering the manic cycle. I honestly don’t know.

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Man or Turtleman?

If you follow my blog, you already know that I have a deep affection for turtles. My pet turtle, Shelvin, just turned 34 last month, and he’s still going strong. Yes, he has scars from a bad case of shell rot (He stayed at my brother’s place while I was homeless, and he didn’t know that you’re not supposed to keep a turtle in an area without light).

Turtles might not develop as unique and complex a personality as cats or dogs, but they still show individuality. Shelvin is different from other pet turtles. He has charisma. He watches me all the time and gets so excited when I walk by his tank that he pecks the tank to get my attention. She stares at my giant Godzilla toy. He doesn’t like to be touched or picked up by anyone but me. And he’s sneaky, trying to take advantage of my bad memory by begging for food.

Shelvin rainbow

(Shelvin with light from a prism shining on him)

What can I say? I like turtles.

But there’s more to it. I think that I like turtles because I secretly wish that I was one. A turtle can hide in his shell, and no one questions that. A turtle doesn’t need to deal with bullshit. A turtle is protected by armor, and even when vulnerable, he still has that shell to save him. A turtle doesn’t give a damn about your opinion.

I wish that I had that. I wish that I didn’t bounce between depression, anxiety, and mania. I wish I had a shell to hide in. I wish I had a tank to keep my suffering to myself.

All I want is to go through life without hurting anyone. A shell around me would do that.

Now if only it came with a mind eraser to forget all of my regrets. And there are many.

doge in space card redux