Sunday, February 1, 2015

Twelve Fucking Pounds

Waking up for a day job on a Sunday morning has always been one of the most depressing things in the world to me. Where the service industry is concerned, Sundays do not bring out the best the world has to offer. The interesting and the kind and the generous are all home, hung over, cuddling their loved ones, watching Netflix while the day of rest hours pass by, creeping closer to Monday morning’s reminder that most of us are slaves to some kind of wage. In my line of work, Sundays tend to bring out the silver spoon crowds, straight from the massive halls of some church just moments after the pastor has given them permission to go out into the world and completely forget everything that was just said. If you want a firsthand example in favor of the argument that religion is a fashion accessory and not a way of life, pick up a waiting job and serve some angry middle age bastard who still has the taste of communion wafers and wine on their tongue, and try to keep smiling while they bark at you as though personally have done something hideous to them. It’s not a pretty way to go about the day, and yes, people like this come at all business hours of the week, but they’re usually diluted in the crowd, like pepper in a mixed drink. Some sips, you just don’t notice them. But sometimes it all clumps at the bottom and when you take a drink you realize that it’s all fucked.

So yes, what else is new (or not so new)? While I wait for my second editor to finish her run on She Sees Metaphors, I’m dabbling in a few other projects, one of which will take point and become my second release. It’s an all ages novel, which is proving to be an incredibly tricky thing for me to work on, as not having characters who say “fuck” or detailed descriptions of sex is… odd, I guess. What do young people do when they’re not running around dropping f-bombs like a crazed war tyrants and trying to get intimate with someone? Quite a lot, I guess, but it’s unusual to focus on the non-subversive. As for details, all I will say for now is that it is an anthology novel in the magical realism/fantasy genre, although I am trying to add gothic elements here and there, if I can.

I have gained twelve pounds. I know that listening to someone who is thin whine about their weight is annoying, but I don’t give a fuck, I gained twelve pounds. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and after stepping on the scale, worried that I would have lost weight as can be the first sign of having some sort of disease, I saw that I am now heavier than I was during my last visit. I was devastated.
“It’s your winter coat,” the hippy said. “You’ll lose it once it’s warm and you start biking again.”
Me: *uncontrollable sobs*
“And, well… you do have a deep fryer now…”
Me: “Hey, let’s not go pointing fingers and assigning blame where it doesn't belong.”
So yes, I am now a part of the obesity epidemic that is plaguing the United States. I am a part of the problem, not the solution. All may shame me and my disgusting ways. I am now starting to resemble my sister’s cat, a vile creature that I am currently babysitting.




Meet Jerri/ Niece Cat/ Duck Tail, as she shoves her face into my blanket and drools into it. This is one of her good angles. 


And finally, my deepest thanks to my friend and colleague Chris Galford for his amazing endorsement. . Kind words from Chris are nothing short of humbling and I could not have asked for a better first review. 

Now excuse me while I go eat my feelings.

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