So now what?

Well, I finally did it. I submitted my little writing sample to Text Broker.

For what it’s worth, here is what I wrote :

Once a week, me and my friends get together at our favorite restaurant to eat, relax, and chat. We are an educated bunch and we often end up discussing politics, world events, philosophy, and ethics.

But this weekly summit does not take place at a chic bistro or a hip cafe.

It takes place at Denny’s. Does that surprise you?

Why Denny’s? Lots of reasons.

We are a relaxed, unpretentious bunch, and Denny’s open and friendly atmosphere suits us just fine. None of us are millionaires, nor do we have exotic tastes, so Denny’s reasonable prices for simple Canadian fare is just what we are looking for in a place to hang out.

And none of us are too worried about what the neighbors think, so Denny’s reputation as a place even poor people can eat does not bother us one bit.

What’s more, we have a great relationship with the staff. They know what we like, so that if we feel like it, we can just order “the usual” and they know exactly what we mean. In return, we are courteous, patient customers who tip well every time.

So if you ever want to find us on a Friday night, just go to Denny’s around 9 pm, and look for the table in the back, next to the fireplace.

We’ll save a seat for you!

Hopefully, that is some five star writing right there. It looks good to me. Simple, clear, concise, with just the right amount of generic charm.

The bad news : after I submitted it, the website said “most submissions are rated within a week”.

Which means it could be more than a week till I receive my judgment. This makes sense, as they probably get a ton of submissions, but somehow I was not expected that.

The good thing about it is that it means that they are not just using some computer algorithm to decide how good a writer someone is, which is what I feared. They are obviously getting a live human being to read over the submissions and assign a rating to them.

I am a lot more comfortable being judged by a person. Good writing is good writing. I am pretty sure I can write well enough to make people happy. Maybe not five star happy, but still.

If it was just some computer program, the only way to make it happy would be to know what things it was looking for, and I make all kinds of “mistakes” from a computer program’s point of view.

That’s why I always turn grammar checking off when I use a word processor. Computer programs do not grok my flow. They do not understand that good writers are not restrained by the rules.

Good writers follow the rules of English, of course. But they also know when and how to break them in order to make their point more clearly.

Computer programs are like mindless administrators who enforce the rules regardless of their intent.

Good editors are like good leaders : they know the goal is the most important thing, not method.

So I am glad I will be judged by an actual person. But I am not keen on waiting that long!

I was really hoping my neuroses would not have that long to fester. Oh well. I will do my best to put it out of my mind and find other vaguely useful things to do with my time.

Like, for instance, finding a publisher and sending them my book, or rather, a book proposal. They are not keen to get people’s entire books without even knowing if they want the damned thing yet. And that holds true even in this age of electronic submissions.

At least with electronic media, they do not have to worry about being burdened with someone’s one and only copy of their precious, precious manuscript.

Do you suppose that the word processor, by dint of making it way easier to change manuscripts, actually improved the quality of writing over the years?

Certainly, it is a lot easier to fix the phrasing of a sentence or rework a paragraph with a word processor than with an old school typewriter. It is even easier than it was doing things longhand with a pencil and eraser.

At the very least, were I an editor, I would be glad to having less Liquid Paper to deal with every day.

That stuff is ugly and gross.

It has been a sleepy day for me. This despite my attempts to medicate myself out of this condition with diet cola. Why can’t I banish sleepiness with caffeine like everyone else?

Most of the time, it seems, it only makes me sleepier. Stupid random brain chemistry.

But I am glad I got the whole writing submission to Text Broker thing done. That can be my Accomplishment of the Day. Gone are the days when just getting this daily chuck of writing done was enough.

All that editing has made me crave something more, and so while I will continue to write in this space every day, I will also get something else done.

Editing, submitting, writing fiction, that sort of thing.

I have a pretty good idea for a science fiction short story (might be more like a novella) and I really should get around to working up an outline for the thing, then actually, you know, WRITE IT.

I am going to become a more active, engaged, and above all visible person in the New Year. I will, at last, emerge from my cramped cave and walk out into the warm bright light of day.

I am super talented as a writer, and it is time I went out and proved it to the world.

Especially in that whole “getting money to do it” sense of the word.

Because god damn it, I do not deserve to be so broke!

Becoming a dealer

A dealer in text, that is. (Why, what did you think?)

A chance encounter with an online friend took me to a pretty awesome site called Text Broker.

It is a pretty simple idea. People who want something written go there and submit a description of what they want. A writer like me comes along, reads the description, and writes it for them. Communication back and forth for revisions etc occur, and when the client is satisfied, a standard per word rate is charged.

It is basically a way to make freelance writing easy to do and easy to buy, and sounds absolutely fantastic. They pay via PayPal, which means that I see eBay purchases in my future.

There are a few psychological hurdles, though. The first one was that the main site, Text Broker, only works for people in the States.

But luckily, they have another site, Text Broker UK, which works for people in the UK, New Zealand, Australia, Canada and the Republic of Ireland. So all us in the Commonwealth, it would seem.

So I signed up for the UK site. First hurdle cleared no problem. The crowd goes wild.

Next hurdle : on the sign up screen, there are around forty potential “areas of expertise” type categories so I can tell them what topics I am qualified to cover. Eep, I think. I am a total generalist. I am not an expert in anything. This is one of those things where they suddenly expect me to know things.

I’m a writer! We don’t have to know things, we just have to make things up. I mean, I know a lot of things, but it is all eclectic and random. I don’t know enough about any one thing to be considered an expert on it. What now? AAAAAH!

But I manage to talk myself down from that ledge by rephrasing it as “can I write competently about this subject?” And that lowered the bar enough for me to feel comfortable clicking some stuff.

Plus, I found a few categories where I feel totally comfortable declaring myself an expert, namely Astrology (I got mad skills there) and Humour.

Do I know humour? Do fleas love a dog’s nuts? (No seriously… do they? I need to know for my first article… don’t ask why. )

And other things, like Science, are things I am confident that I understand well enough to be able to learn whatever I need to know for an article.

What I don’t know, I can Wiki. Isn’t modern technology wonderful? You do not need to know it, you just need to know enough to learn it and to know where the answers are found.

So I cleared the second hurdle without too much trouble. Might have graced the top slightly, but still, I got my momentum up.

But now I am at that third hurdle, and it’s a doozy, because I have to write a little sample of my writing skills, which will then be evaluated and given a rating.

And that rating will determine how much I get paid per word.

Check out the pay table linked here. I used the US pay table because the other one is… confusing.

Presumably, it goes without saying (too late!) that if they rate your writing at one star, you are not good enough to write anything for anyone. You probably have your caps lock key on all the time, speak entirely in text message/meme patois, use quotes for emphasis, and currently have drool soaking through the straps of your safety helmet.

So it starts at 2 stars, which is described, inaccurately, as “legible”. That is a word that usually only applies to handwriting. As we are all typing words for fonts to render on a screen, all our words are equally legible. On a letter per letter basis, we are all just as easy to read.

It’s when you get up to the word level that differences appear.

The differences between 2 stars, 3 stars, and 4 stars are not that big, although of course, I would be downright humiliated if I got a 2 star rating, apart from making only 0.7 of a penny per word!

But then they dangle that five star rating out there, where I could get five cents per word instead of the next rating, which is only 1.7 cents per word.

That is almost three times more. So I kinda want that five star rating bad.

But in order to get it, I have to first write 120-250 words on these fascinating topics :

-Sightseeing in your city (or your favourite city to visit)
-Party locations in your city
-Objective description of a technical object
-A description of your favourite shop, business, or brand

Wow, so many stimulating ideas, how could I ever choose?

But that is what freelance work is like. This is not art, it’s craft. It’s work.

It’s money earned via writing.

So it is not like the assignments I will be plucking will be any better. And they are all the sort of thing that tests how good someone is at the nuts and bolts of writing. Clarity, descriptive ability, concision, engagement, understanding of topic, understanding of market, and so on.

You know, the really tedious and boring stuff that happens to also be super relevant and important to whether your writing is any damned good, let alone whether anyone should be willing to pay for it.

So that is the final hurdle : having my writing judged for monetary value. Super eek!

Luckily, your rating is not set in stone, but updated with everything you write. So it is not like I get one shot and that is it for life.

Still, being a highly sensitive artistic type, I am a tad nervous about being judged like that. I just know that if I do not at least get a 4 star rating, I will be very depressed.

And I want that 5 star rating so bad I can taste it.

My god… is this what having ambition is like?

Friday Science Returns!

Let the drums crash and the trumpets blare! Science returns to these pages, and it is about time, too. This is the last Friday in December, and the whole excuse reason that I was skimping on the science this month was that I was still recovering from the National Novel Writing Month and writing The Road To Amarlea.

But I am done editing the thing (for now, at least…) and so that excuse has expired, plausibility wise. So it is time I got back to doing the only vaguely organized thing I do of a week, and that is talk SCIENCE!

First off, let us talk about a Japanese robot boy.

No, not this one.

I love how charmingly amateurish that version of the theme is. But then again, that is the theme I grew up with, getting up early before school to watch Astroboy at the wee hours of the morning, before Canada AM, an hour of the day well suited for absorbing surreal Japanese content.

But no, nobody is making a real Astroboy… yet. Instead, it is more like this :

Admittedly, not much to see yet. But I am highly interested in the fact that it is an artificial tendon driven robot. As someone in the comments for the article said, no more stepper motors and servos. They are inefficient, bulky, clumsy, and insufficiently analogous to the best suited mechanisms for the sorts of jobs that we have in mind for robots…. namely human beings.

We humans, after all, are extremely adaptable and capable, and we don’t work on pulleys and strings. Our movement is via paired muscles. One pulls one way, the other pulls the other way, and voila, you get the amazingly complex and powerful articulation of the human species.

The Swiss scientists working on this robotic boy (rather minimally named “Ro-Boy) claim it will be able to assist the elderly in all manner of household chores, but I am fairly certain that this is simply the standard justification that all roboticists use to justify their research these days.

In reality, we make robots because making robots is fun. We are trying to make artificial people because we human beings have a strong urge to reproduce, and when that meets science, you get roboticists.

Practical applications are secondary. We want to build friends (lovers?) we can program.

Now some bad science news… it is looking increasingly like the US federal justice system is riddled with bad forensic science.

This would upsets me even if I was not watching three episodes of Bones a day. It is a black mark on both science and justice, and there could be hundreds of people who are in jail right now solely because of this bad forensics. One sloppy scientist alone has caused thousands of cases to be reopened for scrutiny, and there are signs that she might not be the only one.

In fact, the way she acted might be a lot closer to standard practice than any of us would like to think, in which cases society will suffer the terrible blow of having its faith in its ability to punish the guilty and protect the innocent undermined.

And almost as bad, you just know that scumbag defense attorneys will be using this as fresh ammunition to attack forensic science in general and the scientists in particular in the future.

It’s a bad business all around. Doctor Temperance Brennan and Special Agent Seely Booth would both me scandalized and enraged about this whole situation.

And what would Hodgins and Angela think? Not to mention Cam, and the Intern of the Week!

Also disturbing is this story that combines two things that never go well together : the Chinese government, and brain science.

Turns out that the Chinese government is planning on “treating” drug addiction by modifying people’s brains in order to dull the pleasure centers.

This is some seriously medieval shit, folks. Sure, I imagine that modification of the brain to “ablate” parts of the brain that light up when an addict gets a hit could work to make them less addicted.

It could also lead to a paralyzing anhedonia that would lead to depression, despair, and suicide, let alone all kinds of unknown side effects from messing with a hughly active and important part of the brain.

And that assumes this “ablation” only destroys what is intended!

As a brain nerd, I am appalled at such a callous and narrowminded abuse of brain science in this way, not to mention the human rights horror of invading someone’s skull and messing with the very stuff of what makes them themselves in order to punish them for being vulnerable to drugs.

So to sum up, I clearly do not approve. This is turn of the twentieth century thinking, no more enlightened than the lobotomy.

And like the lobotomy, I am sure it will be judged “effective” by the narrow and deceptive criterion of clinical utility. No doubt the “ablated” patients will initially test as far less susceptible to drug addiction, and all will celebrate the triumph of a cold new medical technique.

And whatever happens after that, well, you know… can’t make an omelet without breaking legs.

Finally, to end on a upbeat and cosmic note, next year there may be a truly spectacular light show in the sky thanks to a comet named Comet Ison.

It could be brighter than a full moon, and make for spectacular night sky viewing. Way more fun than that big tease Halley’s Comet, which if it wasn’t for good press would just be another moving dot in the sky.

Ison, on the other hand, is only recently discovered and if it manages to put on a big show for us this time, it could cement it as the really cool comet to watch for centuries to come.

Well that’s all, folks. The next time we meet to talk science, it will be the intensely ugly year 2013.

Can you believe we will have to put up with that shit for 12 months?

NOTE : How to get the full PDF of The Road To Amarlea

Easy! Just email me and ask.

I will email the PDF to you in return.

But remember, you can share it via email all you like, but DO NOT upload it anywhere that the general public can get at it.

No temp file services, no FTP sites, no websites, nothing. That would count as publishing and publishers do not like books that have already been published.

Other than that, though, share away!

Something about something else

I have decided that, what with my browser becoming increasingly cluttered with links and my deep down need to take a freaking breather from the constantly self-examination and navel sniffing, now would be a good time to go back to the well and share some stuff with you nice people that has almost nothing to do with me.

Weird, I know. And today was even a therapy day! The sheer amount of willpower involved in not horking up my therapy cud to chew on is nothing short of spectacular, don’t you think?

Sorry for that mental image, but I write what the muse tells me.

I write on the wind with words of fire! And, apparently, vomit.

First off, check out this amazingly well written article telling the Republicans down south just, exactly, why they lost the election last time ’round.

Not only is it impeccably well written, with marvelous lines like “As a Card-Carrying White Male I love expressing my opinion irrespective of whether people care to hear it…” but the writer goes to great length to establish his lily white male bona fides, including the fact that his family traces their lineage all the way back to the frigging Mayflower.

I seriously recommend reading it, even though it is now well over a month old and it was written shortly after the election. The points are made extraordinarily well and I think make a very good nonpartisan case for just how wildly radical the Republican platform has become and just how far from true mainstream American opinion they have strayed.

They thought they could always just tell Americans what to think. But the American people have their own opinions and you keep up or get left out.

Watching the sunset of an era of conservatism is a darkly satisfying thing. I just wish it didn’t have to come to this every single time.

Bringing things down to a more personal level, we have this extraordinary story of a 21 year old university student who had to get a restraining order against her own parents.

It is a very unusual thing for a judge to basically declare a young woman’s parents to be stalking her, but these parents are apparently total psychos who make the average “helicopter parents” look like absentee parents who leave a bowl of cereal out once a month with a note that says “Don’t burn stuff.”

They regularly drove 600 miles from their home to their daughter’s university for unannounced visits, and follow her around tracking her every move, and making wild accusations of promiscuity, drug use, and mental health issues.

Classic control freak shit. They probably believed what they said when they said it. Controlling people have no problem imagining that their loss of control can only mean chaos, death, and destruction. That level of controlling behaviour can only stem from a very distorted sense of the world that only trusts that which it can completely control.

How bad did it get for this poor girl? Check this out :

The parents became such an issue that the school hired security guards to keep them out of their daughter’s performances. When the parents stopped paying her tuition because she’d cut off all contact with them, the school gave her a full scholarship for her final year.

Obviously, the school knows the parents are psychotic. Is anyone surprised to find out that the girl is an only child? As a very dear friend, also an only child of controlling parents, recently said : “Have more than one kid!”

Bet your parents seem sane compared to these ones, though, don’t they dear?

And while I am speaking to my dear friend, here is a piece she will like : Peter “Boson” Higgs takes on the anti-religious zealotry of Richard Dawkins.

My friend and I have deep, deep issues with rabid fundamentalist atheist like the kind Dawkins promulgates. It is as hateful and vicious and dehumanizing as any other form of intolerance, and if these rabid anti-theists think they are somehow advancing their cause with their bellicosity, they are sorely mistaken. Like all vocal bigots, all they are really doing is fostering hate in the hearts of others by encouraging them to abandon any shreds of true humanism for the jingoistic joy of feeling better than others. They rally the base, but they make no conversions.

In fact, they do quite the opposite. They force a nontheist like myself to align against them, because I am a true humanist and that means I must do my utmost to maximize tolerance of diversity. When you truly embrace love of humanity, you embrace love of the humanity in us all and come to understand that it is our common humanity that unites us, and intolerance of difference which drives us apart.

Dawkins is a bigot, that is all there is to it. And that is the sort of thing that has made me stop identifying as either a skeptic or an atheist, although both labels fit my point of view in many ways.

So I am quite happy that the Higgs of the superstar particle the Higgs Boson is using his newfound high soapbox of credibility and visibility to speak out against this kind of intolerance.

I don’t think religion is true. I think we would be better off without it. But one of the things that international communism proved is that you absolutely cannot take people’s religion away.

If Soviet suppression could not kill it, your angry wounded barking won’t do it. The only cure for religion is knowledge and understanding, not hate and vitriol.

And I find it strange how all these people who hate religion offer no substitute. Religion continues to thrive because it fills a number of needs, and does it better than any cobbled together patchwork of secular substitutes. Pure reason does not cut it for most people.

So unless you have something better to offer people, they are not going to give up what they have. You and I can go on about the awe and majesty of the natural world, but that is small comfort to someone who is dealing with the loss of a loved one, or suffering terrible poverty, or racked with pain from illness.

What do we have to offer those people?

Cold, calculated clinical cynicism?

We have to do better than that.

The Day After

Ho ho ho and a Merry Christmas Plus One, also known as the Day After Xmas or, as it’s known here in Canada and a number of former British colonies, Boxing Day.

First off, let me apologize for not writing anything yesterday. Believe me, I am as upset about that as you are, maybe even more. But events conspired to leave me absolutely no time in which to write anything, and I had to make some executive decisions.

Mostly, the issue was sleep. I slept for a lot of Xmas day, and by the time I was even faintly competent for consciousness, it was time to leave for supper at Joe’s parents’ place.

And it was quite a pleasant evening, as per usual. I was not doing all that hot at first, to be honest. We had another overflow incident with my toilet on Xmas day, complete with the fellow from the apartment below us, apartment 109, knocking on the door all agitated and clearly pissed off and freaking out, but too polite or shy to really let me have it.

Which of course only makes me feel worse. Sigh.

Well, that and knowing I ruined his Xmas, assuming he celebrates it. (Around here, you can’t be sure. This is a highly ethnically diverse area. And I cannot for sure place his ethnicity. He might be Asian, he might be Latino, not sure. So who knows?)

I am trying not to take too much guilt on board this time. I mean, I feel bad that this happened but accidents happen and I don’t need to go into the whole detonation of my entire self-worth like has happened in the past when this sort of thing went down.

I might not be able to help it, granted, but I am not going down without a fight. Plus, I see my therapist tomorrow and I can tell him about it and maybe get some support.

What the hell, it’s worth a try.

So anyhoo, I was sleepy, dehydrated, my blood sugar was low (undereating again, tsk tsk) and I was feeling pretty depressed when we headed for Joe’s parent’s place.

And so I was not feeling wonderful when I got there, but I did my best to be a pleasant and interesting guest. I was probably a little quieter than usual, because it is sort of hard to be quick with the banter when you are feeling all dragged out and fucked up.

But eventually, when I had enough food in me and my chemical state stabilized a little, I was feeling fine and quite enjoying myself, and glad that when I had been very down and sleepy, I had not given in to the temptation to ask Joe to drive me home so I could sleep.

(It’s a short drive, so it would not have been that big a deal. )

But instead, I stuck it out, and I am glad, because it was a very nice evening. We ended up playing a rather fun game called Quiddler. It’s kind of a cross between Scrabble and gin rummy or other trick-taking card games.

You are dealt cards with letters and point values on them, just like Scrabble tiles, and the idea is to use up all your cards to make words of at least two cards. When you can do that. you can go “out” like in gin rummy, and everyone else gets one last turn to make up as many words as they can.

That is the basic idea, anyhow. It is a lot of fun for a word nerd like me. I came in second-last, alas, but I don’t feel too bad about it, because I figure that, assuming all players are at a certain minimum ability, the game really boils down to luck. Who gets what juicy point-laden cards.

Which is a little disappointing, really. It seems like a game of skill, but it’s not. Oh well.

And because fate is a perverse bitch, even though historically when I do this Xmas thing with Joe’s parents, I am very sleepy afterward, this time I was wide awake and perky.

This is largely due to running out of my sleeping pills. I miscalculated when I told my therapist that I had enough pills for the week and I am all out. And the main symptom of withdrawal for quetiapine is just plain not sleeping.

Which is very annoying. I could not sleep a wink. I tried to sleep at around 1 am, but I got nowhere. Laid there wide awake for a long time, then said to heck with it and got up, and just messed around online between 2:30 and 6 am.

Then I went and had some breakfast, and after that, I was able to finally, eventually, after two rounds of light exercise, get to sleep.

Oh, right, gifts! Gotta trawl my haul for y’all.

From my mother, I got new undies, some very nice black socks, and some comfy fuzzy slippers. I am wearing the slippers right now, as well as a pair of the socks. They make for a very cozy combo! My feet feel all toasty warm now.

And given my diabetes, that is a distinctly good thing.

From my sister Anne, I got a $75 gift certificate from L. L. Bean. I am going to spend it on some sleep pants (AKA pajama bottoms) and a pair of gloves, once I get an issue with the web site resolved.

From my sister Catherine, I got a very nice pair of sneakers. The kind I like, the kind that are sort of like boots but comfy like sneakers. Best of both worlds.

Although I will have to get used to tying my laces again. My last pair of sneakers, soon to be lain to rest, were Velcro tabbed.

From my brother Dave, I got an amazon.ca gift certificate which I have already spent on a game for the Wii. Super Mario Galaxy 2. It has a Metacritic rating of 97 percent. Who am I to argue with that?

Plus Xenoblade Chronicles is crazy expensive.

That’s my Xmas, more or less. How was yours?

Xmas Eve thoughts

Well, here it is, Christmas Eve. I think I have a guest coming over to keep me company tonight. I won’t say who, but he’s a faithful reader.

And speaking of readers, dear readers, I finally finished editing my book, The Road To Amarlea, that I wrote for the National Novel Writing Month last month.

So I should be turning it into a PDF and sending it out to whoever wants it quite soon. I hope to do it today, but alas, sleep difficulties have eaten up way too much of my time today and I will not have time to get that all organized.

Ah, sleep difficulties. Is there any other subject? This time, it was not trouble sleeping. It was trouble staying asleep, because I kept being woken up by a full bladder.

It got quite absurd and quite annoying. I could barely get an hour and a half of sleep before I would be woken up by a very full bladder yet again. This does not make for peaceful, restful sleep!

I seem to recall there is supposed to be a mechanism in the brain that slows down the production of urine while you sleep in order to avoid this very problem.

Well, mine is broken, or something.

Also… where the hell was I keeping all that fluid? And why should it choose now to make its exit? Is my salt level in my blood that low?

Come to think of it, last night, anything I drank seemed to go right through me. Not sure how to interpret that. Either I am well hydrated, so my body just passes it right through to waste as if to say “No thanks, we’re good!”, or I have such a low salt level that my body cannot retain fluid at all, and I am actually at risk of severe dehydration unless I drink fluids constantly and get some salt into me pronto.

Oh, my guest is here. Early. Oh well, he can wait till I am done writing. (Thank you for your patience dear! And your company!)

Anyhow, as far as I know, I should have enough fluids and enough salt in me. Then again, my blood sugar is way high, so all bets are off.

Plus I forgot to take my insulin last night. That might explain the fluid exodus right there. I am quite annoyed with myself over that. I have no idea whether the stuff is doing me any good or not, but still. Forgetting to take it it just plain not good.

I have been pondering the truth of my diabetes lately in an attempt to motivate myself to start exercising. What it basically means is that when I eat anything with carbs in it, my blood sugar level goes up and… just does not come down again.

That means there is all this blood glucose just building up in me, coursing around my bloodstream, gumming up the place and making life hard on pretty much my entire body, but especially my heart, my liver, and my precious, precious kidneys.

And that is just… gross. It is a disgusting and disturbing thought. And the insulin by itself just does not seem to be doing the trick. That leaves only one option left.

Becoming a reverse sugar vampire! Stalking my prey at health food stores and conferences for hypoglycemics, searching for those low blood sugar people and stalking them in the night, till I can seize them in my fell clutches and, through a process as yet unknown, but no doubt very impressive, force my blood sugar into them.

What the hell, they aren’t diabetic, their bodies will actually be able to use the stuff and they will return to normal and they can go back to their perfect lives where they can eat whatever they want and not have to worry about it building up in their bodies like engine deposits and killing them.

Not that I am bitter, or anything. (In fact, I am sickeningly sweet.)

And what the hell, it still beats exercising.

Seriously though, I want to stop being so sedentary. Even office workers in their cubicles move around more than I do. And the one way left to lower that blood sugar is exercise. All sources say that does it like a treat. Your metabolism wakes up, your muscles say “Oh, work!” and soak up glucose to meet the demand, and down goes the blood sugar level just like that.

This is beyond just wanting to lose weight, get in shape, and have energy.

It’s about saving myself from drowning in my own sticky goo, basically.

Plus, exercise reduces tension, elevates mood, and so forth and so on. All the other good stuff. There are a lot of perfectly sensible, logical, intelligent reasons to exercise.

But none of that matters without the motivation, or rather, without feeling the motivation. Depression blocks action across the board, and because it is, amongst other things, a profound chemical imbalance in the brain, all the things that should motivate action… don’t.

Or at least, face enormous mindless resistance. Only low effort, low risk, high reward things get through. And that does not cover much territory.

I am tired of living like that. I want more out of life than this sad little existence of mine. But it is taking a long time to rid myself of enough of that black cloud to break free.

Hopefully, eventually, I will reach the point of increasing returns, where the more energy I have, the more I do, and the more I do, the more energy I have in the long run.

Get my metabolism working at something above a hibernation level, and learn to live a little.

And not be so damned afraid of life!

I mean, other people are having a good time. Why not me? I want to reach out and grab the good stuff before it is too late and I am a dead duck.

And who knows how much longer I have?

Stapling Jello to the side of a moving bus

Going to try to get some of my dreams down here because the most recent round is still fairly fresh in my mind and seems pretty interesting.

I dreamed that it was my first day going to a simply massive university. Weirdly, the university seemed to consist mainly of one gigantic building. (Once more, my dreams take place in a large indoor location, even when it makes no damned sense. I am even agoraphobic in my dreams. )

The first part of the dream that I can recall, I am lost (of course) somewhere in the upper floors of this building. I think it had at least thirty floors.

I am lost because, while I managed to make it to my first class of the day, I have completely forgotten what other classes I have for the day, and need to go get a new college calendar from the office on the first floor in order to figure it out.

This is quite like the dreams where I am back in high school and can’t recall what classes I have at what times that day so I have to go ask in the school office. This actually happened to me several times when I was in high school, and it was always embarrassing because the secretaries would always make a big deal out of having to look up my schedule in the file cabinet.

I think this was because they did not want students making a habit of using them as their schedule keepers instead of actually filling out the schedule themselves. And you just know some teenagers would totally do that. The fact that I was not that kind of student was not exactly evident, given what a mess I tend to me and how I dressed all heavy metal back then.

Anyhow, this recent dream was the same sort of thing, just academically upgraded to a university that is primarily in an office tower.

And that kind of works, really. Office towers have offices for teachers and conference rooms for classes and break rooms for faculty lounges and so forth. I rather liked the atmosphere. It somehow felt a little homier and more relaxed and informal than the rather stiff vibe at a typical university.

Not your standard view of academia versus the private sector, but I am a distinctly nonstandard sort.

So there I am, in the dream world, wandering through a maze of corridors and conference rooms and lounges and so on. I keep having to pass through classes in session, or at least looking into them to see if there is a door leading to the stairs down to the next lowest floor. This is, of course, the thing a social phobic wants the least, but in my dream, I soldier on.

Not really much of a choice, to be honest.

The reason I have to keep looking for the stairs is that the elevators just don’t go all the way up to the floors I am on. This is not impossible in real life. I have been in buildings where the elevators do not go all the way up. I figure this is because the extra floors were part of an expansion and they decided that, to save having to expand the elevator shafts (which I imagine would be complicated and expensive), people could just use the stairs for those last few floors.

But still, not real likely. Whatever. Dreams.

So I have to go down at least three or four floors just to get to where the elevators start. At some point, I even tell people that it has taken me all morning just to get to the elevators.

The elevator is where things start to get seriously weird. For one thing, it’s a very large elevator, the size of a small office or break room itself.

It has bulletin boards on the walls, and I notice there is a notice on the wall that announces that the elevator now has a special express mode for people who need to get to the ground floor in a hurry.

Boffo, that sounds great, I think. The faster I get down there, the faster I can catch up with where the hell I am supposed to be right now.

So I press the special “express mode” button, and as others file into the surprisingly roomy elevator, I tell them this will be an express trip and they should be ready for a bit of a ride.

When I press the button, a strange pink plastic object is ejected, and I eventually figure that, in order to engage the express mode, I have to find the place where said object plugs into the elevator wall.

I guess, to keep people from engaging express mode by accident. Whatever.

So it’s a little like a drop ride going down, which I find fun. Then once I am down there, I ask some people where I would go to get a new calendar, and then things start getting really weird.

I am led to this spooky and abandoned looking building which I am told is the offices of the university, and some doors open up and this spooky evil voice says something like “Who goes there?”.

I tell it I want a new calendar, and it cackles evilly and says “Oh, I think I can make something like that for you..” and I get the feeling it is making some sort of evil automaton horse to act as my calendar. (What? Dunno. )

At that point, the person who brought me there says “I am so sorry, you should not have to deal with such a being!” and I get the feeling that said person is going to hold off the evil creature so I can escape.

So I start floating (yup… floating… ) as fast as I can towards where we came in, and I am terrified that this evil creature is going to get me.

Eventually, I escape, or the scene ends. The next bit of the dream I remember, I have gone to more or less a random class with the intention of asking my fellow students to borrow their calendars at the end of the class. But the classroom is warm and I end up falling asleep during the lecture.

And when I wake up, it’s the next day of classes.

Sleeping in my dreams again… that is just so weird.

Anyhow, as usual, there was more, but those are the major plot points.

Now, to go back to sleep, and dream anew.

Have a holly, jolly me

Finally, I am feeling the holiday spirit. Warmth and joy are filling me up, I feel way less tense and depressed than before, and I am looking forward to Xmas day and opening my prezzies from my family and all that good stuff.

Plus, dinner with Joe’s family on Christmas Day. Turkey turkey TURKEY. (Protip : I love turkey!)

I’ve got my Xmas gifts from two of my roomies. Well, sort of. Joe has assured me that he ordered a bunch of shirts for me from my ancient Cafe Press store.

Warning, the layout is a tad crude. But I designed all those shirts and whatnot myself, many a moon ago. The idea was that it would be an outlet for my comedy writing skillz and a way to make some cash.

But like all of my creative projects so far, it failed utterly due to my complete inability to promote myself. Well, and the fact that my graphic skills are below primitive.

And I got a little too into the funky font thing. My dear friend Felicity could probably have done a better job. Now and then I tell myself that I should start over and keep things simple. See what sort of style the most popular stuff uses and try a close variant of that for my funny, funny words.

In other words, totally copy their style then file the serial numbers off. Hey, I am not a visual artist, I am a wordsmith. When it comes to the visuals, I have no style, no pride, and no artistic integrity.

Whatever gets people to buy my stuff is fine by me. I would really, really, really love to be able to earn my living, or at least some cash. Earning income would vastly improve my self-image and do wonders for my depression due both to that and just plain being able to buy nice things for myself and make me feel way less restricted and limited and cramped up inside.

The real prescription for my depression would be money, as is true for a lot of poor folks. Living on $8k/year is just plain depressing on its own. I bet if I had even a minimum wage standard of living, I would be less than half as depressed as I am now.

Sadly, the usual way to get one of those is to work a minimum wage job, and I am not capable of that, for I am disabled. And for the crime of being unable to work, society has decided that I deserve only barely enough money to live on.

After all, we don’t want people who can’t work to be happy. We just want to make sure they don’t die, because that would make us feel bad.

But happiness without work? Perish the thought!

Um. But back to holly jolly thoughts!

I guess along with the Xmas spirit, I am also feeling a little holiday blues. The holiday is very consumerist, after all, in addition to being able family and friends and goodness.

Oh right, I don’t get the family or friends thing, either. Riiight. Geez, no wonder this holiday is so fraught with peril for me. It sucks to be a sentimental sensitive soul like me with none of the usual ways to celebrate the day available to me. Le sigh!

But like I said before, I refuse to cynically reject Christmas just because it has not had much for me in it for a while. Some day I will have a family of my own to share it all with, and I see no reason to reject it when I fully plan on embracing it wholeheartedly again some day.

For now, I drift between embracing it the best I can, and enduring it.

I get the feeling that a lot of people feel the same way about it.

I suppose to start a friend, I will at least need a boyfriend, or ideally, a husband. (What can I say, I am a monogamy minded person. I want a man I can devote myself to, and who in return spoils and indulges me. Transient romance is very nice, I suppose, but I want something that endures. )

And that would involve meeting a lot more frogs to find my prince, and by “a lot more” I mean “any”, because right now, my entire dating world presence is a few profiles on a few dating sites that have completely failed to generate much of a response, probably because they are all wordy and weird.

But hey, “wordy” and “weird” are two of my primary personality traits. If they can’t handle that, we probably will not get along anyhow.

Or at least, that is what I tell myself. I admit, I have played with the idea of creating a totally bogus dating persona called “HorseHungBillionaire” and seeing how many people respond, but I am not quite that cynical. I would feel bad about getting people’s hopes up, even if they are vain, shallow, pathetic people who lack the common sense to wonder why someone like that would be on a dating site.

Fun to think about, though. Get a public domain image of a super hot guy. Write a profile where he’s just a lonely poor little rich boy looking for someone to rescue from their shitty lives and turn into a modern prince. “But you have to be able to handle my ten inch cock… ”

OK, I admit it. The evilness of my mind scares me a little sometimes. I am sure glad that I am a basically very nice and caring person and so I would never do some of the things my wicked and devious brain cooks up. I just think the bad thoughts, enjoy them, and then… put them away.

Intellectually, this is, I admit, a little like the guy with a million guns who polishes them all the time but keeps assuring people he would never, ever use them on anyone.

Not while there’s still other options open to them….

Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year, people!

Not even going to try

I am not even going to pretend that I have any idea what to write about today. I am bereft of intention and so, fair warning, I will be winging it for the next 1000 words or so, give or take.

I mean, even more than usual, that is.

I seem to be experience the flip side of the super sleepy times, namely, super awake times. That is, in its own way, just as irritating. I am tired and I want to sleep, but I am not exactly sleepy, and sleep just plain does not come.

So it is feast or famine in the Land of Nod for me, it seems. Why can’t I ever have what normal people take for granted? I would love to say my weirdness is entirely by choice.

But it ain’t, and it never has been. I came into the world weird and I truly think I never had a chance at being normal. Not with this hyper bright blinding light of an intellect scorching and distorting everything.

Right now, I am feeling kinda twitchy, kinda squirrelly, kinda on edge. That is pretty normal for sleep dep, or at least, frustrated desire for sleep.

Not being able to sleep when I want to sleep is one of the few things that can make me cranky. I have a low grade headache and my nerves are on edge. I have the urge to beat the crap out of an inanimate object till I got my angries out and then curl up on a sofa and nap.

The first bit is the tricky bit. Napping, I got down.

Going to go to Denny’s tonight and do our little Xmas between us roomies. I got all the presents, although Julian’s will not be here until the New Year.

Well, that is what happens when I don’t know what you want until the 20th. It’s not like I can afford expensive one day shipping.

I am a Super Saver Shipping kinda of guy.

And Joe’s gift is here on my hard drive. He gave me a list of mp3’s he wanted me to secure for him. After much futzing with Chrome extensions (not a shiny hair thing, it’s what Google Chrome calls addons) that purported to allow me to download mp3’s from YouTube but just plain did not work, I decided to go back to Video2Mp3.net, which is rather spammy, but at least it works, unlike my preferred site, YouTube-MP3.org, which used to work great but now works only sporadically.

I mean, it gives an error that “Google Inc doesn’t want you to be able to download this content’. Well duh! I kind of assumed that was already implicit in our relationship. It’s like going to a site that used to let you walk into a bank vault and suddenly it’s bricked over, with a sign saying “The bank does not want you taking its money” and a link to a petition to be allowed back in.

Luckily, Video2Mp3.net does not get hung up on such petty and outdated qualms. They rip the audio directly from the temporary FLV file that sits on your computer when you view a video on YouTube. The computer has to make such a file in order to buffer the video and provide you with at least a chance of a stutter free playback.

And Video2Mp3.net just yoinks the audio from there directly, and YouTube and their Google Masters are none the wiser.

See? All simple and legal like. And there is no way to prevent it, either. So stick that where the sun don’t shine and smoke it, you RIAA goons.

I have been a shameless data pirate since the days of vinyl. When we first got a tape cassette recorder, the first thing I did with it was record (through the air) some of my favorite tracks off of various LPs my family had. I recorded music off the radio all the time, then when the VCR came along, I recorded music videos off of MuchMusic almost obsessively.

Software piracy also happened. Heck, I pirated a video game for the Vic-20, and I used my brother’s dual deck ghetto blaster to do it. (Yes, my children, at one point, you could get a video game on an audio cassette. It was a strange and wondrous time. )

When we got our first PC, the piracy began in earnest. When the battle came down to a sense of ethical obligation to people I would never meet versus my voracious appetite for video games, the straight and narrow path never stood a chance.

Don’t Copy That Floppy? Yeah, get real, Magical Rapping Black Guy. I will copy that floppy till it’s melted and sloppy, Poppy.

I still remember the day that I learned about mp3s. The idea that I could get any song I wanted was so huge, I couldn’t take it all in at once. I just sat there, the rough explanation I had been given circling in my mind, waiting for there to be somewhere to land.

And then, of course, I went absolutely berserk getting every song I could think of, and then some. If you thought I had an appetite for video games and books, they are nothing compared to my appetite for music.

Video games and books, after all, keep you busy for hours. Music lasts three or four minutes per song. It takes so much more music to keep the tunes going, and I gots to have my TUNES.

So yeah. I have been a data pirate (yar!) for a long long time. The only reason it stops for long periods is that I am either using a video game device that makes piracy impossible (like cartridge based systems) or I have found such a rich trove of games that I will never run out (hello, Flash games online!).

Well, and occasionally, I actually have to money to buy video games. Like, legally.

Of all the means of getting my fix, that one is, historically, the weirdest.