Thursday, August 24, 2006

Musings of a Grocery Clerk

boy oh boy, somebody went in to the TQR offices and fucked shit up, bro. all the posts in the free market are gone. what happened, me wonders. did the oh so mighty on high archie come down and tweak something? did theo slide his fingers into the pie and fiddle-faddle? hard to tell. can't get in the back door to check things out, either. my passcode (for the super-secret back door sensor lock) doesn't work. hm. strange days.

so, ted, you got yerself some identity issues? gee, i'd feel sorry for you (yeah, i know, that's not what you want from anyone, you just wanted to come here and vent, thought it was safe, but then i, boligard doomey, showed up! hah hah!) but i got a friend who's a grocery clerk that has a wife who is slowly crippling him into a crumpled shape every mother in the iowa would love and he wants to write (don't know why i hang out with this guy, i hate writers) the next great horror novel but only succeeds in setting aside 3 hours a day to scribble down his crazy thoughts, 3 hours that could have been spent doing something useful like maybe putting in time at a second job seeing as how the money is gone and stocking shelves just barely pays the rent on the crappy apartment and the videos, plus there's the fact that he is getting old, and there's a rule somewhere that says when people get old they are no longer allowed to dream. this cat, this writer, says he's about to turn the corner of Crazy and Pitiful street, and he looks it; wan, waxy, sunken dark circles under his eyes, twitchy yellowed fingertips, a funny smell (urine? mildew?), unkempt hair. you might have identity issues, ted, but this writer cat is facing a deep pit few step back from. one good push...

i should send him here to vent. type out his life story, seeing as how he is a writer and that's what writers do, eh? maybe he'd do it, and maybe that'd help him get back on his feet. but he complains of having no time. he complains a lot. i'll ask him and see what he says. maybe we'll save a life, you and i, ted. maybe we'll save a life.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Fragged and Fragmented

What's a motherf'er supposed to do? I could compartmentalize better too if I was getting blowjobs from some vixen in the oval office. But that is, most definitely, way old news. But my point is that the day-to-day different worlds I'm facing these days(fatherhood; capital manager; wage slave [ie healthcare slave]; husband; erstwhile writer) is making me somewhat dimly defined as to what or who I am.

I'm finding the fact that fatherhood is winning out most often when I'm not at work earning a chance to earn affordable healthcare (my wages after the fact of the healthcare premium are negligible) because I really enjoy my son and watching him grow into himself a bit more each day.

The e-zine thing is still fun, but slow as hell. I'm no whizz kid when it comes to marketing. So, the forums are next to dead. Maybe I could get some affordable hospice care for them, too? Tell me how, and I'll do it. I want TQR's death to be as painless as possible, you know. And the writing is slow as hell too.

My relationship with my wife Pam is one of necessity right now and me trying to stay out of the way of her pregnant hormones. Hell hath no wrath like a woman impregnated? Isn't that how it goes? Well, it should...

Work sucks, but what can I do? It's my own damn fault for earning a college degree in English and Religion (double major, so fucking what?). Any of you young-uns out there reading this be warned: get a degree in engineering or something concrete enough to where you can apply it directly to the real world once you get out of the theoretical la la land of college.

I'm out.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Musing of an editor, twice removed.

What's it all about? You work, you have kids, you raise them to go to work. I don't know. You love. You hate. You try to leisure up, then realize that leisure is over-rated. What the hell?