Friday, August 01, 2014

20140722 Dentist eye doctor with After Uncle Beast and some Disappearing

20140722 Dentist eye doctor  Took ML and Paul to the denist today, eye doctor tomorrow.
            to-do,
        order shoes for Rachel.  Have them sent directly to her.  Have them gift wrapped.
        Work on story to share with Janet
        clean for Sam and Joan
        cook for Sam and Joan and Janet
        find Pandora!
        buy more barrettes!! X2 or 3
        look for missing barrete
            Tuesday, July 22, 2014, 8:31 PM I am out walking 15 minutes.  I walked 30 earlier, while ML and Paul were getting their teeth cleaned. 
            After I took Ml back to her apartment on 19-mile road, I drove back down Garfield to Utica to Masonic to Grosbeck and down Grosbeck looking for Target because I wanted to buy a pair of shorts.  I only have one pair that fits and it needs to be washed.  But Grosbeck Highway was a real schmazz of traffic, like 9 lanes wide and building crammed on top of buildings I couldn't find Target, and then got a little lost trying to get back to I94.  And it was rush hour.  Not my kind of fun.
            I went to the health food store.  I had a ten dollar coupon.  But I got a lot of stuff, including more sauerkraut.  And sprouted grain flour.  And some Lundberg chips which were dusted with sugar.  I bought sesame seaweed without reading the ingredients.  I hadn't had any lunch and was starving.  I ate the whole bag (six servings).  ;-{  It says 1 g of sugar per serving, so that was six grams of sugar.  I also got two sm popcorn chips, one for me and one for Graham, we'll see if he eats them first, before I do.
            I won't eat his, but he might eat mine.
            It's very hot today, temps in the mid nineties and still extremely hot in the evening, and maybe a little more humid, or maybe I am making my own humidity.  Cicadas humming.
            There is a guy on bike almost in the middle of the road who is apparently texting or looking at his phone's GPS or maps or something.  He's propped on the bike and all the cars are going around him. Stupid, why doesn't he just move over a little?
            So, did I mention that ML sprung my taking her to the eye doctor tomorrow, and didn't mention it until we were on the way home from the dentist?  I am not very happy about it
            Wednesday, July 23, 2014, 5:35 PM, I am out walking.  Today, I took ML to the eye doctor.  I brought Serenity (Serena), the new Surface pro, but forgot the Psion, so then, I did not want to stop and walk because I didn't have my Psion.  Although I haven't been waiting anything important. (like poems or working on my novel). 
            It was a lng row to hoe, but it worked out OK.  I only had less than an hour to get ready this morning, and had some thing I needed to do unrealted to getting ready, eg, email Harry Teichert re: Keith's coming home at 3 instead of 5 etc.  (Several other things, too, all of which took time, so that I did not get a showers or get washed up or do my hair or make myself a lunch.  (I did grab a bag of popcorn chips, which is what I had for munch.)
            In spite of several delays (construction on Mack blocing the road) and other problems, I managed to get up there by noon.  (I also had some lucky breaks, too, catching a series of lights that allowed me to make up some lost time).  ML was waiting in the lobby and we went back down to Little Mack, sounth of ten mile road,   They informed us we'd be there several hours. 
            When we got there, I briaded my hair and then we went in for eye drops (ML) and then went back out and I ate my chips, shared a few with her, and then they said we had to wait 30-45 minutes for the eye drops, so I was going to take a 15-minute walk, but just as I got out to the car, a lady who'd been sitting near us ran out to get me because they'd called her in  I wanted to go in with her because she doesnt' hear well and doesn't always understand, so I wanted to hear what was said in case there was something we needed to know.
            This is what the doctor said, Dr. Valice.  He said that her macular degenration is not as bbad as he'd suspected, because of her vision loss, but instead, he thinks there is a damaged nerve, damanged by an "ocular stroke" and he wants to do some additonal testing.  So we have to go back Wednesday, August 13.  At 1:30??  I forget the time.  I need to find my paper calendar. 
            I just wrote Heidi a longsh email on my cell phone while walking.  It was extremly tedious becuse of the tiny keyboard.  Straining to do it made my back hurt.
            I jog a little.  Just a little.  I'm kind of stuff.  But when I unloaded my pockets earlier today, when I got back from shopping at Target, did I mention that?  When I left ML's apaprtment,  I had to go up to carry her stuff up for her, I programmed Gloaria Garmin to go to the Target on Gratiot.  She pronounces Gratiot "Gey-shit."  Anywa, I went there, bought myself two pairs of shorts, a shirt, 3 washcloths, and got a shirt for Keith and some eye vitamins for ML.  When I got home, K said he'd wash the shorts etc so I took off the ones I was wearing and piled them with the new ones and his new undies and our new shirts.  And when I unloaded the pockets of the one pair of shorts I had that fit, out came my pain pill bottle with aceametaphin, ibuporphe, and meloxicam.  My hips hurt right now.  They are uncomfortable and tight, but not yet bad enough for meds.  I haven't used ANY of the pain pills I carry around for emergencies in weeks.  I should check the condition of them before I reload my pockets. 
            Anyway, that's one small improvement, on thing to be grateful for.  I have not been sleeping veryw ell, but still have less pain.  a little less itching.
            On the other hand, every day that goes by without my working on the novel is one day less of my life avaialble to work on the novels.
            Thursday, July 24, 2014, 1:09 PM   I am at Brian Power's, in his waiting room.  I raced around doing stuff and forgot to get clean shorts from the dryer, so I am wearing some that keep trying to fall off.  I did not have time to do my ahir, and I am missing one of mt vbarrettes.  It may be lost in the house or may be permaently lost.  I probably should buy some more
            I wonder if I can write my worry list and my gratitude list for the evening earlier in the day.  It seems as if my worry list is primarily a to-do list, thing that need to be done that I lay awake thinking of at night.  It also includes negative feels--I feel sad about, I feel guilty about.
            It is a lovely day at Pier Park, cooler and less humid than it was earlier in the week
            I start a file of worries and my most immediate worry is being attacked by an agressive red-winged blackbird.
            It's quite low humidity today and the horizon is a sharp almonst black line gaisnt a paule blue. 
            The litle 4H sailboats are out.  Others as well.  A speedboat zooms by the 4H sailboats.  Then the same speed turns and zooms past again.  Some of the children's boats nearly topple.
            I am sitting at the end of the long jetty.  Only for a minute or two.  I wish I were walking on my novel.  ;-{
            There are four sailboats with striped balloon-like sails.
            I didn't have time to braid my hair today and it is getting all wind-blown and probbly snarled.
            2:57 PM Now I am up on the observation tower.  There are teenage girls sunning up here, and eating French fries.  "I miss Maddie" on of the says. 
            Someone nearby is washing the inside of their boat with a hose.  Spraying under the cover.
            "What time is it?" the same girl asks. 
            "Three o'clock"
            "Moan, I have to go,"  She stands up, all numbile and pretty.  "When we get closer to our bikes," she says, "I'll put more on.  Did you not put your bathing suit on?"
            "No the other girl says.  Let me finish my french fries."
            I get up and leave, so I don't hear any more of their conversation.  They are both pretty and have nice bodies.
            I listen to a conversation of youngert teens, boys whose voices haven't changed yet.  I dodge a teenage boy who is trying hard not to walk too close to his parents and so is babout run me down. 
            This is primarily a palce of priviledge.  Kids wander around unsupervised because it is a gated park.Only the youngest kids are shepherded around by their parents.
            I'm only taking a half-hour walk because I have to walk to the store when I get home.  W!hen I get to the beach, there is only one kid in the water.  He is a black kid, the only black kid on the beach.  But shortly, other kids jpoin him.  There are two preteens.  One is very shapely, with wide hips.  Her legs are tanned up to nearly ger crotch and she is wearing a two-piece bathing suit so that the untanned white-pink flesh around her tiny white suit bottom draws attention to her sexual area.  She looks too yound to be that --that sexual looking.  I mean, I worry about her innocence and safety.
            4:19 PM, I am headed toward Chalfonte to walk around the block to go to VM to shop for dinner etc.  Keith is on ten so he may not want to cook spaghetti tonight, not that I'd blame him.  So we may have hamburgers instead. 
            I am feeling sad to not be working on my novel.  I'm getting separated from it again, not good.
            One worry is temporarily postponed.  I got a note from Janet Braunstein and she's sick and wants to postpone tomorrow's meeting.  This is not good for her, and I'm sorry she's sick, but5 it lets me concentrate on fewer things at once,  like Sam and Joan visiting Saturday (I need to clean and cook). 
            All my prjects seem to be on hold becuase of life.  Tha5t is, ML, Samd Joan, Janet etc.  I would like to see each of them, it's only when things pile up that I get a little panicky and agiated. 
            A woman runs by me.  She is wearing a white jogging skirt with shorts under it, very short, and with every step, the skirt flies up, exposing the shorts, sort of like cheerleader style, and it seems as if that could be provovative to men.  (I am noticving, not complaining.  She can wear whatever she wants.  My own blouse is very low.  I can't help it, it came that way and if I'm not careful, it exposes my bra.  I'd prefer it to be a little higher.  I keep thinking of taking a tuck or two in the neckline.
            These days, many women are very "in-you+face" about their bodies and sexuality.  I have ambivalent feelings about that.  Seems like they are advertising their wares.  (me too, wit my low blouse).  I dont' think that gives anyone a right to touch or bother me or any other woman without permission.  And I am totally not in favor of Burkas or repressive dressing.  I guess I feel araid  Nervous and fearful for women and for myself.  Afraid men will be titilated to the point of being dangerously abusive.
            Friday, July 25, 2014, 5:31 PM I am out walking.  I am walking to VM to get food for Sam and Joan for tomorrow.  I guess we're going to have Jamabalay at our house.  I was hoping and praying for a reprieve and Sam offered to have us there.  I was going to bring the food.  Why Keith would WANT someone to come to our house is totally beyond me.  That means cleaning and I will probbaly get very upset and anbgry while cleaning and later when I can't find anything.  I will angry and sad and exhausted and unhappy.  I hate cleaning almost more than anything except pain.
            The problem is, there is too much stuff and nowhere to put it so we shuffle it around.  Carry it to the basement or to our bedroom and then for the next several years, we can't find it and buy more.  Or go without.  The piles get bigger and there is nowhere left to pout stuff when someone's coming.  I'm about to say goodye forever to my art supplies, paints, burshes papers, books, all kinds of things.  The things I use most are on the table and will have to be moved and will become lost. 
            I guess I could give up painting, but I'd prefer NOT to do that until I've finished various projects.
            I walk by a house that's been thoroughly tped--draped with toilet paper.  Around here that means something.  I forget what.  Somneone winning an award or soemthing, a team winning a game, I don't know.  But its mid to late July, so what could it mean?
            6:01 PM, headed home again.  "I don't want a pickle.  I just wanna ride on my motorcylce, and I don't wan a tickle, I just want to ride on my motorcickle and I don't wanna die, I just wanna ride on my motorcy  --  cle" Someis giving away pickle samples and trying to sell pickles.  He looks sort of hippiish and younish and cute, curly hair.  I sing to him and ask ask if he's sick of hearing that.  Probably is.  I sing it to the young cashier and she asks, is that a real song?  And she means it, too. 
            I wander out singing.  I"I don't want a pickle . . ." 
            She asks if I want to sing on the intercom.  I ask if she wants all her customers to leave.
            The cicadas are humming and buzzing, rising and falling.  They stop when I get too close.  I'd like to watch. 
            So, I got salad fixings, some, anyway. 
            There is a black squirrel with an ornage tail.  I've been seeing more and more of those.
            6:58 PM Hal phillips called and we had a long conversatuon, the gist of which was that he wanted me to come to the reunion next week.  In DeWitt/Syracuse.  And, he told me, after prying on my part (mainly because he was hang up after hassling me about th reunion without saying anything about himself (or asking anything about me).  So I asked how he was an what was going on and he said he was going to married again, maybe in October.  Kathy still thinks he might be getting back together with her.
            Well, I don't know what do do.  I'd like to stay out of the middle of that relatiosnip, but Kathy has been talking to me fiarly constantly about Hal, Hal's problems, her problems with him, etc.  He's going to marry a woman named Debra who yelled a greeting to me while he was talking.  I've seen a picture of her, but Kathy sent me one.  She looked fine to me, but Kathy seems to think she's a witch, of course.
            I would not want to marry Hal,w ho unfaithful to his wife with Annie (I liked Annie) (I did NOT like his wife).  (But I think she was jelaous of me, maybe, but not with good reason, as I never had sex with Hal.  So she was not nice to me, but isntead, rather snippy, mean, impatient etc.  Ann was always nice.  Ann died.  Of course, if Hal was making a habit of philandering, I can imagine what Helene though5t was going on when he used to come and visit me.  All along, I thought we were old friends.
            Someone pulled past me in a black mustang and then backed up, and for one brief moment, I had surge of anticipation thinking of young Bruce when we were courting many years ago.
            Anyway, the call from Hal was somewhat lenthy and interrupted the progress of the evening so that I finished my walking and we haven't had dinner or started much cleaning for Sam and Joan.
            did I mention I started working on a novel again?  But not the smae novel  Now I am working on Disappearing.  Last time I worked on it, I spend a lot of time interspersing the chapters.  But t is very confusing because each of the chpaters has a whole separate set of scharacters.  I think I may un-intersperse them.  I want to start with the present which I see as living in the abandoned houses, as I originally started it, and then have flashbacks.  But I have to do it differently.  It's too cofnusing. 
            I'm not even sure starting where I want to start is the best place.  I wanted to show the long-term impact of one thing that happned.  *The rape0.
            9:17 PM I am out on my third walk.  That phone from Hal my schedule messed up, that that I am sorry he called, but worse yet, it's beginning to rain.
            So, what was I talking about?  Oh yeah, structuting the novel about Terry Mercello.  The store timeline begins primarily when she is 166, almost 17 and a senior in high school.  She is raped by a firemn, Dave Terrance.  Hmm.  I had never noticved the similarity between her name and his. 
            *            *            *            * Timeline, Disappearing (actual)
        The rape (walking home Bluebeard's  (do we need to go back even further and show her interacting with Dave terrence before hand?
        Moving in with her penpal in the house of Wrath
        the robbery, living on the streets.
        needle park
        The crash pad, meeting Claude (Eddie, Drek)
        the drive-away car
        SanFrancisco
        Syracuse, being beaten in front friends, escaling cilence
        Sanfrancisco again, running away, Big Syr
        Detroit, GPF (inherited house?  Or?) 
        Running away again *Central strating place of curent novel)
        Meeting leo and Essie, being a squatter
        Meeting Tyrone, going to live at Tyron's
        Essie's art lessons
         
            Saturday, July 26, 2014, 2 PM or so, I stayed up very late last night reading my novel, disappearing.  It ade me upset and sad.  So now I am tired and crabby because Sam and Joan for dinner and we have to clean the house, but there is nowhere to put anything.  Like all my art supplies in the livingroom.  Every square inch of the house is already full of shit.  It's all shit we want too, for the most part.  Adding to my upset is this, both my computer and my brand new Surface Pro 3, serneita (Serena) ,  would not start this morning.  The computer finally started but all my open tabs and work were gone, everything was gone.  My open documents were gone, etc.  Serena still won't turn on.  I even asked Keith to try, in case he'd see something I missed.  He couldn't get it turn on either.  :-( 
            I had a late breakfast because I did cleaning before I ate.  I wanted to see some actual progress.  Keith sat around reading the paper and drinking coffee for a long time, but then he cleaned the bathroom (apparently, I didn't check it, but he was in there banging around.  He also did a little cleaning in the kicthen and swept.  Now he is supposedly vaccuuming.  I hate the sound of the vacuum cleaner, so I left for my walk (since I have to walk anyway.). 
            What I would like to do with this time is work on one of my novels, Either Taming Uncle Beast, or Disappearing or even another one.  I would like to feel as if I am doing something useful, something toward my goal of publsihing novels or some other useful thing.
            Disappearing is a huge schmazz.  So much is going on, so many characters.  Parts of it are very good, many parts of it, but it doesn't go together at all.  It's hard to follow, full of patchwork stuff.  I think if I were better rested, healthier, thinner (and sarter?), I could figure it all out. 
            I think I would like to collapse the timeline a little.  By that, I mean make the time that everything happens shorter.  Leave out stuff, save it for another novel. 
            And the beginning,w hich I liked so much originally, is a little OTT (over the top, maybe). 
            There is a tiny baby bird lying on the sidewalk, maybe only an inch long, ad naked.  It's covered with flies.  The only way I could see what it was was to scare the flies away.  I hope it's not symbolic of my baby novel.  DOR--dead on the road.  Maybe they all are.  I need to start with an outline.  I can't even write a new synopsis until read what I have already end to end. 
            I don't like the word dandled.  It sounds like something ugly and sick.
            I found myself thinking that if I were married to someone other than Keith, I might have a dog and a cat.  What was I thinking?  Some emotional bullshit.  I was missing certain animals I used to have, but what about the others and the whole huge burden of them?
            I seem to want to write a book the way I read a book, that is, read or write along and see what happens.  but I have to control what happens to some extent or it won't take me where I need to go.
            For example, in Taming Uncle Beast, the story is left, at the moment, with Tiny and Trey asleep on the raft after their first kiss, their first real kiss, and Jake and Harmon pursuing Shannon who has kidnapped Bettty Sue.  It's night time, it's raining, and it's very dark and swampy.  Shannon is headed for his truck, a huge jacked up 4 x 4.  We (as readers) don't know what he intends to do.  But here's what I think, as the author.  Shannon actually loves Betty Sue and wants her back.  He can never have her back, though, because he has made her too afraid of him.  He knows this at some level, and it makes him crazy.  He isn't sure what to do.  If she tells him she won't stay with him when they are alone together, he might kill her.  Harmon knows this at some level.  Maybe they all do.  But Shannon doesn't want to kill Betty Sue.  1)He loves her, 2)he doesn't want to cross that line.  He has, in fatc, not killed anyone yet.  (His dogs have, but he has not). 3)Shannon has made some bad choices, but is not really a bad person at heart.
            I know there is some reason why I didn't want this kidnapping to be successful, but I forget what it was.
            *  I copied this and pasted it below in the TUB section.
            *            *            *            * I sat down on a bench at Richard.  I started walking after spending a fair emount of time on my feet.  My lower back was bothering me, but it will delay my return.  I am feeling tired and angry.
            i hope Keith remembers to turn the rice off.
            2:49 PM I am almost home, well, getting fiarly close.  Didn't write for a while because I tend to walk more slowlywhen I am writing.
            2:55 shoot.  I am home, but haven't walked 45 minutes.  I walk on by.  Dang.  I walked too fast coming home in my eagerness to get back to work.  I have to walk past the house.  And then back.
            Monday, July 28, 2014, 4:27 PM The days are rushing by and I am not getting stuff done I need to do, and that upsets me.  I am out on my first walk of the day.  i am headed around the block the long way to Village market to get milk.  I wasn't going to go to the store at all; I was going eat from the freezer.  BUT Keith is almost out of milk, so off I go.  I had been hoping to walk to Rolandale and water the plants today, but I'm just so slow at getting going.  Getting online is the part of the problem.  Also staying in bed late because we go to bed late.  The day is out of kilter and i dont like it. 
            I think I need to quit Cowbird and Daily Challenge.  Each of those sets up a false sense of community and rewards you for checking in daily.  But when I get up in the morning and feel as if I have to get online and then I sink into a vast black hole of time sink, I get nothing done.  I did do my exercises this morning. 
            I ahd to take Meloxicam and voltaren yesterday because of pain probably from eating Joan's very tasty but unhelathy (for me) beer bread.  When I eat that kind of fodd, an addictive response sets in and I can't stop eating it and then I get SICK!!  I ate ate more bad food today, though not quite as bad.  I need, yet again, to break the addictive cycle started by bad food.  I'm sure Joan thought she was doing a good thing--and it did taste good, but it makes me sick, not just for one day, for for days afaterwards.
            It makes me want to be a hermit, because no one understands at all.  NO ONE.
            It's easy for stupid assholes to say, "just don't take that first bite," but when someone comes bearing a laof of still warm beer bread as a gift, I feel obligated to eat soem, and that in turn sets up the addictive response, releases the black dragon.  It would be easier for me to just not have friends.
            Keith doesn't get it either, or he wouldn't lay out "sweetie bait" on his leg.  And he wouldn't put andouille sausage in his stir fries.  I do it too, because he has said over and over that he doesn't want me to make two dinners and he doesn't like chicken sausage, so he puts me in a bind.  Either please him and k8ill myself or make myself sick, or be helathy and make him angry.
            4:49 PM I am headed home with a full backpack and a bag on y arm, which makes it difficult to write because the bag is banging on my leg with every step.
            5:39 PM, I am out for my second walk, this one from Rolandale, for 30 minutes.  The rpevious walk, to VM, which took 30 minutes, caounting walking around the store, only counts as a 15-minutee walk.  UNLESS it starts raining, and I have to go back early.  If necessary, I could count all 30 of the earlier minutes, but since walking around the store pausing to acquire various items requires a different kind of energy, I don't usually count that part.  I say, unless it rains, because it's very cloudy and has sprinkling off and on.  I would prefer it to hold off until I have complated my official walking.
            I harvested a very large zucchini, a smaller zucchini, and an eggplant.  Also a few small springs of broccoli.  I love getting food from the gar4den.
            There is a sort of stillness in the air that feels like calm before the storm, so I really hope it holds off for a while.  I've been 5 minutes and am over by St. John's hospital.  It's very cool considering how hot it's been, and I prefer the cooler weather.  But I am wearing two shirts and am a little chilly.  W!hich is okay.
            I am walking through a pretty neighborhood, almost, but not quite, as pretty as our neighborhood.  More of these houses have sections of clapboard which doesn't weather as nicely as brick does.  I liek our house and our neighborhood, except for the fact that the house is small and the people a little too dressy and hoighty-toighty for me. 
            I like the all brick houses better.  But some of them are so plain.  Ours is nicer, for sure.  Too bad it's so small and so far from nature.  Keith never understood my need to be close to nature and doesn't seem to get what nature IS.  Yes, there is nature in the city, but in wildness is the preservation of the word and of the soul.  I feel a constant longing for more and at the same time, I've become spoiled by air-conditoning, which I never had in NY and by the general lack of mosquitoes and biting insects.  If I were to move, I would want to move somewhere where there were not a lot of biting isnects in nature and where it's not too hot.  Liek Corado or norther California.
            On the other hand, I seem to also, as Ia ge, be less tolerant of cold.
            I have reached the furthest out part of this loop, by radio shack and Mack Abe and have started the trek back toward Rolandale.  Then, I will dump the African violets and go home and maybe start dinner.
            I need to work on the story for Janet, Disappearing.  I ned to decide QUICLY if I am going to the JD reunion.  I need to talk to Deborah Benedict about her luncheon.  I get overwhelmed when I feel that there are too many pressures, especially external pressures, for me to do certain things,e specially when they conflict, like going to the reunion and Deb's luncheon.  I don't really want to go to either one of them.  I feel like getting in my car and driving to the Pinery or the UP and staying there for a long time.
            I need work on my novel(s).  I feel terrible.  I want to be working.  Am I in a fallow period?  I need to finsih and mail the moleskine.  I am not carrying any camera and now I wish I were.  I see a daylily I'd like photgraph.  Even if I had a cerama, it might not be the right one. 
            Wednesday, July 30, 2014, 3:58 PM I am out walkingg to VM arund the block.  We had a cloudburst a little while ago and now the sun is shining.  I've been working on one of my novels, Discovery at Little Hog Island.  I am feeling Depressed about it because I know I've worked on it before.  I no longer know if I am working on the latest version, so I feel as if I am wasting time reinventing the wheel over and over.  I wish I had a siple system that worked. 
            I never got together with Janet.  I was going to work on my Disappearing novel with her--if we were going to meet. 
            I took an ambien last night because after Keith read to me and tried to soothe me and I took Benadrul, I still couldn't sleep.   I don't want to make a habit of taking them, but I just can't be awake 24-7 o4r sleeping away the day and up at night.  If Ic ould meet with Janet once a week, or every other week, and bring her the next secion of Disappearing, and prepare parts of Little Hog Island for the writing grou, if I stay in it, and in-bewteen, work on Af4ter Uncle Beast and my other projects, I might some day eventually get some of them done.
            Maybe.
            If I could just work on any one of them until it was finished.  AK.
            So, The shopping is done and Keith took the groceries and I am walking again.  I was very very bad and ate three little pieces of apple pie, damn it.  I wish I wouldn't do that, I'm sure it contributes not only to my excess weight, but to PAIN, stuffness and insomnia.  And I was just getting over the last binge and starting to feel better.
            Dang!  WAHN.  Sometimes I hate myself.  Well, What's done is fone, unless I'm going to barf it up, which has never been my style. 
            I'm walking through the alley's behind the businesses on Mack, which is a luttle dangerous, and doesn't save much time.  These aren't manhatten alleus, narrow and tall.  They are well-lit, shallow sunny alleys--what's dangerous about them is the traffic, people drive fast through them, and do not expect to see pedestians.  They drive so fast they scare me going by.
            Thursday, July 31, 2014, 2:47 PM I am at Pier Park after seeing Brian Powers.  We talked about food addictions and about my writing group at Ewald.  I also wanted to talk about rape and my continuing reaction to it.  But we didn't get to that.
            I was working on Disappearing, reading it through again, and it was stirring up upsetting feelings.  And Vivienne/Kate commented on one of my stories about rape, and I cried, reading everyone's comments.
            (which reminds me, I need to go back and revisit those people's comments.  And I think I need to change email that those comments go to.)
            Yesterday (I think it was yesterday, but it may have been the day before), I finally started working on taming Uncle Beast again.  I really need an outine for it.  It's floundering.  I mean, it's interesting enough, but the exciting parts are with Shannon and Betty Sue, not Tiny, Trey and Jake.  What I mean to say is, Tiny needs to have some excitement in her life.
            *            *            *             EJ end Journal *            **            *
                        *            * WL Worry List ForThursday, July 24, 2014*
My worry list keeps growing.  It always does.  It is only when I look back several months that I see some of my worries hav been put to rest.  Or occasionally, the worries I had yesterday about today specifically go away.  Like Tuesday, I was worried about ML, the eye doctor, getting enough sleep, getting there on time, making a lunch.
            I am wearing a pair of shorts that is so big that it keeps threatening to fall off.  Earlier in the week, I was worried about getting more shorts, and I got some.  I was worried about getting and making more sauerkraut, and did both.  So, some worries come to and end.
            Why do I worry about my to-do list?  Because days go by when I don't get things doen that I need to get done and it often seems like I will "never" get them done.  And, some things never get done.
        I am worried about getting the house presentable for Sam and Joan by Saturday
        I am worried about my meeting with Janet tomorrow.  Is it happening?  Where are we meetin?  What are we eating?  What are we reading?  Am I cooking something. When am I going to do this?  If we're meeting at R~dale, will I have time clean there?
        I am worried about the fact that I have Same and Joan coming over and preparations for a possible meemting with Janet which I do not want to Postpone.  Conflict of time.
        Hal Phillips, calls from Hal Phillips, my calls to Hal Phillips.  Get the rights numbers on the cellujiu phone and in my address book.
        attacks by angry red-winged blackbirds.  Right now.  I cover my head with the Psion.  I've had them peck me on the top of the head and it hurts.
yuhyytgtgttyggtgtgtgvygfytgfgyggttgttgthhtthhththghghghghghghggghgtgghghghggghhygyg
            ^ red winged blackbird attack!
            *            *            *            * Gratitude List            *            *            *            *
        Cooler temps and less humidty, nice breeze, sunshine
        waves reflections on the bottoms of boats
        a sharp clear horizon
        fresh-smelling air
        less pain in gernreal lately
        slept better last night
        lots of good veggies in the garden
        KEITH and his love and patience and hard work
        my beautiful daughters and grandson
        Graham's willingness to make tacos
        Heidi
        green grass, rees, flowers.  Echinacea, daisies. 
        enough money for the time being
        good books
        art
        Black-eyed susans
        swallows, gulls, red-wings
        children
*            *            *            * Begin Taming Uncle Beast TUB
            Then I was a little sad.  I thought maybe he didn't like me enough to touch me there.  But his kiss, or kisses, I wasn't sure if it was one or many strung together, sure felt like he liked me.  Sure felt good.  I gave up wanting more and burrowed into the kiss as if I lived there, as if it were home. 
            I was eating him and drinking him and somehow becoming him. 
            And somehow, in the midst of all that excitement, we fell asleep.  Don't ask me how.  I would have said it was impossible.  But it was very late and we were tired.  Sleep was like another country where we could just be together and happy for a while.

            f
            WL My worry list for Thursday, July 24:
            *            *            *            *  st a little. EJ  end journal
*            *            *            * Begin Taming Uncle Beast TUB
            Then I was a little sad.  I thought maybe he didn't like me enough to touch me there.  But his kiss, or kisses, I wasn't sure if it was one or many strung together, sure felt like he liked me.  Sure felt good.  I gave up wanting more and burrowed into the kiss as if I lived there, as if it were home. 
            I was eating him and drinking him and somehow becoming him. 
            And somehow, in the midst of all that excitement, we fell asleep.  Don't ask me how.  I would have said it was impossible.  But it was very late and we were tired.  Sleep was like another country where we could just be together and happy for a while.
            *            *            *            * brainstorming, TUB
            For example, in Taming Uncle Beast, the story is left, at the moment, with Tiny and Trey asleep on the raft after their first kiss, their first real kiss, and Jake and Harmon pursuing Shannon who has kidnapped Bettty Sue.  It's night time, it's raining, and it's very dark and swampy.  Shannon is headed for his truck, a huge jacked up 4 x 4.  We (as readers) don't know what he intends to do.  But here's what I think, as the author.  Shannon actually loves Betty Sue and wants her back.  He can never have her back, though, because he has made her too afraid of him.  He knows this at some level, and it makes him crazy.  He isn't sure what to do.  If she tells him she won't stay with him when they are alone together, he might kill her.  Harmon knows this at some level.  Maybe they all do.  But Shannon doesn't want to kill Betty Sue.  1)He loves her, 2)he doesn't want to cross that line.  He has, in fatc, not killed anyone yet.  (His dogs have, but he has not). 3)Shannon has made some bad choices, but is not really a bad person at heart.
            I know there is some reason why I didn't want this kidnapping to be successful, but I forget what it was.
            * copied from above
                        *            *            *            *
            Killer whines low in his throat, a tentative half angry, half worried quiet "woof" follows the whine.  It's getting light, and two huge hunched figues approach along the bank.  Killer backs up against my leg, the ruff on his neck rising, his lip curling in a snarl.  Then we hear the low whistle of a woodthrush, and Amogo's tail shoots stright out behind and wags tentatively.
            In a moment, I begin to make out the lumbering shapes.  Trey rubs his eyes.  "Is that Jake and Harmon?  What are they carryingg?"
            Trey hastily untied the skiff and the canoe.  He took the skiff and I took the canoe, and we paddled and rowed up to the berm under the trees.  Harmon and Jake laid their burdens down.  They stretched and groaned.  Harmon rolled something into the skiff.  It was Shannon, hog-tied. 
            Jake lifted Betty Sue into the canoe.  After some rowing, paddling and heafting and groaning, The two somewhat limp forms were laid out on the raft, the canoe lashed back on, and skiff tied up behind.  As all this was occurring, it was getting lighter and lighter and I began to worry about fisherman and bargemen seeing the two limp forms, especially Shannon all tied and gagged. 
            But Jake and Hrmon took him by the ankles and shoulder and heaved him into the tent, rolling him down to the end furthest from where I'd been sleeping.  Then Harmon Carefully laid Betty Sue in the tent, crawled in Beside her and moved gently down to the opposite side of the tent from Shannon.  He and Jake carwled in and fell asslep. 
            I figured they needed their sleep.  But we needed instructions.  Stay or leave?  So I woke Jake, and he said, "As long as you are able, the two of you, take us downriver.  Stay to the side.  Don't engage anyone if you can help it.  If you get too tired, find a sheltered spot to tie up."  And thenhe passed out again.
            So we did.  We weighed our anchor, and headed down river, staying fairly close to shore, going out only when we passed docks and marinas or fallen trees.  We too turns doing tiller and lookout duty.  After a while, we got hungry, and tied up long anough to get a balaoney sandwich each, and a carrot from Harmon's grocery-store stach.  We went onto shore to pee, and than weighed anchor and took off angain. 
            When the sun was almost directly overhead, Jake crawded out of the tent slick with sweat and called for a pit stop.  He kicked Harmon and they dragged Shannon out.  Shannon looked bleary and confused.  He was also sporting some big bruises. 
            Betty Sue craewled out, too.  She was a little the worse for wear, bruised and stupid-looking, slack-jawed, and bloody.  She smiled crookedly when she saw me and stagged over to lean on my shoulder.  I helped her into the skiff and took to pee. 
            When we got back, she crawled back into the tent and collapsed.  They tossed Shannon in beside her and then rolled them apart.  Jake opened the back of the tent while Harmon rolled up the front.  "Don't want them cook in there," Jake said, smiling strangely.
            "What's wrong with Betty Sue?" I asked, frantic with worry.
            "Nothing a little time won't cure," Harmon said.  "Besides the near drowning and the beating she took from Shannon, her only problem is the tranks I gave her to help her sleep," 
            "Tranks?" I asked, stupidly, before Trey elbowed me. 
            "Tranquilizers," he said, "probably they both have them.  But what happens when Shannon's wears off?"
            "I got it timed to wear off just about the time it gets dark tonight.  Then we'll have a family gathering.  A big Powow," Harmon said.
            "I'm no family of Shannon's," Betty Sue slurred, "He ain't my family." 
            "Later, Betty Sue," Harmon crooned, "don't worry about it now."
            Betty Sue groaned, put her head down and went back to sleep.
            "Y'all want to take a nap?" Jake asked, looking at me and Trey.
            "I could use a little shut-eye," Trey said.  I nodded and we crawled in between Shannon and Betty Sue, Trey beside Shannon and me next to Betty Sue.  Trey reached over and gave my hand a squeeze and the next thing I knew, it was nearly dark and Betty Sue was poking me.
            "I gotta pee," she whispered, sounding desperate.
            "Pit stop," I hollered.  I could see we were fairly close to shore. 
            Betty Sue was a little stiff, I could tell by the way she hobbled.  We took the skiff.  The mosquitoes were thick and vicious.  We did our business in record time and a cloud of bugs followed us back to the raft.  We took the usual evasive action of moving out toward the center of the river, where there was more breeze.
            Shannon began to moan just after we got out near the center.  Jake and Harmon got him up and let him pee over the side, something we normally tried to avoid.  They made him pee without untying him, holding on to him from both sides and leaning him over the water.  Harmon pulled his penis out of his pants.  I know this, because, I'm embarassed to admit, I watched.  It was getting so dark that I couldn't see as clearly as I might have liked to. 
            I did see Harmon give the penis a shake, stuff it back in Shannon's pants, and zip his fly.  Then, he washed his hands in the same river Shannon had just peed into.  It's the water we often drink, albeit after filtering and/or boiling.  Of course, the ducks, geese herons crap in it, and the motorboats spill oil and as into it.  And at the beaches along the river, the kids all pee in the water.  But it just seems that thoughtful, educated, sane adults should know better. 
            I thought about the mosquitoes and I thought about the pee in the water and I felt confused.
            Jake and Harmon lowered Shannon to the deck of the raft into a crosslegged position that looked pretty uncomfortable to me.  His hands and feet were still tied, but they took off the gag.  Shannon worked his mouth, opening and closing it like a fish and looked angry, but said nothing.
            Jake made up a bunch of baloney sandwiches and we all ate them.  Harmon held the sandwich for Shannon to bite and he must have been pretty hungry, because he just ate it.  I was afarid he'd bite Harmon's hand, but he didn't. 
            Jake was at the tiller.  Trey was at the bow.  We were out far enough that he didn't really have to watch for snags, but there was always the possibility of floating debris.  And of course, other boats, people fishing without lights, stuff like that.  I mean, once there was a goat swimming in the river and we had a heck of time avoiding hitting it.
            "Time for a powwow." Harmon said, flatly, his voice strangely devoid of expression.  Shannon spat.  He was pretty good at spitting, because he was nearly at the center of the raft and his spit sailed over the starboard side into the river, and sailed away in a twirling spiral in the dim light. I was interested, because I thought he might spit in Harmon's face or onto the raft.
            "Shannon," Harmon said, what are your intentions tword Betty Sue?"
            Betty Sue started to say something, and Harmon cut her off.  "It's not your turn yet, you'll have a turn soon.  Shannon?"
            "Who's Betty Sue?  You mean Prissy?" Shannon asked, looking genuinely confused.
            "Who's Prissy?" Harmon asked, looking at Betty Sue. 
            "I'm Prissy," Betty Sue said.  Needless to say, I was totally amazed, because I had used Prissy as Betty Sue's fictional name in the fictional story I wrote about Shannon and Betty Sue.  But the I remembered--the reason I used the name Prissy is because Betty Sue herself had told me she liked the name and wished she was Prissy rather than Betty Sue.  The weird thing is, I thought she looked more like a Prissy than a Betty Sue.  I will have to think about that.  I see a Betty Sue as being prim and proper and wearing classic shirt-waist dresses and having bobbed or flipped hair.  Kind of 1950s.  I see a Prissy as being shapely and wearing miniskirts or short shorts and having either very long hair or a pixie cut or little curls.  I guess a Betty Sue could have curly hair, too, but more of the 1950s style perm.  My Betty Sue never looked that much like a Betty Sue.
            "Okay," Harmon said, "Let's start over.  Shannon, what are your intentions toward Prissy?"
            "She's my girlfriend.  I probably want to marry her, someday, not right away."
            "Prissy, or Betty Sue, what are your intentions toward Shannon?"
            Betty Sue burst out crying.  "I thought I loved him.  I thought I wanted to marry him.  I wanted to have his babies.  But now I don't want to.  I'm afraid of him.  He tried to kill me." She wailed.
            The wail rose like a siren and then subsided to sobs.
            When the sobs quieted, Shannon said, "I did not try to kill you.  If I had wanted to kill you, I had plenty of opportunity.  I could have drowned you or stabbed you in the woods.  I was not trying to kill you."
            "What were you doing, chasing me with that knife into the ladies' room and into the church?  You were holding the knife over my head in the tent."
            "But I could have plunged it in, and I didn't.  I did not intend to kill you.  I never did.  It would have been easy to, if that's what I wanted.  Why would I kill the woman I love?"  His voice was pleading.
            "You scared me.  You terrified me.  I thought I was going to die." Betty wailed again.  It was a raw sound, almost as if she were actually being stabbed. 
            Jake looked nervously around.  I could tell he was tempted to try to shush her so that no one would come, thinking that someone was hurting her.  But he said nothing.  We were in the current and moving quickly downriver, and there were no houses or boats nearby.  Not that we could easily see.
            "I love you," Shannon said softly, staring intently at Betty Sue or Prissy in the dark.  "Please believe me."
            "I can't believe you," Betty Sue said.  "I can't believe a person who truly loves another person would threaten them, her, me the way you threatened me."
            "I wasn't threatening you."
            "What were you doing, then?"
            Shannon said nothing.  He frowned.  "I don't know," he finally said.  "I don't know what I was doing, but I didn’t intend to kill you.  There was a demon.  A demon inside you.  I needed to kill the demon." 
            "If you thought I had a demon in me, and you stabbed me, trying to kill the demon, you would have killed me," Betty Sue said, her voice low. 
            "No!" Shannon almost shouted.  "No!  I did not want to kill you.  I never wanted or intended to kill you."
            "Shannon," Harmon said, "have you ever killed anyone?"
            "No," Shannon said, "Never."  He turned and looked Harmon in the face, his eyes imploring.  even in the dark, I could see that.  "I never killed anyone." he repeated stubbornly. 
            "Did you witness a killing?" Harmon asked. 
            "Why are you asking me this?"  Shannon asked, looking suspiciously first at Betty Sue and then as me. 
            "Shannon, have you ever witnessed a killing.  Just answer the question."
            "Who are you?  What right have you got to as me that? Are you a cop?"
            "No.  I am not.  I am a dishonorably discharged ex-soldier and army chaplain, and a defrocked essentially unemployed minister.  However, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and at the moment, I posses you.  In case you haven't noticed, you are my captive.  So, let's try this again.  Have you ever witnessed a killing?"
            "Of what?
            "Of a human being."
            "No."
            "Have you ever disposed of a body?"
            "What is this, the inquisition?"
            "If it was, I think you would be experiencing more fear and pain.  Have you ever disposed of a body?"
            "If I say yes, then what?"
            "It depends on what else you say.  Did you ever dispose of a body." 
            "Maybe."  Shannon trailed off, leaving the question in the air.
            "How did the person die?"
            At this point, Shannon twisted and looked behind him.  Amigo was sitting close behind him, his ruff slightly raised and his lip slightly pulled back so that even in the darkness, his teeth were clearly visible.  Shannon shivered. 
            "It was the dogs," he said.  "I wasn't even home."
            *            *            *            *
            "The dogs? They killed someone?"
            There was a long pause.  Everyone stared at Shannon in the darkness.  He cleared hius throat, made a strangled sound like a sob cut off midstream, cleared his throat again.
            "Two someones, Chal and Big. ((?)).  Best I can figure is that Chal wanted the dogs and Big was drafted to help him.  I was out on a . . . .  out on a deal, and I'd put my two best bitches, Fiery and Fang on with my two best studs, Armageddon and ((Ghs))((See earlier reference.  Just before I left, I decided to leave Armageddon and Fang loose in the outer pen, because I was afraid something was coming down with Chal.  He'd been acting mighty strange.  I thought if he saw the dogs loose in the pen, he’d stay out.  I had a huge padlock on the gate.
            "What I neglected to do was to double latch ((Ghs's)) and Fiery's pen.  I know I put the one latch down, I remember doing it, but I must not have dropped the deadbolt."  Again, the strangled half-cry.  “They must have come over the fence and into the empty pen where Armageddon and Fang would have been, had I not left them loose.  The dogs must have bettered down the door, or something—I couldn’t make out what had happened exactly.  It was a very dark night, dark of the moon and clouds.  And all those trees and bushes around there.”
            "When I got back, I found a huge mess.  Blood everywhere.  Body parts.  I recognized Chal's boots and Big's huge orange sneakers.  Chal and Big were more than half eaten.  I always starve the dogs a little before a big fight--it makes them meaner.  And we had a fight scheduled later that night at another dude's place.  A guy we call 'Friendship.'" Here, Shannon laughed, a sad little iroic laugh.  "He's about as unfriendly as a dude could be."
            "I didn't know what to do.  I collected all the leftover pieces, put them in a garbage bag and buried them behind the garage."
            Tiny gasped. 
            Shannon fixed her with an evil eye.  "I knew you were spying on me," he said.
            "That wasn't me, that was Lily," Tiny said, stupidly.
            "I left because I was afraid you'd turn me in.  I hosed down the whole yard that night, after dark.  I thought I could see you watching me from your bedroom window."
            "I thought I was fantasizing the whole thing out of boredom," Tiny admitted.  “I couldn't see well enough in the dark to see what you were doing.  I really had no idea, or else I did, but didn't realize it.  Not until I dreamed about it later and then wrote about it."
            "You wrote about it?" Shannon sounded nervous.  "What did you do with what you wrote?"
            "She didn't do anything with it yet," Jake said, interrupting.  Tiny looked up at him in surprise.  It wasn't true.  She had done something with it.  She'd emailed it as a fiction piece to Mrs. Dietrich.  It was a fiction piece, conjured from her wildest imaginings.  She hadn't known, not consciously, anyway, that it was true.  But she didn’t' contradict Jake.  She'd read him the story, she remembered, one of those lazy afternoons floating down the river, before anything had started happening.  She'd forgotten all about that. 
            Shannon looked back and forth between Jake and Tiny. 
            "What did she tell you?" he asked, in a low, growly voice. 
            "She told me she'd dreamed about your burying some guy behind your house.  It was a nightmare.  She didn't think it was true, and neither did I. 
            "Then why were you guys hassling me to tell you about Chal and ((?))?  Seemed like you already knew something.  How would you know anything if Tiny hadn't seen and told?  And, what are you going to do with me now?  Arrest me?  Turn me over to the cops?"
            "What we're hoping to do with you is talk to you and get everything out on the table in plain sight so we can behave appropriately,” Harmon said.
            "And what does a dishonorably discharged defrocked minister know about appropriate behavior?" asked Shannon, with a slight sneer in his voice.
            "I am probably not going to decide anything, not on my own.  See how low we're riding in the water?  We probably should pick up some Styrofoam blocks to shore up the raft.  Let's see, you and Betty Sue or Prissy or whatever her name is makes Two.  Tiny and Trey make four.  Jake and I make six.  There are six people riding on this raft that was designed for a one-person trip.  Six people who have minds and hearts, or maybe I should say hearts and minds.  Six voices to be heard and considered.  Have you got any more to say?"
            "Maybe."
            "Well, say it, then."
            "I want to hear what he has to say," Shannon said, pointing at Trey. 
            Trey had been silent, listening, but not speaking. 
            "You're not guilty of murder, I don't think," Trey said, “if what you told us is true.  But I'm not a judge and jury.  What I'd like to know are three things.  First, who were Chal and Big and why were there trying to steal your dogs? Second, why didn't you tell the authorities immediately, if you hadn't done anything wrong, and third, what does Betty Sue or Prissy have to say about your threatening her with a knife?  Does she corroborate your story?"
            "Corroborate? What are you, some friggin' little lawyer kid?  What kid talks like that?"
            "Well?" Trey asked.  "You asked, and I spoke.  What is your response?"
            "Prissy will have to speak herself."
            "Prissy will have her turn" Jake said, “after you finish.  Tell us about Chal and Big and why you didn't call the cops, although I can hypothesize a somewhat logical answer to that question."
            *            *            *            *
            “Chal was a small-time crack dealer, dog fighter, and general asshole.  His real name was Challenge Jones.  He was a black guy, tall, thin, rangy and mean.  He dealt crack, coke, crystal meth, heroine, pot, acid, ecstasy, but mostly crack.  He had some pretty mean dogs, but they weren't as good as mine.  He lived over on Jug Handle Road, where it curves around Goodman Hill, between the cliffs and swamps, over in the Rum-Runner district. 
            “Saying Chal was mean probably doesn't imply much to you.  Lots of people are mean, so let me illustrate my point with a couple of anecdotes."
            "Anecdotes!" Trey say, “what kind of crack-head dogfighter uses the word ‘anecdote?’"
            "One who had Mrs. Dietrich for English," Shannon said ruefully.  "Not just in high-school.  I was taking some evening classes at KCC, as part of the 'everybody's gifted program' she runs."  He said this very quietly in a low voice, almost a whisper.
            "Really!" Tiny screeched.  "Really?  Me too.  I love Mrs. Dietrich.  She totally rocks."
            "I kind of like her, too," Shannon admitted, looking considerably cheered.
            "I didn’t want to grow up to be a crack-head dogfighter.  Anyway, back to Chal and Big. 


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