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| A much-needed evening oasis at friend Samaire’s place |
Sigh. I was going to sit here and elaborate on how stressful and even traumatic some of the snowballing issues that have beset Brugger and me over the past month or so have been (I did, in fact, compose a considerable number of words on the subject). I deleted the bulk of them because it all began to sound like a great big whine. Still, I can’t help it; here is a bit of that post, abridged.
For me, April has historically been the worst month in existence,
since it’s in April that I lost my dad, more good friends than the law ought
to allow, and the majority of my many beloved pets. Beyond that, it’s in April
that the universe, with perverse glee, releases the storm of misfortune it has
saved up for us over the course of the preceding year with a great big “BLAM!”
This year, the horrendous sewer line issues that hit us, beginning in March
(of which some of you are at least aware, since I did whine a bit), seemed to
set off a veritable freight train of new and damn near catastrophically
expensive issues.
However, as I wrote this little treatise, it all began to sound like a big
whine. Now, on occasion (sometimes on frequent occasions), I have been
known to vent. Anyone who has heard me vent will almost certainly testify
that, to the chronic pessimist, my vent is a thing of rare beauty.
Conversely, to the blissful
live-for-today-first-world-problems-mean-naught-zen-is-good kind of soul
(or simply the uninitiated), more a display of explosive horror (or
perhaps amusement, in the way that a spectacular self-inflicted injury can
make one chuckle). All that said, there is little more I hate than coming
across as a fucking crybaby. Life can be a goddamn bitch, and I know damn
well that many, MANY folks would trade places with me in an instant. I’m
not without some degree of self-awareness.
Still, in the spirit of my original post, suffice it to say that I’m gonna
call this April a pilgrimage to the summit of
Fuck-This-Goddamn-Motherfucking-Bullshit-Fucking-What-the-Fuckity-Fuck Mountain. To the more level-headed, even-tempered souls among you (however
deluded you might be), this was a mere uptick in the severity of
pretty-damned-severe first-world problems.
There were good things. In fact, many good things. Most
recently,
Scares That Care AuthorCon II
was one of the best events ever, as far as affirming my life choices as a
writer. Similarly, Shortwave Publishing announced what I feel is
one of the most important creative projects I’ve overseen, the next
chapter in the history of Deathrealm, a
brainchild of mine from almost four decades ago. I sold a couple of short stories. And this April saw some
lovely times with good, GOOD friends, which helped me realign my sights on
what’s really important.
Well, okay, yeah, I’ve still whined (and I’ll do it again, maybe soon).
But this one is fucking done. At least April is, until next year, history.