I can't believe what you say (for seeing what you do)

Bizarro has spoken, and totally in line with his usual smoke-and-mirrors MO, too; outlining goals and intentions in one speech, denying, deflecting and deriding in the next. Nazis got mentioned more times than your Bullshit Bingo card could possibly handle, there was no mention of peace, and the START treaty business, serious as it is, was almost anticlimactic.

If this man loved his citizens, he wouldn't oppress them and terrorize them as he does. If this man loved his country, he would cooperate on global matters and problems instead of sating his personal ambitions and interests. If this man loved his neighbors, Bucha, Irpin or Izium would not have happened and Mariupol would not lay in ruins. If this man loved life, he would not send his countrymen to their deaths, and he would not condone their cruelty and ruthlessness. If this man loved the world, he would concentrate on building and creating, not destruction and neglect. If Bizarro knew the lexical definition of the word integrity, he would never give another speech.

Nip/Tuck

What is this, the Dead Author Society (in reference to how the den has looked this week)? More like the half-dead author society, sweetie darlings. My babies gave me my first flu of the season, so I haven't written to you much this week. Well, neither have the Brontës. What's their excuse? Oh, the annual DASCon. Okay.

I gave myself a deadline; a story I wanted out of my hands by the end of the week. That's what I've been doing the past seven days, every moment I could spare; nipping and tucking, getting rid of the boring parts, breathing fire into the rest (at least that's what my throat feels like, as if I actually had), and drinking gallons of tea since coffee tastes like cigarettes when your whole head is congested.

You know what? It is done. That's what I wanted to report, but alas I can't since it isn't so I won't, but: I got close, very close, close enough to feel good about my progress. Am I going to send out a half-assed manuscript because by God I said by the end of the week I would? Of course not. When you're running a fever (and when you haven't had coffee for a week and may I please have this one addiction in addition to this awful, awful!, writing bug?!), you don't know your shit from your Shinola. And you only want to polish your stuff with one of them.

So, I won't be writing to you much until it's done, over with and out of my hands. I hope to celebrate it with a jumbo mug of café au lait from Brazilian beans I'll grind myself and sniff sniff sniff away in abandon, if I can. Ah, the small, simple pleasures. I wish you a week filled with them.

Running up that hill

There's a hill in our neighborhood perfect for some instant no-nonsense exercise: long, steep and always there. When I don't have much time for a workout but I need a quick intense fix, that's where I head, and voilà, butt, thighs and lungs on fire in no time with endorphins galore.

I have a feeling I'll be running up that hill a lot this summer for exercise and that working will feel a lot as if I were. School's out, kids are in and Hubby will be in and out on an erratic schedule that will make mine, hmm, interesting.

So what do you do? You do what you can. My babies aren't babies anymore, which helps. It's no hardship staying up late or waking up early since the sun will be up too. The Land of the Midnight Sun, indeed. I'm working on a project with goals and deadlines but no fixed hours. Brilliant. My mind is always working on some manuscript or other pretty much disregarding the time of year or day, and I can't shut it out or turn it off, I don't even want to.

What I need to do is learn to focus in a ruckus. Not one of my strengths, but this summer I get to work on it. An honest look at your limitations is the only way to find your way through, so with limited time on my hands, if I get a moment's peace I'm doing what I do when I get a moment alone with that hill. I'm going to go like fuck.

Even-steven

I just saw something awful. 

Could we take this logic all the way and not pay for anything anymore? We could share. More for everyone! Everything for everyone!! For free!!! Who's in? Are you in? Aren't you excited? We're gonna have so much fun...

Now, open the door to your home, your car, your business. Give me your credit cards and let me use your bank accounts. If there's something you have I happen to like, I'm taking it. I have some vintage clothing you might like, and in the spirit of sharing, you don't even have to say pretty please, you just take what you want and flaunt it.

Are we having fun yet? Aren't you looking forward to finishing that project you've worked so hard on for weeks, months, years, and handing it over to me? I'll make coffee. We'll celebrate. We'll go see Green Day and U2, Guns N' Roses and Iron Maiden, AC/DC and Muse. They're all coming to town this summer, isn't it exciting? We don't even have to pay to listen to them!

Aren't they making shitloads of money playing stadiums, because if so, that is plain wrong. They should be sharing, giving us some of that dough. What does it matter we haven't sweated a second for it? We're entitled to it! I don't know how or why, but I bet I can think of something, just give me a minute. And give me some of your cash. Give it to me. Give me all of it so I don't run out any time soon. We're sharing, having innocent fun, so don't start giving me crap about stealing from you because we had a deal.

If you're not in, if you're bailing out, if you don't think I have a right, step away from my car, get out of my house, and stop fucking me over. Those concert lights must have blinded you to the fact that at the other end of those deals are artists who've worked their way up there, fair and square. Created something, a product comparable to anything else on the market. 

If their paycheck has more zeroes than yours, I guess that means they've arrived and you're still on your way. If your rebellion, your attempt to cash in on their success, your idea of fair is not paying for their product, let's go back to the start and play a little game called sharing. That is your logic, so put your money where your mouth is.

Now, open the door to your home, your car, your business. Give me your credit cards and let me use your bank accounts. Those boots would look great with a certain coat of mine. Off with them.