holy shit dude LOOK at my HAND

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Ah, what the hell, let’s just keep it full-size.

So, last night I took a pain pill before bed because I was jimmylegging like hell (look it up, it’s a thing) and also because my back and knees were bugging me.   This morning I woke up still feeling a bit loopy.  That’s not entirely uncommon but generally it goes away within an hour or two.

It is now twenty-four hours since I took the pill– one pill!  And not even something illegal or even particularly unwise!  One damn Norco!– and I’m still having intermittent bursts of dizziness and ooh my head why is the world upside-down going on.  Also earlier today I had an oak butterfly leaf dropped directly on my thumb and it is all sorts of unnatural colors and I probably ought not to be typing right now because hurty.

Also I sold a lot of furniture today, or at least I think I did, which is kind of surprising because all I really remember from work is putting my head down on the counter a lot.  Apparently that’s good salesmanship for at least some humans.  Dunno why.

I’m going to spend the next six hours watching my thumbnail change color.  Please do something better with your Saturday night than I’m doing.  Assuming it’s Saturday night where you are.  I’m not sure anymore.

Fair warning

ezgif.com-video-to-gif.gifThe next person to accuse me, either directly or via implication, of being “distracted” by something outrageous the shitgibbon has done because I am complaining about that thing and not some other outrageous thing the shitgibbon did that you want me to be complaining about is getting punched in the neck.

Understand that I am willing to travel to punch you in the neck, because I’m sick as fuck of the idea that this gang of poltroons is smart enough to be layering their evil.  They’re throwing as much shit at the walls to see what sticks, and I can pay attention to more than one thing at a time.  So can most adults.

So.  Drop this nonsense from your vocabulary or get punched in the neck.  We clear?  Good.  That’s all; go about your business.

In which I am not dead, nor am I dying

I am, however, having foolishly agreed to help one of my co-workers out by switching schedules with him this week, about to embark on an eight-day stand at work– which will involve no less than five eleven-hour shifts.

Things may be quiet around here for a bit, is what I’m saying, and that’s without counting the paralyzing depression that will be setting in on Friday.

On 2016, six days later

Jerry Holkins over at Penny Arcade wrote this the other day, and it crystallized a couple of things for me:

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And… yeah.  That’s about right.  Not only was 2016 the worst year of my life, even before we take into account anything that took place outside of my immediate household, its nefarious and evil aspects spilled over into the end of 2015 and the end of 2017.  At the end of 2015 I had a Health Event, ending up in the hospital twice.  I was on medical leave for months and resigned at the beginning of 2016.  I figured I’d be employed again within a month.  Two, at the most.

It took six.  And I haven’t had a weekend off since, and three days a week I work eleven-hour shifts, barely get to see my wife, and effectively don’t get to see my son at all.  And my income is, well, we’ll say unstable.

I’ve sold one book (99 cents!) in the last two months and haven’t written a single word of fiction since July.

Oh, and my mother-in-law is in hospice and probably has less than a week to live.  It could very well be today.

And that’s before the part where we installed a fascist in the White House, a fact that overshadows every single other bad thing that happened outside of the walls of my home last year and that I have been firmly in a state of I Cannot Even for weeks.  I was talking with an old friend about it the other day; it’s really odd to know you’re in a state of denial, to recognize it and not be able to do anything about it.

My job is dependent on the economy being functional.  I need to be preparing for Armageddon over here, in what may as well be a completely literal fashion.

Nothing’s getting better this year.  Nothing at all. As much as I’d like to endorse that last sentence up there, and I really want to, I don’t know how to protect anyone from what’s coming.

Fuck 2016.  Fuck it to death.  And by God, by the end of this year I’ll probably be looking back at it with nostalgia.

In which OH NO YOU DIDN’T oh yes I did

5327794+_3ff0bbc97327e2e34c0e4ea77569e412.jpgSome of our tables– most of them, actually– have leaves in them.  Any table that is on a pedestal is generally a breeze to put in and/or take out the leaf; the halves of the table are counterweighted and you can pull them apart with one hand.

And then there’s the tables with four legs, one in each corner, like you probably picture when you think of a table.  These can be a bastard to get apart to take the leaf out, especially one or two particular models that I don’t even like to sell to people who want to be able to use the leaf.  Pick a setting and keep it there forever; forget the leaf.  If I have to demonstrate with those tables, I have to ask the customer to help me out, and one of us needs to stand on each end and pull to get the goddamn thing apart enough to take the leaf out.  Sometimes we have to pull hard.

“Lend me a hand, here,” I’ll say to this hypothetical customer, as that’s a thing that people say to each other and it has a meaning that is immediately understood.

Yesterday, in precisely this circumstance, I said “lend me one hand” to the customer instead of “lend me a hand.”  Why did I phrase it that way?  Because yesterday was a long and emotionally draining day– there were good reasons I did not post yesterday, ending a streak of over two years of daily posting, and I was tired as hell and not, to put it mildly, my best self.

Oh, and also, the customer I was talking to had one arm, and I am a complete idiot.

I don’t know for sure that he noticed.  He certainly didn’t react at all, but he didn’t buy the table.

But seriously.  Jesus.