In which I express frustration in a calm and reasonable fashion

UnknownFuck Facebook.

I killed my Clark Kent personal account over there several months ago and haven’t missed it, and I keep side-eyeing Luther Siler’s account and in particular Luther Siler’s page, which has 245 Likes at the moment.  I don’t really do anything with the page other than use it as a reblogger for posts, and I discovered to my extreme displeasure over the weekend that that hasn’t been actually happening for several months now.  There are no relevant Help documents on either WordPress or Facebook that are actually useful; I found some dark mutterings on the WP site about how Facebook won’t allow auto-publication to a profile any longer, only a page, but the page is what I’ve been trying to post to and what every visible indicator tells me I have been posting to.

Except, no.

My big knock against dumping Facebook lately has been not wanting to lose the traffic.  Apparently I’m not actually losing any, though, since I’m not posting anything over there and therefore any clickthroughs that are happening are not happening from my posts.  The new problem is the number of conventions and events who seem to organize most of everything through FB.  It would be nice to be able to still keep an eye on those things, y’know?  I hate the site and I’ve literally hated it since the first time I ever heard about it, but I think I’m still stuck with it and its shitty design and its shitty everything.

It would be nice if the shit just worked at least a little bit like it’s supposed to.

too long; didn’t write

whiskey

Today was a blasted nightmare hellscape of a day, and when I got home my wife still managed to one-up me within less than a minute of me walking in the door.  I had an eighteen thousand dollar order finally deliver today after two and a half months of sitting in the warehouse, and while ultimately I’m pretty sure everything ended up working out more or less to the good I spent the entire day on the phone dealing with customer service issues and intermittently talking people who had spent an enormous amount of money off of ledges.  Today started with a customer who bought a leather power sectional a few months ago coming in and wanting a refund.  Like, literally, I walked in the door, and they were already in the store.  I managed to trade those people to another set and actually made some money on the deal, but still.  This is me, the entire fucking day:

SparseFrighteningDaddylonglegs-size_restricted

And, like, okay, there are no bullet holes in me, and that’s probably a whole lot of good thing, but I still spent damn near my every fucking waking second dodging, or looking for furniture in a giant warehouse, furniture that was not where it was supposed to be, or walking up to co-workers and saying things like “I need you to save my life right now, and here’s how you’re going to do it,” and various and sundry other things, and as it turns out that all of that shit is stressful as fuck.  I am actually walking into the last day of my week at negative sales, too, which brings its own special brand of exhaustion with it.

I, no shit, suggested to my boss around 5:30 tonight that we start a fight club, and I’m not sure I was kidding.

(Here’s the kind of day I had, in microcosm: y’all know Panera Bread, right?  They’re tasty and shit.  Today we had an employee from Panera walk into the store and drop off a menu, announcing that they were actually delivering now.  Cool!  At around 1:30, in the early stages of the shakes from hunger, I decided I didn’t have time to leave the store and needed to get a lunch delivery of some sort, and– at the menu’s suggestion– downloaded the Panera app.  Which could not be convinced that the address of my place of business, which is a real place that is actually there, since I was at that address at the time, existed, and so would not let me proceed to the part of the app where I actually order food.  So I called them, at which point the recording informed me that the restaurant was closed for renovations despite the fact that their employee had brought me a menu today.  Extend that exact kind of bullshit to every single interaction I had with any human at any time today and you have my day.)

I don’t drink.  I’mma start.

So it’s been a shit weekend

middle-finger-poster-flag-6185-p…the kind where you get into a shouting match with a co-worker in front of customers that’s mostly your fault but is just enough his that you’re more likely to jump off a building than apologize, then go home early because fuck it and spend the rest of the weekend filling out job applications.  I am tired.  Tired.  Physically and emotionally fucking exhausted.

But hey, I drew a stupid little picture tonight.  So there’s that.

Odds and ends/proof of life post

polar-vortex-nasa-670-1I woke up the other day and consulted my watch to discover that it was thirteen degrees below zero outside.  I feel like we were largely spared polar vortex horror last year, for the most part, but this year has definitely picked back up on the trend of the last several years, which is that the weather at the end of Winter Break is horrifying enough that school being cancelled and the break being extended is at least plausible if not guaranteed.  The boy goes back on Monday, finally, and I think the weather will be back to winter-normal by then, mostly, but holy fuck has it been cold around here lately.  There’s maybe, I dunno, fifteen inches of snow on top of the house, too, which means that we probably got eighteen to twenty since it tends to compress under its own weight after a while.  On the plus side, the new car appears to handle pretty damn well on ice and snow, or at least the new tires I put on it not too long ago appear to have done their job.


IMG_6692.jpgIN OTHER NEWS: the Lumberjack Beard is dead; long live the Lumberjack Beard.  I don’t normally shed my winter beard this early in the year, winter having just barely started, but apparently the answer to this year’s beard question, i.e. “How long can I let this fucker get before it starts to drive me insane?” is about nine weeks.  Granted, I brushed it backward to make it easier to shave off for that picture, but this was easily the bushiest I’d ever let my beard get, and unexpected side effects were starting to crop up– like eating getting much messier and– and this one really surprised me– all that hair on my face actually making it harder to sleep.  I think if I groomed it a bit better it wouldn’t have been as much of a thing, but I’m a novice at this and wasn’t super interested in putting in the research time.  I’d intended to just dial it back but ended up going completely back to the vandyke that I keep on my face for the other eight months of the year.  I may grow it back right away or I may not, but I won’t be doing Full Lumberjack again anytime soon.


IMG_6678.JPGMy phone is starting to slowly fill up with pictures like this, and I’m starting to see grid shapes with arcane symbols and glowing lines on them every time I close my eyes.  My buddy James Wylder posted a shot to Instagram of a bunch of notes and diagrams he was working with as he was playing through The Witness, and upon discovering that the PlayStation store had it for $15 and deciding I could use a more cerebral break from Horizon: Zero Dawn and Nioh, I was in.  Two days later I’m hooked as fuck.  I’d compare the game to Myst, but Myst had a genuine story to it and this really doesn’t; the reward for solving puzzles is more puzzles and occasional frustration and headaches.  There have been a couple of puzzles where I’ve had to cheat to get through them and at least one where even when the answer is on the screen in front of me I’ve been unable to figure out why the right answer was the right answer, but for the most part it’s hitting a nice sweet spot for me– challenging enough that solving the puzzles isn’t automatic, but not so challenging that my rapidly-becoming-legendary lack of patience with video game bullshit kicks in.  If noticing that some vines near you are a different color from the other vines and then figuring out how to get outside and line your screen up perfectly so that the vines trace the right path on the grid in front of you, and then taking a picture of it with your phone because fuck that, you don’t seriously expect me to memorize this, do you? sounds up your alley, check it out.


I had plans to write fiction this week, but they were burned to the ground once I realized that I’d have the boy with me all day yesterday and today for the last two non-weekend days of his break.  I’ve been lazy as hell on hiatus since Tales came out but it’s time to get back on the horse.  Next Thursday, then, I will either officially begin work on the latest version of the sequel to Skylights or start working on my entry for this anthology or both.  Because battle poets.  

Book sales have had a nice little spike lately too.  After most of a year where if I was selling a book or two a month I was pretty happy with it, I’ve sold five books today, two yesterday, and twelve since Christmas Eve– and that absent any sales or any particular promotion on my part other than a few surprisingly well-received Tweets.   In an absolute sense that doesn’t seem like much to brag about but I’m still in holy shit people are sending me money for stories mode, and I kinda hope I never break out of that.

That said, if anybody else wants to keep the ride going, that would be awesome.  Reviews would be cool, too, especially of the three that aren’t even at 10 yet.  Wanna help me out?

Fuck chemistry

nerve-cell-pulseIt’s been a Lexapro weekend.  As in I probably ought to be back on it.  This weekend (well, “weekend”) has been an utter shitshow; I’ve alternated useless-and-exhausted with unfocused, pointless rage for much of he last two days.  I just now managed to put away about two weeks worth of clothes and other than feeding the dog today that counts as the one thing I’ve managed to do that was good for anybody other than me.  And it only barely counts because I know my wife is tired of looking at my laundry in the bedroom all the time.

The house is a fucking mess.  It’d be nice if I was either a grown-up or on the right brain meds and could make myself do something about it.  Hell, it’d be nice if I knew which fucking one was the problem.

Don’t bother with sympathy, I’m not much in the mood for it.  Just let me rant.