More Dangle Than You Want to Know

My vision of hell is a job where the client keeps giving me revisions and more revisions and no matter how many things I fix they just keep coming, each one more meaningless and capricious than the last. A client, code-named Silver Salamander, has come along with a new project that promises to be one of these. This client is insane. But I need the money.

School started for young Oscar but this week every day is a “minimum day,” which means that I’ve got to pick him up at 1:25. It seems like I’m getting about one hour of work in a day. My studio is three inches deep in revisions from a current project. I’ve had to come up with an elaborate file naming system to keep track of them all.

I’m in two writing workshops now, probably too much, but each is valuable in its own way. One involves reading your pieces aloud which is very helpful to me. Don’t know why.

I’m very bad at giving feedback to other writers though and it makes me feel guilty. Some of my fellow workshoppers are amazing at dissecting a piece of writing and figuring out how to improve the prose and structure. My comments tend to be more like, “me like this.” I give nothing of value.

More information than you want to know

I had the Roto-Rooter job done to my ham-sized prostate last week. They went in with a laser and vaporized it. Star Wars: the Phantom Prostate. I’m not going to tell you how they got inside, it would cause too much psychic pain to my male readers. My recovery is going well.

I was in the hospital overnight and the guy on the other side of a curtain, Williams, had shoulder surgery that got infected while he was in the hospital. He was also on dialysis and had just had emergency surgery for a boil on his ass. He was all messed up and I could tell from his voice that he was in a lot of pain. He had a great sense of humor though and we joked around. When I told him how they got in to zap my ham he said, “I’ll bet you were glad you were out for that. I wish I had been out when you told me about it.” I hope Williams is okay.

Dysfunction of the Dangles

Got a call from my sister today. She’s concerned about my dad’s mental condition. She and dad have a lot to deal with these days. Aunt Eileen has been in the intensive care unit of her nursing home after having a fall and a bunch of related problems. She gets bouts of tri-geminal neuralgia that cause excruciating pain and when she takes the medication she becomes zombie-like. Now they say she’s ready to return to her apartment but she needs 24-hour care for at least two weeks to determine if she can care for herself.

Dad, my sister, and Aunt Eileen have been working together to determine the best course of action, except problems always arise. Aunt Eileen is stubborn and half out of her mind. One minute she agrees to something, then the next she’s against it. Dad is crippled by anxiety, passive aggression, and doesn’t believe in voicemail. My sister has a demanding job as a school social worker and doesn’t have all day to talk to nursing agencies, other social workers, and Medicare to work out all the details. My dad sits around watching Fox all day so he could, in theory, take on some of the burden, but every time he gets involved he manages to get everything screwed up. Me, I’m out here in California doing revisions, writing, and having surgeries so I’m no help at all.

Happy Labor Day!