Month: October 2011
Disco, Iguanas and Thundercats. This post has EVERYTHING.
As you all may – or hell, may not know – I have been attending college for the last three years. Big whoopies, some of you may say. I retort with: I started my educational career when I was thirty-eight. (38!!)
I realize that most people do this sort of thing when they are younger, have more stamina, less children, a greater capacity for beer, what-have-you. But, being me – that is to say, dense – I did a whole bunch of living before starting undergraduate studies. While I do have some regrets about not going to college right out of high school – I mean, who DOESN’T want to live on campus, study continuously, and yet party like a rock star every night*? 
Most of the time, I am all right with the decisions I have made and the weird assortment of jobs that I have had**.
The upshot of all this is that I am approaching my final hours for my Associates (woooo, Associates of Art in English ~METAL HORNS~) and am now contemplating the Big Question.
What in the heck do I ~DO~ with this degree? Or, more succinctly: Now What?
Up until recently, I had assumed that I was going to go on and get my Bachelors, and then Masters Degrees. (Spellcheck wants “degrees” capitalized?) However, recent financial events have made me question that assumption. Suddenly, it has become Very Important*** that more dollars flow from my doings. Full time gig, HOOO****!
I’m not saying that getting your education and working full time are mutually exclusive. People do it all the time. I just don’t know if I can do it. I guess I am going to find out, though. Because, I (re)submitted my application, my transcripts, and the blood of a virgin iguana to Texas State University. As you do.
Now, if I can get a counselor to actually speak to me about what and how many of my multitudinous hours are actually going to transfer and apply, that’d be like super awesome, dude.
&.& (<- my daughter, who is far cooler than I, assures me that is an eye roll.)
Meanwhile, I continue with the job search. I have hours lined up at the community college for Spring semester, in case something goes completely pear-shaped at the university. I don’t really anticipate a problem (3.5 overall GPA, ~METAL HORNS~, again) but you never know.
* – All those movies are accurate, right?
** – I have driven a taxi cab, worked as a house mom, put in driveways, done general demolition work, been a dog groomer, done tech support, technical writing & quality assurance on software. Those are *some* of the jobs that I have held since I passed twenty years old.
*** – I turn into Pooh the Bear when I write journal entries, I notice.
**** – Of course, this is assuming that I can FIND a full time gig. The economy, she sucks.
FICTION: “The Bill”
I used to think that I would be able to pay any price that came due for my partying ways. But the government just put out a bill to hike the price of anti-retrovirals. Second time through. Probably going to pass, this time. I don’t know that my insurance will be able to cover it. When I called to ask, they kept hemming and hawing and putting me on hold. Shit, I must have been transferred fourteen times before I got disconnected that last time. I didn’t care enough to call back. What good would it do? There is the not inconsiderable fact that I will likely be dead before the price change goes into effect.
I was a writer, once. I did all right at it. I wasn’t rich or anything. Stephen King, I ain’t. But I had a comfortable life and a following of loyal readers. I’d put out a book every other year or so. Genre work, you know? It was fun. I remember being good at it. World-building. I wish I had nailed that graphic novel gig down. I thought I had time. But, I was busy doing other things.
Like going to parties. I went to a lot of parties. As an approachable author who genuinely liked his fans, I was on the convention circuit non-stop. I don’t think I saw the inside my house for more than a few days at a time during those years. I wasn’t lonely, though. There are always people who want to touch greatness. Even somewhat hackneyed greatness like mine. Fuck, I must have slept with a hundred different people. It’s kind of a blur though. I know that I did a lot of drugs. I’d hang out with a few fans and get wasted, wake up the next morning next to the love du jour. Fun times.
While he he writes, the con circuit is good to a prolific author. Stop writing though? Your fans and friends just drift away like smoke.
I’m sick all the time, now. I sweat all night. My hands shake if I hold anything heavier than a pencil. Plus, my mind isn’t what it used to be. I have these episodes. Moments where things just sort of fade out. Heh. Like my fans, I suppose.
For example, last week, I found myself in the men’s restroom at the Safeway. I had no clear memory of going in there. I just…I dunno, sort of woke up and found myself on the floor, next to the toilet. I could see the dirty mop swirls under my knees. No idea how I got there.
Oh, I know what is causing all these lapses in memory. I read up on my disease. Us authors – we’re keen at research. Dementia, its called. Just one of the little side bennies of what I have. Of course, I will have to look it up again in a few days. The sicker I get, the stupider I get too. Maybe if I were fuzzy all the time, I wouldn’t mind so much.
Its the clear moments that bother me the most.
The Process 