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Everything is probably a cheap answer, but it’s true. I enjoy the thinking about what to convey. I enjoy seeing black letters mar white background until the thoughts become words, the words sentences, the sentences paragraphs, and the paragraphs completed works. I enjoy editing, improving until I get it right. I enjoy reading what I’ve wrote, more if there’s been space between the process and the reading. I enjoy other people’s opinions of what I wrote.
Writing when I finish off an essay, a review, a story, and so on is the best.
I really should do it more often. Especially with this blog….
So I’m sitting at my desk, eating ramen, trying to think of what do do with my day. Something that doesn’t involve playing Minecraft.
Don’t get me wrong, I love playing Minecraft. It’s just it has been taking up too much of my day.
I’ve been doing a lot of Blender stuff, so I’d like to get back on that.
But that means setting back my writing, and believe me I’ve done plenty of that.
Plenty of that.
So I’d like to get back on my writing. Notes, story, novel, something.
But I wouldn’t mind trying once again to finish a game.
I mean, I have three different RPGMakers in my collection. That’s a lot of money for nothing to show for it. True I enjoy the experience., But I’d enjoy a completed game more.
But I’d also wouldn’t mind building the game from scratch. I’ve options there, too. More money spent that could be put to creative use.
So I could go about figuring out how to make a game without RPGMaker.
But those games need computer graphics. Stuff that Blender makes. And I really should be learning that.
But….
Yep. Just sitting here thinking, eating ramen, trying to figure out what to do with my day.
This week we’re working on a full low polygon character. This involves not only videos from the course, but at least two hours of videos from ANOTHER series of lectures. This series I’ve never done; I pooped out on the basic course after the T Rex.
Well. The T Rex is what I wanted to do.
So.
My thought is that the basic work I’m doing here can be transferred over to the main project. I hope.
Fortunately for me, Target had cut my hours down to twenty. Giving me PLENTY of time.
But so little money.
I’d hoped to pick up a second monitor. They’re cheaper than I expected. One cost about $95 bucks, which compare to all the TVs I looked at is a steal. I’d go for a slightly more expensive model, one that matches the fella I got. The hours cut, though, makes me hesitant.
Actually, I fib. I’m always hesitant to spend any money over $50. Under, it’s more of a struggle NOT to buy.
We got a new device, an Amazon Echo. To use it, you call out “Alexa”, then give it a command. We use it to turn on and off lights. We can even change the lights color. It is most convenient, especially for Mom.
It quickly replaced our previous little helper in our affections. The name Alexa gets called out more often than actual members of our family. It even knows my name and will sometimes say, “Sure, Cullen,” to something I’ve asked.
Which is really, really creepy. But I digress.
One of the other features Alexa can do is play Spotify music. It has a nice speaker and sounds good. This, too, gets frequent use.
Except when music started playing in the house ten minutes ago, no one asked for it.
The music just started.
Nearest we could figure it heard whatever video Mom was listening to and decided on it’s own to respond. No big deal. I call out, “Alexa, stop.”
Only she doesn’t stop.
Todd tries, “Alexa, stop playing music.”
Nothing doing.
We keep right on calling out instructions, without any luck. Todd starts losing his cool, to the point he’s disturbing Daisy Mae. Poor dog comes running over to me for protection.
The music, while nice, keeps playing. Todd even tries to mute the silly thing and nothing works.
By this point, I’ve disengaged from the upset dog and walked into the living room. Alexa has a screen that displays Spotify when she… it is playing the app. I should be able to turn off the music that way. Failing that, I can unplug it. If that fails, I throw it to the floor and stop on it until it stops.
Very tech savvy I am.
Only when I reach the device, I don’t see the Spotify app. In fact, I can see that the volume on Alexa has been turned off, per Todd’s request.
The source of the music? Remember how I mentioned a previous little helper? She… I mean it. It was playing the music the whole time.
I’m not sure what this all means. Perhaps the other helper just wanted to remind us it was still there. Or perhaps this is the first sign that the computer devices have come to replace us all.
Dunno, don’t care. I’m just hunting up my shovel and burying both devices. To be safe.
Past few days I’ve had two songs running through my head non-stop.
The first, “Wrap It Up” by the Fabulous Thunderbirds, I understand. I’m making wraps at work, it triggers the song. Fine.
What I don’t understand is why “Is You is or is You Ain’t My Baby” stuck on repeat in my head. And not any version; the version Tom the Cat sings in that old cartoon of his.
I’m not really complaining–I love the song–but it makes no sense to me.
So I was making multigrain sandwiches Sunday at work. Part of the usual routine at Target. I get out the bread and lettuce, cut the meat, tomato and cheese, then assemble the sandwich. When that’s done, I seal them up in the proper boxes. From there I go to the scales, where I print up price labels for the whole thing. Punch in a nine number sequence and out they come.
You’d think this all would be boring. It isn’t, at least for me. There’s something about filling up shelves one day and finding those same shelves empty the next that’s really satisfying.
I try to make a lot of product. That particular Sunday I made up I believe eight full sandwiches and eight half sandwiches. Everything went smoothly. No customers came up to bother me. Things went well.
Right up until I made the labels.
Making the labels weren’t the problem. They were cued up and came out just like clockwork.
It was only after I put a few labels on that I noticed a problem.
They read Ham and Swiss.
I hadn’t cut any Swiss.
I distinctly remember cutting up Havarti.
I look over my prep table. There sat sixteen boxes I had to open up and replace the cheese in. This is not an easy process. The boxes are a bear to open up. Then there’s cutting up the Swiss, putting it in the sandwich, and so on. So much time wasted. So much food wasted.
Oh well. What can you do, right?
So I start to reach for one of the labeled boxes when something else occurred to me.
Yes, I didn’t cut up any Swiss. I also didn’t cut up any Ham.
I had made Turkey and Havarti sandwiches. The nine number sequence for which was right near the Ham and Swiss sequence.
I’d given the printer the wrong numbers and got the wrong labels.
So instead of screwing up a bunch of sandwiches, I caught myself before screwing up a bunch of sandwich boxes.
Not that that’s a big deal. I just like going from feeling really, really stupid to felling only kinda stupid. Nice change of pace, really…
Today when I woke, the temperature was down to -15 degrees, with a wind chill of -40. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wind chill that low, and if I had, it was decades ago.
So for the third time this week, I’ve called off work.
The other two times felt right. They were talking blizzard, blowing snow. Not only did it not feel safe, it seemed really, really unwise.
Today? It still does feel unsafe, but I’m doubting my decision.
All I can think of is a fall I had outside last week. I wasn’t hurt, I bounced back well and good. But I could have done myself an injury.
The roads are slick. Accidents happen to even the most careful driver. I can’t tell you how many winter’s I’ve been out and there are cars and trucks off roads.
They say you can get frostbite out in this cold in less than ten minutes. I’ve got good winter clothes to fall back on, but even those go only so far.
My commute to work on good days is something like 19 minutes. That’s a long ways to go. And I know some people do it. I just don’t want to risk it.
Ten years ago I might have done it. Maybe even five. But I’m not that young.
I feel very chicken calling in. I feel like I might be risking a good job. But my gut says stay home and inside. It also says most people will, and they won’t need me quite as bad as a normal day.
We’ll see what happens. If I lose this job, I lose this job. I really don’t think I will–I’ve been given complements so far during my time there–but what will be, will be.
At the start of 2023 I was two months (or so) out of work after being fired from my deli job at Walmart. I had this site, which I updated sporadically at best, the Review Site, which I didn’t update at all, and a dwindling bank account. Not the brightest of days.
At the end of 2023 I’m two weeks (or so) at a new job working deli at Target. I have this site, which I update sporadically at best, the Review site, which now updates every Friday and will continue to do so to at least June, several short stories, a novel that doesn’t work as well as I’d like but at least exists, and seven bucks (at best) in the bank account. Not too terrible, I think.
I hope to do better.
My MAD SCHEME is to write a novel a month. I’ve been trying to do that since November’s success. Hasn’t been working so far. But that’s the goal.
I want to work more on digital art. Maybe make a game. Who knows.
I want this site to update at least once a week. Daily would be great, but once a week seems more feasible. Fiction, essay, review, art, doesn’t matter. Once a week.
I want to have reviews all through 2024 for the sister site. Not doing bad so far, but need to work on it.
As this will be a decent size post as is, I’m not retelling the tale. In short, years back I learned that when the Zombie/Vampire/Alien/Whatever Apocalypse comes, I will not be the Hero that saves everyone. No. Instead, I’ll be among the first to go. Probably still wondering what was going down.
Apparently this one lesson wasn’t enough. Apparently another was needed.
Lucky me.
The Good Girl in Question
Thursday Brother Todd had a nasty surprise while watching the family dog Daisy Mae have fun outside. Namely, he got to find her covered in what he called bees. He brushed her off as quick as possible, then brought her in to safty.
At the time I was outshopping. On returning and hearing the story, a nasty memory popped back up. A couple years back we had a yellow jacket nest in the yard. Stung me on the finger and the back of the neck. I killed them all real good
Now I’m a grown man. When trouble pops up, I should act like. Besides, the sun was going down. The troublemakers would be in the nest asleep.
So I went outside. I went to the bush in front, where Daisy had been sitting, and had a look around.
Nothing.
Okay then. Might as well make the trip worth while. We’d been talking about trimming the bush back. I figured I’d take a bit off, make the trip out worth while.
I hadn’t cut more than a little when the first sting happened. Under the upper part of my right arm.
Alright then. I might want to–
That’s went the second sting happened. Then maybe the third.
There were a lot of stings that day.
Now common sense finally hit. I ran to the house. Felt something buzzing my hair, and all I could think about were all those Horror movies where an idiot character gets himself stung to death. So glad I could be one.
I shut the front door behind me, safe at last. I started to tell Mom and Todd what happened.
Then Todd noticed it.
From about hem to pockets my black pants were covered in yellow jackets.
Todd shouted for me to take my pants off and throw them outside. To my credit, I did the single smart thing I did that day and ignored him. Instead, I ran outside, stripped off my pants, then ran back inside. Where I took a quick shower just in case a few stragglers remained.
So yeah. In my underwear out where the neighborhood could see me.
Surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.
Or more often.
So all of this comes with a capper. Those yellow jackets? Weren’t from the nest that got Daisy.
I am blessed with a yard filled with stinging insects.
Anyway, Daisy didn’t seem to be bothered by the experience. If it hurts her, she gave no sign.
Me, I’m under the desk, whimpering as I type this.
I’ve never been stung on the nose before. Wasn’t even on the bucket list.
WELLTUN CARES PRESENTS 