The Eve of Destruction

 I fell apart yesterday - no liturgy at St. Photini's, no getting stuff mailed - thanks to the throbbing pain in my back.

I got over to BSU tonight, got through the email. Got stuff finsihed for the hearing tomorrow.

I expect they will make mince-meat out of me.

Got to get back home. It looks like rain.

More tomorrow.

sch

Goes The Weekend

 Yesterday was laundry, Payless, and Bracken Library.

Oh, and my Gabb phone went berserk. I did a factory reset and now have lost all my contacts.

Still needing a ride to Kokomo on Wednesday.

Research done. I am as ready as I can be for the hearing.

Today, it was cleaning what I did yesterday. Cooked at home. (Oh, yeah, if you come to Muncie, try Chava's in The Village - I blew up my Lenten fast there on Friday- very good burritos.)

I managed to finish Plautus' The Braggart Soldier while doing my laundry. I have shelved Euripides for the moment. I kept seeing ways to burlesque him, and this I find disturbing. Plautus is funny by intent.

I did not go to church today. I did not hear from my ride. A bit curious about that. I think there is a liturgy tomorrow night here in Muncie.

No time to get through all my emails. And tomorrow, we may have thunderstorms. I need to buy a tie, too. I do now own an umbrella.

Another rejection came in this week:

Thank you for submitting "Between the Dead and the Dying" to The Journal. We read every submission with care, and while we can only publish a small fraction of what we receive, the most exciting part of our job is reading such a wide variety of work. 

Though we decided against accepting your manuscript, we want you to know that we found it particularly compelling. We would be glad to see more of your writing in the future.

Thanks again,

Oh, wait a life it is!

sch

Ending The Week, Anticipating Disaster

 I finally talked to the attorney who had been representing me in regards to my father's trust. He told me that no longer felt it. Nice to have known this since there is a hearing next week. No apology for screwing things up, or putting me in a bind. I have no idea when he was going to tell me his plans. I had written an email on Wednesday night and got gibberish as a response. That is why I went on the hunt. Well, I got no answer to my telephone calls, either.

I spent yesterday morning working on things legal at Bracken Library. I managed to stay there 3 hours soaked as I was through my shoes and socks. I decided finally it was time to go buy new shoes. No, I did not go to work. I needed to get the legal matters done.

The problem of not having a car is the time spent in traveling. What would have taken me an hour altogether - and probably accomplished ore in that time - became hours. After seeing the attorney, I came back to Bracken. More emails. 

I got home a little after 5:30. Tired. I spoke with MW. I got documents drafted.

Today, I worked, and probably over-did it. I have been at Bracken for about 2 hours. I have crashed Firefox three times. I have not gotten through email and I have been distracted by the following:

The Draughtsman’s Contract review – Peter Greenaway’s cerebral intrigue still beguiles (I saw this when it came out - Castleton Square with David M or John Hulse.)

‘Her demons were probably worse’: does Back to Black reveal the real Amy Winehouse? (Like her music, but all that hair actually ehrs?)

Civil War review – Alex Garland’s delirious dive into divided US society

Several Attempts at Understanding Percival Everett because I have been seeing his name of late, and glad I did:

For me, the precise joy derived from reading Everett’s fiction lies in its embrace of contradiction and ambiguity, in its gameness to confound. My favorite Everett novel, 2017’s So Much Blue, arguably his most deceptively simple and yet most artful novel, seems to be divorced from many of the themes and ideas whose surface I have spent the past several thousand words trying to scratch. It follows Kevin Pace, a depressed, aloof, middle-aged abstract painter living with his wife and children. Despite occasional moments of public and fiscal recognition for his art, Kevin has managed to remain at arms length from his contemporaries, and he generally prefers the solitary work of marking art in his studio to company. The secrets he keeps from his wife—an infidelity, a horror he witnessed in El Salvador, and something his teenage daughter confides in him—drive the novel’s plot.

Kevin decides to obscure and abstract these secrets, and the guilt they have created, on a canvas he keeps hidden in a second studio. After his wife learns that he has kept their daughter’s secret from her, they get into an argument, and Kevin decides he doesn’t want to keep his other secrets any longer. He stops himself from speaking “pointless apologies, empty words,” and instead takes his wife out to the studio to show her his painting, on which he has buried his secrets in shades of one color—blue. His wife is confused, but he insists that now she is looking at everything there is to know.

Like Kevin’s painting, Everett’s writing is filled with secrets. Sometimes, we might just not know how to read them.

Now I need to do that legal research I have not yet done, since I will be going and doing the hearing on next Wednesday. Not sure how I will be getting there, but I am going.

sch

Ukraine, Russia, Church History - Great Lecture

 What I thought would be dull as dishwater turned out to be both fun and a timely source of information.

I have already noted When Theology Fuels the War, but I will repeat myself. It may even be better to read the latter while listening to the former.

This is why Trump could not settle this war, and it is why Americans think Putin thinks like they do are fools. Dear Evangelical Protestants, you are heretics. The one way to fight a religious war is to stop the aggressor, or else they think they do have God on their side.

sch 

Not Much to See Here

 Worked, went to see the lawyer, did not find lawyer, came to Ball State, read email, and now am tired and want to go home.

And now I want to head home. Too much to do, and too little time. Even less energy.

sch

The eclipse was magnificent. How the temperature dropped was uncanny.

We got off work early. Bloody knee gave me fits, so I was doubly glad to be home early.

I invited CC over. She was doing laundry. She did not show up.

I caught the bus over to Ball State, stopping at Chava's Mexican Grill for a vegetarian burrito and a pineapple drink. Both were very true. I am doing what I can to keep Lent.

 I am worn out, again. I have a 30 minute walk back to the apartment. But I did see the eclipse!

It may be that I never was out of wi-fi. I learned I may have found one place in Bracken Library without wi-fi. Just my luck.

Email picked through, and I managed to read When Theology Fuels the War. This is why Trump could not settle this war, and it is why Americans think Putin thinks like they do are fools. Dear Evangelical Protestants, you are heretics. The one way to fight a religious war is to stop the aggressor, or else they think they do have God on their side.

Tuesday_ 

Off early, again, I was also late to work. The knee really started hurting when I got back home. I napped this afternoon, then off to CVS and Family Dollar. I need to get to the BMV. I also need to download forms from the IRS.

I made it to Bracken Library around 6. It is almost 8. It looks like it has stopped raining. Warm today, but I wore the heavy hoodie anyway.

Rejections!

Thank you for sending us your work to consider. 

Our readers and editors have read it carefully. Unfortunately, this piece does not fit our current editorial needs, but we appreciate the opportunity to consider it.

Thanks again for submitting to The Common. We know that submitting your work takes time and energy, and we wish you the best in placing your piece elsewhere.

***

 Thank you for offering your creative work for consideration to Fiction. On behalf of Ignatian's editorial team, we regret to inform you that we do not have a place for your submission, "Between the Dead and the Dying" at this time.

Please do not feel discouraged by this, or by any momentary setback. Thank you again for letting us see your work, and for your interest in our magazine.

Best wishes,

Ignatian staff

ignatianlitmag.com

 And there I end my day with you.

I need more time here. How to find it is the question.

sch

Here I am, Again

 I should be done with "Love Stinks" by this time tomorrow. It has about done me in. I should also not say that it is done - I thought it was pretty much finished about 2 weeks, 10 days ago. 

No rain, sleet, or snow today, so I came over to BSU to use the Wi-Fi. I might have tried to do that last night except I pretty much collapsed after work.

I got my Eclipse glasses today at Payless. 

When was the last time I was here? Last Sunday? No, the buses were running. Anyway, I have gone to work and back to the apartment and to the closest VP, and nowhere else. Yes, that is the kind of time I have been putting in on the novel.

I think the knee is functioning almost normally. We will see tonight. I got here around 3 and it is 6:15. I do not take any more nicotine deprivation, so I will be getting out of here soon.

One note: the wi-fi still breaks down, even at BSU.

More rejections came in. "Local Boy Who Made Good" got this one:

Thank you for your submission to The Saturday Evening Post. Please accept our apology for the extreme delay in responding. Our editorial team is small and we are reaching out to contributors as quickly as possible. After careful consideration, we are sorry to say that we will not be publishing your story in our publication. Because of the sheer volume of freelance submissions we receive, we regret that we are unable to provide a more personal response. We are indebted to independent writers like yourself, without whom publishing our magazine and our online content would not be possible.

 Sincerely,

The Saturday Evening Post Editors

3 hours alter and still have not finished with email, or gotten back to the novel. I need to write an email, then I head home.

sch