Wednesday, March 9, 2016


I have 22 days left.  Then my partner and I will lose control over our residence and have to move out. My daughter has kindly offered a room for us to live in until . . . who knows?  I don't want to talk overmuch about it.  It's the sort of thing that produces a daily thousand-yard stare that snaps off at the moment I'm presenting myself for another job interview.

Working on my book.  Working on my wiki.  Getting out in the afternoon in the hopes of finding a job cooking.  These are my days.

Strange.  On the one side of my life I field all this praise, all this encouragement, these amazing generous donations, opportunities to talk about my book with strangers, a mind full of complex and beautiful arguments about gaming and presentation . . . and on the other side of my life, the one that everyone else treasures, I'm a complete fuck up.

Bear with me.  Getting my bearings.  I'll write more later in the day, about something else.

1 comment:

Scarbrow said...

I wish I could offer words that would help. Or that I had more power to influence the other part of your life. A work ethic like yours deserves a Medici.

Come on, lurkers. Come out, and share some cold, hard, care for this man, able and willing to work till his fingers bleed. He deserves it more than anybody else I can think about it, at least in the creative world. The world will be a darker place, if somehow the level of duress makes someday Alexis stop working like he's able. I've already put my money where my mouth is. Now is the turn of the rest.

And that, I'm afraid, is the furthest reach of my persuasion.