I had to push back my surgery date because I was stupid and couldn’t stop smoking, and also because I fell for some really bad fearmongering from my dad. I got caught up in the moment and almost followed some horrible advice that ultimately ended up with me being even more confident in my decision than before.
It took almost a week of calling and messaging to coordinate with two different surgeons, but I finally have a new date in early August. That gives me enough time to quit without panicking, so this time, I can go into the surgery knowing that I’m stronger physically and mentally.
But honestly at times it feels almost like I have a “trauma bond” with cigarettes. Smoking brings me straight back to the halcyon days of youth and is nostalgic as hell. But when I really think about it, most of those memories weren’t good memories. Still, cigarettes were there through the best and the worst.
But whatever. If I want them back, they’ll always be there. And I only have to stop for 2-3 weeks after the surgery.
Realistically, I feel like “even if I quit, there’s not a chance in hell I’d stop.” I did for almost ten years, but so much in life has changed. That was before I got divorced, and I embraced my true self, and both my parents got sick, and I basically snapped and decided it was “do or die”.
With the surgery, with getting out of my shitty old job, and with so many other things . . .
Strangely, I feel almost excited to get the surgery now. Going down to NYC felt almost mundane, last time. I’m sure on the day before I’ll fucking panic, but for now, it barely even feels real.
As morbid as it sounds, committing to this surgery isn’t that different from accepting the endless possibilities this world has to offer–including death. So in a way, it feels like accepting not only the start of a new life, but a chance at suicide.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been obsessively looping this song lately . . .
Don’t worry, it will only make you want to tie the noose a little tighter. Just kidding! Honestly, I got away from DSBM for a long time, and would only listen to it when things got really bad. Even during my old job, I would only put it on during my worst days.
But for the past few months, it seems like every day reaches a new all-time low . . . And the vast majority of it has all been out of my control.
It’s made for some “interesting” stories, as I’m sure any of you who follow this site on even a semi-regular basis have noticed. It seems like all I want to write is weird slipstream about bizarre alternate pasts or dissonant futures . . . I guess it makes sense, at such a strange crossroads in my life.
In other news, I actually started sending queries for The Last Grim King again. Well, I sent a single one earlier, but I plan on doing more later on if the good old ADHD doesn’t stab me in the back. I’m confident that this book will sell, so I haven’t sent many letters out at all. I’m taking it slow and being strategic with the agents I contact this time around.
In a way, I think I’m afraid of it selling. I know it’s epic enough to change the way a lot of people think, but it bleeds so much of my own internal chaos out into the world . . .
The anthology is going nowhere as usual, as the artist lacks inspiration. Oh well, I know how it is. I’m thinking of just releasing the stories here on a rolling basis at this point, instead of waiting on something that will most likely never happen. I’m tired of setting my fate in the hands of others. If you want something done right, dig in . . .
I just fucking hate formatting eBooks so much. And I don’t know anything about printing, really. But I guess you have to learn somehow.
The anthology was always meant to be called TONIGHT THE OLD WORLD DIES. If only I knew how true that title would be.
Anyways, I’ve been up for what feels like 36 hours (really, I think it’s been less than 24. Not sure). And I’m better off writing more weird slipstream that makes everyone’s brain hurt . . . I think.
Take care, dearest strangers. If you need me, don’t be shy.
Weirdly relevant . . . (Cowboy Bebop, 1998)