In Between Days

In Between Days


Figure 1. Exactly.

Figure 1. Exactly.


Here we are poised on the ragged end of summer. I’m caught between routine and leisure.

There’s too much on my mind. I have been sick for several days but I’m feeling on the mend.

Still, I can’t do anything but read.

(And write smutty fan fiction. For some reason, I expel a whole bunch of that stuff prior to doing the Published Writing. Clearing the pipes.)


Figure 4. Pablo and Gonzo cuddle time.

Figure 2. Pablo and Gonzo cuddle time.


My dog is a champion cuddler. I was told this morning that I am not a champion cuddler.

“You lay next to me and read, but you don’t cuddle,” said Matilda.

“I’m the best cuddler in this whole family,” said Adrian.

“Did you know that the name ‘Pablo’ is actually Spanish for ‘excellent cuddler?'” asked Pablo.


fresh desk

Figure 3. What my desk looks like when I clean it quarterly.


My office is getting new windows. This means violence is being done to my bookshelves and desk. No access allowed to that room. Probably I should have picked out a clean outfit today?

I wonder if the vintage table cloths we currently use as curtains will still cover the new windows?

My office is not an exciting place. I might buy a couch for it once the dumbass remodeling is finished.*


Figure 4. Heh.

Figure 4. Heh.


One thing I like about reading fan fiction is how baldly it can show the writer’s fantasies. I also don’t like it for that reason, especially when I read things that sound like they’ve been produced by some kind of software designed to sound “sexy.” That makes me feel sad for the person; that they’ve not developed their own erotic glossary, so to speak. That the images they’ve decided signal ‘sexy’ are stock images and worn metaphors.

Silky, throbbing, shuddering, dewy… etc.

Come on, man. Don’t let others speak for you!

There are specific things you learn about a person when you have sex with them. They are not usually sexual or erotic. That was one of the main draws about sex for me back when I was a youth. I just wanted to SEE what the guy would DO. What he’d look like. What would HAPPEN if I did x or y. A kind of curiosity that hasn’t left me, even though I’m married and monogamous and boring.


Figure 5. My kid, Matilda. Sorry you have to go to Gross Middle School, honey

Figure 5. My kid, Matilda. Sorry you have to go to Gross Middle School, honey


My daughter had middle school orientation yesterday. Her middle school smelled like floor cleaner and onions. The onions part is from body odor, I’m quite certain.

Middle school is populated with lots of kids who don’t realize they should now start bathing with more frequency.

I think all middle school building signs should say: “Welcome to _____________ Middle School: No One Wants To Be Here, So Let’s Just Get This Over With.”

The nice thing about her middle school, though? It still has a library. And a librarian. And there were some really good books on the shelves. More than I can say for her goddamn elementary school.

*sighs for 15 minutes*

Figure 6. Oh, thanks, Norman.

Figure 6. Oh, thanks, Norman.


Next Wednesday, I turn 40.

It doesn’t feel that old. Yet: you are OLD when you are 40. But I wrote this when I turned 37 and it still is true.

I keep waiting to transform into someone grown-up and responsible.

I keep waiting to, like, somehow need religion.

I keep waiting to become this person who is demure and discreet and appropriate.

But I’m 40 and that’s not happening. So I guess now I just say, what?

Fuck It All

Stop telling me what’s what, World

I’m half-way to death so give up on me becoming Proper already

I’m having Devil’s Food cake with coconut pecan frosting for my birthday. Later, once this dumbass remodeling** is done, I’m taking Adrian to Italy for a week to celebrate my oldness.






*This dumbass remodeling is scheduled to be finished exactly never.
**I know. I KNOW.

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