Without any warning or reason, my insomnia faded away. I’ve been sleeping at least 7 hours a night, all at once instead of broken up into separate naps, for the last week. By itself that’s wonderful and I’m glad. But I’m also dreaming a lot more — not just more than I did when I wasn’t sleeping, but more than I usually do when I sleep okay — as if my brain is trying to shove in an extra two months worth of dreams on top of my usual slate, to make up for what I missed. Maybe this will recharge my brain, get my creative writing back on track? Or maybe it’s only pretty pretty lights playing merry hob with my brain, and in a few weeks it’ll fade away.Continue reading “Weeknotes 1.3 (Jan 22, 2020)”
Second week of the new year. It’s been quiet here, warmer than usual for a January, and generally peaceful. I’m in between a lot of things right now, still figuring out what I’m going to do next. I don’t feel rushed, though. For the first time in years, I think I can take a minute to catch my breath.Continue reading “Weeknotes 1.2 (Jan 15, 2020)”
The idea is to do a quick update, once a week, about the week that came before. The idea isn’t mine; it’s been a thing for more than a decade. I’m not even the only person I know to do it: Don started something similar last year and I’ve seen it help him get back into regular blog updates, something I need to do for myself.
I got into the habit of using social media, particularly Twitter and IG because while they both suck for passively allowing Nazis, incels, and President Tr*mp to say whatever to whoever, Facebook can outright go fuck itself for actively adding to the world’s problems. In the process, for reasons I’ll get into another time, I mostly stopped using my personal website. But this space, in as much as anything digital can be owned, is definitely mine, while Twitter and IG and Fuck-Facebook and all the rest are, depending on the day, very likely not mine at all.
I mean, I’ll still use them in a limited way to keep in touch with people I care about. I’m not a monster.
But this is meant to take some of what’s been in my head for the last week and put it into words that you, people reading this post for your own reasons (hey, I don’t judge – you do you) can put into your own heads.Continue reading “Weeknotes 1.1 (Jan 8, 2020)”
Breakfast on the Moon
Your AI beeps at you until your eyelids flutter open and your eyes, slowly, adjust to the screen in front of you, projected inside your helmet.
“I’m awake,” you mumble. “I’m awake. Stop… making… sound,” you add, struggling a little to find the words. The beeping stops but in its absence, the throbbing in your head actually feels worse. You check whether you can move your limbs, which, yes, are all there, and then scan the readouts for a sign of what’s happened to you.
“Armor is at 45%,” you say to yourself. Your AI already knows of course, but you want to figure this out for yourself. “Everything’s intact, though left leg and left forearm show radiating fractures. So, an explosion, close enough to knock me out, far enough away that I didn’t sustain any serious injuries.”
You make yourself stand up to be certain. You ache everywhere, but your bones support your weight and your armor remains airtight.
“Distance from the ship?” you ask.
“Approximately 340 kilometers,” your AI tells you, then adds, “but it’s in pieces.”
“Figures,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Which direction?”
Diplomatic Relations With Angry Rabbits
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Mayor, but the rabbits are back.” At least Siobhan was kind enough to look sincerely apologetic about it.
Evan Mikumba smiled slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “You may send them in.” She nodded and left.
Easy for her to feel sorry for me, he thought. She doesn’t have to find a way for us to live together. He shuffled random papers on his table, trying to put the thought out of his head. Until the rabbit problem, his biggest concern was getting the half of his town that voted for the son of Indonesian immigrants to get along with the half that thought there was no place for a guy like him in Texas. Hell, they’d be happier if got “sent back”, even though he was born in Austin and graduated from good ol’ UT. (Go Longhorns!) Instead he had to worry about whether giant rabbits could read his mind. Continue reading “Free Flash Fiction: “Diplomatic Relations With Angry Rabbits””