Scatterbrained Ramblings

Update (Warning: Lots of Navel-Gazing)

October 29, 2019
Edit: To my readers, I appreciate you all, but this post is for me. You can read it if you want, but it really rambles a lot—even by my standards—and is not really a particularly “fun” post. So, if you want to skip this one, feel free; you’re not missing anything.

So, life’s been nuts lately. I kinda forget when it started being nuts, but it feels like it’s been that way a long time now.

Vacation. Maybe that’s when things started being crazy. Or were they crazy before? I forget. Anyway, it occurs to me that I haven’t even talked about my vacation, so I suppose I oughtta.

It was great. I mean, other than the almost zero cell service everywhere up there on the state line between Connecticut and New York, it was pretty much everything I hoped it would be: it was relaxing, it was peaceful, it was comfortable, it was pretty.

*sigh* And then I had to leave.

I went to see The Glass House, and I deliberately didn’t plan anything else on the trip. My last vacation—to Europe—was harried the whole time, and I got back after a week and a half utterly exhausted. I decided that I really wanted to try a vacation where I did more resting and taking things easy rather than trying to cram in a bunch of things to do. So, while I made some notes of things I could do, I didn’t put them on a schedule and wasn’t gonna worry about them if I didn’t do them. I tried a steak outside of Texas, and the rumors—at least based on my sample size of one—are completely true: we do steaks so much better here! I also paid $100 for that meal, which was crazy. Better prices, better taste…I’ll stick with Texas, thank you very much! I went to a park and did some walking—something I definitely need to do, given I’m around 240 pounds now, and at 5’8″, I’m turning into a little lard-tub. It was really nice. Long—much longer than I expected, probably around 6 miles all told—but a pleasant hike anyway. I was a bit embarrassed by the guy in his 60s or so who passed me, and also by the girl in her 20s who made hiking up what seemed like a near-vertical surface easy, but I figured, “meh, at least I’m doing something physical.”

But yeah, the Glass House was nice. Learned a bit and felt encouraged after I went. It turns out it took Philip Johnson 27 versions to get it the way he wanted it. I’m only on version 10, so I figure I’m not doing too badly.

On that note (digression alert!), I might be about to change my long-term plans. Sure, a nice, custom house has been on my list for a long time, but 40 acres has been on it even longer. It turns out my neighbor is considering selling his property—17 acres—and after talking to him and running some preliminary figures by the bank, I think I might be able to do it. That plus my 14 acres would put me at 31, which gets me awfully close to where I want to be. I won’t know, though, until the beginning of December what his actual asking price is. He had it appraised last year, and the number was within range, but who knows what it is now? Anyway, I’m antsy, and I think that antsy feeling is what has me in a funk.

That was the original title for this post, by the way: “in a funk”. Things are well, but…eh…I’m just not feeling it ever since the trip. Being able to get off a fixed schedule, being able to lie around reading (I read 4 books in 4 days, which is insane for me since I think before that I’d read 4 books in 4 years…), getting up when I felt like it, going to bed when I felt like it, not really having any sense of, “I better make this last because I’m gonna have to go back to work tomorrow”…it was all so great, so…I dunno, freeing? As a result, while I’ve gotten stuff done at home and at work (finally fixed hay-henge…oh, wait, you don’t know about hay-henge, either…), I’m just not really feeling energetic about anything. I feel lonely (more days than not), I’m bored and stressed out by work at the same time (got a new client that wants me to work full-time for the client while also working full-time for the rest of my clients, plus it feels like total chaos at the new client’s place, constantly being pulled in a bunch of directions and getting opposing instructions, all while trying to do something that I’m not entirely certain can be done in the allotted time), and overall, I’m just feeling kinda…blah. I wanted to write today, but my Jack’s Blacks entry just isn’t really fun to write right now. On a more positive note, I went back and re-read it, and it’s not nearly as boring as I thought it was as I was writing it; it’s actually pretty hot, with nearly constant action…I guess I missed it for the trees.

Boy, that was a rambling paragraph. But it kinda illustrates my general psyche right now. I feel like I need another vacation—not because the vacation I had wasn’t restful; au contraire, it was very restful—but because I just haven’t been able to readjust to working since taking the time off. I guess it’s not too dissimilar to when I went on hiatus doing my writing commissions; it’s just hard to get any kind of momentum back when you’re not feeling all that passionate about it and the break was better than the work. Maybe I need to plan more chaotic vacations. 😛

In other news, we’ve already had one day below freezing, and we’re supposed to potentially have a few more this week…at the beginning of November. What the hell, Nature?! It’s not supposed to get this cold until January! Or maybe a hint of it in late December. Makes me kinda nervous about the rest of the winter. All the more reason I really want out of this camper. Oh, on that note, if I don’t buy my neighbor’s property, my backup plan is to build a small house. I call it a “fancy shed”. I’ve already designed it out, though after talking with my parents (my dad helped his dad build houses when he was a kid), I’m probably going to make a few modifications to make it a less wasteful design (e.g., making the walls increments of sheetrock rather than weird sizes, etc.).

Speaking of my parents, I went to go visit them weekend-before-last. We had a heart-to-heart about my still being single. Not that they are pushing me to get together with someone, mind you; the topic just came up, and they asked me what I wanted in a person. It was rather a rough awakening (most awakenings with them are), but through talking with them, I realized I don’t really want a partner; I want a maid. And, they brought up a good point: hiring a maid is much cheaper and less emotionally messy than getting a house-boy. So…that was kinda disappointing, but on the other hand, it was also kind of relieving. But also frustrating. Lots of “ing”s… Disappointing because I had hoped to find someone compatible, relieving because it seemed like a hopeless task, and disappointing because though I’m having a lot of trouble articulating it, I do want something beyond a house-boy. Maybe a best friend—somebody I can confide in and enjoy being around without his being attached to someone else. Like my former roommate and his boyfriend: I love them both to death; they are great people, and I love being around them. But they have each other, and let’s face it: I’m the third wheel. That’s okay; I wouldn’t want to intrude on their relationship, but at the same time, I can’t help but wish there was someone I could get closer to.

I learned from my parents more about how they met and how they knew they were the ones for each other. It turns out it wasn’t “love at first sight” like my mom originally described it. It was kinda cool hearing them both talk about it, though. Far more than an emotional connection at first, it was compatibility: their long-term goals meshed pretty well perfectly, they were both coming from places they didn’t want to be anymore, and everything just clicked. Frankly, to me, that’s more amazing than love at first sight. More on that in a minute.

Coming from that background—that long-term compatibility was, for them, more important than “love at first sight”—we talked my long-term goals and finding someone who shared those. But—and this was frustrating—I realized that I’m not really looking for someone with my long-term goals. I mean, I’ve always imagined myself running the place by myself—maybe having someone do the housework (since I’d rather be on the tractor than doing laundry—hell, I’d rather be digging a trench by hand than doing laundry…)—but other than that, I never really imagine there being someone else. When I imagine someone else here with me, putting in work beside me with the property—and this is horrible—the only thing I picture is risk: risk of the person taking it all—or a part of it—away. Until now, everything that’s been done to the property has been either directly by my hand (most of it) or because I paid for it (like putting in the utilities and culverts). There have been small exceptions, but certainly nothing to give anyone the leverage to take the place away from me. I’m realizing as I write this—though I didn’t then—that as lonely as I am, my fear of losing everything I’ve spent my whole adult life working towards trumps the loneliness. Some might say it’s an unfounded fear, but I’m realizing that to me, it’s a given: the moment I let someone in, the moment someone invests time and money into the property, the moment this place isn’t mine anymore. Never mind the fact that I spent 12 years saving to buy it and living in lousier and lousier places along the way. Never mind that in 13 days, I’ll have been in this damn camper 3 years. The moment someone else invests in it, the moment that person lays claim to it.

People have long accused me of keeping people at a distance. And they’re right: while I’ve always been very open about my life, how I’m feeling, what I’m doing, what interests me, what I hate, I have deliberately taken an emotional step back from people I wasn’t “that” into; I don’t want to give people the impression I’m interested in “happily ever after” with them if I’m not. The thing is, when pushed to describe what I really want—as my parents asked me—I have to admit, I have no idea. When I first started dating, I said I wasn’t going to be shallow, wasn’t going to focus on the physical. That’s all well and good, but I feel like there’d need to be substantial compensation for it, you know? I mean, not everybody has sex all the time, but there are other features that keep a couple together. I feel like the people I’ve dated have generally either been immature (almost all of them) or just too disparate personality-wise from mine for us to really mesh.

Look at me, navel-gazing here. Heh, well, in all fairness, this is what I started this blog for, so while I appreciate my readers, you are more than welcome to stop reading. This post…is for me.

As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself (heh), I think I’m beginning to get a clearer picture on things. But first, I need to take a step back: one thing I said while talking with my parents was that I didn’t think I was capable of loving someone “how you’re supposed to”: to want to put someone else’s needs above my own, to enjoy spending time with someone more often than not, to—above all, as I realize now—be willing to sacrifice everything I have saved up for while trusting my partner to believe I won’t have to. I think that’s a big part of it: trust. Let’s go through my “longer term than most” partners and see where the trust issues were:
- M: He moved from Washington state to be with me—despite my protesting that it wasn’t a good idea since we’d never met in person. I picked him up at the airport, and we lasted 3 days in person. He kinda started my lack of trust in people: after him, I really couldn’t trust people to be smart enough to have their own best interests at heart.
- J: Definitely a smart enough guy. I still look up to him in a sense—the only one of my partners I’ve looked up to—he had his own business by the time he was in his 30s and was probably making then more than I make now. Thing is, our personalities just clashed a lot. We broke up 4 times in around a month, took a long hiatus (during which time I dated a few other people), and then tried getting together again and broke up another time. So…not so much trust as clash of personalities. I think he’s probably the reason I’m afraid of dating my intellectual equals; I hate arguing, but I’m too stubborn to let something important go just like that.
- S: Ah, S, my former Dom. Twice my age, half my maturity level. We haven’t spoken since then—the only one of my exes to whom I haven’t spoken since we broke up. Definitely reaffirmed my fear that people aren’t smart enough for their own good. I forget how long we lasted, but I’m thinking probably 4–6 months.
- T: My crazy ex-girlfriend. We broke up in 2009—or was it 2008?—and she called my cell again about a year ago. Aside from the stalking, knowing we weren’t a good fit from day 1, and the constant arguments with me arguing for us to break up and her arguing for us to stay in that dysfunctional relationship—eeyup, another case of feeling like I have to be the smart one and call it like I see it—even though I hate being the bad guy. We lasted a year like that. I should have known better.
- C: About the only person I’ve dated that I was physically attracted to, but that’s about where it ended. Extremely narcissistic and entitled, along the lines of, “middle-class people make more money than I do, so they owe it to me to pay me a living wage.” I tell ya, I hate entitlement, and the fact that he refused to compromise on things just infuriated me. We dated six months, then I moved off to Houston. He got a boyfriend, I moved back to Dallas, the three of us fooled around off and on, and then they moved to Washington…or Oregon…I forget which. Been mostly celibate ever since. So, there was one good thing: the sex was fun. But personality-wise, not great, and I really didn’t like the idea of going to work every day to come home to the slovenly mess that he left his place (while his boyfriend worked).
There have been plenty of flings here and there, lots of people I went on one date with and really didn’t feel it (or they disappeared afterwards—typical in the hookup scene), but I think ultimately it always comes down to one of a few things:
- I don’t trust the person to be able to take care of himself/herself and make good decisions,
- I’m not physically into the person,
- Our personalities clash, or
- I don’t trust that the person won’t try to take advantage of me.
And of course, in all of this, I can’t help but think to myself, “your little sister’s been married for years; what’s wrong with you that you can’t attract a good mate?”

Here I show a bit of ignorance. I don’t know specifically what my problem is. Yes, I’m selfish, but everybody tells me that goes away (or at least gets better) when you find THE ONE. I mean, conceptually, it makes sense: why should I want to do something for someone that I don’t particularly respect or feel connection to when I get no sense of satisfaction from it? I know, I know, “said the selfish brat”, but come on; everybody does things for selfish reasons: people give money to charity for tax write-offs or to feel like they did a good thing. People volunteer because it connects them with other people and makes them feel good about themselves. I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna find someone volunteering who hates it and who doesn’t get some kind of sense of self-fulfillment out of it. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I am just a selfish prick. Maybe I should be willing to share / give away my land to whoever walks into my life nex—no! That’s a bad idea! That’s exactly the thing M would have done because he has zero concept of real life and puts no value on money. I’m not saying money is everything—it’s not—but come on! The guy sold everything he owned except his laptop to get on a plane to go be boyfriends with a person he’d never met in person and with whom he shared zero chemistry!

I digress. So, yeah, I’m selfish. After all, this whole blog post is about me. And I flat-out told you that it would be, and yet here you are, still reading. Thanks. Or maybe you’re just bored or wondering when I’m going to get to the “good part”. Honestly? I dunno what the “good part” would be. I’ve been rambling on for 3000 words now, and I’m still not sure where I’m going with this. But, it’s cathartic to get it out, so I’ll just keep going. Besides, it’s not even 2030, yet. I’ve got time.

Sheesh, I digressed again. So, selfish. What else? Well, I’m horrendously overweight. Seriously, I weigh 75 pounds more than I did at my heyday and 60 pounds more than a healthy weight. And I know this. And I have a plan to fix it—it just doesn’t involve doing anything until I can get out of this damn camper—which I also have a plan for. So, I’m not there, yet, and I’m not just putting it off. It’s not on the calendar, yet, because it’s contingent on getting out of the camper and having enough saved up to buy an elliptical, but it is on my list! And what can I say, I am a planner, and someone who likes things to go according to said plan…after all, I’m still following my now-15-year-plan towards owning land and a house. Boy, wouldn’t it be amazing if I could actually buy my neighbor’s property in a little over a month? Hell, even two months! It could be my Christmas present to myself and the herd. Hehe…15 years… Damn, it’s been a long time.

I’m really not good at this self-reflection stuff, I guess; I keep deflecting off onto other things. What else? Stubborn at times, yeah…I think it plays into the selfishness and/or my ego. Oh, there’s one: my ego. Not gonna lie, I like being right, especially around people I don’t consider my intellectual equals (yes, yes, I know: more ego). Not gonna lie, it’s caused problems at work, but in my defense, on the rare chance the other guy is actually right (which is seldom—if he were right to start, there wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place), I acknowledge it. I think that’s the thing that irks me about him: he’s in a position of power, and he uses that to get his way, even when everybody else on the team knows he’s wrong. That kind of stuff frustrates me and my coworkers: it’s bad for morale, bad for our customers (when we have to redo stuff because he wanted it done a way that clearly didn’t align with what they wanted), and I firmly believe, bad for business because he’s also a complete know-it-all; I think our customers would be more likely to do business with us if he quit talking to them. He always wants to show off how much he knows, and he talks so much that there’s never a chance to actually listen to what the customer wants. If I were a customer, I would want much more for someone to understand my needs and demonstrate comprehension of them than to show me how smart he or she was. What good are smarts if you can’t build me the thing I need?

How many times am I going to digress here? Let’s see: I probably drink too much. I blame living in the country. There is nothing else to do out here…especially when it gets cold. But yes, I could afford to drink less. I need to find a new way to entertain myself. Working out would be good….once I’m out of the camper…because jumping rope when it’s 40 °F outside…sucks, and there isn’t space to do pushups inside.

What else? There are certain physical habits I have that I won’t utter here—sheesh, what does that say about me, that I’m so embarrassed about them that I won’t even write them on my own blog? Yet as embarrassed as I am about them, I see nothing inherently wrong with them; they may be unsightly to others, but they don’t do me any harm…well, except that one. Okay, yes, I pick at scabs, pimples, ingrown hairs, and the like. I actually looked it up. It’s called excoriation, and it’s an obsessive-compulsive tic. That one I’m not too keen on and could do to stop. And my excuse for not doing anything about it is, “I don’t want to go to therapy.” Never mind the fact that if I put my mind to it, I could probably do it on my own, or, barring that, therapy isn’t that expensive with insurance, I just don’t want to take the time out of my day to go see a therapist while trying to work and hold down the fort. They’re excuses, all of them, and I know it. I guess, ultimately, while I know it’s a flaw, I don’t view it as bad enough to spend the effort working on. After all, who’s really going to care? I’m not dating anybody, and the herd doesn’t care, right? That was overly dismissive. I dunno—just not worth it, I guess. Maybe it’s the selfishness again? Or the stubbornness? Or the feeling like I don’t have time to do anything? (Never mind the fact that earlier I said I had time to continue writing this behemoth of a scatterbrained ramble.)

You know, I think I’m bored with this self-reflection, at least in reflecting on faults. I know I’m not perfect, and I know there’s room for improvement. When it comes to meeting someone else, I don’t expect perfection, either, but it sure would be nice to find someone who “meshes”: someone who maybe is my intellectual equal but who somehow magically doesn’t set off my ego, someone who isn’t entitled or arrogant, and so we get along. Someone driven to do what matters to him that just happens to coincide with me doing what’s important to me. Maybe he’s not into land ownership and will be perfectly content to let me manage my—I mean “our”—land the way I see fit while he engages in whatever hobbies make him happy. And maybe we both like looking at stars at night. Maybe he likes the herd and is nice to them, but I don’t have to worry about him messing around with them. Maybe he stands on his own two feet and I stand on mine, but we realize we’re happier standing on our own two feet together rather than alone. Maybe we do actually enjoy sex, and maybe I get over my squeamishness over topping. Maybe he’s not Adonis, but he’s attractive to me anyway.

Gosh, that’s a lot of maybes.

I guess, in summation, it would be more amazing to me to find someone like that, who just happened to “fit” into my life like that, and where I just “fit” into his, than to find “love at first sight”. I mean, I’ve long said that I’m big on conversations, right? Maybe it’s not love at first sight. Maybe we do like my parents, meet, and even though we may not be head-over-heels, yet, maybe the more we talk, the more the two of us together just “make sense”? Maybe we do that thing that I wrote about what feels like forever ago and spend the day in bed, snuggled up together because there’s no place we’d rather be?

Told you I was a hopeless romantic…
The Púca

October 17, 2019

There once was a man.
He sat alone in the dark.
Terribly lonely.

Out of the darkness
There appeared emerald eyes,
Eyes that watched the man.

The man gave a sigh,
Wishing for good company.
The eyes moved forward.

Suddenly gasping,
The man turned toward the eyes,
But there was nothing.

Overcoming fear,
The man called into darkness,
But he was alone.

“Where is my true love?”
The thought always on his mind.
“Why am I alone?”

The eyes reappeared
And watched the man cautiously.
A body took form.

The shape of a horse,
With glowing, mystical eyes.
It was a púca.

Revealing itself,
And standing before the man,
The púca waited.

The man turned and looked.
His eyes widened, and he gasped.
What a sight this was!

Its body glistened,
Moonlight upon black horse-hair.
Its muscles rippled.

Then the púca spoke.
“Why do you sigh, lonely man?”
The púca asked him.

“Because I’m lonely,
I have so much love to give,
But there’s no-one here.”

“Then give it to me,
And I will be your true love.
We’ll love each other.”

“But you’re a púca.
How could we love each other?
You’ll just betray me.”

The púca looked sad.
“You must learn to trust others.
Take a risk, or else!”

“Or what?” asked the man.
“You will never find your love,”
The púca warned him.

“But I am afraid.
What if you take advantage?
What if we break up?”

“What will be the point
If I go and break your heart?
Too much misery!”

“But if you don’t try,
You will never find your love.
You will lose your chance.”

“Is it better, then,
To play it safe, missing out,
Or to take a chance?”

The lonely man sighed.
“I do hate being lonely,”
He had to admit.

“What’s the worst outcome,”
The púca challenged the man,
“You’re likely to see?”

“Wasted time,” he said,
“And manipulative words
That rob and degrade.”

“Such a pessimist!
What his’try makes you think this?”
The púca queried.

“I have known many,
Some with their heads in the clouds,
Lacking common sense.”

“There’s a guy I knew:
We fought every time we talked
And broke up five times.”

“There’s the crazy ex:
She stalked me from place to place…
Still does to this day.”

“There’s my last boyfriend:
Narcissistic to the core,
And arrogant, too.”

“You see?” said the man,
“It’s not for lack of trying;
I’ve run the gamut.”

“How long has it been?”
The púca’s equine lips asked,
“Since your last boyfriend?”

“Over seven years,”
The man had to think a bit,
It had been so long.

“And since that time,
There have been people I liked:
All of them taken.”

“Tell me, oh púca,
You benevolent spirit:
Have I missed my chance?”

The púca’s lips pursed.
He hated to give bad news.
“Yes,” he said at last.

“I am your last chance.
Please, lonely man, don’t miss out!
Take my hand; let’s go.”

“You don’t understand;
I have watched you for so long,
You’re the one I choose.”

“I might not be it,
But I love you with my life.
You’ve nothing to lose.”

The man turned away.
“Leave me, you trickster spirit!
Come, be practical!”

“Púca and a man?
You can’t live here in my house;
I can’t live with you.”

“I have will and way,”
Said Púca to spurning man,
“Ye of little faith.”

Then the púca left.
The man wonders to this day:
What could there have been?

So, boys and girls,
Commit this moral to heart
And into your mind:

When it comes to love,
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
True love’s worth the pain.
A New Experiment: Jack’s Blacks

September 24, 2019

It has occurred to me that although the proceeds from Amazon sales have been very, very slow, they are steady, and the best thing is that I don’t really have to do anything other than occasionally offer one of the stories for free. It also occurred to me that things might pick up if I had more to offer. As a result, I’ve finally figured out what I’m going to do about it.

Presenting the Jack’s Blacks: Little Black Books Containing Short Erotic Tales for the Discerning Kinkster series. The plan is to do short stories on a variety of topics, 2K–5K words each, and sell them for $0.99 on Amazon. Some will be furry, some will be human, and I’ll try to do them on pretty much any kink I can think of that Amazon will actually let me post.

I will post on FA, as well, announcing the series and actually (for the first time) accepting requests with the caveat that I get to pick the characters (no OCs, copyrighted characters, etc.), will retain all rights to the story, and will not pay royalties; it’s just an opportunity for people to get stories told that they might like to read for free (and hopefully I make something off the Amazon sales).

For my followers on here, if you’d like to request a topic, click here.

I’m pretty excited about this since it might actually be my gateway into developing a source of ongoing revenue, and it doesn’t take nearly as much effort as producing a full-length novel.

Now to get the first one written and published!

Edit 2019-09-25:

The first book, The Chauvinist, is published! You can find it here.

In other news, I’ve received my first Jack’s Blacks suggestion. It’s an interesting concept, but I have to confess, I don’t see how it’s erotic. So, I may take some creative liberties with the proposed plot to make it so.
Virtual Reality

August 4, 2019

So, first story in a long time. A friend of mine is really into pig transformation, so this is for her. It’s tagged as erotica, but there’s not really any sex, just so y’all are forewarned. Enjoy.

The fair grounds bustled with activity: animals being put on display, children running and playing on the midway, and adults leisurely strolling around taking it all in.

Shawna and Frank were one such couple. Both in their late twenties, they had observed the prized pigs, horses, and bulls, seen some of the shows, and were now making their way toward the midway.

“Oh, hey, look at this!” Shawna called above the din, pointing to a booth on the border of the midway and the exhibition arena.

Frank looked over and then walked over to her. “What’s this?” he asked.

“The best virtual reality you’ll ever see!” a voice said.

Shawna and Frank both jumped in surprise and looked at the speaker, a wiry little man who looked like death warmed over but whose smile still managed to be warm and cheerful.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“Well, you both just put these headsets on, and then one of you will turn into an animal—virtually, of course.”

Frank cocked his head quizzically. “That seems like a very strange thing to turn into virtual reality,” he said. “Why that?”

“Well, it’s actually very challenging,” the little man said. “Augmented reality is easy; you expect to see something out-of-the-ordinary overlaid on top of what you see. Complete virtual reality is also easy; you expect to be fully immersed in a virtual world. But this—this is much harder: it takes what you’re actually seeing and then creates a model specific to whomever is wearing the headset in real time to create the most realistic transformation ever! Come on, give it a try! I promise you won’t believe your eyes!”

Frank and Shawna exchanged skeptical glances, and Frank eyed the price poster next to the booth.

“I dunno,” Frank said uncertainly, “$25 a person is pretty pricey just to see someone ‘transform’.”

The little man did a double-take, looking at the sign. “Oh, my mistake,” he said, chuckling.

A black marker materialized from his pocket, and he hastily scratched out the 2, drew an S, and put a vertical line through it.

“English isn’t my first language,” he explained sheepishly, “I’m always getting my 2s and dollar signs backwards.”

The couple reeled in surprise. “Really?” Frank asked, “Five dollars apiece?”

The little man nodded, and Frank and Shawna exchanged glances again.

“Sure,” Shawna said, “Why not?”

Frank handed the little man the money, and the man stepped aside and held back the thick, heavy black velvet drapes to let them both into the booth. It was a little cramped inside, but there was enough for the three of them to stand. On the far wall were two headsets sitting on stands. The couple went straight for the headsets and started to pick them up.

“All right, before you put those on,” the little man said, “Do you know which of you is going to change, or do you want to flip a coin for it?”

Shawna and Frank looked at each other, and after a few moments, Shawna said, “Let him do it; I gotta see this!”

Frank half-pouted. “Aww, but what am I gonna be able to see if I’m the one changing?” he asked.

“You’ll have a very immersive experience, too,” the little man said, picking up one of the headsets and lowering it over Frank’s head.

Frank pursed his lips. “It’s kinda heavy,” he said. “Is it on? I can’t see a thing!”

“It will be on in just a moment,” the little man said patiently. “Just give it a minute so it can scan you.”

“What kind of animal is he going to turn into?” Shawna asked.

“That,” the little man said with a twinkle in his eye, “is up to you.”

Shawna opened her mouth to speak, but the little man quickly put his finger to her lips. “Shh,” he said, “Don’t say anything; my system will know what to do once you put on your headset.

“You’re not gonna turn me into something gross, are you?” Frank asked, shriveling his nose. “I don’t wanna be an iguana or a slug or something…”

“Just wait and see,” the little man replied as he strapped the other headset onto Shawna’s head.

“Now, the headsets are about to come on,” he said, his tone turning serious, “but I must impress something very important on you: you must not take the headsets off until I tell you it’s safe, okay? No matter how real things seem, just remember that it’s all virtual. If you take the headset off beforehand, it might make you nauseous or even hallucinate. Say it back to me: I won’t take the headset off before I’m told it’s okay.”

“I won’t take the headset off before I’m told it’s okay,” Shawna and Frank chorused.

“Good,” the man said. He flipped a switch. “Here we go.”

The screens came on inside the headsets, and Frank and Shawna were immediately back in the booth. They each looked around and could clearly see themselves, each other, and even the little man.

“Huh, okay,” Frank said, “it looks just like real life. Is that all it does?”

“Be patient, Frank,” Shawna said, “I’m sure it’s just letting us get used to having it on!”

They glanced at the little man, but he said nothing.

Frank pursed his lips and continued to look around, shrugging. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Mister,” he said, “Are you sure this thing works? I didn’t pay $5 to wear a fancy pair of glasses!

“Whoa!” Shawna gasped.

Frank turned to look. “What?” he asked.

Shawna pointed at his face. “Look—you–your face! Your nose, it—it’s getting flat and kinda wrinkly around the sides!”

She looked around, and her face lit up on finding a mirror sitting on a little table between where the headsets had been. “Look!” she said, holding it up to him.

Frank did a double-take. “Whoa…” he said, staring intently into the mirror. “Okay, wow, Mister, that’s really cool!”

He instinctively reached for his face to feel of his nose, but all he could feel was the visor of his headset. Yet as he continued to look in the mirror, his lip pushed out slightly from his face before his eyes, and his nose pushed out even more.

“What kind of animal looks like that?” Frank murmured.

He again reached for his face and again felt nothing but a visor, but as he lowered his hand back, Shawna yelped in surprise.

“What? What happened?” Frank asked, startled and jerking his head around.

“Look at your hand!” she cried.

Frank looked down at his hand and gasped. His index and middle fingers had fused, and so had his ring and pinkie fingers. Meanwhile, his thumb was—before his eyes—moving backwards and inwards towards the center of his wrist.

“Whoa…” Frank said, his voice full of awe. He turned his hand over, rotating it in every direction. As he did, what little hair he had on his hand grew thicker and stiffer.

“Wow,” he breathed, “Shawna, look at the detail on this! This is incredible! It’s like I’ve got a—a…”

“A pig’s hoof,” Shawna breathed.

Frank looked at her indignantly. “Really?” he asked. “A pig, Shawna? Is that how you see me?”

“No!” Shawna protested. “I–I don’t know why it chose a pig. I wanted you to be a stallion!”

“So you can ride me?” Frank asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Get it, ‘ride’?”

Shawna rolled her eyes. “Maybe that’s why it’s turning you into a pig!” she started to laugh, but her laugh quickly turned into a grimace. “Ugh!” she groaned. “Gross!”

“Huh?” Frank asked.

“Look at your eyebrows,” Shawna replied.

Frank did and groaned. “Aww, come on!”

His right eyebrow had molded into his face, leaving him only with his left eyebrow. But even as he spoke, that one merged, too, and disappeared.

“That’s weird,” he said.

“Huh?” Shawna said.

“That thing with the eyebrows,” Frank said. “Interesting touch—got to give this guy credit for all the details—but a little gross.”

“Frank, what are you saying?” Shawna asked. “You’re mumbling and slurring so badly, I can’t understand you.”

Frank frowned. “I’m talking the same way I always do,” he said, enunciating very carefully. Glancing back at the mirror, he gasped. “Oh! That’s why!”

His snout had pushed out completely. His nose was now a protruding, slightly wet—(gross)—flat thing that wiggled of its own accord, and it had taken his lips and jaw with it. His face now looked like a pig with human ears.

“So weird…” he murmured to himself.

Just then, the tops of his ears grew pointed, making them teardrop-shaped, and then they began expanding outward. Before his eyes, his ears morphed from human to porcine.

Frank didn’t know what it was about that particular change, but on seeing that, he felt his legs go out from under him. He caught himself with his hands just in time.

“Frank, are you okay?!” Shawna asked worriedly.

“Yeah, just…that was really weird,” Frank replied.

Glancing up at Shawna, he saw that she still looked worried, so he nodded his head and focused very hard on enunciating, “Yes, I’m fine.”

What actually came out was along the lines of “Yesssshhth,” ending in an oink.

Wow, they’re really going all-out with this, Frank thought, listening to himself speak. He even went so far as to modulate my voice! This guy deserves a tip for this!

“Oh, my gosh!” Shawna gasped suddenly, quickly averting her eyes.

“What? What is it?” Frank asked impatiently. “Show me in the mirror!”

All that came out was a series of frustrated grunts and squeals. Curiosity drew Shawna’s eyes like a magnet, and she couldn’t help but glancing, only to look away.

“You, uh, you don’t fit in your clothes anymore,” she said, reddening. “Hey, Mister, how the hell do you know what Frank’s dick looks like?”

The little man again gave no response. But sure enough, as soon as Frank was on all fours, his hips had begun swelling, getting bigger and bigger, until his pants simply couldn’t contain him anymore. With an unceremonious pop, they had split around his waist and in his groin and fell to the floor in rags. Shawna had looked over just in time to see Frank’s wiener showing between his arms. Now that she looked again, she couldn’t help but stare as his stomach swelled, ballooning away from his body, giving him a potbelly that at least partially hid his dick from view.

Meanwhile, Frank was experiencing some unusual sensations himself; though he couldn’t see what was going on because of his current position, he couldn’t help but feel slightly nauseous. He let out a moan of discomfort

“Frank?” Shawna asked, hearing an upset squeal, “Is everything okay?”

Forgetting her embarrassment at seeing her boyfriend naked, she moved over and knelt next to him. Her eyes bulged, and she turned very red indeed: his penis had turned into a sheath, and before her eyes, his testes were growing. As they grew, they tried to slide up between his legs but were having trouble getting through the narrow opening.

“H–here, Frank,” she said uncertainly, “Spread your legs a bit.”

She instinctively reached out and grasped his leg between his thigh and knee and tugged it towards herself. With a little more slack, his testes popped through the space and planted themselves behind his legs, swelling even more. Frank let out a relieved grunt.

“Whoa!” Shawna gasped.

As she watched, Frank’s toes and lower legs withered and deflated, looking like a pair of empty panty hose attached to his knees. With a sudden movement, his knees slurped up the withered husks, and his kneecaps split and became hooves. Things happened fast as coarse hair sprouted all over Frank’s body and his thighs thinned out and became proper pig legs. As a final touch, a little lump appeared at the base of his spine, and out popped a little, curly tail.

Shawna sat on her butt with her legs loosely curled in front of her. She could only stare at this pig that had once been her boyfriend.

“O–okay,” she quavered, finding her voice at last, “Now change him back.”

“Of course,” the man said, speaking up for the first time since the system had been started up. “But what do you think? Was it very realistic?”

“Y–yes,” Shawna replied. “That—I—wow, that was so real! Unnerving, even,” she said, forcing a laugh.

“Touch him,” the little man said.

“Excuse me?” Shawna asked.

“Touch him,” the man replied. “This is truly immersive virtual reality; feel how coarse his hair is, how wet his nose is.”

“Um, no, thanks,” Shawna replied, feeling a little uneasy about touching her boyfriend. “How about just change him back? This is, ugh”—she shuddered—”a little too weird.”

The man hesitated. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “If you’re sure…”

“I–I am,” Shawna replied. “I’m sure. Definitely.”

“All right, just a sec,” the man replied, flipping some switches on a console.

The switch-flipping continued for some time.

“Hmm, uh, oh,” the man said.

Shawna’s pupils constricted. “What do you mean, ‘uh, oh’?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising.

“Just give me a few more seconds,” the man said a twinge of worry in his voice.

Shawna shook her head. “N–no, this—this is just virtual reality, right? I’ll just take the headset off, and everything will be back to normal. If I’m nauseous, well, that’s fine.”

“Wait, no!” the man protested

But it was too late. Shawna took the headset off and blinked her eyes. The booth was just as it had been when they walked in, but there was no table and no mirror. But as she looked over at where her boyfriend had been, her voice caught in her throat.

Standing in a pile of Frank’s shredded clothes was a pig wearing a headset.

“Wh–what?” she asked. “Frank? Frank?!”

“Easy, Miss,” the man said, grasping her firmly but kindly by the shoulders. “I warned you not to take off the headset. You are hallucinating.”

“But Frank is—! He’s a—!”

“Frank is fine, but now you’re going to have to let the effects of the hallucination wear off. Come,” the man said, grabbing a stick and tapping Pig-Frank on the butt. “Come along, too, Frank.”

The pig squealed in displeasure but nevertheless followed along.

“For your hallucination to wear off, you’re going to need to finish the simulation,” the man said, handing her the stick. “Just take Frank around the arena and show him to the judges.

Shawna just stared at him.

“The simulation was based on pieces of your memories the system found,” the man explained, flashing a knowing smile. “You don’t have to worry; nobody will know he’s not a real pig. Just treat him like the pig you used to show when you were a child, and nobody will be any the wiser.”

Shawna blushed hard. She had liked showing her pet pig off, but she’d never imagined Frank as a pig to show off!

Still, if this is what it would take to get the hallucinations to go away, she might as well enjoy herself, she thought. Memories flooded back to her from when she was a little girl showing off Wilbur, her pet pig. Yes, she knew it was a stereotypical name, but she had loved Charlotte’s Web. Yet as much as she had loved Wilbur, he had never won any prizes; he wasn’t particularly big or beautiful or well-behaved, but she loved him anyway. Still, she’d always wished he could win a ribbon.

She looked at Frank. Now that she thought about it, Frank was huge for a pig! Having never had a chance to wallow, his coat was clean and tidy. And as she looked down at him and saw him looking back at her, she did a double-take as she saw her boyfriend’s kind eyes looking back at her. She couldn’t swear to it, but he almost seemed to be saying, “This is okay; live your dream.”

“Come on, Wilbur—er, Frank”, she said, tears in her eyes. “Let’s go win a prize!”

She didn’t even need the stick. Frank stayed by her side as she made her way around the arena, feeling the sand as it sloshed around her shoes and hearing the echoes of the big barn as she went. Frank scurried on little legs to keep up, but every time Shawna stole a glance at the judges, she saw them nodding, smiling, and writing things down on their clipboards.

She finished her round and went to her place, and Frank followed and plopped down beside her—that was a lot of exercise for a big pig with tiny legs!

Other people that Shawna didn’t know came, showed their pigs, and took their places next to her. To Shawna, none of the other pigs looked anywhere near as big, beautiful, or well-behaved as Frank, but she was so used to losing that she still didn’t have much hope.

“And the winner is: Shawna, and her pet pig, Frank!” an announcer boomed.

Shawna couldn’t believe her ears. The crowd applauded, and a judge came over and put a big, blue ribbon on Frank. A camera snapped, and everybody left the arena.

“You did so well, Frank!” she said, squatting to ruffle his ears. “Come on; let’s go home.”

Frank grunted back happily and bounded after her. She led him out to the parking lot and opened the hatch on her crossover. It took a little effort, but Frank managed to get inside and immediately sprawled on his side, giving her an expectant look.

Shawna giggled and scratched his belly. “Oh, Frank,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

She got in the driver’s seat and adjusted her mirror.

“Well,” she murmured, “Frank may be a pig, but he’s my prize-winning pig!”
2019-07-26: A Real Status Update

July 26, 2019
Hey, all. I know, I know…I’ve been really, really derelict in maintaining the site. It’s been a crazy-busy several months, but I’m finally settling down. Well…sort of. Long story. Pull up a chair, and let’s talk about the last few months…

Let’s start with work. I forget how long ago now, I got a promotion to senior systems engineer at work. It came with a substantial boost in pay, which I really appreciate, but it also came with new terms, some good, some bad: my minimum work week increased to 45 hours rather than the 40 I was doing before, and I switched from salaried back to hourly, but with “guaranteed” minimum hours. The latter part is good news—great news, even! I had lost all incentive to work extra hours back when I became salaried. I’d work extra only if I was behind in my work, but being a pretty efficient worker, that almost never happened. Good for work-life balance, meh for making money.

Truthfully, the main reason I had started doing commissions was as a way to supplement my income since there wasn’t any opportunity to do it at work. Now that I’m hourly again, just from a dollars-per-hour standpoint, it makes way more sense to work my day-job than it does to write. Admittedly, writing is more fun, but if I’m trying to get ahead on paying off the property—and I am; of course I am—then I get more bang for my buck if I work my day job.

The bad news is the minimum 45 hours. Well, okay, maybe not bad, but definitely lukewarm: I was already struggling to fit everything into my schedule, and taking an extra hour a day away only made things tougher. Coupled with the pay to go with working extra hours, well, my home-time has definitely dropped off. Given I was prioritizing work, I quit doing commissions, starting with not taking anything new on. But with only my weekends free, desperately needing a break from the increased work, and still having plenty of chores to do around the house, I ended up stopping my ongoing commissions, too.

On top of that, we’ve had a really weird year weather-wise. It rained every week—without fail—from September of last year until mid-June of this year. I’ve been here three years now—heck, I’ve been in this state for 26 years now—and I’ve never seen anything like that before! I had previously set a number of property-related goals (more fertilizing, more seeding, more herbiciding, more mowing), but because the pasture was too wet to do any of those things, they ended up eating away at the back of my mind and finally got done between this and last month. The pasture looks way better than it did this time last year, but all that mowing, seeding, fertilizing, and herbiciding took time.

With all that extra yard work came a few injuries. I’ve decided I should probably just never weed-eat again. The first time, I was weed-eating and got stung by a bald-faced hornet. I’ve been stung by a bee and by scorpions and fire ants bazillions of times, but let me tell you, that was absolutely the worst pain I’ve ever felt from a sting before! It sent shooting pains through my calf, around my shin, and up my leg. I’ve never had it happen before or since, but it hurt so bad that the only thought that went through my mind was, “RUN!” And run I did: I started sprinting blindly across the pasture. Only halfway across did I realize that the weed eater was still running. I stopped it but didn’t stop running. I stopped running, and it was still just this intense, incredible pain. I got inside and put some stuff on it. It took hours for it to settle down, and even after that, it would flare back up without provocation and hurt just as badly as it had when it first happened. Whoo, that was awful!

It finally healed, though, and I ventured out to weed-eat again. This time, as I was weed-eating, I felt my back getting tired. I thought to myself, “You wuss; you’re out of shape! Suck it up and finish!” And so I did. Two hours later, I couldn’t sit down. My back did something that made it hurt to sit down. I could get sitting, and then my legs would just about go out from under me when I stood up because it hurt so bad. I went to a chiropractor and felt better after he straightened me out. But the saga wasn’t over, yet. That weekend, I went to do laundry, and as I was getting out of the truck, shooting pain went through my back as I put weight on my feet.

I yelled.

Mind you, when I experience pain, I’m one to hiss, grimace, maybe grunt or groan a bit, but never yell. This was beyond all that. I have to say, I’m having trouble ranking my four worst pains because they were all terrible but too different to compare:
- My eyes after PRK in the short moments between the last pain pill wearing off and the next one taking effect,
- My tooth when two cavities appeared on opposite sides of the tooth under a crown and met each other in the middle,
- My chest and gut shortly before I had my gallbladder removed, or
- This back pain.
I gotta say, I think the back pain wins because it lasted for so long. The eyes hurt terribly but only for a few minutes before I was asleep again. The tooth hurt badly enough to wake me up, but I got it fixed the next day. The gallbladder hurt but only for up to 8 hours at a time, days or weeks apart. The back…registered between a 7 and a 9 almost nonstop for the better part of two weeks. I gotta say, I can understand now why people would choose to be gorked up on opioids; your quality of life when you hurt that badly is just awful. You can’t move because any movement you make makes it worse, but you can’t hold still because you’re hurting. And you can’t think because you’re hurting so much. Gah, screw that! The chiropractor said he thought it was a protruding disc, and after two weeks of nearly daily adjustments, he gave me a couple of shots of prednisone to stop the pain. It’s been a lot better since then. He gave me exercises to do to strengthen my core, and I think those are helping, too. I’m definitely standing and sitting up straighter because I start feeling my back fatigue when I’m not maintaining my posture and immediately think, better straighten up before that happens again! So, I’m taking it easy. I wanted to mow last weekend, but having just gotten the shot, I was afraid I’d mess myself up and not feel it—kinda like biting your cheek after your mouth gets numbed at the dentist.

All of this to say, it’s been a busy few months.

But wait, there’s more! On top of everything else, there was one commission that I’d agreed to do but hadn’t been making much headway on. Truth be told, it put me in a huge writing funk. The topic: quicksand fetish. Honestly, it wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t have so many notes from the client about it. The client was very nice—don’t get me wrong—but for an initial 12K-word story, I had around 9K words’ worth of notes of things the client wanted, didn’t want, pointers, even a thesaurus of terms that “get quicksand fetishists going”. With so many constraints, I felt like I was drowning in quicksand, or at least suffocating. Every time I thought about writing, my stomach just kinda turned, and so I put it off. Over and over again. But, I’m happy to say that I finally got it done last weekend (since I wasn’t mowing, I wanted to do something productive…) Such a huge load off my psyche! With that done and no longer stamping out my creative juices, I’m slowly beginning to start back up on my ongoing commissions again. I’m not ready to take on anything new, but a little writing on familiar stories will be nice, I think.

I’ve saved the best for last: as you all may know, I’ve been saving very hard for many years, trying to get the land paid off and the house built. Well, I’m excited to say that as of right now, it’s 23 months until that goal is achieved. Having thought it through, I’ve decided to start construction 6 months before that. In theory, that will have the house finished at the same time the land is paid off. The result: I’ll be able to start living in my house 6 months sooner while getting the lower payments associated with having no other debt.

But that has big implications: it means that construction will start in 17 months—less than a year and a half! In a “convenient” twist of things, I just finished version 9 of my floor plans, and I’m really excited about this version. I finally have a guest bedroom, I have the basement / barn to protect me and my herd from tornadoes, I have all my glass, and the rest of the house is just really cool, I think.

There is a bit of a hiccup, though: the current floor plan is about 8100 square feet. Now, hold up just a sec: over half of that is unfinished—the garage, the barn, the attic spaces, the covered porch, and so forth. The finished space is 3600 square feet, and that includes the lab, so it’s doing double-duty as a house and work space. But, between the huge square footage, the basement, the large amount of glass, the large number of cabinets, and the fact that there’s more unfinished space than finished, the bank is…a little worried. Yes, I’ve talked to the bank. And a drafter. And a structural engineer—two, actually. And a geotechnical engineer (what the fuck is that, anyway?!). And a few civil engineers. And several architects.

And then I slammed on the brakes.

Having gotten a bid from the geotechnical engineer (they do soil analysis and write a report that will help the structural engineer design the foundation, fyi), the drafter, and the structural engineer, with a total coming out between $20K and $30K and having decided that I really don’t even know what this behemoth of a house is going to cost, the thought crossed my mind that before I go spend a lot of money on all of this, I’d really like to get with a builder and see if what I’ve planned is even feasible, and if so, a rough figure of what it’s going to cost. If the estimated cost is 10x what I’m budgeting, then obviously, I need to make huge changes to the place to get it in budget. There’s no sense in spending $7K on a set of drawings from the drafter that’s just going to get scrapped.

Unfortunately, finding a builder has been a royal pain. I dunno whether I’ve mentioned it before or not, but when I first moved back up here in 2016, I had contacted a builder before the move, sent blueprints (yes, actual blueprints—I think that was version 3?) and specs, and asked for a bid. Long, long story short, two months later, he still didn’t have a bid. Builder #2 got me a bid but was $50K over budget and could not seem to deliver on their promise to get me a list of things I could cut to get in budget. Builder #3 told me two weeks for a bid, and when I asked how the bid was coming a month later, he replied, “what bid?”

You could say the experience left a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to builders. There aren’t that many builders who will come this far out to begin with, and those who will typically want it to be worth their while: I suspect what I was running into was the issue that nobody wanted to come out to do “just” a $200K house, hence the run-around.

Fast-forward to today: my banker and I have been talking back and forth about the project and how to get the bank more comfortable with it (what, you’ve never heard of an 8K house with an entire wall of windows, a basement with a barn, a lab with ESD-dissipative tile, and a 22′-tall roof that has a whole extra floor in it because it’s so tall? Oh, well., um, neither has the bank…). In our discussions, I received a few names of builders.

The very best news of all: I’m meeting one of them tomorrow to go over the plans and figure out what to do.

For years, I’ve felt like I’ve been shooting in the dark on this house. I know that there are things I want in it, but I have zero idea of what they will cost. They’re so “out there” that I can’t really find any good numbers on them. Tomorrow will hopefully be my first chance to actually ground myself for the first time in a long time. I have to admit, I’m kinda nervous; I’ve poured my heart, soul, and 15 years into this floor plan, and part of me knows it’s gonna be way too expensive. Most of me is pretty sure that it’s not if it’s over-budget; it’s how much. But, it’s information I really, really need. Regardless of what happens tomorrow, I’ll finally know where I stand. I’ll finally know how big the cuts I’m going to make will have to be. And while the results may not be pretty, at least I’ll finally have confidence again.

I can’t wait.

What does all of this mean for you guys? Well, I’m not gonna promise that I’ll write more or post more frequently; that would be silly. But at least there’s a better chance now than there has been.

As a few additional side-notes barely worth mentioning but that I feel like I should mention because sometimes, the little good things are just too important to omit:
- The evenings have been really pleasant this summer. Like, fall weather. I feel so relaxed and content when I go visit the herd and enjoy the greenness of the pasture (yes, even as we’re about to go into August, they’re still green!).
- I ate my first-ever pear off one of my trees today. I think it was a little under-ripe; it was pretty crispy, but it was still very sweet and enjoyable. I never thought I’d be able to eat a fruit off a tree I planted a year and a half ago, but wow, it was great!
- Cloudy, the new horse, is settling in. She’s still mean to the donkeys, but she’s doing it with less frequency and intensity since I got on her case. And she’s starting to actually enjoy me petting her more often. It’s good to see her settling in.
All right, I’ve blathered on long enough. Time, I think, to go have dinner (and a beer). If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading. As a reward, have a haiku:

Tasty summer fruit,
Herd-petting with gentle breeze:
Life’s simple bounties.
Anything Broken?

June 28, 2019

I know, I know, it’s been a really long time since I’ve posted anything on here. And that’s going to continue—so much going on right now—but I just downgraded my plan from the premium plan, so some things might not work that used to work. If anybody notices anything like that, please shoot me a message so I can look into it.

Thanks!

-Jack
2019-05-11

May 11, 2019

It feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve posted—okay, it has been a long time since I’ve posted—so I figured I’d give a status update.

The rain is really beginning to wear on me. I was supposed to fertilize a month ago but still haven’t because it rains so much every week that the pasture is flooded or at least too squishy to get the tractor into. I’m supposed to put out grass seed next weekend, but given I haven’t fertilized, yet, that will be delayed, too. I was going to visit my parents this weekend for Mothers’ Day, but the storms had my mom worried about me traveling. So, curse you, rain, you have thwarted my plans yet again!

I was talking to one of my commissioners earlier today, who mentioned the trials of rural life. He brings up a good point: you are much more dependent on the weather out here. When I lived in the city, if it rained, it was a nuisance because traffic would be crawling, or it would mean I’d have to drive slower to avoid losing control, but beyond that, even if I got rained on while walking to or from my car, it still wasn’t that big a deal. Now that I’m out here, my weekend’s plans literally depend on the weather! Whether I fertilize or plant, whether I put up fencing or not, whether I even do the laundry or not (carrying my clothes in from the truck with it pouring down rain would be kinda counterproductive), it all depends on the weather. In the wintertime, whether I go places over the weekend or not depends on whether it’s freezing or not. Yes, the weather has much greater impact out here than it does in the city. Still, as annoying as it is, I thought about moving back to the city a few weeks ago and found myself firmly of the opinion the the country is better. What can I say, I’ve gone and spoiled myself on living out here: very little traffic, clear skies, no tall buildings, stars at night, lots of greenery…it’s just hard to beat and hard to give up.

Work is all kinds of frustrating: on one hand, work has been scarce, so figuring out how to occupy my new minimum-45-hour week has been very challenging. On the other hand, the work that we have had has been very tedious, so I need to push on and get the full 45 in rather than just throwing up my hands and saying, “Eh, there’s not enough to do; I’m gonna take some time off.” That would be really nice, though: I could really go for some time off. On the other hand, I talked with my sister yesterday, and she says her husband worked 84 hours last week. 84 freaking hours! I can’t imagine how he does it. He’s a welder, so maybe it’s just…more satisfying than what I’m doing. I know I can really make the hours go by when I’m doing something I can really sink my teeth into, so maybe he’s just found something rewarding, or maybe he’s just better at working long hours in the face of boredom than I am. I wish I knew a way to put in more hours: I could definitely use the money.

Speaking of money, I’ve halted my commissions completely, including my ongoing commissioners. I started to write a few weeks ago and just found the very idea of doing it overwhelming. Like it or not, I think I’ve hit some kind of writer’s block or mental exhaustion or something, so I’m lying low for the time being. It’s frustrating because it’s not like I’m doing that much more than I was before at work: it’s only a 12.5% increase in hours, so why am I feeling so much more drained than I was before? I dunno. I wish I could snap my fingers and fix it.

Speaking of fixing things, I may or may not have mentioned my frustration with sex: it takes a long time to get off, my libido is low, all that fun stuff, and it has always been this way, ever since I can remember. I remember my dad telling me when I was in middle school, “it doesn’t take that long to get off.” I’ve always wondered what was going on. Well, a friend of mine and I started researching, and apparently there is a documented condition for it called PSSD: Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction. I was on antidepressants as a kid for OCD, and the one in particular was so bad that a few years later, the FDA came out and said it should never be given to children…oops. Too little, too late, but it is what it is. Now that I finally have a name for what’s going on after all these years, I started looking into cures. Unfortunately, it’s not a very well-studied area, but my friend did stumble on an article in one of the medical journals describing a treatment that anecdotally worked. There’s a drug composed of several herbs (I know, I know…homeopathic medicine is bull-crap, but when traditional medicine fails, you start looking anywhere you can find a solution, bull-crap or not, because doing something seems like a better idea than doing nothing) that’s marketed in Italy and nowhere else. Interestingly, the article listed the ingredients in the drug, including their quantities. So, although we can’t buy the drug here in the US, we can recreate it using readily available herbs. And that’s what I did: I bought all the herbs they listed, measured them all out, made a 120-day supply (the article said the person was on the drug for 4 months), and am now taking them. So, here’s hoping that it works. It would be amazing to finally be rid of this curse of 20 years, to experience sexuality the way it’s meant to be experienced. Time will tell, but in the meantime, that stuff is nasty!

It’s not all bad news, though; the herd is now four strong. My farrier needed to downsize and asked whether I would take one of his horses. After waiting for the rain to quit long enough that we could actually evaluate the new horse in with the herd (country life, you know…), the new mare finally came out, and she and the rest of the herd are slowly acclimating to each other. I had to play disciplinarian a couple of times—she was really mean to the donkeys—but I think they’re finally adjusting and even getting along. Much to my delight, I’ve seen her and my horse start scratching each other. It’s always happened when I started scratching one or both of them first, but I’m hopeful that they’ll eventually get to where they’ll spontaneously start grooming each other the way the donkeys do. That would totally make my day!

I think that’s about all for now. Time to go…do something…or nap… A nap sounds good.
Human-Centaur Relations in Paperback

April 2, 2019

So, I’ve been working on a little side-project quietly for the last few months. I commissioned Brush Fire to do a book cover for Human-Centaur Relations. I got the proof yesterday from Amazon, and it is now live! You can find it here:

Human-Centaur Relations on Amazon

In other news, I just got back from Furry Fiesta (which was good), and I’m still working very long hours at work, so commissions still aren’t opening up for the foreseeable future. Sorry for the bad news, but I gotta do what I gotta do, you know?
Jack Coffee

February 22, 2019

So, a few years ago, I came up with a BoJack Coffee based on the show BoJack Horseman. I’m pretty sure it’s similar to a White Russian, but anyway…

1 shot of Bailey’s

1 shot of Kahlua

Mix and serve in a coffee mug

Well, now I’ve come up with my own drink. I don’t see anything quite the same online, so I’m totally calling it mine.

1 shot of Bailey’s

1 shot of Rumple Minze

Put into a coffee mug and fill with coffee

I tell ya, that is some liquid happiness there. So smooth, so pleasant.
The End of an Era

February 13, 2019

First off, don’t worry; I’m not leaving.

In less than 4 hours, a site that has been part of my life for many years in some form or fashion will shut down and its hard drives ground up into powder. I will not go into the details of the site or the nature thereof, but I would feel remiss if I didn’t say something about it. Years ago, when I was feeling isolated and uncomfortable in my own skin, that site and its members helped me to feel like I wasn’t alone, and over time, they helped me to accept myself. It was life-changing for me, and I am grateful.

But, due to Visa, MasterCard, and other payment-processing companies refusing to process payments for it, it is closing down after 17 years. I am sad to see it go and angry that it was bigotry that killed a site that had over a million members worldwide.

But, I’ve already had the time to be upset about this for a while now, so I don’t want to belabor this. I consider this one step in the grieving process and a final farewell. Therefore, for fear of waxing sentimental, I’ll cut this short and just say that it is a sad night for me. This site was, as far as I know, the only one of its kind that let so many people open up about a non-mainstream interest, and with its closing, we must all return to anonymity and isolation.

It is, truly, the end of an era.

Update (Warning: Lots of Navel-Gazing)

The Púca

A New Experiment: Jack’s Blacks

Virtual Reality

2019-07-26: A Real Status Update

Anything Broken?

2019-05-11

Human-Centaur Relations in Paperback

Jack Coffee

The End of an Era