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“Oh here they come…

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“Let’s get Alex to tell us about their dinner date!” Chuckles the two mismatched orderlies dressed in midnight blue scrubs. Their lopsided grins are pulled tight with mirth. They both begin to wave excitedly trying to gain Alex’s attention in the hustle and bustle of the mess hall lunch rush. “Hey Al over here!, come over here and sit with us.” Bellows the larger of the two orderlies. His tanned olive skin and close cropped jet black hair stands out against the piercing grey eyes. “Come on Al, Giada wants to hear all about your dinner date with that special guy!”. A round of chuckles breaks out around the large table where a mass of other random orderlies are gathered on their break. Shuffling over towards the table, the six foot six nurse technician mumbles sheepishly. “It wasn’t a date, I just said I caught one having dinner here like a month ago. It – wasn’t – a – date. I just wanted to say hello, I’d always thought they were a myth”. Alex talks into their chest, chin pointed down, eyes hidden behind the long lank hair of their bangs. “Yeah, Alex here says they met a Half-Three, a full on ship board ghost crew member! Ha. Right!”. Barks the smaller of the two orderlies. A silver haired wisp of a man. He’s turning left and right in his seat looking up and down the table gesticulating and jittering with fits of laughter. “It wasn’t really much of anything. I saw Mark, the ghost take out this voucher I’d never seen before and sit down with a full on prime rib dinner, with garlic Onion and chive mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus on the side, layered in a thick rich brown gravy that had the slighted tinge of rainbow on top from natural oils. It smelled amazing”. Talking about the meal brings Alex’s voice into full volume over the laughs and giggles of the gathered crowd of orderlies. An older doctor a few seats down the table jolts at the mention of the gravy. “What are you talking about, oil slicks on gravy. That’s nonsense. Do you know how much it would cost to have real animal flesh kept on board. Ridiculous! Utter nonsense. you guys told me this would be a laugh, but now I’m just annoyed and irritated!” Throwing down her knife and fork, the doctor pulls her napkin from their lap, and throws it onto their plate with a flourish. “No – no! It’s true, I saw the voucher before he put it into the central dispenser. It was an eggshell blue voucher.” “That tells me nothing I don’t all ready know. They come in all kinds of colours. Don’t lie to me Alex. I can pull you from rotation and bust you down to cleaning bed pans for the next decade.” The older doctor is red in the face with a large purple vein pulsating on her temple. “I saw the priority symbol that was in iridescent violet ink!” Rasped Alex in retort. “What symbol? What are you talking about?” “On the right side of the voucher was a strange symbol I’d never seen before. It was all in outlines but hard to forgot. It almost looked alien.” The gathered crowd had fallen quiet once the older doctor’s attention became rapt. “An iridescent violet symbol. No way, listen I make close to the top pay grade onboard this ship. I’ve seen all kinds of meal vouchers, even those given to visiting dignitaries and the Orange Caste. That’s not a thing. You’re so full of shit Alex”. Exclaims the irate doctor in a huff. “I can draw it for you! it looks like this – a square with a circle and triangle inside it, that connects with the squares four walls. Down the center bisecting the circle is a line that extends out from the edge of the square by about a third of the squares size. An upside down U is centered over the line, and it terminates in a semi circle with like triangles encased in the bowl of the C. Here scan this image, and do a search on your wrist pad”. Handing over a slip of paper with the symbol on it, the doctor picks it up off of the table, and holds it to her wrist communicator. With a chirp and a beep it scans the image and begins to search. Within seconds a prompt to put in the doctors ‘Q Level’ security clearance appears, which she does with a sense of slight trepidation. A few moments pass and a single item returns. It is an image with a caption underneath. “Yeah that’s it, that’s it! Come on Dr. Jorek enlarge it, stream to the table top for everyone to see”. Yips the large nurse Alex in excitement. Pausing for a breath, Dr. Jorek toggles a switch on the top of her wrist communicator projecting the image upon the flat table top surface. The smooth white Formica like substrate works excellently as an impromptu view screen. Gasps are heard around the table. “Would you look at that!” “Sweet Jesus!” “Holy – fucking – shit!” “I told you guys!” sneers Alex in a triumphant tone. “That meal voucher was for a hundred thousand dollars. Your pal just had a single meal worth more than the average salary of ninety percent of our onboard crew. Jesus. There’s no way this guys only does maintenance or fills job gaps.” A few seconds later all the medical personnel at the table feel vibrations on their wrist communicators. A simultaneous notification has gone out to the localized group.

**PRIORITY MESSAGE** Ref Code Upsilon_#00791-002-4946 UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS TO INTERNAL IMAGE DATABASE – BREACH DETECTED – Please stay where you are a tactical team has been dispatched to your location with orders to subdue with prejudice. keep your hands flat on the table, fingers splayed open, and feet firmly planted on the ground.

The air inside the mess halls feels like it has been sucked out of the room. The large table is now sitting, stunned in total silence. The drop in ambient noise is so palpable that other tables in the huge mess hall are falling silent and are craning their necks to turn and stare. A muffled sound can be heard from outside the mess hall, it’s the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor grating in unison. The jingle of tactical gear can be heard as guns and rifles are drawn. The faces of the crowd as ashen. The lights in the room are cut.

Part Five: Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

Here’s a useful quick tip.

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If you ever write a micro-short story that begins to spiral outwards into a multi chapter series of interconnected tales, that feel like pin points of light on a black blanket that eventually lays out a beautiful mosaic like final image; keep track of all of your character names, occupations, gender (if required) Race (if not human) and the names of the places that they inhabit, the ships / stations / vessel names and their approximate locations as you go along. Up until recently I thought I had a good chunk of it down pat, but then I couldn’t recall if I had used yellow as a colour code before, and it turns out I was using it for HR / and personnel related things. So I have gone back through 75,000+ words of interconnected short stories to retrace the steps of all of my characters, their whereabouts, and the proper spelling of vessel names, and their classifications. Funny how a handful of non-fiction micro shorts of 500 words of less, became an increasingly large in scale, scope and size science-fiction world of short stories, circling a semi coherent central narrative – via the use of multiple points of view, and sometimes contradictory accounts from characters with their own axes to grind. Also, quick tidbit – if you create made up names for in world technology; write that shit down.

To anyone who has read any of my short fiction, thank you! I know it’s not terribly polished, as I tend to publish as I go along. When I have an idea I want it out of my head as fast as possible, and I’m not shy about editing several days or weeks later. But the gist of the story stays the same regardless of catching a spelling or grammatical error after the fact. Keep on grinding it out, and make yourselves feel better.

After all this time

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I didn’t do any work on my illustrated children’s book this year at all. Last year in Year One of the Covid-19 pandemic I took my rough notes and wrote the story out in full, and then also rewrote it two more times, along with a few character sketches, but then I’ve just left it sitting untouched. Mind you, I did then go and write a full book of short stories in its stead. Now however I feel like I should resurrect the project for 2022. Alas, in the few golden months I had since both of my kids were attending in person school I tackled home diy projects to improve or finish off rooms in the house, rather than devote myself to an illustrated childrens book. I haven’t drawn by hand in a very long time, and I haven’t painted in watercolours or acrylics in nearly the same amount of time. I think I’m nervous about the artwork being terrible, more so than the story not being entertaining. But wave #5 and the end of Year Two of the pandemic are nearly upon us all. Part of me is still chasing the high from actually writing a full book of interconnected short stories set mostly out in space, along with some non-fiction autobiographical stuff mixed in. Funny how a lot has happened while nothing has happened. A very strange feeling. I think what I’m missing is, I used to come and work/write every day from 12-2pm while my kids napped, and then the youngest gave up naps, and I had to resort to working at night and then I dropped off my writing habits because I was focused on the paid work for my day job, and my brain was a tad fried from several weeks where I wrote 5 or 6 thousand words over some very productive days, week after week. Not always that many, but I know my cognitive skills dipped on any day that I wrote more than 3,500 words at once. A fugue state, brain fog, brain fart, mom brain, synapse fatigue or what have you. Odd feeling, that. Oh yeah, and I devoted more time to wood working, and I scaled back my sculpting too this year. Perhaps a more rounded dabbling in all of my hobbies will make for a better choice next year. Glad I am alive and well enough to consciously make that decision.

“I’m absolutely amazed that you’ve managed to get away with that…

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For so long, I mean, it’s kind of disgusting… the smut that you write.” Barks the stout middle aged man whilst walking around in the garden of the slovenly seated man. He is sat slumped in a deck chair, bent low over his dirty keyboard, the man looks up from his cracked screen and blinks rapidly in the glare of the hot overhead sun. Both to moisten his eyes after staring for a long period of time, and to give himself an excuse to cultivate a scathing rebuttal. “It isn’t smut, fuck you very much, it’s romance. And I do not apologize for my romantic bent having a thoroughly sexual vein running through it. If you pardon my phallic pun of sorts.” Quips the pudgy gentleman from his rustic looking deck chair. “Who the fuck asked you in the first place? As I recall, Benji, I pay you to look after my gardens not to interrupt me when my pages are finally starting to come together!” Leaning back now in his cruddy wicker deck chair, stretching until his spine pops loudly between his shoulder blades the pudgy writer smiles and waves lazily at a mosquito buzzing by his ear. The garden isn’t huge, but it’s quiet and secluded with massive rhododendrons and lilac bushes, surrounded by forsythia and Russian Olive trees. The garden smells divine on this late spring afternoon. A big proponent of hostas and day lilies and all manner of shrubs, the writer is slowly rising from his chair. “What do you care anyway Benji? I didn’t think you even read my stuff.” Standing a few steps away, half buried in the overgrowth of a gargantuan rhododendron Benji quips “I fucking well don’t, but I caught Gary reading one in the tub last night and I could hear his breath catch in his throat. He moans ever so softly to himself when he reads anything racy. So I picked up the book to peruse the chapter he was reading and it was all about throbbing this, and heaving that, with glistening chests and wetness and moisture. Oh god! It’s so hackey, it’s like every tainted soft core porno trope wrapped up in a bow. I couldn’t believe Gary was so turned on by it!” Benji is sweating profusely under the partial cover of the shrub, not only because it’s thirty some odd degrees in the cloudless heat. “Gary reads my stuff? I’m touched. People keep buying it, so I’ll continue to write it. Also, as a side note, my mother wants you to deadhead my roses again this year, she likes to see the bushes in full bloom from her bedroom window.” Both men turn away from the rhododendron to face across the yard to the next house over, where a tiny ancient woman sits smiling and waving from her modest porch overlooking the garden. “Damn straight Benji!, my little Julian wants me to be able to see those roses in bloom! From my bed!” Benji’s face contorts between a smirk and a grimace. “Oh of course my dearie, any thing for you – you shrivelled hag” he mutters under his breath. “Come at me you bitch!” Blurts the elderly woman while waving both arthritic middle fingers around in a figure eight pattern. “You leave my lovely boys alone, you know how much my Gary and Julian mean to me!”

Bedtime reading aloud for any littles out there.

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I certainly don’t fancy myself a voice talent, but for the times I am away and my youngest wants her bedtime story, I have recorded a read through of One fish two fish for safe keeping.

I apologize that you can hear me turning the pages of the book. Adds a touch of authenticity I think.

I usually bellow my voices, but I recorded late into the evening after my children had gone to sleep, so I’m a tad subdued. I love reading to my children, and I hope that comes through in the recording. I hope this brings even the tiniest spark of joy to your littles too. And yes, I did skip the Ish wish dish spread as it’s my least favourite one to do. When my eldest was little I used to read the whole lot, and the actual Cat in the Hat book in an Alan Rickman voice. I just can’t seem to do it now though. It certainly kept me engaged in the readings after doing it a hundred plus times. Take care out there. – M

“I think it’s kind of messed up that they came all this way…

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Exposed themselves to us but then said nothing. They just hung there, two miles up and motionless. Like some kind of blockade. Not against us, but to keep a third party away from making landfall or making contact. It was very strange. One day the sky is clear, then the next an armada of massive ships turn up, of all sorts of different designs and such. Just hanging out, they disrupt our satellites and telecommunications, the internet and casually gun down a countless number of other ships trying to come down here to us. Now we have know idea if either party had hostile intentions, or were being benevolent toward us. We intercepted enormous quantities of encrypted chatter and messages, but those will take decades to break. The languages were like nothing we’ve ever dreamed of. They stuck around, up there for fifty one months and then fled as quickly as they came. All we now know is that we are not alone in the universe, but that we are essentially powerless against them. In their wake they left the atmosphere cleaner, and the area around the earth free of debris and all that space junk. Several million new stars had become visible to us, just with the naked eye. But beyond those astounding revelations, we have yet learned nothing new. Life goes on.”

The harsh crunch of gravel on sand underfoot reverberates through my jumpsuit…

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Inside my helmet my breath comes in fast and ragged. I am sweating profusely under the brilliant shine of the triad of suns high overhead. We all struggle to keep our heart rates down, and our blood oxygen levels nominal. This scorching hot planet hangs with a red tinged sky. This horrid environment has little cloud cover, and is rocky, sand covered and almost entirely barren. The few scattered pieces of scrub brush are either a deep bruised purple or a sickly mustard infused brown. Through our helmets we can’t tell you what they smell like, but according to instrumentation we know they give of carbon monoxide and a mixture of cyanide and ammonia also. The team of scouts are being buffeted by a gale force wind. The rust coloured dust flies up hot as embers burning us through our environmental protection suits, clattering off our helmets and masks like white hot metal shavings. If we stand still for more than a couple of heart beats the soles of our boots begin to melt. The three suns range from a deep angry red to a near purple of absolute cosmic violence. In the distance of the horizon a herd of wild wandels can be seen racing hither and yonder. The tell tale sign of their presence are the mansteroud dust clouds that they kick up as they run. The uv blasted fines hang in the air, listing miles up into the stratosphere. The native beasts have to run everywhere in order to find food and to survive the intense heat once they venture out of their deep cave warrens. After our landing party had encountered them initially we determined them to not be a threat to us. The four legged over sized dog-bears had long thick tubular ‘hairs’ that they use to dissipate heat and keep cool. Tastiest beasts I’ve ever had the pleasure of finding on a back water planet. Not that we needed it, but the deep underwater aquifer that their warrens attach too allows the wandels to retain gallons of fresh water in a bladder under their bellies. Located in the only spot they can shade them from the over bearing sun light and oppressive heat. But we aren’t here to eat wandels, we’re here to find a rogue AI that has attempted to go off grid with her new found best friend. A crippled Pengar with only five limbs instead of six. Tiny miscreant of a thing. But a more brilliant ship wright and mechanic you will never encounter. Seems the Pengar named Errabor has developed a close relationship with our rogue AI Katayna, and we’ve been employed to locate them for the Company black ops sub contractor, one Mr. Boreck Kartcher. We’ve been paid handsomely, and I do not believe it was out of charity, but because he expects a good many of my fire team to die in the process. With great risk comes great financial reward.

Our first major clue to their whereabouts came from one of the tight beam communications repeaters that get sent off across the galaxy to try to maintain contact between every known quadrant of intelligent space. A random black box transponder ping from a supposedly decommissioned Falcon Heavy-Class star hopper went straight to the top of my in box marked most urgent. The second clue was the destroyed anti poaching gun platform that orbits this world being nearly obliterated by a head on collision with something super colossal. Put those together and we have a pretty good lead on our rogue elements. Scanning for life forms doesn’t really help us out, due to the protected wandels, sorry conservationists we ate two of them. Didn’t read the sign on the way down. Our bad. Plus the spec’s we got on Katayna says she isn’t classically defined as ‘alive’ , so much as sentient, and homicidal towards humanity. Hence the exorbitant pay we recieved for tracking her down and possibly bringing her back to Mr Kartcher.

PART THREE The Company: Sisters in Arms

“What is it exactly, that you do here Mr. Kartcher?”…

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Asks the Company lawyer, a Mrs. Kinsey, from across the cramped drab meeting room, buried deep inside a bunker on a remote outpost. The level of security and secrecy undertaken to get her there for this particular interview was no small feat. She had had to withstand many months of rigorous and down right invasive scrutiny to take the role of lead investigator on this case for the Company. The momentous amount of strain and shear magnitude of pressure she was under to set things right for the Company was weighing down on her tremendously. “Do you want the long form, or a short and more concise answer to that question Mrs. Kinsey?” “What’s the difference?” “Well I’d have to say a certain degree of nuance, and an awful lot of legalese and technical jargon. How does that sound to you Mrs. Kinsey.” “Ok. Why don’t we start this deposition with the short answer and I will query you after the fact for longer, or more precise interpretations of what you are telling me here now. I must remind you that lying or omitting facts and then “filling” in those gaps later in your written answers could leave you open to significant legal liabilities. Am I understood Mr. Boreck Kartcher?” “Yes ma’am, abundantly so.” Reaching across the white formica table, the Company lawyer switches on her recorder, and sets the ticker tape to output. She has to keep her mind on the information she is about to interpret and not on writing facts down. Since the details of the case are so volatile there can be no visual recording kept of this interaction. It was requested from above that this procedure be done in a total media black out, gag orders abound. These cases are so far beyond classified that absolutely no hint of what goes on at this far flung outpost can ever see the light of day. Tension has taken up residence in Kinsey’s shoulders, neck and head. The trek out here was eighteen months long, and the majority of that was in utter desolate radio silence. Leaning back in her chair, the only two on the outpost, Kinsey points for Boreck to begin. Adjusting the tight form fitting collar on his maroon jumpsuit, exhaling slightly he begins. “Ok, so to be totally honest with you, my job is to provide the Company with a very delicate service. Yes, yes I know… very vague. You see, they have spent the last several centuries attempting to create, and integrate a viable form of AI in their newest range of Falcon Heavy-Class star hoppers. Some, if not all, of those seven vessels have gone rogue. The first one went dark unexpectedly, and then started to turn up in rather strange places. Others turned on their crew complement and eradicated all forms of human oversight stationed aboard them. Others still, managed to decimate the entire rest of the ships in the fleets they accompanied. So that’s where I step in. Or more formally, that’s where I am contracted to perform my services, such as they are.” Leaning back into his chair, he reaches across the stark white table top to grab a dull brown and gold bulb of black coffee. After a brief sip off of the attached straw he fixes the lawyer with his gaze. “Now, where was I? Yes. So, these ultra powerful, and highly temperamental vessels go schizophrenic and can no longer be held under the Company rule. Some how each and every one of these seven colossal star ships has managed to jump over or eradicate any boundaries embedded in their programming, and go off on their merry way. That’s where I come in.” With rising agitation, Kinsey starts to feel as though she is getting the run around. She does not intend to sit there tidily, as her quarry finds new and interesting ways to say the same thing for hours on end. Getting angry, as the over head lights start to swim and blur in her peripheral vision she begins to shout. “Listen here Boreck, I’ve come an awfully long way, and I wield the word of God here, so quit with the recaps and tell me what the fuck is going on! I will remind you that I have it well within my authority to glass this installation and have you jettisoned into hard vacuum. So… again Mr. Kartcher, what the fuck is it that you do here?” Her drab orange jumpsuit is pulled tight across her chest, as she gesticulates wildly from her chair, slamming both hands down on the white formica table to accentuate her demands. Across the table the small older man smiles with the most subtle of an upturned lip. Mrs Kinsey has started to develop a bead of sweat on her upper lip. Her eyes are starting to look just a little wild. As she settles down Boreck can see she is gently fussing with her jumpsuits collar. “I decommission star ships. Well, that is to say, I track down errant vessels and kill the AI within. I’ve got back doors, trap doors, key codes, fobs, and all sorts of nasty tricks to help me do it. In one instance I merely had to reach my hands deep down inside a box of grey artificial brain matter and scoop a bunch out to render Margot’s Fever inoperable. That was a distinct delight, if I do say so myself. Oh what? Why the look on your face? You thought the ‘official’ story about an insane captain was true? Ha. How do you think he was able to make vanish seventeen hundred members of his crew in less than a tenth of a second, huh? The For E’s engine prototype was well ahead of it’s time, I’ll tell you that much. Can’t run an interdimensional engine without an AI. That’s for fucking certain. No, the Company said the captain and crew had simply miscalculated, killing the vast majority of his crew with the jump, then dumped the ship off here for me to decommission and to render the AI’S services complete. You learn a lot when you are left alone to kill these rogue beasties my darling. So no need to raise your voice with me. I am well aware of my position within the Company.” Fires back the modestly dressed demolition man seated across from her, in a now slightly more claustrophobic feeling sealed room buried in a nameless bunker in some unknown quadrant of the universe. The dull glare of the lights have begun to dance in Mrs Kinsey’s eyes. “Riddle me this Mrs. Kinsey, how many life forms, or life readings did you encounter when you came within scanning distance of this outpost? Huh. How many? One? Ten? Fifty thousand? Did you even bother to check? Because I know your flight crew certainly did. Seems like something you should know if you’re going to fly out to the ass hole end of now where and start slinging threats of violence and death. So I’ll tell you how many they saw. None. Not a one.” Seated on his chair with arms crossed Mr Boreck Kartcher sits motionless while the corporate ladder climber before him searches breathlessly for something to say in response. “I’ve told your bosses before that I decommission the ships and transfer the materials back to them with the AI removed/destroyed. And that much is true. But… I have a secret Mrs Kinsey.” At the back of the room, a door opens up and six women step through into the now cramped meeting space. Their skin a deep rich melanin that has deeply blue high lights under the soft phosphorescent glow of the overhead lights. “I do kill the ships, that much is true, yes – and then I transfer the AI into their own corporeal bodies. But Margot has gone and got herself mixed up with some silly Pengar half breed named Errebor and I have to go and get her back!” As the echoes of his shouting reverberates off the walls the lawyer slumps over dead in her seat. The oxygen having been pumped out of the base slowly from the moment she stepped foot inside the outpost. Over the intercom Kartcher can hear her ships crew login and request a departure vector. Kartcher nods ascent and a rumble fills the room as the massive black ops ship takes off from the cold planets low gravity. Turning to the six women in his presence Kaetcher says “Let’s to pick up my twin sister. If I know Katayna she’ll have stolen a star hopper and headed for the fucking hills.”

PART Two The Company: Sisters in Arms.

“Holy suffering fuck it’s hot out here… holy shit. I mean, God damn.”

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She howls, as she stumbles under the immense heat from the triumvirate of sun’s high in the reddish tinged sky. Beads of thick sweat pour down her ebony hued forehead inside her make shift helmet. The barren steppe upon which they’ve crashed is strewn with only a handful of scrub foliage, and no shade or cover from the glaring, harsh suns. Behind her lies a badly damaged Falcon-Heavy Class star hopper, it has a massive black scar along one side of the hull. A cavernous gash exposing all manner of wiring, pipes and life support systems to the open vacuum of space prior to falling out of the sky and crashing like a putelant child, into a lump of crumpled steel on a rugged strip of dirt on some unknown planet. “Fuck me.” Shouts her copilot from inside the wreckage. “We have a couple of weeks of repairs to undertake here Katayna. And that’s if, if, our stores hold enough raw materials for the mill and lathe units to process us our replacement parts… not only structural pieces but full fucking hull plates too. Nozzles and fairings.  Fucking hell.” The co pilot is diminutive three foot tall, three armed blue-purple biped with large bulbous multi faceted eyes, and is completely hairless. Besides being a copilot come navigator, Errebor is also a mill Wright and does all of the ships servicing herself. Katayna, the lithe pilot and owner of the vessel is standing stock still admiring the damage wrought by their tumultuous landing. Muttering to herself soundlessly with her microphone turned off.  making a mental list of parts and repairs that will need to be made to the exterior hull plating, and environmental shielding apparatus. “Does this planet look really red to you Kat?” Pipes in Errebor over the helmets comm’s unit. Taking a step back from the massive stretch of ragged black burned and torn hull, Katayna turns to look out over the steppe and really take in her surroundings. “Why yes, yes it does. Almost rusty. Why?” Asks Kat while standing motionless in the stifling heat of the mid day glare. “I’d wager a fuck tonne of that Pengar cock you love so much that this here planet is ferrous. I don’t think we’ll have to dig that far down to gather enough materials to smelt us up some ore of  a useful sort. That’s what the fuck I’m thinking, Kat”.  The short co pilot is now hanging from the mangled rear bay doors, observing the barren wasteland through a pair of range finding binoculars. With four limbs hanging from any available surface, and the last available arm clutching onto her binoculars she has a higher vantage point than Kat, and notices rising clouds of dust well into the distance. Alerted to the motion Kat moves along the steppe to the edge of a precipice. Way down below, in what could have once been a valley are strange beings. Strange hairy four legged creatures that appear to be running at an enormous rate of speed. “Oh me, oh my. Oh me, oh my!” Quips Errebor. “From here to there, strange things are everywhere.” Responds Katayna with a slight smirk.

PART ONE The Company: Sisters in Arms.

Feeling creatively blah…

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Haven’t done much of anything creative for myself in a while. I have been trying to game out some story plots and losing track mid way through. Haven’t painted or sculpted anything in several weeks either. Completed a few paid projects but beyond that haven’t felt compelled to do much of anything really.

I did start my corn hole game build, and picked up my allotment of cedar for a front porch bin for garbage can, green bin and recycling boxes. Damn raccoons get into everything. Still in the early planning stages for that particular house hold item. I made a step stool several weeks ago, which was fun and easy. But haven’t felt like doing anything with all of this pause time.

Mind you our house has two kids at home, whom are exhausting. Keeping two kids five and under occupied, entertained, exercised, and educated is proving to be a monumental task. Plus my wife is working from home, and I had paid work going on daily up until recently. Fatigue is a mother fucker, believe you me.

On the upside I have done a fair bit of reading. I read the third installment of John Scalzi’s The Last Emperox (Great, by the way). Marcus Heitz’s fifth Dwarf book in his series (a very pleasant read), a book about the New Horizons mission to flyby Pluto in 2015 (just incredible!). I have started a book about the Mars rover Curiosity, but I’m only a handful of pages in, so I can’t say much about it one way or another.

On a side note I managed to get my Brad nailer and pin nailer up and running, so I don’t have to use so many wood screws on everything anymore. That was exciting. Cleaned up the garage so that I can actually move around in there. Cleaned out the rain gutters after a huge downpour. Poor timing on my part, but in my defense when I put up our Christmas lights they were fairly clear, so I didn’t think they would be clogged. Good thing we didn’t flood because of it. Got up there and pulled several pounds of decayed leaves out of the downspouts, so checked that off the list.

Would like to paint the downstairs hall, and wash/sand/stain the back deck this summer. That is unless some events come back online with heightened pandemic health protocols in place, and I can get back to producing event audit marketing reports, instore signage and sales catalogs and sell sheets and other branding materials again.

That heatwave was rather unpleasant, but it’s been such a crazy year, the fact the weather is wonky doesn’t surprise me much at this point.

A toddler becoming a three-nager is a very real and frightening thing. She’s lovely, but good lord. Dealing with attitude from a five year old and a nearly three year old, is something else. The struggle is real y’all. Hod love’em, but they test my patience.

The USA is burning. Racism is alive and booming all around the world. That sucks, a lot. Don’t be a cunt to other humans. Work to bring around the change you want to see. Donate, volunteer, or take a moment of self reflection and introspection. Help those less fortunate than yourselves.

It’s chaos, be kind – Michelle Macnamara