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My 9/11 memory starts with someone knocking on the bedroom door and the words more Americans heard than any other that morning.

“Turn on the TV.” 

Together, Jennifer and I watched it. The clock ticked by.

“You’re going to be late for work,” she told me.

“I’m not going,” I said.

An argument began. A cold, quiet argument. No screaming. Nothing like that. 

Cold and quiet.

After she insisted, I drove. The freeways were empty. I got to work in record time, driving across an empty Los Angeles, feeling a bit like Robert Neville. I thought of him as I drove and listened to the neverending news reports.

When I got to work, a sign on the door informed me the place was closed. I drove home.

She was there when I got there and we didn’t say anything to each other for the rest of the day.

For me, 9/11 is more than just a public memory of public tragedy. It’s also a private memory. It was the first day I knew our marriage was over.

After visiting LA, I decided to sit down and relax. Watch some TV. Calm down. 

John Mellencamp was on Bill Mahr’s show. Mahr was asking, “Why does the Midwest fall for all the politicians’ lies?”

Mellencamp said, “Because in the Midwest, when someone says they’re telling us the truth, we assume they are telling us the truth. That’s because in the Midwest, people do just that. They tell you the truth and they expect the same.”

Something rattled inside of me. An old memory. A memory of growing up in my hometown.

A memory of trusting people.

My visit to Los Angeles taught me much. It reminded me why I needed to leave. Reminded me why I don’t want to go back.

I’m living with people I trust. That means a lot to me. More than I knew.

Jessie is my supervisor here at my new Arizona job. The guy who used to sit at my station (and is now working in a different part of the building) recently sent this. The 101 Things Jessie Gets mad at.

1) May not watch ‘South Park’ when I’m supposed to be working
3) May not threaten anyone with black magic
4) May not challenge anyone’s disbelief of black magic by asking for hair
6) May not play ‘Pulp Fiction’ with a suction-cup dart pistol and any supervisor
7) May not add ‘In accordance with the prophecy’ to the end of answers I give to a question an supervisor asks me
8) May not add pictures of supervisors I don’t like to War Criminal posters
10) Not allowed to purchase anyone’s soul on company time
11) Not allowed to join the communist party
12) Not allowed to join any militia
13) Not allowed to form any militia
14) Not allowed out of my cube when the brass visits
16) Must get a haircut even if it tampers with my ‘Sampson like powers’
17) God may not contradict any of my orders
18) May no longer perform my now (in)famous ‘Barbie Girl Dance’ while on logged in
19) May not call any supervisors immoral, untrustworthy, lying slime, even if I’m right
20) Must not taunt the French any more
21) Must attempt to not antagonize MOD’s
22) Must never call an MOD a ‘Wanker’
23) Must never ask anyone who outranks me if they’ve been smoking crack.
24) Must not tell any supervisor that I am smarter than they are, especially if it’s true 
31) Not allowed to let sock puppets take responsibility for any of my actions
32) Not allowed to let sock puppets take control of a call
33) Not allowed to chew gum on a call, unless I brought enough for everybody.
34) (Next day) Not allowed to chew gum even if I *did* bring enough for everybody.
35) Not allowed to sing ‘I’m just a gigilo’ while on hold with a doctor
36) Can’t have flashbacks to wars I was not in. (The Spanish-American War isn’t over)
39) Not allowed to ask for the day off due to religious purposes, on the basis that the world is going to end, more than once.
40) I do not have super-powers.
42) Not allowed to attempt to appeal to mankind’s baser instincts in recruitment.
44) I am not the atheist chaplain
46) I am not authorized to fire supervisors
47) I am not a citizen of Texas, and those other, forty-nine, lesser states
48) I may not use public masturbation as a tool to demonstrate a flaw in a command decision
49) Not allowed to trade company equipment for ‘magic beans’
50) Not allowed to sell magic beans during hours
51) Not allowed to quote ‘Dr Seuss’ on a call
58) The following words and phrases may not be used on a call:

· Budding sexuality
· Necrophilia
· I hate everyone in this helpdesk and wish they were dead
· Sexual lubrication
· Black earth mother
· All marines are latent homosexuals
· Tantric yoga
· Gotterdammerung
· Korean hooker
· Eskimo Nell
· We’ve all got jackboots now
· Slut puppy
· Any references to squid.

59) May not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command.
60) `The Giant Space Ants’ are not at the top of my chain of command.
62) “It is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” no longer applies to Helpdesk tech DBabbitt.
63) Command decisions do *not* need to be ratified by a 2/3 majority. 
65) There are no evil clowns living under my bed.
67) I am not the Psychological Physician for the company
68) I may not line my headset with tin foil to `Block out the space mind control lasers’
69) May not pretend to be a fascist stormtrooper, while on a call.
70) I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication.
71) I must not flaunt my deviances in front of a supervisor.
72) May not wear gimp mask while on duty. 
75) May not conduct psychological experiments on my supervisors.
77) The Security desk is not an Imperial Stormtrooper roadblock, so I should not tell them “You don’t need to see my identification, these are not the droids you are looking for.”
78) I may not call block my supervisor.
79) I am neither the king nor queen of cheese. 
81) May not bring a drag queen to any company parties.
82) May not form any press gangs.
86) May not challenge supervisor to the `field of honor’
87) If the thought of something makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it. 
91) I am not authorized to initiate Jihad.
94) Crucifixes do not ward off supervisors, and I should not test that.
95) I am not in need of a more suitable host body.
97) Gozer does not dwell in my refrigerator.

When I started working at Perot Systems, I discovered the Lead Trainer had a small teddy bear on her desk.

“Oh, that’s Bear,” she told me. “He goes through all sorts of torture.”

It seems our delightful Lead Trainer brought Bear into work one day after her boyfriend won him in a machine or she acquired him in some other mundane manner–fully unaware of Bear’s symbolic importance. As soon as she brought him in, strange things started happening.

She’d arrive in the morning to find Bear with a broken arm. Or hanging from a cord by his neck. Or squashed under a heavy weight.

“He goes through a lot,” she told me.

I said, “But he always survives. That’s because Bear can’t die. He goes into the cave in winter to wrestle the God of Death and emerges in the Spring.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling. “That’s neat. I never thought of it that way before.”

Having learned how to revere Bear, I’ve done my best to lead the “Pro-Bear Lobby” at work. She showed up one morning and he had a jar of honey along with a note. “I found the honey!” He also found the fish. A bag of Goldfish crackers, to be exact.

However, Bear disappeared a few days ago. Nobody seems to know where he went. He’s been gone since Wednesday, although I suspect he may show up on Monday morning. And he may show up with a disc of photos, chronicling his adventures.

(I should note that “Bear’s Adventures” are largely due to the ingenuity of Jessie Foster. Go Jessie.)

Direct deposit is supposed to make sure my check goes into my bank Monday night at midnight. It is Friday and I still have no money. I do have overdraft fees to comfort me, though. The accounting department assures me this is an oversight. I am also comforted by their assurance. They told me, “Your check will be processed on Monday.” I told them, “Monday is a holiday.” They didn’t know what to say about that.

There’s a con this weekend. I have no gas and no money. I cannot afford to drive there, let alone pay for parking. Books that were sent to me (to sell at the show) were sent on the 5th. They have not arrived. I have a tracking number, but the USPS can’t tell me where my books are. “So what good is a tracking number?” I ask. They assure me the books will arrive… they just don’t know when. I am comforted by their assurance.

I planned on leaving Los Angeles on Tuesday. My grand goodbye to LA, a final convention where I sell books, run games and see friends for the last time. Los Angeles is not content with running me out. Now, she won’t let me leave.

I am comforted by that.

(in the key of Randy Newman minor)

If I had cancer, I’d be losing weight and my hair
If I lost an arm, it’d be easy to see
If I had jitters like Marty McFly
I wouldn’t need to explain why
But I can’t
I can’t
God knows I’ve tried
But you know what they say about trying

There’s a thing in my head
(You’ll have to trust me on this)
But it’s in there and it isn’t going away
Not now and not tomorrow and not the next day
It has a mouth and it has teeth
And its eating all my words
Sad thing for a writer to lose all his words
But that’s what’s happening to me
You can’t see it but it’s there
(You’ll have to trust me on this)
It’s something you just can’t see

It ate my marriage
Its eaten my friends
Ate a book I was supposed to write
And you’d think it would be happy with that
But it isn’t
It just keeps on going
And it won’t stop
No, it won’t stop
It won’t stop
Even if I beg

It gets into my arms and legs
Gets into my mouth
And I watch it
Just like it watches me
Pretty soon there won’t be anything left
Just me and it
No words
No memories
Ntoinhg

It ate my marriage
Its eaten my friends
Ate a book I was supposed to write
And you’d think it would be happy with that
But it isn’t
It just keeps on going
And it won’t stop
No, it won’t stop
It won’t stop
Even if I beg

If I had cancer, I’d be losing weight
If I lost an arm, it’d be easy to see
But it haven’t
Maybe if I did it would make it easier to believe
It has a mouth and it has teeth
And its eating all my words
Sad thing for a writer to lose all his words
But that’s what’s happening to me

______

More Houses of the Blooded tonight.

I’ve been rather quiet on personal matters lately. For good reason. A lot of people have asked, so let me just give a general update.

Health
Yes, I am sick. Not *cough cough* but something very serious. I’m on two different medications, plus I got a prescription for Prozac. I also have two herniated discs in my back. For that, I have pain killers. Pain killers + Prozac = not much fun. I’m a happy drunk. I’m a lot less happy druggie.

Employment
I quit my job as apartment manager with another apartment manager job lined up. That job fell through at the last moment, leaving me unemployed and without a home. I’m crashing on Cowboy Ron’s couch for the time being. Not exactly the best thing in the world for my back (or my state of mind), but friendly charity goes a long way to restoring my faith in humanity.

Moolah
As for cash, etc.: my month of unemployment (while Office Team Temp Agency found me a job) was hurtful on the bank roll. I ran out of cash. I was already short due to the blatant lies my previous employer told me about raises and being without a job for a month didn’t help. I fell way behind on everything. I couldn’t afford car payments, insurance, my medication, my credit cards, gas, my phone, or anything else. December and January were cold months in more ways than one.

Writing
Needless to say, massive depression, no space of my own and mounting debt are not beneficial to the creative process. Writing has suffered. Because I’ve recently started temping again, the writing has started again. My own little space with tiny little jobs that take me 1/10th of the time they expect gives me all the time in the world to sit down with a legal pad and just write. Transcription when I get home. 7,000 words in two days. Just like old times.

Moving
I’ve been talking a lot about moving out of Los Angeles. Yeah, I’m 99% certain I’ll be doing that. I have to talk to a few more people before I make the final decision, but it looks like I’ll be leaving, at least for a while, in two months.

As for the impact on things like The Awful Lot… I still have to talk to the rest of the band. We’ll see.

I fuckin’ hate the book/movie Field of Dreams. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I hate that movie. Fuckin’ hate it.

Every time I see it, I’m a pitiful ball of weepy uselessness, knowing that nothing I write will ever make people feel the way that movie/book makes me feel.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate it.

As many of you know, I was (until recently) an apartment manager in Los Angeles. Well, I skipped that job. Suffice to say I was asked to do many things that I just wasn’t willing to do. I jumped ship, got a job at a temp agency, and am now doing filing work for an accounting firm that handles such distinguished clients as NPR shows All Things Considered and Fresh Aire. I get paid a ton of money and it looks like the agency was fishing for a temp-to-permanent employee. So, if I want the job, I’ll probably get it. And I’ll be making boucoup bucks in the process.

Working at an accounting firm. Ah, men.

This will give me the opportunity to catch up. You see, I took the apartment manager job because it would allow me to save cash. No pay rent, remember? Unfortunately, the anticipated raises never came and I got deeper and deeper into debt. My savings dwindled over the months until eventually I was starting to buy groceries on my credit cards. Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. I can’t imagine what my credit looks like now. I’m afraid to look.

But I’m in a slow recovery. Cowboy Ron and his lady are taking good care of me while I recover. I’m looking for a roommate to crash with in the LA area again. Funny… just about a little more than a year ago I was thinking of buying a house. The roller coaster continues.

There are a few financial opportunities on the horizon. One of them involves gaming. The others involve another novel, a screenplay and The Awful Lot.

The New Year has always been a sacred time for me. It’s an opportunity to look back and figure out who the hell I am and who the hell I want to be. Reflection is on its way.

Dirt poor, without a home, still celibate, and slowly re-building my life. That’s me. I wonder who I’ll turn out to be on Jan. 1st.