T-Minus One Second and....LAUNCH!!!

Yes, you guessed it, another Launch Party in the Lair!! Woohoooo! Nothing like a party with the thap gump.
Today, June 1, is the official Launch for Dark and Deadly, my second Romantic Suspense. Whew! A milestone, indeed. I'm now officially multi-published.

Whaddya know? How the heck did that happen?

As I wrote this, I was thinking a lot about my debut, Dark and Dangerous. It hit the stands on June 1, 2008. Same Time, Last Year.

I didn't know then what I know now.

That sounds trite, doesn't it? However, any of you who have children will be familiar with this feeling. Everyone tells you when you're pregnant that your life is about to change irrevocably. You know it too. You think you understand it. And in some ways you do understand that monumental change that's overtaking you. In every other way?

Ohhhh, you don't understand anything and you are in for the ride of your life!

Even if you don't have kids, you get this. You've been there with a job, or a life change like a marriage or a divorce, or a lay-off.

Same thing with getting that first book published. You know things are about to change. Things HAVE changed the moment you sign the contract. So, analogous to finding out you're pregnant, you get The Call and sign the contract and everything suddenly shifts into high gear. You turn the book in. You make the requested revisions. You make more revisions. You wait. You prepare - like buying for a nursery, you have to choose: what fits in the budget? How much room do you have? Book marks or magnets? Ads in RT or no ads anywhere?

It's a blur.

The book comes out, hopefully to notice if not acclaim, and you're on your way. Now you're not just writing for contests, for that hope of publication; NOW you have a deadline and someone is paying you to meet it.

There are some things I promised myself I would try to never do, when I sold. So far, I'm doing pretty well. Here are a few:

Never complain about having a deadline, since there are thousands who would love to be in your shoes.

Okay, I'm doing well with this one because I actually LIKE deadlines. They motivate me - sometimes in a positive way, sometimes with a whip and a chair - but either way, I get-er- done when I have a deadline. The other thing here is, at risk of repetition, someone is paying me to deliver a product by a certain date. Period. That, right there, is motivation enough for me.

Trust me, I'm a good old American Capitalist. I LIKE to get paid, even if it isn't that much at first, it's that much and I'm there to fulfill my contract.

Never complain about how "hard" it is to find time to write.

I'm one of the luckiest people on earth. I know this. I have a great husband who supports what I do, my sons are proud that their mom "writes books," even if they have no idea what the scope of that entails.

I have a good writing schedule.

If I don't have time to write, it's no one's fault but my own. I bow down in homage to those who get up at 5 am to write before the kids get up, or take a quick nap when their spouses come home so they can stay up after everyone's asleep to slip in some writing time. They do it on breaks at the day job, in between chemo appointments with their mom, while in the car pool lane, or on the night shift.

Trust me, I know how lucky I am, and I keep my mouth shut, even when it seems like I have so much non-writing stuff to do that I don't know how I'll find the time to write.

I'm lucky. I'll find it.

Never disparage another writer's work, or process, or genre.

You know, there are still so many who look down on Romance as a genre. Feeling the occasional sting of that, I resolved a while back that I wouldn't "return the favor" to any other genre.

Are there books I don't like. Yes.
Are there genres I don't read? Yes, again.
Are they all valuable? Oh, my, YES!

It takes a mystery, fantasy, literary, YA or horror writer just as long to write 415 manuscript pages as it does for me to do it. Even Poets have to struggle with word choice and character arcs and the dreaded sagging middle. Just because my genre seems to be especially persecuted (bodice ripper anyone?) after years of proving our worth, doesn't mean we are somehow better. Or Worse.

Now, I'll be a little proud here and remind all of YOU that Romance is the only reliably selling, powerfully deliverable product in the book world right now, according to the Washington Post and several other articles.

It's a justifiable pride I think, but I try to do it without accompanying prejudice.

And process? Oh, my.

I wrestled so hard with my early work, trying to fit the writing and me into SOME kind of process. Plotting. Nope. Outlining. Nope. I don't use the tools that others use, but if I hadn't tried them I would have missed some incredibly valuable lessons.

That said, the best lesson was that I'm NOT a plotter nor am I a chapter-by-chapter pantzer. I don't outline. I DO write a synopsis and I follow it pretty well, but otherwise? For me it's a big, fat surprise all the way from "A Dark and Stormy Night" to The End.

My process is a thing of murk and mire, rather than clean lines and an arrow shooting from a drawn bow.

I heard NYT Author PC Cast call it the Brew and Spew method of writing.

Yep. That I can understand.

So, whether you're plotter to the max - chapter one, scene one, two, three - or a Murk and Mire, Brew and Spew writer like me, I lift my glass in toast. Here's to US, writers all!

*clinkclinkclinkclink* (Wow, lots of clinking glasses! I LOIKE it!!)

Last but not least, the thing I said I would try my BEST to not do? Pontificate.

Yeah, you heard me. Despite the length of this tome of a post, have I said "you should do this!"?

Nope. Not. Gonna. Do. It.

I heard a lot of "YouShouldDoThis" when I first joined my chapter and RWA. I think in that adolescent period between being a nascent writer and a seasoned one, you find that your process is "the groove" and you want to share it with everyone as if it were the one-and-only-gospel-of-writing-amen. Then you get past it and see that some people Brew, some Plot, some fly by the seat of their Harem Pants, some slog, some sing, but all writers write to The End. No matter how we get there, we get there.

I mostly try to just accept that others do it differently.

So, the only "should" is that we should all get our bums back in our OWN chairs! Hahaha! (Anyone out there wince? No? Good for you!!)

So, now that I've broken my rule a wee bit and pontificated, what are some things you hope you remember NOT to say?

What are some things you hope you ALWAYS remember from "The Before THE CALL" time?

Imagining yourself down the road with your third book on the NYT, what would YOU tell a brand new author?

And last but not least on the questions, how would you answer the question La Nora seems to ALWAYS get asked.....drum roll please....WHERE do you get your ideas?

SNORK!!!! AND...As always, grab a glass from a passing cabana boy or Gladiator (Marcus? Lucien? You're ready over there at the bar, right?) Let's stack 'em, rack 'em and pack 'em (books that is) and celebrate Dark and Deadly hitting the shelves! Buy early and often! hahaha!Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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DINA!!!!
You're the winner of the copy of THE EDUCATION OF MRS. BRIMLEY from the TAILS OF LOVE blog. Send me your contact info at www.DonnaMacMeans.com and I'll get that right to you!
CONGRATULATIONS!


Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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Step Up to Get Smacked Down

I did it.

I was at the SHOUT OUT fifteen minutes early and went to the corner liquor store and build a fucking portable. You know...water bottle, quarter filled; pint of vodka; mix, shake, drink. I had the SHOUT OUT to do today by myself, so my logic was clear...why do it sober? That was some bullshit. I was drinking my ass off.

The poets were strolling in, signing in. We had a thin crowd early but I didn't give a shit. I was going to give everyone five minutes anyway. Even the feature had not arrived by the time I got started with the SHOUT OUT. We took off like a shot, with the readers moving at a pretty good clip. I was surprised as to the speed that we were traveling. Then our feature arrived. Diminutive and intense, JL is a fireball. I can't wait until she reads.

I take us through the intermission and go outside with T-fuk, and he pulls out his Roscoe and packs me a one-hit. I light that rocket and blow my brains out just as sure as if it was a .357 magnum. I walk in grinning as if I saw Aretha Franklin's asshole. I introduce JL and we move on with the SHOUT OUT. I move us to close down on time. Cyndi Lauper starts blasting the music at six sharp, her DJ taking the wheel to spin his ratshit skills. My mother is a better DJ and she's almost fucking deaf. This prick's only skill with a turntable is the volume control.

I get 'er done. The SHOUT OUT is over. People were slipping out before it's finish, proving that the reading was going into overtime and losing energy. I broke it off not a moment too soon. Good night everyone, and I'll see you next week. Peace.

It was over. I broke up the stage and took my time. I was tired and I wanted to bang off this baby and head home. Oz and G-Hard were there, D-lite, and JL, they were going to hang out afterwards. I was fucked in the head. I wasn't in the mood. I wanted home more than anything. Antisocial? No. Grateful that it was all over? Yes. I said my goodnights, shook my hands, and hopped my ass on an uptown train. To prove my point about being too tired I rode past the 6th avenue stop on the L train to the last stop at 8th Avenue.

Waiting at the Eighth Avenue stop my bladder fails and I have to go. The platform is not all that crowded so I head down the station and then down the tube into the tracks, going behind one of the pillars in the dark, with the soot, roaches and rats to take a piss. I listened for an oncoming train because it would be a shame if my dumb, urinating ass gets spread along the wall of this station like red jam with shirt and slacks. The only thing recognizable other than a huge red smear with shoes would be my dick lolling from the opened fly of a blood drenched pair of pants. Nice fucking end for a nice dumb ass.

But SHIT, I had to go.

Push me far enough, I'll piss in public. Still, you think that I had all of my head on my shoulders, you're wrong. I hopped on the number two heading downtown in a fucking hurry, carrying me to Brooklyn. TO BROOKLYN!! Damn. I had to slip off the train at Chambers and catch the uptown train which this time roared my slapped ass home.

The subway is like a huge children's maze when you're stoned. I like being stoned at home, where I can study the paint patterns on the walls and chase my own ass in the shadows. There's a lot to do when you're fucked up! I step into my home, throw my back against the door, close my eyes.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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MANCAT MONDAY: DYLAN THE PURRODIGAL

Here's Dylan, the Purrodigal Pussycat, in post-return photos taken in our back yard. I'm not worried about him running again, because I believe it was the collar and leash that freaked him out to begin with. Anyway, I noticed a small scratch on his nose, and furst concluded that he must have had a battle with another animal. However, after I thought about it more, I believe it may be from the buckle on the collar, as he was trying to get it off his head. We'll nefur know fur sure -- and certainly he may have been furry close by, but unwilling to come home until he was free of that infurnal contraption.

At least he made it back in time fur Mancat Monday!Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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MANCAT MONDAY: DANTE THE EFUR-PURRESENT

And here is the efur-purresent Dante who comfurted me while his brother was away! I'd ask him "Where's Dylan?" and he would look around quizzically. Several times he would snap to attention if he heard a noise, which only purrompted me to run to the door again to check.

When Dylan returned and headed straight to his food dish, Dante was the furst to welcome him back by sticking his nose directly up Dylan's butt! He continued to sniff him all ofur while Dylan noshed. They had welcome-back head butts, too, after I sneaked in cuddles and kisses with Dylan.

So, here is the loyal and devoted brofur, Dante, on this Mancat Monday, too!Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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DYLAN'S HOME SWEET HOME!

Dylan is home! I slept on the couch again and heard the most wonderful yowling at the patio door at 4:40 this morning! I went to sleep hoping that I would see him first thing in the morning and it certainly was first thing!

He came home without the leash and collar -- but that's fine! I'm happy he was able to wriggle out of it, because the thought of him trailing that leash and getting tangled really worried me.

He seems none the worse for wear and was voraciously hungry! It was a joy to watch him chow down as he made the rounds of the various types of cat food I put out. And of course he wanted treats, too!

Dante seemed happy to see him as well, and was busily sniffing his butt in welcome! Domino didn't care one way or the other (but then Dylan has been known to attack her).

Anyway, the world is right again and it's a bright, sunny day! And thank you all for the purrs, prayers and pawsitive vibes that I'm sure had a big part in helping Dylan find his way home.

These pictures aren't from this morning, but they do show Dylan reuniting with Dante after a little outing, and then trying to claw his way through the screen door (but getting stuck instead)!

I'm so happy that I still have my 3-Ds furmily unit, and we look forward to sharing our future with all of you on the blogosphere! Thanks once again to efurryone out there!

Ah, don't you just love a happy ending!Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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Road Trip!

by Susan Sey

I had an epiphany the other day.

I didn't find an image of the Virgin Mary in my morning oatmeal or anything. It was pretty pedestrian as far as epiphanies go. My sudden blast of insight was more related to the ten-hour road trip I was preparing for.

When I was a kid, we regularly drove up to our family cottage in Northern Michigan for the weekend. It was a four hour trip, one way. Sometimes my dad would drive back to the city for the work week, leaving my mom & sisters & I alone at the lake until he returned late Friday night.

Every afternoon while he was away my mom would load up the giant van & take us all to the Dairy Queen in town. I can't remember what we all ate but she had an enormous Peanut Buster Parfait. Every day, rain or shine, without fail. Peanut Buster Parfait.

When I was a kid, road trips just...happened. Like Christmas & birthday parties & dinner & clean clothes. They just magically occured & I didn't bother to think about where they came from. I got in the van at home, got out several hours later at the cottage & voila. Summer vacation was upon us.

I thought about this as I stood in my bedroom the other day with suitcases piled up to my knees, a mountain of clean but unfolded laundry mounded on the bed, & an excel spreadsheet in hand listing out everything I needed to do/pack/remember. Getting a family from Point A to Point B is no joke. Succesful military campaigns have been mounted that require less planning.

When I was a kid, I thought the daily trip to DQ for was us. Now that I'm older (and have survived a few solo, ten-hour road trips sans my husband,) I know better.

That Peanut Buster Parfait was my mother's sanity. It was nothing less than an oasis of selfishness & indulgence. It was something to look forward to every day while trapped for a weeks in a tiny cottage with one bathroom, balky plumbing & no other kids for miles around. I don't remember if she read romance novels or not, but I hope she did. If ever a woman needed a HEA, it was my mom during those long weeks at the lake.

This little epiphany of mine got me thinking about other transitions I've made, other times life has forced me to rearrange my thinking. Most particularly, I've revisited how I define a good book anymore.

Before I tried writing, I didn't cut books--or authors--a lot of slack. I loved a good book. I adored a great one. I read them over & over & over again if a book took my fancy. But if a book failed to live up to the promise of the blurb? Or petered out after a promising start? Or finished with an unsatisfying limp? Oooooh. I did not forgive easily.

But now that I write books--or attempt to write books--I have a great deal more empathy for what the author tried to do rather than what she actually did. I can admire an ambitious plot turn, even if it isn't artfully executed. I can befriend a hero or heroine who isn't quite as sympathetic as I'd have demanded before.

I especially love books that are set in unusal locations (Ancient Rome, anybody?) and unpopular time periods (Vietnam War era stuff really appeals to me right now for some reason.) I love the fact that the author sank a year or more of her life into swimming upstream with no guarantee it would pay off. I love that somebody listened to her heart & wrote what was in it instead of trying to force her idea into a pre-formed & saleable slot.

So tell me: When was the last time you changed your mind? Got a fresh perspective? Redefined something? Took a risk? And you're talking to somebody who recently gave both her children homemade summer haircuts, so don't hold back. Nobody's going to judge you here. :-)Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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DYLAN' S STILL MISSING

I just wanted to thank all of you for your support. I've had missing cats before, and one came back and one did not. I'm hopeful for Dylan though because he ran away before we could even get him in the car -- he was right in front of our house. So, he must be in the area somewhere.

However, we back on some wooded ravines that go for miles in either direction. I sure hope he didn't go back there.

We have done what we can for now, and it's just a waiting game. We put in a Lost Pet Report at our local Humane Society (there's only one), and posted flyers with his picture on all the community mailboxes around here, as well as one at the local vet's office, which is the only one that is close at all.

We've alerted neighbours to look out for him and have set out food in the front and back, as well as some socks with the scent of mama on them (I got this suggestion from a list of things to do when your pet is lost). I sat outside in the back and then the front with the other cats, too and called for him. So hopefully the smells of home will waft his way and lure him back soon.

I just hope that he hasn't gotten tangled and trapped somewhere because of the leash.
I'll post again when there's news of some sort.

Thanks once again for all the prayers and good wishes for Dylan's safe return. It really helps.Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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A Conversation with Larry McDonald of the Globe & Mail

30 May 2009

I recently received an e-mail enquiry from Larry McDonald, co-author of the Globe & Mail's "Me and My Money" column. The following discussion is preliminary only, but I felt that some of the material covered might be of interest to the readers of my blog. My responses to Mr. McDonald's questions follow below:

What investments do you have in your portfolio (name of stocks, mutual funds, etc.)?

Primarily gold and/or silver mining companies, with larger holdings in Goldcorp, Yamana Gold, Minefinders, Northgate Minerals, Pan American Silver and Franco Nevada, and also quite a few smaller cap explorers and miners, such as Rubicon Minerals, Premier Gold, Jaguar Mining, ATAC Resources, etc. I also often invest in warrants in many cases, where they are available, including Goldcorp, Yamana, Minefinders and New Gold, for example.

What is your investment approach?

While I do some active buying and selling depending upon factors of relative valuation and timing, for the most part, I am a long-term buy and hold investor, meaning that my portfolio has varied dramatically in market value over time. For example, the market valuation declined over 65% in the fall of 2008, and now we've gained 130% since the November lows. The market valuation was highest in March 2008, and lowest in November 2008. Also, the majority of my investments are held in registered accounts, meaning that I buy and sell equities rather than physical metal (gold, silver).

Brief history of investing path, e.g. how got started, etc.?

I started out very conservatively, holding bonds through the investment bubble of the late 90s. I was then a late arriver to technology investing, which was of course disastrous, and then began to research why I had become drawn into an investment bubble. I thus missed the real estate bubble, and believe that last year’s commodity blow-out was not a bubble.

In the background, my wife invested primarily in income trusts, and thus I am furious with Carney and Flaherty for blowing up Canadian small investors and forcing the western natural gas trusts in particular onto the international investment market (at depreciated values) at the expense of Canadian small investors. I'm single issue against the Conservative Party on their dismantling of the income trust program, and will never forget the betrayal of trust – as well as stupid and short-sighted policy – on that “single” issue. (Don't get me going!)

What were some of your best and worst investment moves?

Worst – investing in technology companies in the early 2000s. Best – shifting my portfolio to the precious metals sector in 2003.

What advice would you offer to other investors?

Look beneath the surface to secular trends (large trends that span decades). Study history to view these trends in perspective. Be aware that financial markets are undergoing a period of massive manipulation based on misconceived government interventions – almost all of which have been counterproductive. Understand why Federal Reserve policy is now of greater interest to the financial community than analysis of underlying economic fundamentals (the markets have become increasingly distorted by short-sighted and increasingly disastrous government and central bank policies, dating back in particular to the advent of the Greenspan era in 1987). Be wary of efforts at market timing. Invest based on underlying, long-term value against the backdrop of a macro environment of inflation, debt promotion and capital misallocation. For longer-term investors, give greater weight to fundamental value than to market price when making investment decisions. Seek the advice of wise and experienced professionals (I rely on Ed Bugos in Vancouver, Bill Fleckenstein in Seattle, John Doody – the Gold Stock Analyst, in Florida, and the Aden sisters in Costa Rica).

By the way, while I view government policy broadly as unbalanced and disastrous, I'm not a conspiracy theorist. It is simply that government is over-intervening to save the market from itself, which has never once worked in history, and the intervenors operate from a very short-sighted perspective, with no acknowledgement and/or awareness of the consequences of their actions.

I do also buy into the notion of a power shift away from the United States towards Asia, and this is due moreso to the departure of Americans from their long-term commitment to free market policy than to the inherent strength of Asian economies. In brief, Asians have been saving while Americans have been borrowing, and, as Warren Buffett illustrated in his classic “Squanderville” story (published in Fortune and other places), the long-term consequence is to shift wealth from borrowers to savers. This is what is now happening globally.

Finally, I view Canada as uniquely well-positioned due to the balance of our economy towards commodity production. However, I view our national Conservative Party leadership as largely blind to the implications of this reality, with the result that they are attacking small investors (through their anti-small investor income trust policy) and throwing money at declining industries (obviously but not only autos), rather than providing support to small investors and to investment in Canada’s capacity to lead the world in commodity production (I once read that we have more mining and mineral exploration companies in Canada than in the rest of the world combined, though I've never verified that statement by “counting”). That is, Canada has everything we need to be global leaders in the 21st century, but our elected officials are looking backwards rather than forwards.
_Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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The Perfectionists Psychotic

I want to walk again to 72nd street.

I wake up at 3:30 in the morning and make coffee and start working on my novels. I'm not going to waste this morning for all the tea in china. I get busy. But as the sun rises, and the early morning turns to day, I start getting tired, my eyes drooping. It is time for me to go back go bed again. I look at my clock...6:13am. I'll sleep until 8:30 and then go down stairs and get my breakfast before the Cafeteria closes. I crawl into bed.

I wake up at 9:20am. Breakfast is officially over at 9:00. Fuck! I plan to go walking to the station before jumping on the Way and meeting my appointment with my Psychologist. I get online and start writing again and before I know it, it's too late for me to walk to the train station on 72nd! How did let time slip by me like that? I'm staring amazed at the clock. I'll have to walk my walk on the way back home. I get up and head off to Dr. W's office.

Now get this. I have five dollars left and since they give me train passes whenever I go to my doctor's office I only want to spend two out of the five dollars. So I enter the 96th street station and go over to the token clerk and explain to her my predicament. With love in her fucking voice and attitude she points her nasty ass at the card machines against the wall. But I don't want to use those because they dispense silver dollars as change and I want cash. "I don't do two dollar metrocards here. That can only be done at the machines." Oh really. I walk off, heading towards the machines and insert my five, get my metro card and head downstairs for the trains. I reach the platform and the number three comes roaring into the station do I then realize that I walked off from the machine without taking my three dollars in silver dollar change. I just left the three dollars behind me that I wanted to keep badly. I shake my fucking mellon head and board the train.

I walk into the waiting area of the office and I see Dr. W walk past me into an office not hers. I nod to her but she doesn't know me from a box of sleeping pills, only seeing me one before. With her bulk she moves slowly and gracefully from place to place with an economy of energy. I go to the front desk and I'm signed in. Then the receptionist picks up the phone and calls her. Are you calling her in her office? I ask. "Yes." Well I just saw Dr. W. enter that office over there. I point. "Oh, okay have a seat." I nod and sit down.

It's now twenty minutes since I sat down and Dr. W. walks into the center of the waiting area, talking to several colleges before heading for the hallway leading to her office. I notice that the receptionist was too busy reading her magazine to notice Dr. W in front of her station or walking past when she was done. She just continued in her magazine. Another ten minutes and I was through. The last time we been through this I waited for an hour just to have Dr. W. walk past me and hop on the elevator to go home. I got up and accosted the receptionist again. She was just out here in front of you. Can you call her now and tell her that I've been sitting for a half hour?? "I asked if you wanted me to call her, you said no," the receptionist replied tersely, reaching over for the phone and dialing in the numbers. I smirk at her and walk off, heading for my seat. In another five minutes Dr. W. comes out, moving slowly with a slight limp, and calls my name. In a minute, I am sitting in her office.

"How do you feel?" Fine. "How has the season been treating you?" Okay I guess. "The season doesn't bring any feeling to the fore? You have nothing on your mind? "Nothing really. "How has your social life been?" Hmmmm, alright I guess. "Have you been getting out of your room lately?" Not really. I mean, for the SHOUT OUT and doctor's appointments. Little more than that. "I see. What do you feel about crowds, groups of people?" I hate them. I'd rather stay home. "Would you say, during this Spring season so far, have you gotten out much?" Little.

"I think you should seriously think about Lurvox. It's a drug that we can employ and see how it works on you," Dr. W says. She is large, so she breathes hard when she speaks. Why would I want to try another pill? "Because if you do well on this treatment for two months we can do away with your Wellbutrin and Lamictal." Hmmmm, two for one, huh? And what is it that you want me to think about? "Taking this medication." Wow, this was an easy choice. I didn't need a month to think about it. I'll do it doc. "You agree to using Lurvox?" Yeah, why not? "Here then," she reaches at the piles of paper on her desk. "You need to sign this." What is it doc? I look down at it and find that it looks like a release form. It explains basically that I know what I'm doing, my doctor and I discussed this, and that I am fully aware of the contraindications. Basically everything that we spoke about for the past twenty minutes. I agree and sign the paper. Dr W hands me the prescription, sits back in her chair and sighs tiredly. "Take care, Mr. Hobobob." Thanks. I walk off.

More drugs, huh? This one though is supposed to help me with my acute social anxiety. ASA. Who'd a guessed? I come back uptown and drop off one prescription and pick up the other, my Lipitor. The counter woman rang it up. "$192.00 please." I look at her, shocked. For my pills? "Yes, $192.00 please." Some thing is wrong, I tell her. I never paid for them before. She looks at the prescription then returns to the back of the pharmacy and is gone for awhile before returning, ringing up nothing, "Okay, everything is alright now. Your insurance was not in the charge. You have no copay." Thanks. I take my pills and leave. Then it dawns on me...at that price...if all of my pills are around that price, give or take a few dollars, what I would have on my windowsil is nearly $3,000.00 worth of medicine. Holy fuck!!!

I shake my head. There is just no way that I could afford to stay alive without my health insurance. When I thought that I could pay for my pills without insurance, on my little job...what was I fucking thinking? I would be lost in the sauce. I would be dying early boys and girls. My two years on the streets did enough damage to my organs...any longer and I would be in a pine box. I think I was just lucky. I get to survive for a couple of years more.

I come home, relieved to be home. The world outside felt like it was after me. I felt like my bad luck was catching up to me.

I lock the door. Leaving it outside.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/05/
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