Coffee heat rising

The Wages of Messiness

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…or possibly of procrastination…

Soooo much paper comes pouring into this house, most of it generated by financial institutions and by Medicare, that the steady torrent of the stuff quickly floods the desktop. Shovel off the desk one day, and a day later you’re working in layers again.

I hate paper. I don’t like dealing with it. Don’t like dealing with it because I know any given “deal with” is not just one transaction. It’s a whole series of tasks:

• Rip it out of the envelope; toss envelope.
• Figure out what it is.
• If important, stack to the right of the computer.
• If something that needs to be dealt with sooner, not later, stack to the left of computer.

• Pay bills. This entails firing up computer, finding passwords, logging into credit union website, hassling with dates on bank account (they only let you see 10 days’ worth; wanna view more transactions, you have to point-click-point-click-point-point-click to get it to display longer periods), logging into bill pay, finding the creditor or creating a new creditor, entering data, entering data, pointing and clicking again).
• Mark statements with paid date & deliver payment date
• File statements.
• Enter data in Quickbooks.
• Check for solvency.

• Find investment tracking spreadsheet.
• Enter changes in investment value; this entails sifting through three elaborate statements.
• Check formulae for calculating net worth; observe current net worth.
• Estimate likely solvency for remainder of this year and coming years.

• Reconcile personal credit union accounts (two).
• Check that automatic bill pays happened.
• Reconcile S-corp credit union accounts (two).
• Reconcile joint credit union accounts (two).
• Check that automatic deposit to joint account happened.
• Enter data in Quickbooks.
• Check for solvency.
• File statements.

• Reconcile personal credit card accounts (two).
• Pay personal credit card accounts (two).
• Enter data in Quickbooks.
• Check for solvency.
• File statements.

• Try to figure out  meaning of incomprehensible Medicare statements.
• Don’t even bother to try to figure out how these apply to doctors’ bills.
• File incomprehensible Medicare statements.

• Shuffle through SBA paperwork.
• Try to remember what I was supposed to do with it.
• Do that, if possible.
• File SBA paper.

• Find old to-do list.
• Note vast number of things not done.
• Give up; throw it out.

• Find old printout of client’s publisher’s style guidelines.
• Throw it out.

• Find old printouts of other client’s copy.
• Realize I should be working on the current copy instead of cleaning off desk.
• Throw it out.

• Find accountant’s tax questionnaire, which was never filled in.
• Throw it out.

• Find paperwork re: 25 grand invested in old insurance policy.
• Flummoxed; don’t know what to do with it.
• Toss it back on the desk.

• Find unopened Christmas card.
• Throw it out.

• Find stacks of material from current client.
• Make hanging file.Make file folders.
• File stacks of material from current client.

• Find paperwasting stacks of boilerplate announcements from community college.
• Throw it all out.

• Find user’s guide and warranty for Shark steam mop.
• File with user’s guides and warranties.

• Find notes from online tutorial.
• Have no idea what to do with that.
• Give up; throw it back on the desk.

• Find today’s to-do list.
• Realize I’m supposed to be doing bookkeeping, not shoveling desk.
• Realize that after that I’m supposed to work on client’s project, not shovel desk.

• Find designer’s print-out of e-book introduction.
• Can’t remember what he thought I would do with it.
• Throw it out.

• Find designer’s rant on e-book cover design.
• Remember he thinks I’ll go to all those websites and study.
• Toss it back on the desk

• Find two stacks of new business cards.
• Realize they’re on the desk because there’s no room in the drawer for them.
• Wonder what to do with them.
• Give up: toss them back on the desk.

I could go on. (And on, and on). But you get the general idea. The issue here is this: Tasks that seem like a single action when we are young shatter, over time, like broken glass into shards of tasks, action after action after action to be completed. And that discourages the elderly one. I don’t want to do it because I know it’s going to be a hassle and it’s going to take up time I’d rather use for something (anything) else.

 

Welp, sometime during the past few weeks, while the current mound of debris was accruing, I got a notice from the insurance company that carries my auto, homeowner’s, and umbrella policies. They sent the insurance cards Arizona drivers are required to carry at all times, on pain of arrest and fines, with a notice of this year’s premiums, marked Not a bill. Do not pay.

A few days ago, I realize no bill has arrived. I resolve to watch and wait.

Day before yesterday I think, that’s odd. No bill? I’ll call the insurance broker when I think of it.

Along about 10:00 last night, I start pre-organizing the piles of paper so as to expedite the misery planned for today. A-n-n-n-d…

In amongst the stacks and stacks of incomprehensible notices from Medicare, Medigap, and Part D, what do I find but the bills for the three policies — mailed, nacherly, under separate cover, so as to consume the maximum amount of paper, the maximum amount of ink, the maximum amount of glue, and the maximum postage.

Rip open the three more envelopes and find the premiums were due on the 22nd. And it being about 11 p.m., April 22 is effectively over. And fear I, presumably I am effectively uninsured.

So that was upsetting. Kept me awake until after 2 in the morning, at which time a weird scrabbling noise occurred somewhere in the front part of the house, throwing Cassie into a screaming roaring growling FRENZY and scarying the ess aitch ai out of me. Dust settles around 2:30. Pup is up at 5:30.

Call insurance company at 6:30 a.m.; get accounts receivable. Learn they have a grace period, thank God. Pay bill(s) with American Express, racking up some more points toward next year’s kickback.

My son has left his 90-pound dog here whilst he makes a four-day trip to celebrate his grandmother’s 100th birthday. Fortunately, the hound is very mellow. SO mellow, indeed, that Pup is already bossing him around. Incredibly, she stole a chew-stick from him. Like stealing an antelope leg from a wolf…she doesn’t seem to care that these bigger dogs have fangs. She is totally, utterly unafraid.

Charley

Prescription Pills: Proceed with Caution

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The past few weeks, what with a new pup to tend to, a bunch of paying work (and more incoming), the scheme to self-publish three books, and a busy Holy Week, I’ve hardly had any sleep at all. Pup regularly lobbies to go out at 4 in the morning, and once awakened, I rarely go back to sleep. And night after night, bed-time has come along about midnight. Nothing out of the ordinary…but then there’s also the slacking off in the exercise department. When I’ve had time to exercise or walk, I’ve been too tired to bother. Result: ta DAAA! Resurgent back pain.

Sunday night I hurt so much I could barely hobble up the hall. So, along about 10:00 p.m. I decided to try a muscle relaxant the doc prescribed last year. Tried one of these a week ago, and it worked pretty well…next morning, I was actually able to crawl from the bedroom to the refrigerator, a large improvement.

The Rx instructions say the stuff should clear out of your system in about eight hours. Had a vet appointment at 10:30 Monday ayem, meaning I’d have to get in the car at 10. Eight hours plus 10:00 p.m.?  Six a.m., right? So by 10 a.m. there should be no problem driving across the city and life should be good.

Actually slept seven hours, a record, but figured the haze of exhaustion was normal, since it usually takes two or three decent nights’ sleep to make up for ten days or two weeks of sleep deprivation.

Drive to the vet. Get last set of puppy shots. Bring pup back. Tuck her into her X-pen, turn around and race back out. Schlep to the credit union, deposit adjunct paycheck. Schlep to Costco; return ridiculous bathmats (purchased as dog mattresses) that can’t go into the washer(!) and make a few new purchases. Unload car, unload dog, let dog out, feed dog noon meal.

Fix my own meal. It’s now around 1:00 or 1:30 p.m.: fifteen hours after I’ve ingested 5 mg of cyclyobenzeprine. Midday feast: steak, potatoes, vegetable. I have a bourbon and water with this. Again, nothing out of the ordinary: I usually have a b&w or glass of wine with the big meal of the day.

I sit down to this little repast around 2:00 p.m. Shortly before three o’clock, I fall face-forward on the bed: seventeen hours after dropping the muscle relaxant pill. A friend expects me to show up at 4:00 p.m.; set the alarm to go off a little in advance. Conk completely out.

Alarm goes off. In a stupor, I can’t recall what I was supposed to do. Shut it off. Fall back to sleep. Phone rings at half-past four: where am I?

Good question…

Think of that! A small amount of booze — no more than usual and certainly not enough to inebriate…at least not normally — and I’m passed out in the sack!

Presumably while I was driving around in a haze of exhaustion earlier in the day, I must have been impaired. And mistaking impaired for tired. Apparently the stuff took a good 18 hours to wear off: more than twice as long as the bottle’s label implies is the drug’s period of effectiveness.

Five milligrams is half the amount of the original prescription a doctor gave me of this stuff. I asked for a smaller dose and got it. But apparently half a dose is not small enough.

So…watch out for drugs that knock you out. The effect may not wear off as advertised.

 

 

Monday, Monday

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Another week gone by in a blink. How can it be Monday again? It was Tuesday yesterday, I’m sure of it…

This Holy Week seemed unusually hectic in the singing department. In addition to the usual Wednesday rehearsal, we had Maundy Thursday and then Good Friday with the Stations of the Cross followed by the Chamber Choir singing the amazingly lovely Seven Last Words by Bern Herbolsheimer followed by us — the Senior Choir — singing Lizst’s Via Crucis (yes, in Latin and in German). Then Saturday the Great Vigil with a baptism and a religious service. Then the Easter Day shebang, complete with brass and percussion.

Very beautiful music was performed. High religious emotion was felt. All in all, a pretty busy week.

And all in all, kind of tiring. I’ve been too exhausted to function, most of the time. Pup wakes up around 4 or 4:30 a.m., and once I’m awake, I don’t usually get back to sleep. Since it’s been 11:30 or midnight before I’ve stumbled into bed, that means I’ve been running on fumes most of the week. What little I have gotten done hasn’t been done very well.

This morning, it’s off to the vet for Ruby-Doo’s last set of puppy shots. I should drag Cassie with me, since the eye drops the vet gave me a couple of weeks ago haven’t helped much.

The whole week has been spent in a haze of fatigue. Struggled, usually without luck, to finish writing the current chapter of the latest novel, but I swear, every time I sat down to write, some damnfool interruption came up. Matter of fact, at one point I became convinced that I was being interrupted every 30 seconds, no matter what I tried to do.

The pool system is running OK, I’m told, despite the fact that it’s running at 20 PSI. The water, not having been changed out last winter because of my overall laziness, is infested with phosphates. To fix that, I’ll  have to dump in the better part of a container of an expensive chemical called Phos-Free. This damn stuff clogs the filter. I just had the filter cleaned, to the tune of $150 plus another $85 to have a pool guy come and tell me that it was just fine at 20 PSI, when I happen to know it’s supposed to run at 10 PSI when it’s clean.

So that will be another $150 or $200 (I forget how much the Phos-Free is, but it’s a lot).

The alternative is to scrub algae off the pool walls, all summer long. To do that efficiently requires me to get into the pool, since the best way to clean the stuff off is to wash the walls down with the hose and a high-pressure spray nozzle. Brushing doesn’t seem to work very well — it’s a particularly stubborn variety of green algae, and I can brush until I turn green without getting it all off the walls.

The pool water is warming up (that’s why the algae is growing), but it’s still a little chilly for actual swimming.

Which brings us to the fact that in the haze of fatigue I haven’t felt like or been able to break loose enough time for the regular walking routine. And that means the fat has been sneaking back. It was up to 132.9 the other day, far in excess of the 128.5 I’d like. Then down to 130.8, and now today, after eating a whole lot of oversalted restaurant food at a friend’s yesterday (they ordered dinner from Boston Market, which IMHO makes the absolute best down-home comfort food of any restaurant around here — certainly the best offering of any chain restaurant, and pretty darned good in comparison with even real, local eateries). Today the scale claims I weigh 130.4: two pounds overweight, by my lights.

So there’s another something that needs to be attended to.

Spent way too much time trying to format the adjunct rant for print-on-demand, following CreateSpace’s Word template. Time-consuming hassle, involving the usual Wyrd catastrophic crash with attendant loss of data in all open files, much redoing of work already done, much cursing, much tearing of hair. And after all that, the designer said it’ll never work.

And…OMG. Wish you could be here to see this!

Puppy has just found a new game here on the back  porch:

Waterbowl Frolics!

She’s got her little front feet in there and is splashing and digging around, apparently trying to catch tiny bits of dry leaves floating around in there. But better yet, she’s learned she can make bubbles in her water bowl! She sticks her schnozz in and blows out through her mouth and nose — just like a little kid playing in the pool — and goes burbleburbleburbleburbleburble. That is SO HILARIOUS!

She is now, of course, soaking wet, so she’s gone off to find some dust to lay in,  the better to coat herself with mud. This may not be so hilarious in another 40 minutes, when I have to pack her into the car for her vet-schlep.

So much to have to do, and so little of it getting done: get the adjunct thing online; get the diet guide/cookbook online; finish editing the novel and get that thing going. And I just don’t seem to be able to break free time to do that, at least not when I’ve got the mental wherewithal to focus on those jobs.

Just when a spot of time opens up, some client or the job presents a new chunk of paying work, which of course has to be prioritized over all this other stuff. Finished up with one client’s project last weekend, with depressing results. Two sets of papers incoming from the maga-writing students; finished those at 10:30 last night. And just as I was about to pop a muscle relaxant in an effort to beat back the latest back pain incursion enough so as I might manage to limp down the hall to the refrigerator, in came another iteration of another paying client’s book. He’s entered major rewrites and wants me to go through the ENTIRE damn thing AGAIN from beginning to end, line by line and character by character.

Oh God. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read that book.

But I can’t complain. He pays well. And, bless him, he’s smart as a whip, a good writer, and in possession of some truly interesting subject matter.

I can’t complain, assuming I don’t care a whit about my own projects. {sigh}

Happy Easter Egg!

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Cassie and Ruby’s Easter “Egg”:

P1030018The THING, one of Cassie’s toys, hanging from a piece of clothesline rope off a rafter on the back  porch (click on the images for bigger and better resolution).

P1030023Cassie examines the object, to be sure it’s safe for Pup.

P1030020Ruby tackles the object…

P1030019A-n-n-n-d…the game is on!

Happy Easter to those of you who are believers. And to everyone else, a beautiful weekend, a magnificent Sunday, and a superb year to come!

aaa

First Experiment in Self-Publishing!

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Well, this is cool. The eBook Builder says our first adventure in self-publishing will be ready to go this week. And my old friend Jim Metcalf came up with a very handsome cover, despite the fact that every image of the rest of us could unearth with was totally, hopelessly politically incorrect. It is, IMHO, amazingly good.

IMG_3006🙂 I really like this. He came up with another with these sort of shadowy handcuffs. But those evoke law enforcement, to my mind, more than indentured servitude. The kind of cracked marble effect evokes the crumbling of the academy, a phenomenon epitomized by the fact that 50 percent of US faculty are now adjunct. Meanwhile, tuitions continue to soar: students get less and less for more and more.

This subject is starting to pop. The New York Times noticed us adjunct slaves a few days ago, and this morning the Diane Rehm show on PBS devoted an hour to the various attempts to organize adjuncts into unions  (pretty damned forlorn, as you’ll know if you have any experience with academics, every one of which is a wild hare). So we’re anxious to get the book online as soon as possible.

This little gem will be my first experiment in self-publishing, after three books through scholarly and trade presses (William Morrow, Columbia UP, and Folger Shakespeare Library). I think of it as a sort of sandbox, since there’s no reason to expect it will sell many copies. It represents an opportunity to learn from mistakes, of which I’m sure there’ll be a-plenty.

Meanwhile, I’ve been working on a print version of Slave Labor. There’s an adventure, if ever there is one: I are a english major, i are not a artist, and while you could say I’m not very fond of Word’s eccentricities, I truly do hate the ditz entailed in trying to format documents in the Microsoft’s accursed program. It crashed my whole system again today: asked it to import a photo…can you imagine the effrontery?

At any rate, this afternoon I got about three-quarters of the way through importing copy into a Wyrd template formatted for CreateSpace and finally got around to registering an ISBN for the print version. So there’ll be a physical version of the magnum opus as well as a digital one.

So this one will be a learning experience, through which I hope to develop a little familiarity with so-called “indie publishing” — i.e., self-publishing. With any luck, this will redound to the benefit of the next few books I intend to market.

Waiting in the wings is How I Lost 30 Pounds in Four Months, a diet guide and recipe book. That, I think, has more potential for sales. Who doesn’t want to lose 30 pounds these days, eh?

Then the first installment of The Cottrite Chronicles, set in the far future: a novel called Fire-Rider. I hesitate to call it science fiction. Looks like the term for it is speculative fiction. Now, IMHO, that one is a fun read. So I’m hoping it will actually build a readership…specially since I’m already launched in the second book for that series.

And I have an idea for another sci-fi story…completely off the wall. Haven’t started writing it yet, but whenever I contemplate its premises, the damn thing strikes me as funny as a Douglas Adams novel. But funny may be in the eye of the beholder. 😉

And of course, there’s the usual array of how-to’s and pet stories. Hope to have four books in circulation by the end of this year and eight by the end of next year. That’s how much copy I have in the can, languishing on the hard drive.

Welp, it’s past bed-time and I have to be out the door at 6:45 tomorrow morning. And so, to bed.