Well, I've finished publishing 'Servants of Destiny' on the Tamalarian Tales blog, chapter by chapter, and now it's time to kick back and let it sit a while. I didn't get too many views thus far for it; the blog itself has only garnered a little over 80 views overall, which isn't precisely stellar numbers. I know there are plenty of folks who get thousands of views/hits on their blogs on a daily basis.
Still, a storyteller I am, and a storyteller, well, they tell stories, regardless of the size of the audience. I'm hopeful that this was the right course of action to take with the Tamalarian Tales; I'd haote to think that this was a waste of time and/or effort. I don't think it was, but only time will prove out one way or the other if this venture is going to be beneficial to my standing as a writer.
I could have held off and made 'Servants of Destiny' a commercial title through my usual fantasy publisher, Mr. Robert Preece, of www.booksforabuck.com. But I didn't, and there's a couple of reasons for that. Reason number one: I promised myself I'd produce a few free tales. Reason number two: I wanted to offer this story up as a way of trying to generate some interest in the realms of Tamalaria. Did I succeed?
I ceratinly hope so.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The 'Great American Healthcare System' and But One of Its Failures
So, Kate and I frequented the emergency room at Lake Shore Hospital last night, as she was experiencing a great deal of pain in her abdomen, dizziness, and shakiness. She felt weak and on the verge of collapse. I drove her up to the hospital since an ambulance ride around here, from Rural Metro Ambulatory Service, carries a standard charge of $500, and she didn't want to take that ride (she didn't feel ready to die or anything, but still, one worries, you know?).
It's a good thing she wasn't bleeding from the eyeballs or something, because we sat out in the waiting room for three hours before they registered her and took her in to get a bed and be seen by a nurse. They took her blood pressure, and walked away, since their ER was, unfortunately, full. There weren't any major patients for the most part, although one little boy did come in with one hell of a gash on his leg from falling on a glass bottle at the beach. Poor little man was bleeding quite profusely.
I can understand that they needed to tend to him right away, and for the good. Kid turned out okay.
What worries me, however, is that in the course of the nine hours it took to get everything checked out and squared away with Kate (yes, nine fucking hours), if something had become serious, I doubt she would have been properly tended to. The nurses only came in to check on her a total of about six or seven times, the doctor (some form of African native, from his accent and demeanor) only saw her about three times total, and the pain medications they tried on her only worked for a short while each before the pain returned.
People talk about American Healthcare as if it's this bastion of hope and power. Yet the incompetence and disorganization displayed by the staff at Lake Shore's ER made me question that, severely. I realize that it's only one hospital, and not every medical practitioner is nearly as bumbling as these folks were, but the fact remains that it's the nearest hospital to us, and we may have to at some point go there again for medical attention.
I think I might prefer to go an extra thirty minutes to get to ECMC the next time something's wrong. How fucked up is that?
It's a good thing she wasn't bleeding from the eyeballs or something, because we sat out in the waiting room for three hours before they registered her and took her in to get a bed and be seen by a nurse. They took her blood pressure, and walked away, since their ER was, unfortunately, full. There weren't any major patients for the most part, although one little boy did come in with one hell of a gash on his leg from falling on a glass bottle at the beach. Poor little man was bleeding quite profusely.
I can understand that they needed to tend to him right away, and for the good. Kid turned out okay.
What worries me, however, is that in the course of the nine hours it took to get everything checked out and squared away with Kate (yes, nine fucking hours), if something had become serious, I doubt she would have been properly tended to. The nurses only came in to check on her a total of about six or seven times, the doctor (some form of African native, from his accent and demeanor) only saw her about three times total, and the pain medications they tried on her only worked for a short while each before the pain returned.
People talk about American Healthcare as if it's this bastion of hope and power. Yet the incompetence and disorganization displayed by the staff at Lake Shore's ER made me question that, severely. I realize that it's only one hospital, and not every medical practitioner is nearly as bumbling as these folks were, but the fact remains that it's the nearest hospital to us, and we may have to at some point go there again for medical attention.
I think I might prefer to go an extra thirty minutes to get to ECMC the next time something's wrong. How fucked up is that?
Thursday, August 4, 2011
And So, Another Sonofabitch Roomie Starts In
Okay, so a couple of months after moving out of a bad apartment situation with the previous roomate, also a coworker of mine, starting to charge more money for rent while offering nothing in return, the new roomie is starting in with the same crock of shit.
I am tired of people trying to take advantage of Kate and I. I am tired of playing the nice guy. I am tired of being screwed over by people who seem at first glance to be halfway decent, but then turn out to be money-grubbing laze-about sonsofbitches! I work 40 hours a week, busting my ass at a chemical plant as a janitor. Kate sweats her ass off cleaning the houses of elderly clients four and five days a week. We bring money into this house; the roomie doesn't do a fucking thing to my knowledge. He has no regular job, and this apartment is part of his parents' house. He keeps finding new things to start tacking onto our overall expenses for staying here, and I've got half a mind to tell him to get off of his fucking ass and get a job, so that Kate and I aren't paying for everything.
To top things off, just as was happening at the previous apartment, this asshole is starting to use up all of our stuff and ruin/lose it without asking. I am SICK of being taken advantage of!
I am tired of people trying to take advantage of Kate and I. I am tired of playing the nice guy. I am tired of being screwed over by people who seem at first glance to be halfway decent, but then turn out to be money-grubbing laze-about sonsofbitches! I work 40 hours a week, busting my ass at a chemical plant as a janitor. Kate sweats her ass off cleaning the houses of elderly clients four and five days a week. We bring money into this house; the roomie doesn't do a fucking thing to my knowledge. He has no regular job, and this apartment is part of his parents' house. He keeps finding new things to start tacking onto our overall expenses for staying here, and I've got half a mind to tell him to get off of his fucking ass and get a job, so that Kate and I aren't paying for everything.
To top things off, just as was happening at the previous apartment, this asshole is starting to use up all of our stuff and ruin/lose it without asking. I am SICK of being taken advantage of!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Dreams Are Strange Things
It makes little if any sense at all to try and figure out what a dream means. In the dream I had early this morning, I found myself floating in a sea of soup, the thick, chunky kind my mother always makes. At some point, there were giant chocolate Easter bunnies rising up out of the depths, and one of them blew a soup bubble over me that made me float out of the pot.
When the bubble popped, I fell through darkness and landed on an old futon with a set of eyes on the left side. They stared at me, and I realized at that point that I was sitting almost naked on the couch. Don't ask me when the clothes disappeared. I haven't a clue, and it's a dream. Don't question the dreams, you'll never win. But I had these weird tiger stripes all over my body.
That's about all I can recall for the moment. Eventually, I'll think of a way to incorporate all of this oddity into a story of some sort, I'm sure.
When the bubble popped, I fell through darkness and landed on an old futon with a set of eyes on the left side. They stared at me, and I realized at that point that I was sitting almost naked on the couch. Don't ask me when the clothes disappeared. I haven't a clue, and it's a dream. Don't question the dreams, you'll never win. But I had these weird tiger stripes all over my body.
That's about all I can recall for the moment. Eventually, I'll think of a way to incorporate all of this oddity into a story of some sort, I'm sure.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Back To The Grind
So, I headed back to work today from a good weekend that had, as one might expect, a couple of unpleasant moments, as every day of anybody's life will (read: Frosty the Snow Wife being a pain in the ass when I was dropping the girls off, and by that title I refer to my ex-wife). The weekend itself was for the most part a good time. I was feeling pretty decent about the day ahead of me on the drive into work.
Then I got to work.
This is the part where you hear that descending whistle from the old Loony Tunes cartoons, where a bomb or an anvil is descending towards the head of some hapless animated victim.
Without getting into specifics, I'll just say this; I'm basically a janitor at the chemical factory where I am employed. There are two others, one guy for mornings, one for evenings. I covered this before.
Well, when the two of them walk around with their thumbs up their asses for most of their shifts, I can tell. How can I tell? I can tell by the extra workload I have to pick up. I could have done what I've done in the last couple of months, and just silently picked up my pace to get caught up so that I could get to my own list of things to get done around the place.
I could have, but I opted not to. I opted instead to growl at the morning cleaner just a little, and he sprang to life since I offered to help him get caught up (my subtle way of apologizing for getting grumpy with him). When he went home at 3:30, I was busy cleaning out of the plant's bathrooms. I didn't run into the second shift cleaner until a few minutes before going on my own lunch break at 4. I could have grumbled at him right away, but I decided to wait until after my lunch.
When I got back in from my break, and noticed that he hadn't even started on any-fucking-thing that needed doing, I stalked his ass down like Jason Voorhees and made a very flat statement that was as follows: "If you don't get to doing something around here, you're going to be coughing the tongue of my boot out for a month, because it's going to be so far up your ass that you can feel it in your fucking throat."
Stunned silence met me at this point, because I have never, in the five months I've been working there, taken such a cold and harsh tone with anybody. Sure, I've ranted, grumbled and growled, but I've never, until today, delivered such a threat in the cold, calculated demeanor that it came out.
It seemed to work, though, because that asshole finally got around to cleaning out the locker area. About fucking time I wasn't the only one doing that chore.
That's been my day. How about you folks?
Then I got to work.
This is the part where you hear that descending whistle from the old Loony Tunes cartoons, where a bomb or an anvil is descending towards the head of some hapless animated victim.
Without getting into specifics, I'll just say this; I'm basically a janitor at the chemical factory where I am employed. There are two others, one guy for mornings, one for evenings. I covered this before.
Well, when the two of them walk around with their thumbs up their asses for most of their shifts, I can tell. How can I tell? I can tell by the extra workload I have to pick up. I could have done what I've done in the last couple of months, and just silently picked up my pace to get caught up so that I could get to my own list of things to get done around the place.
I could have, but I opted not to. I opted instead to growl at the morning cleaner just a little, and he sprang to life since I offered to help him get caught up (my subtle way of apologizing for getting grumpy with him). When he went home at 3:30, I was busy cleaning out of the plant's bathrooms. I didn't run into the second shift cleaner until a few minutes before going on my own lunch break at 4. I could have grumbled at him right away, but I decided to wait until after my lunch.
When I got back in from my break, and noticed that he hadn't even started on any-fucking-thing that needed doing, I stalked his ass down like Jason Voorhees and made a very flat statement that was as follows: "If you don't get to doing something around here, you're going to be coughing the tongue of my boot out for a month, because it's going to be so far up your ass that you can feel it in your fucking throat."
Stunned silence met me at this point, because I have never, in the five months I've been working there, taken such a cold and harsh tone with anybody. Sure, I've ranted, grumbled and growled, but I've never, until today, delivered such a threat in the cold, calculated demeanor that it came out.
It seemed to work, though, because that asshole finally got around to cleaning out the locker area. About fucking time I wasn't the only one doing that chore.
That's been my day. How about you folks?
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