Samhain eve.

I am not a good witch. I am not a great mother.

There's no plans for Samhain. The weather's going to be rotten again this year so I'm not taking the children out to gather candy.

I haven't slept well in several days. When I do sleep, my dreams are stalked by the restless dead screaming for justice, clutching to me in desperation for help. The plant I had on my altar that was all lush and pretty died in the last two days covered in mold of some sort. It was only luck that I didn't have an allergic reaction to the thing when I disposed of it.

My mood is bad and I'm finding myself worrying about random things. The clamor of the dead is louder when I go out of the house because I go past my wards and there's more waiting out there. When you're sensitive to the dead, they tend to flock to you. Imagine you've been trying to get somebody to listen to you and you found someone who actually can hear you and communicate with the other people you were trying to talk to.

I am feeling pressure from various ways in my life and I am not handling it so well. I doubt that there will be any mischief tonight. Devil's night isn't much of a thing in my neighborhood.

Monday menu

Date	Breakfast	Lunch	Dinner
Sun	Donuts	sandwiches / leftovers	Pizza
Mon	kids: Donuts me: english muffin egg, coffee	Kids: school Hubby: ramen & ham salad sandwich Me: pizza	hamburgers carrot salad & cheeseburger salad
Tues	kids: school me: oatmeal, egg, coffee	Kids: school Hubby: chili & chips Me: salad	tacos & taco salad
Wed	kids: school me: oatmeal, egg & coffee	Kids: school Hubby: burrito bowl Me: leftovers	Pork chops mashed potatoes green salad
Thurs	kids: school me: coffee oatmeal & egg	Kids: school Hubby: leftovers Me: leftovers	crock pot pot roast beef w/ potatoes
Fri	kids: school me: veggie omelet & toast & coffee	Kids: school Hubby: leftovers Me: leftovers	Pork tenderloin mash potatoes peas
Sat	eggs, bacon & fruit	leftovers / sandwiches	chili

The Umbrel Chronicles of Evandar is officially a series now!

I just put book four out for sale today. Here's the link to the page on my other blog where you can get copies of the entire series. I'm working on merchandise to go with the books. I have blank bookmarks that I'm going to decorate. I have a basket of jewelry that I can slap up for sale. I'm giving myself until midsummer 2020 to get that all sorted out. This way I can have random things like a small cookbook pdf and crochet or knitting patterns based off of characters and such. I figure if the guy I knew from the Facebook writer's group I was in could rope possible sales with merchandise, maybe I can too.

Mr. Naalson and the Keeper

Naalson walked through the gateway of the prison. A shiver passed over him as the anguish of the imprisoned washed over him. In his own way, they were his brothers and he grieved their imprisonment, however necessary for the greater good. Naalson hated that expression 'the greater good'. It was one that was introduced by the Christians, if he recalled it correctly. That 'greater good' being the good for their distant god. Naalson flicked an invisible bit of lint off of his suit and waited as the guard waved a metal detector wand over him. It chirped as it passed over his wrists. Naalson pulled back his shirt sleeves to reveal the dead watch on his left wrist and the medical id bracelet on his right.

“Sign in at the right,” the guard instructed in a bored tone. Naalson leaned over to peer at the names of the guards assigned at the door but they turned away before he could catch their names. The yellow painted brick had all the charm of a deeply infected wound's purulent drainage. Naalson half expected the smell underneath the scent of the industrial cleaner that had been used earlier in the day. He picked up a black pen with his left hand and signed his name; Naalson, Loptr. The guard looked up at him suspiciously. “What kind of name is Loptr?”

“It's an old family name from my mother's side. We're Norwegian originating from the Jotunheimen region,” Naalson explained with an air of someone who had to explain his name far too many times. The guard nodded and said something about people always getting his name wrong too. “I'm here to see the warden,” Naalson said, shrugging up his sleeve a bit to glance at the watch face, “He is expecting me.” The guard gestured another one over to him.

“Please see Mister.. uh.. Na.. Nel ..” The guard looked awkardly at Naalson.

“It's pronounced Naal-son,” he said.

“Oh, yes. Right. Got it. Please see Mister Naalson to Warden Schmitt's office,” the guard instructed his companion. The uniforms and the semi-military haircuts gave them an almost nondescript quality. Naalson noted, however, the one who let him in the door had black hair and a moustache with grey hairs beginning to show. He noted that the one lazing behind the desk was a red head like himself, just a lighter color and with less freckles. The guard walking infront of him had blond hair and ice blue eyes. He vaguely reminded Naalson of someone he knew once that died by misadventure with a sprig of mistletoe.

As they moved through the administrative offices portion of the prison, Naalson could practically hear the walls groan with despair. This, he concluded, was a cursed place. He rubbed his right wrist absentmindedly and wondered if he was going to find himself face to face with a snake. The warden's secretary looked up from a sheaf of reports and blinked in surprise. Naalson was quite possibly the tallest man he had seen. Naalson towered over the guard but was surprisingly lean. His carefully groomed beard hid his scars and a few of his freckles. His hair was cut in a manner that was virtually identical to the one worn by the majority of the corrections officers. When the sunlight fell on it through the chickenwire impregnated windows, it seemed to have the color of a spark against the dreary grey of the office.

“Warden Schmitt is expecting me,” Naalson said, “I'm actually a few minutes late.” The secretary looked down at the paperwork and then shuffled around more papers. “The warden is in, isn't he? I was told today and this time, tuesday at nine o'clock.”

“Yes, here you are,” said the secretary, holding up a neon pink sticky note, “To discuss the matter of your nephew. One moment.” Naalson folded his hands behind his back in a position similar to military at ease. Then an uncomfortable feeling crawled up his spine, a bodily memory of sorts. Naalson brought his hands back down to his sides as the door to the warden's office opened.

Warden Schmitt was not an impressive looking man. He was perhaps the most boring looking person that Naalson had ever laid eyes on during his travels. Naalson was mildly impressed with this unconscious feat. Schmitt was reviewing some manner of paperwork, peering over wire rimmed glasses. His mouse brown hair was thinning but carefully groomed. His face was clean shaven where a beard or moustache might have lent him some visual sense of personality. A small man, Schmitt didn't strike fear into people with his stature. Quiet spoken, it wasn't his voice that many feared, at first.

“Elliot, put that on the pile,” Schmitt said, waving a hand at the towering stack of papers on the corner of his desk.

“Warden Schmitt, your nine o'clock appointment is here,” the secretary coughed, embarrassed by his superior's behavior. Schmitt looked over and then up at Naalson.

“I see, very well. Bring me the report when this meeting is over, then,” Schmitt said. He stood up and gestured towards the second chair in the room. It was a small chair for Naalson to sit down in comfortably but somehow he managed to make it look so. “What can I do for you, sir?” Schmitt said, attempting to sound ingratiating in his bland voice. Naalson couldn't help the vulpine smile that came when Schmitt asked his question.

“There is an inquiry going on, Mister Schmitt,” Naalson said, “I believe word of it has reached your office.” Schmitt looked confused. “Clearly the memo was misplaced. Your secretary's desk is almost as bad as mine,” Naalson said with that same smile, his tone sounding genuinely warm and friendly. “An inmate recently was reported to have become deceased under your watch under suspicious circumstances.” Schmitt's attempt to be pleasant dropped away and the tepid looking man scowled as much as such a man could manage. “The report,” Naalson continued, sounding bored with the entire affair, “Said that you were the last man to see him alive.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” demanded Schmitt, his voice turning hard. It was a tone that the inmates were troubled by. Because when Schmitt was angry, bad things tended to happen.

“Oh, I'm not accusing you of anything,” Naalson said mildly, “Merely stating the facts of the report that I received. And this inmate, I believe his number was ... No, that doesn't matter. “ Naalson leaned forward, steepling his fingers before his face as he rested his elbows on the warden's desk. “Erick Ericksonne was his name,” Naalson said, “the report reads that he committed suicide. However, it also reads that all suicide watch protocol was followed. No belt, no shoelaces, no sheet on the cot. Hell, no cot even, just a mattress in a bare cell. We all know how those parts of the facility look. With the dehumanizing mint green and pink colors that make you think of those damned after dinner mints that taste like chalk, am I right?”

Schmitt blinked quickly. He had the feeling that he was in the presence of someone quite dangerous though he couldn't parse the reason why. “I have one question for you, John,” Naalson said, gesturing with his right hand towards the warden. “Why did you strangle him? Wasn't it enough that you had him in solitary on suicide watch for refusing to say the pledge first thing in the morning? Wasn't it enough that you had his food rations cut in half? Are you really so patriotic as to murder a man for 'disrespecting the flag'?”

Schmitt hit the panic button under his desk. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. “Oh, tech gets gitchy around me,” Naalson said, smiling, “You should see my watch. Something about my ... energy.” Schmitt felt sweat beading up along the back of his neck. “Or, really,” Naalson said suddenly as he leaned back and raised his right index finger as though he had an exciting revelation, “Is the problem that Erick was a pacifist? Well, we should say, was in this case. Proper context is important as is clauses. You hate pacifists. You've hated them since the war. Can't say I'd blame you much except for there's one small problem. This isn't the war. You can't kill a man with impunity, no matter how well you cover it up.”

“Turning off the camera on the room, clever man,” Naalson said, “But, you forgot about the one in the hallway. It caught you 'adjusting' your belt. The very same belt you used to strangle your prisoner.”

“That's a lie,” Schmitt said in an icey tone. The vulpine smile returned. Schmitt wondered how this man knew. He wondered if he hadn't paid the guard on duty enough money to keep his yap shut. He wondered if the camera actually was on. “You're trying to blackmail me,” Schmitt said.

“Oh no, blackmail is beneath me,” Naalson said, “I'm here to give you a choice. Confess your crime or suffer Erick's fate.”

“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Schmitt couldn't keep the note of panic out of his voice at the last part of his statement.

Naalson scoffed, “I wouldn't dirty my hands. Your hands, however...”

Schmitt's hands shook and began to move of their own accord. Naalson watched as he took of his belt and stood up. “Stop this,” Schmitt said.

“You are doing this to yourself,” Naalson answered as Schmitt looped one end of the belt over the pendant lamp hanging from the ceiling. He watched with emotionless eyes as Schmitt's filled with panic and he struggled. As he teetered on the rolling chair with his makeshift noose around his neck, Schmitt's face turned red. Naalson stood up and walked around the table. He gripped hold of the back of the chair. For a moment Schmitt's stance stabilized and the awful pressure around his throat eased up for a moment. “Off to Niflhel with you, snake,” Naalson said in Schmitt's ear before kicking the chair out from under him.

Schmitt's secretary opened the door. “Sir, your nine o'clock appointment is here,” he said, looking down at the report in his hand. The secretary looked up and screamed at the sight of his superior dangling from a light that could barely hold him. “Oh god, somebody... somebody do something!” the secretary screamed as others around him scrambled into action. In the chaos, no one noticed a mouse scuttling out of the room and evading their stomping feet.

Chronic illness = bullshit

Yesterday's lesson in anxiety sucked. Fortunately, my blood sugar levels are much better today. I forgot to log what I've been eating over the last several days. As such, I don't know what caused yesterday to be such a pain in the ass. I'm still running a blood sugar level higher than I want it to be (170s instead of 150s) but I've been awake and getting things done today.

I was tired and I tried to take a nap this morning when there were people outside working. That went about as well as can be expected. I suppose I managed about a half hour before I just couldn't stand it anymore and I got up. I didn't sleep the best last night. I kept having really vivid dreams. One was my being at a pizza party at the bowling alley (which I think has been closed) where my mother humiliated me in front of my class. It was supposed to be a birthday party, but she turned it into something about her by announcing to everyone at full volume that she was, as per my description, a bitch and everyone should remember it. Mind you, I didn't talk about my family at school at all. But, in this dream, it was not a repeat of the memory.

The bowling alley was completely empty and there was this massive sheet pizza with ALL the toppings you could think of. I stood there looking at it and then around the bowling alley. I then said, "Well, this was the only good thing that came out of that day anyways." Then I woke up for a few minutes. When I fell back to sleep, I had a little bit more detailed of a dream.

I dreamed that Beloved, I, and a group of old friends/acquaintances from high school were opening up a bar/restaurant where a dive bar is located currently in our hometown. The kids ran around playing and helping with small chores as we did things like move furniture and hang curtains. It was a pleasant dream. Partly because in the dream I was healthy and able to help do stuff like move furniture.

If I were to sit here and interpret theses dreams, I would say that I should let go of the past moments where I was humiliated and reach out to old friends to make my dreams happen. I'm not quite sure how to approach the second part. I'm not very good at being social. I also feel a fair amount of guilt over the fact that I'd be asking people to do things for me just on the basis of our friendship.

Growing up, I learned that friendship was something you gave and didn't expect anything back from it. And that it was rare. I went to school with some real assholes who regularly did shit that humiliated me. Now, I find myself considering (idly) things like getting a hold of the people who made my life miserable in high school and pushing my books in their direction, in the hope that theoretical guilt over their treatment of me equates to purchasing a book. I realize, however, that is an improbability on the scale of my accomplishing teleportation by pure force of will.

Old friends, however, may be a helpful network. It'd be good to see how their lives are turning out and if they have achieved those dreams we all talked about when we were kids. I may not have the spoons to market to the entire world, but maybe I can to some old friends and let them know that I appreciate their continued support and friendship. I don't know.

Diabetes can die in a fire.

All damn day today, my blood sugar has been high. I have been unconscious most of the day because of the fact that my blood sugar has been over 250. I don't know why this is happening. I know that my sinus infection is making my blood sugar run a little high but this increase makes no sense to me. I'm so frustrated. I had stuff I wanted to get done today. I had things I needed to get done before the kids got home from school. None of it happened.

I don't know if today is an outlier or a sign that something is going wrong. I'm kinda scared. I'm eating within my limits for carbs. I'm making sure that I have protein with my carbs. I'd be exercising except I was unconscious most of the day. I feel helpless and frustrated.

I was going to walk down to the corner store for a jug of milk because we're just about out. Didn't happen. I was going to fold up more of my laundry and get it done before the kids got home because of how much laundry I have piled up waiting to be put away (and sorted out for storage for winter). I had plans to get writing done today. Again, didn't happen until now because I was asleep pretty much all day.

I'm nervous about dinner. I'm concerned that I shouldn't  eat dinner incase it makes my blood sugar spike and I have difficulty waking up in the morning again. At the same time, I know that I should eat dinner because having my blood sugar really low is a bad thing. I skipped my morning snack because I slept through it. I skipped my afternoon snack. It is my guess that if I don't have it, maybe my blood sugar will be lower. I don't know.

ETA:

Not eating snack brought my blood sugar levels before dinner to 135, which is what I was hoping for. I did eat dinner. A modest bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee doesn't sound like much, but that and a bit of cheese and lunch meat made up my dinner. I think between the cheese and the lunch meat I had enough protein, but I'm not sure.

I'm so tired of this bullshit.

To Hel with this sinus infection.

To speed along this infection's trip down Hel's Road, I'm taking horse-pill sized antibiotics for the next week (twice a day). I've been exhausted and it's only now at three in the afternoon that I feel somewhat awake. At least I will be conscious when the kids are off the bus and demanding attention. I am so irritated with this whole business. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that I have had some level of a bloody nose all week. According to the family doctor, that will go away as the infection does.

Jill H. is a good friend of mine from when I was in school. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that she lives just up the road. We've renewed our friendship like no time passed. One of her hobbies is shopping thrift stores and garage sales. She found some great clothes for the kids at just the right time. Cuddle Bear is growing out of his jeans. When he wears his old ones, he looks about ready to go fishing. So, we're shuffling clothes around and giving the stuff that the boys have outgrown to her to ferry off to the thrift store for another soul to use.

I am so thankful for Jill. I wish I could be a better friend to her and my other friends. Fortunately, the anti-anxiety medication change is helping me get out of the house and be more social. Apparently a big part of my problem getting stuff done and being social is my social phobia. Who'd've thunk it, right? I'm still easing my way into the medication change. So far, however, it's made socializing easier. It's made doing the weekly grocery shopping a lot easier again. No more panic if I'm choosing the wrong food for me to eat or if people are giving me odd looks and following me.

Now I'm just waiting on my proofs to arrive in the mail. I want to get book 4 out for everybody to enjoy as soon as possible. I think I'm going to release the e-book ahead of the paperback. That one looks fine. KDP dropped my stuff in the mail later than they had said they were going to, hence a delay of at least a week, I think. I was supposed to have it by now. If I am exceedingly lucky, I'll have it Monday.

TL:DR - Things are improving despite my being sick with a sinus infection.

Monday Menu: Fuck It.

I'm sick. I still have that stupid cold from last week. It now includes sinus pain and bleeding. I have a doctor's appointment Wednesday. My nice and tidy organized everything is a mess because I haven't been staying on top of my organizing things. Fortunately, it is not so big of a mess that I missed that my Cuddle Bug has a dentist appointment on Thursday.

I don't have much of a menu this week. I just wrote down dinners in my planner on Thursday. Monday through Wednesday are the usual things. Thursday I am going to attempt to make breaded pork chops in the oven. Instead of bread crumbs, I'm going to be using almond flour. We'll see how well the kids take to it. Friday is going to be chicken curry, or chicken something. I can't remember exactly what I wrote down and my planner is in the other room. Saturday, Beloved is going to make chili. This is a big deal because he makes awesome chili.

I'm behind on my writing in a bunch of areas because I've been sick. I'm trying to get caught up but it's not working so great. Stupid cold and stuff.

Vanilla Infused Stevia (and some rambling)

This is a damn simple recipe. It's so simple, I don't think it counts as one.

Take a vanilla pod. Put it into a pint sized mason jar. Cover with finely ground stevia (like the sort used to replace sugar in baking). Let it sit in a dark cupboard for a few months. In the end, you have stevia that is flavored with vanilla. It's a subtle flavor that goes well with oolong tea. Just top it off with more stevia as you use it up. Keep in that cupboard when you're not using it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I feel like it isn't safe for me to express myself fully. It's why I have been wearing bandannas more of late instead of my pretty scarves. The increasingly 'conservative' attitudes of the community we live in distresses me. The march towards oligarchy or fascism, I honestly can't tell the difference anymore right now, terrifies me. The people who go on screeds about how the mentally ill are dangerous and exhort that we should be locked away (at best) frighten me. The way that people act how autism is a fate worse than death and that there should be a purge of all autistic people (yes, I have seen people saying these things) is deeply distressing.

I want to say that these things are outliers. But they are what I hear coming out of the mouths of people in my neighborhood when I am out and about. When I am dressed in a more conventional fashion, they assume that I am just like them and will go on and on about their things, expecting me to nod and agree. Racism is becoming more open and if you're suspected to be a 'sympathizer' you get an earful.

One day, while I was out, I heard people commenting on 'rag heads' as they were walking right behind me. I was wearing one of my scarves. It has me feeling like I can't wear my scarves out in public anymore. I know some of it is my social phobia, but you know, social phobia is pretty hard to discourage when people around you are actively stating things like how all the 'rag heads' in the country should get killed. They shut right up when I turned around and looked at them. Apparently they didn't feel comfortable making those comments about a person as lily white as myself.

Today: N.O.P.E. Orbital Cannon status - Activate

Today was a long day. I was doing ok up until about lunch time, that's when the crushing anxiety set in. I've been wandering in circles and not getting much done because I'm terrified that if I don't do it perfectly I'll be punished.

Time to NOPE today from orbit.