Carbs are poison

They really are.  You can learn a lot from reading my stories.

Tired from DayJob but wanted to jot down the rest of the dinner scene before it leads into Mackenzie’s history.  The only problem is:  they’ve not shown me anything of her history!  I think the rest of her family is dead, but I’ve no real idea.  I got to the last line of the tiny entry of what’s below, walked away from the computer, loaded the dishwasher, made sure my clothes were ready for the morning… and:  nothing.

Tomorrow, depending on when my family returns, will be chaos.  I hope we can learn the name of Mackenzie’s brother, soon.

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Questioning Civic Orthodoxy

Taking to Americans, especially White Americans, about any form of government different than what we have now is a huge exercise in futility.  Europeans at least have a couple of thousand years playing about with nations and states.  Northeast Asia has had some clever mixes of despotism.  But here, it’s always “1776!” and “muh Constitution!”

It’s not just because I know history so well.  There are plenty of folks who know history better than I do but flinch as if shot when I suggest that our federal republic has outlived its usefulness.  I really think it has to do with family:  that fact that mine is so old and predates the Republic helps, but is not the only factor.  Still, having ancestors is a tremendous psychological cushion, as it were, when looking at our day to day crises.

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Trying to keep some momentum up.  After Mass this morning came home to at least mow the front yard.  Haven’t done that in two years – what are kids for? – and managed to not have a heart attack.  Did some cleaning about he house for fam’s return this week.  While I miss them all, I’m really missing my wife, if you receive my meaning.  Still, have managed to lay down some more words about what leads up to Nichole’s mission to the Nation:  the Huns living in the badlands far east of Portland.  Sneakers gotta sneak.

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Pulling my pants down

It’s been an awful week:  dog dead, family off on vacation, my boss back… an Iliad of woes.  Very difficult to write in such an environment.

Thus, even a pantser such as I must break down and make some outlines, becoming a plotter, lest nothing be written at all.  Below the fold is a pic of the notes I made this afternoon; I was able to lay down about 700 words in the evening, but things are in flux.

What were I an OCD such as Acire:  able to plan an entire month!  Two partial days on the heels of tragedy is the best I can do.  Content tomorrow… what else is left to me?

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N2 P2

After an awful time last week, I try to crawl back into the cockpit and see where in the hell this flight is going.  Oh, yes:  time to get started on Part Two.  Let’s start with a little exposition.  After that, I’ll – as I do – fill in the backstory, then come back to “realtime.”

I’ve looked down from the Blue Mountains toward Pendleton over a dozen times.  It’s breathtaking.

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