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About
Stackhouse writes, builds, and wrangles apes in the wilds of upstate New York.
He is right behind you. You smell nice.
Read more @ Jason Stackhouse and His Engaging Lies
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When they came for the Pokemon players, I did not stand up. I did not play Pokemon...
"It's curtains for you, Doctor Horrible. Lacy, gently wafting curtains."
Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, Act One, Act Two.
A few more days to organize my thoughts and I'll get back to work.
I know some people are waiting for pages, code, furniture, updates, etc- I haven't flaked. It's more like, after a month of ludicrous emotional pressure, having it lift so quickly turned my bones to jelly. Decompressssss...
All is well, service will resume shortly.
So much better.
Who knew that love and trust were the keys to an amicable divorce? That, and putting the lawyers up against the wall.
Carre? You're amazing. We couldn't live together, couldn't be married, but damn, you're an amazing woman. Thank you for reminding me of that, today. And for sitting across from me for nine hours, working it out, just the two of us.
Thank you.
July 5th- my birthday. Also, birthday of PT Barnum.
July 7th- 80-year anniversary of the sale of sliced bread.
July 8th- birthday of Robert Heinlein.
Even if I didn't celebrate this year, I've good company on the calendar.
My new home is gorgeous, clean, and safe. Tonight, I'll be finished with Basha's room (I gave her the bedroom) and plans are in the mail for a Murphy bed for me. Built into some nice cabinetry, finished to play off the hardwood floors and rugs, the Murphy will really add to this space.
This is the safest and best place I've ever lived. The carpentry and appliances are brand new, there are smoke detectors and built-in fire suppression in every room, and tenants need to pass a background check and series of interviews before their references are even checked. Nice neighbourhood, too. Kingston's historic district has the lowest crime and highest policing in the city.
Rent's even perfect- with gas, rent, and all my bills figured in, I can miss a full day of work every week for a month and still put away for the next insurance bill, Basha's college, and the inevitable car repairs. So begins the long climb out of poverty...
(I'm even learning how to cook. It's not hard; I wonder why cooking is so mystified and revered.)
There's new work on the writing front, as well. Not so much of the twisted or sardonic stuff you've all come to love. I didn't lose track of the children's story Peter and I are working on, either. Just can't do a kid's book right now, give me a few weeks.
This is something I didn't expect. Are you sitting down?
I'm writing a musical mockumentary with my friend and occasional collaborator Jeff LaBonde (and his army of talented assistants) riffing off of the material and experiences of a musical ministry we wrote and performed a lifetime ago. More details as they solidify over the next month or so.
(You almost can't tell that once the day's work is done, and the night's, I'm still crying myself to sleep. I miss my children more than anything else I lost, but maturity and fatherhood demand one meet heartache with strength. When I bring them here I want them to come into a home, not a place in transition. So there is work to be done- satisfying, domestic, emotionally fulfilling work.)
