Old man complaints...

I am so fucking tired, and it's not just physical weariness. Tuesday and yesterday were spent going over printed matter...hundreds and hundreds of pieces, and the monotony of the job got to me. As did having to stand throughout because it was that or keep getting up and down as I sorted through the morass.

Turned out only half of the stacks of items I was going through were on the list, even though all were supposed to be. But I had to check every single one of them, and even wound up finding some that had no identifying notes but were on the list and working out what their inventory number was. Then today was getting it picked up and driving out to Sierra Madre to collect 11 cartons for another shipment, on my own.

It's not a lot of physical labor, and the drive out and then down to LAX were me in a car with AC and my phone tuned to KCRW's Eclectic 24. But I'm still exhausted, thanks to LA traffic demanding full and complete attention. Then tomorrow is packing everything into containers to ship out. I took a half hour nap at my hotel and I'm still not exactly 100%.

I can't keep doing this. I'm too old and out of shape. And I also have other priorities, now. I need the money, but if it means working myself into a grave before I'm done with APoS and other works, that's not an option.

I've read through the point where Brendan helps a woman escape her abusive husband, but he finds her then kills her and himself. Which sends Bren spiraling into despair. It still all seems a bit perfunctory, but I'm not really doing a rewrite, yet, so I'll worry about that when I dig in for good. I like the line of the story's events; I just don't like how they aren't really organic, yet.

One interesting aspect of this area is how Brendan is revealing a violent streak, that can appear when provoked. And more than a hint of cruelty. But also tenderness and understanding. Pretty intense for a lad who's seventeen going into eighteen.