I haven’t posted in a while.  I’m trying really hard to get back into a rhythm, or any other semblance of regularity.  It’s really hard for me right now.

My father died.  He was my last surviving ancestor, so it’s just me now.  And I’m divorced, and most of my family is far, far away.  I have my kids, and I have myself.  I miss my Dad and I don’t really even have family I can talk to about it.  And I wouldn’t want to anyway, because I’m autistic, and we’re just not like that.

John M. Boats, to whom my first novel will be dedicated, died on June 13^th after a long fight with acute myeloidal leukemia.  Most of his final days were good ones.  It makes me happy that he didn’t suffer long when the end finally came.

These last few months have been crazy.  My ex-wife has moved herself and my kids several miles away, forcing changes to our guardianship arrangements.  I’ve spent a lot of time shuttling my kids around to their various school and non-school activities, including coaching my youngest in Little League.

I’ve been teaching online courses all this while, finding the time amidst the chaos and my despair to serve my students as they deserve.

I’m in the process of buying a new house.  This at least is kind of fun.

My girlfriend broke her leg, and I’ve adjusted my home and travel agendas to try to see to her needs.

I have a “literary agent,” but it isn’t working out. I need someone more communicative and editorial-minded. I’ll probably be sending out new query letters soon.  I’ll worry about that later.  Too much else to worry about right now.

And in all this time I’ve been trying to find the time to write, because that’s who I am now.  I have four degrees in mathematics and physics and have spent the last 25 years of my life teaching mostly math at the University of Detroit Mercy, but I don’t even care anymore.

My administrators have betrayed me, disappointed me, and in general just disillusioned me, to the point where I don’t really give a damn about my job anymore.  I still teach my students as well as I can because they deserve no less, but after that, it’s just a job I do to pay the bills. Honestly, I don’t even think of myself as a mathematician anymore.

I’m just a guy who teaches math to pay the bills.  The real truth is that I’m a writer now.  When someone asks what I do, I tell them “I write spy novels.”

A friend of mine recently wanted me to multiply numbers quickly in my head, like I used to when I was a kid, to amuse his own child. I did it once for them, just for a laugh. After that, I pretended I was too old or tired to do it again. Because fuck off, that’s why. I’m not a circus freak. I’m a human being. And more importantly, I’m a writer.

And I don’t know what to do.  I feel so lost right now. I just keep on keeping on, for lack of a better term.  I just write, in between dealing with change.  Autistic people don’t handle unexpected change well, and right now MY ENTIRE LIFE IS ON FIRE.  So what am I to do?

I just can’t even, sometimes.  I just stand under the shower head and try to let the water wash it away.  Seems to work for about ten minutes.  I’ll take it.

I’m about two-thirds of the way through the first draft of my sequel now.  Thought I’d be done with it a month ago, but … life.

Life, man.  It’s this thing we do, because there’s no better choice.