#i am permitted back at work next tuesday at the earliest

[deermouth]

me in my bedroom going slowly insane on day three point five of covid isolation in 2024, mostly passing my time by rewatching the entirety of interview with the vampire: this is boring!!!!!!!!! colorless, flavorless, dull!!!!!!!!

[kindar-life]

<h1>The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)</h1>

The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)

Or an alternate title: I have ADHD, Big Surprise Out of curiosity, anyone has border crossing stories? They don’t have to be horror stories; they can be good. I’m mainly curious how it’s been for other people. So this week could have gone great, and for one the problem wasn’t on my company’s side. We did everything right, it’s the shipper and the border who dropped the ball. So, did the delivery on Monday and as my manager is on vacation, St-Germain was the one handling it, and before they were done unloaded, I had my next assignment. a pickup, 5 hours away, for Wednesday morning. If my manager had been handling it, I wouldn’t have found out until later on Tuesday, forcing me to rush there, his justifications would be that he was looking for something better in the meantime, which is BS, since that shipper is about the only one we have in all of BC anymore. I only drove an hour, I mean, what’s the point. I’m on eastern time, so 3 hours ahead of them, and going to be a day early. Also, Hwy 3 from Hope to Grand Forks, is horrible and there is no way I want to do it in the dark. It was still dark by the time I left on Tuesday, but was light before I hit the really tight curves going up and down hills. It’s the summer, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be, and I was empty, but I’ve done them in the winter. I never look forward to driving on that road. Made it mid-morning for them, checked in, pointing out I was a day early and they said to drop it, their shunt driver would put it in a door within minutes and within a couple of hours it would be done. Which was great news for me. If I could get in the US a day early, I’d be able to take a two-day weekend. Remember that ‘IF’. The trailer is ready in three hours, but it takes another hour for me to find out because I was looking at the wrong drop lot. I decided to go in and get an update and, on the way, I saw it in the opposite drop lot. Got my papers, confirmed I was good to cross the border and headed to the Laurier crossing. I like it because it isn’t busy and the road on the US side is nice, even if it’s a 2-lane highway. No big hills, few tight curves and only a handful of towns. There is Spokane when it reaches I90, but I found a way around it. It’s a little longer, than driving through Spokane, but a lot easier. Get to the border, go inside. It’s so quiet they don’t have truck booths. I hand in the papers, the officer looked in his is system and asks. “Where’s your permit?” “I’m sorry,” I reply, “What permit?” “your permit to cross here.” Here is the thing. We’ve been crossing at this border for eight months. And we’ve never been asked for a permit. It turns out that no officer should have ever allowed us to cross there, but they weren’t doing their jobs properly. The reason we don’t have a permit is that the shipper never added us to the list of approved Carrier to cross there with their product. I did not know there was such a situation possible. So I turned around, stopped in an aside in the hopes it was an easy fix and called the shipper. Only to find out the person who deals with the border had already left for the day (it was 4pm locally, in the mood I was in, I wasn’t thinking good thing about a person who didn’t have to work until 5pm like all office workers.) I called dispatch to advise them. Drove back to the shipper to park for the night, they are only 10 minutes from the border, another reason I like crossing there. Next morning, 9am their time, noon mine, I go in and find out there’s nothing to be done about it, they can only add a carrier to their list once a year, in December. The closest crossing that is a ‘Commercial Crossing,” is in Ossoyoos, two hours west, over all those horrible hills and turns. Tell dispatch about it, get told it can’t be, we cross at Laurier all the time. I tell them, yes, but we can’t anymore, check with the shipper if you believe your driver is so determined to drive over horrible hills. By the time I bet close to Ossoyoos, I still don’t have my papers so I park at the truckstop there. Only have to wait an hour and I do. I have to drive later than I prefer but I make it to Post Falls, ID, where I like to park anytime I have to cross at that border. My 2-day weekend is gone, but I can take it easy, there’s plenty of time to get to Laredo. Or not. Friday morning my manager, the one who is on vacation, calls me to ask when I’m going to be there. I tell him something on Tuesday. I’m not concerned since it doesn’t need to be there until Friday. He starts asking why so late, it need to be there ASAP. I tell him I need to do a reset (not true, technically, but don’t tell him that) I tell him that the best I can do is be there Monday late afternoon, and he asks why? I have plenty of hours and it’s a holiday on Monday so I need to get there earlier so I can get a load. And here I need to pause. The earliest I could be there, pushing as hard as I legally can would be Sunday, and the office there is closed. If it’s closed on Monday too, what does it matter if I’m there on Monday? If there is a load there for me to pickup on Sunday, it’s still going to be there on Monday. I still don’t budge on my reset. I have stopped caring about them changing delivery times after I’ve done my pickup a long time ago. If I’m given inaccurate information, it is not my problem. He grumbles and tells me to be there Monday without fault, as if I told him I might not make it. So I had to drive a little harder but I got her on Saturday, and rested. One of the things I did while I waited for all that was get more writing done, so you get five chapters of Taking the Line, Chapters 44 to 48. If there is the usual wait time in Laredo, the last five chapters should be done next week. Chapter 16 of Blind Spot is written, and I finished book 5 of LRK’s origin story. 13 chapters. The longest one to date, I hope the longest period. So I’ve started the newest Going Home, which will explore McKannon, the industrial sector of Tiranis, as well as Eric finally making contact with one of his relatives. if you want to read all that, it's only 1$ on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/29632610 Another thing I did is take an ADHD test. There’s a warning about how it isn’t a medical tool, but if you score about a certain point, you really should talk to a doctor because, really, you have ADHD. And I do. I didn’t go in hoping I had it, but I strongly suspected I was somewhere on that spectrum. On the lower end, but on it none the less. There someone called ADHD Alien on Tumblr, and they post comics about how ADHD affects their daily lives and quite a few of them resonated with me, but one of the reason I never looked at the condition was that I was successful in school and the stereotype of someone with ADHD as that they aren’t good at school. Things is plenty of people with ADHD are good in school because it’s fun, there’s a lot of new things to learn and we soak up that knowledge easily, so easily most of us never have to bother studying, so we never learn how to study, and then when we hit college, of in my case the last two years of secondary school(I was in Quebec, they have their own system there) things start going badly. I was able to finish Secondary, but College was a bust. I just couldn’t figure out how to study and the concept I now had to deal with were so complex I couldn’t simply absorb them. I mean, I’m bright, but not that bright. So I dropped out, hit the work force and never regretted it. I was also lucky that my parents didn’t have expectations of me going to university and becoming a BIG SHOT™. They were surprised when I dropped out, but it was my life and they let me live it as I wanted. I love them for that. I love them for letting me screw up, then offering to help me up with a “See, that didn’t work, you might want to try something else, I can offer suggestions if you want but that’s up to you.” My mom picked up quicker than my dad that the suggestions that worked best were the kick in the ass kind of things and to then let me assimilate them and proceed. My mom told me months before I did it that I should write in the morning, that’s always been when I was at my best and I snorted, yeah right, mornings, who’s functional then? Eventually I ran out of things to try and did that. When I told my mom that she was right about it she smiled and said “I know.” But yeah, back on the ADHD thing. Learning that it was possible to succeed in school because you had ADHD and then fail for the same reason realigned my thinking. And add to that, that for the few things I can focus laser like on, like my writing, there are tons of them I am incapable of staying focus on. No matter how badly I want to learn them. So, yeah, I have ADHD. Will I seek treatment? No. for me to consider treating any condition I have, it has to either affect my ability to earn a living, or my health(and to be fair, when it comes to my health the potential down side have to be bad for me to even think about talking to a doctor about it) I can do my job without problem; I can do my writing without problems. The rest? Frankly, nothing else matter to a level I am willing to put those two at risk. I don’t Suffer from ADHD, I simply have it. I built my coping mechanism even without knowing I had something. Being Scatter brain? I either write it down, or accept that I will forget about it, and if I forget about it I accept the consequences. I don’t make myself a mess over forgetting it. I fix the problem it caused and move on. I do know now why Minecraft is such a trap for me now. It pulls at my focus by giving me things to do, always more things to do until I reached the point where I’m near panic because I can’t do all of them and I push it away. Until I’ve calmed down. But Minecraft commits the Sin of interfering with my writing by taking over that mental space. It’s why I no longer play it. It’s also why the craving is always there, but me and cravings are old friends. I have no issues staring him down. Okay, this is way longer than I expected so I’m going to pass on the movie and book review this week. You' all have fun, and come on, talk to me. Ask me questions, share your stories, it gets lonely talking to the void<chuckles> And that’s it, so I’ll see you on the next one.

Posted using PostyBirb

[foxissofoxy]

My current muse…

“Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they’re taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment - just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem .. Love is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.” ― Ayn Rand ——————————————————————————————- “What’s that?”

I was silent. I could honestly hear what my friend was hearing. There wasn’t any denying it. The walls that separated my Dads bedroom from my own were practically paper thin based on the sound effects that were coming from his side.

My lack of response confirmed to my friend Andre that what he was hearing was the sound of-sex.

“That’s your Dad?”

I nodded.

“Wow! He’s really giving it to her.”

We both listened to the headboard knocking against the far wall, the rocking of the bed and my Dad grunting as he encouraged for more and faster.

“Since when did your Dad start back to dating?”

"Not sure. I do know he’s banging. Now you know too.”

“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t either.”

Andre and I did our usual fist bump and peace sign. He was out. Deuces.

I have known my Dad for 15 years, all my life actually. I can recall the earliest memory of him. I guess it’s the moment we all become self-aware based on a significant moment where an insignificant memory begins to build and retain on top of other long ago father and son activities. What I can’t remember is ever hearing him have sex with my Mom. Ever. The thought alone was cringe-worthy to think of my parents in that way. This new set of events that was on its fourth night, a school night I might add was something I would have to bring to his attention.

“Oh my God, Rick…Oh, my God. Right-ahh-there. Ohhh,Yes. Yesssss…Yessss.”

“You like how I’m giving it to you? You like this?”

My Dad was asking her over and over again. She finally responded to him.

“Yesssss. Oh, Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“I fucking live for this-All of this. Right here. Oh shit. Yessss.”

I wanted my Dad to say nothing else. I only wanted to hear her.

Whoever she was, she was way more vocal this time around with the oooh and aaahs that I couldn’t help but have more of a boner as long as my Dad kept quiet or quiet enough where I could unleash my teen fantasy on Beth Smith who worked in the lunchroom.

Beth Smith was four years older than me, and she was my girl crush, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Sunday was spent in the Catholic church where I spilled every sordid detail to Father Gabriel in the confessional booth. The heathen side of me was reborn every Monday like clock-work when my eyes would lock with hers in the cafeteria line.

I would fantasize about Beth. I imagined Beth and me together almost obsessively. I reached for the cock sock that I kept in my nightstand drawer. I was ready to burst at the seams. I was prepared until my Dad yelled, “Myyyyyyyyy. EHHHHH. Uhhhh.” Then silence. Seconds later, giggles. UGHH. I put my sock back in my drawer for another time.

Our confrontation happened in the kitchen.

I waited for him to come out of his bedroom the next morning. My Dad was dressed in his uniform. He’s a Deputy Sheriff. Our routine was always the same routine since Mom left him for what she considered a better life going on three years ago. He was adjusting his gun belt. I was at the kitchen table doodling guitar tabs to piano chords that were running through my mind at high speed. I am a gifted Pianist. I’ve also been told that I am a dark spirit. I take it as a compliment that my genius has manifested in order take over the world by storm.

“You missed the bus?” He was surprised to see me still home.

“I didn’t sleep.”

“Do you want me to take the TV out of your room along with your game system?”

This was his usual threat that he never acted on, but he felt it was a motivator for good behavior to not miss the bus 4 days in a row.

“I could turn up the volume of my TV to drown out other noises, but then neither one of us would get any sleep.”

“What are you talking about, Carl?”

I didn’t have a chance to answer because his phone vibrated loudly and his attention was on whatever was displayed. The smirk on his lips was every indication that it wasn’t work-related. If I had someone to bet against, I would put my whole life savings that it had everything to do with last night and the night before and the night before that and so on. I watched his fingers move and wondered when did he ever become so proficient with texting?

“You aren’t staying home. I will take you to school. If you get detention, you are going to serve it. I am not going to get you out of trouble.”

“Who is she?”

He began to search the refrigerator for the creamer. It was right in front of him, but it was like he couldn’t see it. It took him a whole 10 seconds to grab it. The refrigerator wasn’t stocked with much.

“Who’s who?”

“Who is it that you have in your bedroom?”

“What?”

“No. Who?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

I allowed him to have that. Her name was Oh. I was going to give him time to clarify if Oh was an Asian lady or if Oh meant something different. But it was more like a dragged out Ohhhhhh!

My Dad poured himself a cup of coffee, forgetting the creamer as he stirred and texted. He placed two slices of visibly green pieces of moldy bread in the toaster. I sat back and watched with amusement.

“We only have one Oh that I am aware of and he’s the math teacher.” I was referencing my former math teacher Glen Oh. My Dad knew Glen on a personal level for years. “Are you messing around with his wife Maggie Oh who works in the library?”

“For God sakes no.”

“Then?”

“For shit sakes, Carl. I’m not messing around. What’s happening…What’s going on is just…”

“Just what?”

“Different.”

“Different?”

“Very different.”

“You’ve had Jessie over, and I never heard anything. So, I guess. Whatever.”

My Dad was right, whoever he’s banging in his bedroom this time around has caused him to have an incredible vocal range of a grunting caveman that has scarred my brain for life.

"That was over a year ago. It was a mistake. Something I regret. Something that I would rather die than repeat.”

The Jessie fiasco.

The woman who was so abused and found her way into our home, in my father’s bed with her two sons attached to her hip sharing my bedroom whenever she came around. I would immediately take to the couch or stayed at my best friend, Andre’s home that was positioned directly behind where I lived. I would stay with him and his parents until where I lived with my Dad was cleared of the pests. I’d never liked Sam nor Ron. Their Mom was a Milf but not much else.

It still didn’t answer who could have my Dad flustered in revealing who he wanted to have sit on his face. Knowing what I know, I will never, ever drink or eat anything after my Dad. He likes to eat this person, and my brain will forever remember where his lips have been.

He took a look at his phone that indicated he got another message.

“I have to get my keys.”

I’m sitting back twirling my pencil between my fingers casually watching him set his phone down on the kitchen counter to go in search for his car keys. The keys were by the front door where he always leaves them. He went into his bedroom as if the keys would be in there.

His phone…

I was compelled to see. To investigate and hopefully have answers before he comes back out of his bedroom down the short hall.

Queen: Is Carl still home?

Rick: Yes. I will take him to school, and then you can slip out.

Queen: I was thinking about playing hooky. You in that uniform, yum.

Rick: That can be arranged. I’m crazy about you.

Queen: Oh yeah?

Rick: My son heard us last night.

Queen: No!

Rick: We may have to come clean.

Queen: Come into your bedroom NOW!

Whoever he’s banging was still in our home, and her name was Queen. Queen? Queen Elizabeth? We didn’t have any Queens that I was aware of in our small enough town to know a name like that. A name like that would stick out. Whoever he’s’ banging is royalty. This news is Gold. I couldn’t help chuckling.

The toast was finished. I tossed it in the trash along with the rest of the moldy loaf. I put the creamer back in the refrigerator while still scrolling through my Dad’s messages. I found a lot of sexting shared between him and Queen.

Rick: I can still taste you.

Queen: It’s my turn tonight.

Rick: Wonder if you can handle it.

Queen: Don’t doubt me.

Rick: Will I have to hold back?

Queen: I plan to swallow.

Rick: Yeah?

Queen: Lick every drop.

The sound of his bedroom door opening was enough to cause a slight panic to run through me. I turned his phone off.

“Carl, hand me my phone and let’s get going.”

“Did you find your keys in your bedroom?” I played it off cool walking over to him with his phone. It helped that he was visibly distracted by whatever happened in his bedroom.

“Why would I go into my bedroom for my keys? My keys are always by the front door.”

His response was an indication that he wasn’t 100 percent himself. I was going to have some fun.

“Dad, I left something in your bedroom. I’m going to check to see if…”

My Dad’s whole attitude had changed lightning fast. His agitation was on butt load when I boldly began walking past him heading to his bedroom. He grabbed my arm and hauled me out the front door with a not so friendly shove, slamming the front door behind him.

“Hey, I was just joking!” I pretended to be upset with him handling me the way he did.

“Let’s go.”

My Dad was pissed off. He didn’t give two shits.

Now going to school was another matter. I hated school. I hated the whispers about my Dad and Principal Benton. I hated the drop-off in his cruiser almost equally to everything else I hated.

The rumors were annoying to Andre, too. We were in the same gifted classes. Andre is a talented violinist. He’s gifted on the piano as well as having the sickest rap lyrics of all time. I’m his biggest fan. He’s considered to have a dark spirit too. He doesn’t care because he knows he’s going to take over the world by musical storm one motherfucking kick drum at a time.

Andre’s mom’s the Principal at our high school. His Dad is an attorney who works in Alexandria. I’ve only met his Dad a couple of times. He seemed very chill but his Mom…Principal Benton didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She was no-nonsense, by the book, and she rode us both hard if we were acting like delinquents. I have to be honest, Principal Benton was annoying as fuck in school.

I sat in the cruiser. My Dad’s mind was evidently a million miles away as he drove the usual route that was considered the fastest in the direction of King’s Gifted Academy. The road with no sidewalks was the reason for many of us to have to ride the bus if we weren’t lucky to have a parent willing to take us to school every day or old enough to have a license to drive. I much preferred the bus than the cruiser.

“Who’s My Queen?”

“I don’t know, Carl.”

I watched my Dad try to swallow his lie.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Do you just randomly text people about still tasting them?”

“What have I told you about snooping?”

“You know there are rumors, right?”

“What rumors?”

“You tell me who’s My Queen and I’ll tell you about what everyone seems to be talking about.”

There was no deal to be made other than maybe a silent epiphany that I could hear everything on the other side of the walls. I just couldn’t see through them.

“I met someone. Well, I’ve known her for awhile, and you may know who she is and right now we aren’t ready. She’s not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To commit. To commit to me. I’m giving her time to handle things. She asked me for that, and I am giving her that.”

“Sounds like you’ve been giving her more than that.”

“Carl!”

“Dad!” I challenged him.

“There’s a reason your mother has you with me. You know that?”

“I’ve never heard her having crazy sex.”

“I’m sorry about that son. I wasn’t aware that we could be overheard and now that I know we will be more discreet about things.”

“There’s the Holiday Inn. There’s the Red Roof and Meryl’s Lodge.”

“Next time we will be quieter. If there is damn next time.”

By the time my Dad dropped me off in the school parking lot,I had noticed something else odd about his behavior, and it was what he didn’t do next.

“See you later, Dad.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t drive off. He was texting again. He didn’t even realize I got out of the car or that I was watching him from a distance.

He got out of his cruiser probably thinking that I had gone inside of the school. Principal Benton had already pulled in to her designated parking spot.

Their confrontation happened in the parking lot.

I watched my Dad approach her without any regard to who could be watching or possibly overhearing what looked to be a very controlled, heated disagreement.

I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but I did find it odd that Andre’s mom had on the same clothes from the night before that she wore to our soccer game. Her and my Dad wore matching sweatshirts with our school logo last night which could mean nothing because there were a few that had them on. Easy to dismiss.

My Dad was sitting behind her in the stands cheering our team on. Andre and I were forced in sitting the game out courtesy of coach Abe with the blessings from Principal Benton. Our stunt two weeks ago had affected almost everything in our lives. We were considered God’s by our peers but devils by our elders.

I refused to believe what was apparently true.

My Dad was having an affair with my very married Principal who was also my best friend in the world’s mother. She is who he’s banging, and I’d acquired videotaped proof a few days later that I just sent to all my contacts by accident.

——————————— https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12954337/1/