Back from a long weekend in Newmarket, NH [corrected] (by way of Hartford and Boston) to celebrate Free Comic Book Day with and old friend by visiting two really awesome comic shops, one mediocre shop, and not even getting into a fourth because of a mismanaged line situation and the rumored presence of artist Ed McGuinness and his depictions of gigantic, uniform, inflatable muscles. I spent way too much money on oldschool NES games, graphic novels and comic book appearance of MODOK (much of it in generous store credit, due to a full carload of undesired stuff brought to one shop), but I had a good weekend just ignoring all of my responsibilities, the madness of my family, and being about 250 miles away from the locus of things that make me unhappy so frequently.

I was also pleased to find out that the 2009 Corolla can get around 500 highway miles to one tank of gas. For as much trouble as that car has already brought upon me (two recalls and a busted roof), this revelation is at least a positive one. I’m barely a car person, so I’m still impressed that this big metal and plastic box does anything good at all.

I found a certain peace by being away from home and hanging out on a saltwater river, a renewed desire and endurance for writing, and a determination to take my life a little more seriously and save up some money after a steady influx of nerd debauchery.

This motivation was quickly torn down by my sister once again fumbling with the impossibly complex world of the washing machine and flooding not only the laundry room, but the adjacent room. Feeling that this would dry up and no one would notice, she decided to leave $800 worth of my collectible investments sitting in the puddle, which were subsequently stripped of any true resale value, should I need a spare kidney. While the contents are okay, you just can’t resell water damaged boxes for what a pristine item is worth. It seems that a simple, honest admission of guilt and quick action would have saved everything, but after 9 hours of soaking on a saturated rug, no manner of hair dryer can save peeling cardboard and bleeding ink.

I don’t play with the stock market. I play with high-end Iron Man statues, and fuck, I do it very well.

It’s never easy for me to gather enough momentum to feel a sense of real hope, rather than just pushing through to survive each day emotionally. There is no excelling, except in rare moments of isolation.