Spilling the Eccentricity Beans

A while back, a former co-worker asked how I dealt with the isolation of my work. I told him fine. Here's the reality:

We have two dogs, Chaz and Linzey. The latter, a yorkie-maltese-shiteater hybrid is named after the little girl in Halloween. It's not unheard of for me to yell the following: "Linzey! Chaz is barking again, and getting on my nerves again." Of course, I do so in my best Annie impersonation (those not completely enamored of Carpenter's classic just bear with me).

The dogs follow me up to my office at 8:00. They've been doing this for the last 6 months. They're my coworkers, now. When Chaz failed to appear, Linzey tried to convince me that he'd called in sick, but was faking it. She tried to have him written up, but I'm not getting involved in her workplace drama. The second time this happened I went to check on him and he'd stolen Linzey's bone. If it happens again, I'll have to call human resources (my wife).

I'll let you guys in on another habit. Everytime I finish a revision, I print the whole thing out and make a special cover. It's insane, wasteful, and I love it. The last cover––the first with the new title––is a close-up photo of a woman's hairlip done up in a pristine red and glossed to a sparkling sheen. I'm using the photo for my icon. Disturbing, intimate, lovely.

The dogs agree.

My office is in the front of our house and overlooks our Questa Verde-like street. When I'm stuck on a simile, or a scene gone too serious. I just spin around like Christina Raines at the end of the Sentinel (the horror movie, not that BS they just released) and scan the street. There's undoubtedly some craziness going on. Often, it's one big AA relapse. Sometimes the neighbor drinks his shanty booze out of a paper bag, while he's weeding. Delicious.

How do I deal with the isolation? After careful consideration, my answer: very well.

Care to join in on the sharing?


Joe said…
What is this thing you call isolation? If I think back I can almost remember the last time I was alone for a full hour. I think I used the time to watch HBO's award-winning documentary "Cathouse" or something equally valuable. Otherwise, I am never alone. I just finished Dan Simmons' THE TERROR and found myself drooling helplessly over scenes of solitary arctic existence the way I used to gape at drugged up women in skin magazines as a preteen.
Mark Henry said…
Don't discount the importantance of research. Cathouse is the premiere source for developing insight into the intensity and depth of human relationships, not to mention, the delicate negotiations involved in a "party."

It's really second only to the subtle HBO documentary, Pornucopia: Going Down in the Valley. Katie Morgan's delightful "peek" into that world is a true godsend. A revelation.