#90 Vellum: Sheer Trace Stories by Aidan Gowland

I am determined to be consistent in posting here. Because I am so inconsistent at posting to my other blogs (http://shemaynothandlit.wordpress.com and http://thevagabonders.wordpress.com). I should at least have a place to create excuses. So this is that place. But it’s also a place for me to talk about things that aren’t work-related. And to post things that aren’t fictional, or stories. Actually, there will probably still be stories. But if you’re reading them on here, you know they’re true.

If this is your first time reading my stuff, you might also want to check out http://shemaynothandleit.wordpress.com, as was aforementioned. That might not be proper grammar, but it’s 3:45 in the morning and I’m not fully stocked in the “Caring” department right now. However, if this indeed is your first time ever reading my writing or getting to know me, I feel as though I’ve now made a very poor first impression. I hope you like me/my stuff. And if you don’t, I hope you don’t submit yourself to the torture of continuing to read. Because really, I won’t really read your comment if you clearly didn’t enjoy writing it and who knows, in a few years you might regret it. So let’s just avoid that. If you are seated in front of your computer and hit a spot of turbulence, there’s a handy emergency exit in the top right hand corner of your screen. If you click it, you will parachute lightly back to your desktop.

So I’ve been on vacation since last Saturday. I spent the first four days in New York City, spent the fifth day driving to Richmond, Virginia and spent the sixth day driving to Asheville, North Carolina.

North Carolina. What can I say? This place is fucking scary. I mean scary. But it’s also amazing, and Asheville is, well, cool. But as a state, it’s scary. There are pickup trucks with gun racks and “McCain/Palin” bumper stickers (even though it’s more than 8 months since the election), there are black widow spiders, there are three-digit temperatures and humidity that makes it really hard for me to get dressed in the morning (note: tranny-ish people sometimes wear different stuff than other people. Stuff that’s affected by humidity). Let me just pause for a second on the black widows. I don’t think anyone really understands how freaked out I was when I found one in this cabin. I mean, I was freaked out. See, I’m from Canada. In Canada, black widows are just things we see on National Geographic and they exist *over there*, and we don’t even have to know where *there* is. Well, we should know. Because sometimes we go on vacation. And then *there* is actually here. Like, right here. I mean on the floor beside the bench. This is at least my second all-nighter since I got here. Mostly because I have a phobia of bugs, and I also have PTSD. So between the absolutely insane bugs that they have in the south and the fact that this cabin for some reason just has weird energy that negatively affects my post traumatic stress disorder, I get very little sleep unless I take my sleeping pill. Which, I mean, sure, that sounds like a simple solution. But it really isn’t. Because I’m vacationing with my parents and they like a late dinner. So we’re out all day and come home for just a few minutes to get ready for dinner and then either go out for dinner or eat dinner here. The point is, we get back from our daytime activities so late (or they do, I often don’t go) that we can’t have dinner until late and I can’t do my work during the day because we’re out and so I have to do my work after dinner. And I can’t do work after I’ve taken my pill because for the first little while before I fall asleep (read: pass the hell out), I start seeing things. And maybe doing graphic design/writing stories/writing project proposals/writing grant applications is a really bad idea when you’re hallucinating. So I have to take my pill after I finish my work. But sometimes that’s 2 AM. If I take my pill at that time, I’ll sleep until noon, easily. So I don’t take my pill if it’s too late. So there. Not that you cared, but if you did, there you have it.

The other thing about North Carolina is that everyone just assumes I’m a boy. So I’ve been relying on my boy name, which is really starting to feel weird. It’s been a while since I went by Brandon and not just B (except for with doctors and stuff who, for some reason, need a full name) so I’m feeling totally boxed in. Which, you know, I recognize I’m in the South. And therefore, I can see that being a big ol’ butch probably wouldn’t go over well, so I’m more than willing to be Brandon. It’s just feeling weird. And also not weird. Maybe it’s feeling weird because of how not-weird it feels. I feel like maybe it should feel weirder and the fact that it doesn’t is what’s weirding me out. But regardless, I’ve been looking for a middle name for a long, long time now. At first, I thought I’d have my first name, b, and then have a gender-neutral middle name. I would go with Billie, if I could. But I can’t be cause there’s no part of me that wishes to be B Billie. Either way, that was the original plan. Then I decided that maybe I’d just have a letter for a middle name. If I couldn’t decide on a full name for my first name then why put so much effort into finding a full name for a middle name if it just doesn’t work? Maybe I’m just a letter kind of person. That was the second plan. I think I’m onto the third plan now. Which would be to keep the first name Brandon, go by b with my friends and have a female middle name. But now I’ve run into a problem. I really don’t feel like a female name would suit me. I mean, I’ve tried a few in my head and stuff, and nothing works. My favourite girl names don’t seem to suit me and the ones people suggest (if they can even think of anything) don’t work either. So I’m stuck. I have no idea what to do. For now I’m putting together a list of names (male or female) and letters that I like. I guess I’ll decide which one fits me best, eventually.

I am experiencing the worst creativity drought in months. My brain is dry. I’m surrounded by charcoal and vellum and bristol. I have notebooks and pens and books. I have a ukulele, a kazoo, a set of musical spoons and 4 harmonicas. I just can’t…do anything. I’m working on a story, but it just doesn’t feel good enough. Either my writing is getting worse or my standards are going up. Either way, something really isn’t working. There’s a wrench in the machine.

I think that’s all I’ve got to say right now. And it’s a crazy amount to say for a first post. The only other thing is that I got oral surgery two weeks ago this Wednesday and there were complications and an infection and stuff, so I’m used to tasting blood in my mouth, but I’m also eager to not taste blood in my mouth. Recently, it has stopped bleeding for the most part, but I also just noticed that the water here tastes a lot like iron when it’s at room temperature. So I keep thinking it’s bleeding again, and I stuff a thing of gauze in my mouth, only to find out that it’s actually just the water.

North Carolina is weird.

Until I write again,

b