Liveblog

aka goodbye for a while

NOW I CAN FACE THE DAY

or

INTRO TO MY FINAL NEWSLETTER BEFORE I DISAPPEAR FOR TWO WEEKS

or

MY LIVEBLOG TRIBUTE TO MEGAN BOYLE’S BOOK LIVEBLOG

I finished reading

Megan Boyle

‘s Liveblog so I thought I’d try liveblogging everything that happens today as a thank-you note to a fucked-up, hilarious, and (weirdly) wholesome book. If you have a heart that loves true things go buy a copy of Liveblog. It’s like a song that comes on and you’re like, “Oh. Alright. Now I can face the day.”

9:05am. Last night on the phone with Elizabeth I told her I planned to sleep late, but here I am lying in bed unable to fall back asleep. George is sleeping next to me. (George is the five month old puppy I adopted in September. People think he's a baby great dane because his face looks like one, but the woman who adopted him to us called George and his brothers "pocket bully collie" mixes or something like that in the Craigslist ad. She also named each dog after a gun manufacturer. George was originally "Arcadia." His brothers were "Beretta" and I think—oh I forget the rest. She had about ten or twelve dogs of varying ages and all were named gun things. One was called "Ruger." One was just the sound a gun makes. "Pow.”)

The important part here:

Starting tomorrow I'm taking a break from all forms of writing work until January 5th. That includes social media, emails, and any other internet garbage shy of Google maps to get somewhere mysterious/unknown or texts with close friends. Today's daily newsletter will be the last for a couple weeks. It will arrive late in the day (once I type all this in) and it will descend like a great dark bird and shadow the land. Just kidding. I don't know, here it is.

Notes while lying in bed not wanting to get up and do farm chores. This is what I plan to do during the Big Winter Break-

1) Eat many times a day, and in the celebratory manner of a warrior just returned from battle. 2) Read the second and third Kristin Lavransdatter books. 4) Spend time with people I love. 5) Make secret plans for 2024 in a notebook titled "Secret Plans for 2024." 6) Sleep late into the morning. Especially on these cold days we're having. 7) Indulge my interest in traditional Norwegian knitted clothes. I don't own any yet. I'm just "interested." Maybe that’s a coming vibe switch or whatever they call that. 8) Listen to records and do nothing else at that particular time. 9) Good breakfasts. Slow mornings. 10) Read the Olga Tokarczuk book Elizabeth got me. 11) Walking in the fields when the wind is down. 12) Fires. 13) Sit still enough to hear my hair grow. 14) Good bread. Butter. 15) Paris Review winter issue. 16) Who knows. The future is unwritten and I am willing to participate.

9:45am Put on coat and knitted hat. Went outside. Very cold. Harsh, icy wind cutting into my clothes. Walked down to the chicken coop. Fed them and let them out. Fed barn cats. Fed roosters. Back inside to feed the housecats and dogs and then the Battle of Five Armies. Sometimes when you live with a bunch of animals it’s peaceful and nice in the morning (or at least neutral-fine) and sometimes it’s like the Battle of the Five Armies in the new Hobbit movie (not the book because that battle is not as… over the top or “extra” or something) where everything is going fucking crazy in a really cartoonish way and heads are flying off orc bodies for laughs and cat food dishes are breaking and then there are eagles swooping down and dogs knocking over cat boxes and then it’s fucking Billy Connoley riding a pig and…

10:30am Jessie and her boys (my god-sons) are back from the West Coast. They stayed here last night and the night previous while Jessie gets things in order out in Lawrence. Fed them. Jessie, toast with butter and lingonberry jam. Jack (11), scrambled eggs and toast with lingonberry jam. Liam (newly 13 as of a week), a big bowl of rice with a little pepper and a small bowl of non-pitted green olives. Me, leftovers from last night, Swedish meatballs. This was a last-minute experiment I did and it came out very nice. (Angel hair pasta, Beyond beef turned into meatballs with French bread crumbs and herbs [baked], on top of that lots of gravy, because I learned how to make gravy and now make it all the time.) With that, bread with big chunks of kalamata olives baked into it and a lot of Miyoko’s butter. Oh, and a honeycrisp apple.

1:05pm I sit down at the glass-top table by the window in the kitchen for the final work of the year. The boys sit down at the wooden table in the living with their remote school. Today is (also) their final day of work—I mean, school. House is quiet. Dogs and cats sleeping in various spots. Candles lit (against the gray outside.) Heater turned up. Cold wind blowing hard outside. Work.

1:10am Put on two sweaters. Cold seeping through the walls now. Through the glass of the windows and under the doors. Put on thick socks. Made to-do list for today. Made “future” list of things to do after I come back from my break.

2:08am For a day when I’m supposed to doing “everything” I’m getting nothing done. Frustrated and tired. I need to reset. Gonna take a trip to town. Go for a drive in the country. Get supplies at the gas station. No thoughts happening in my head. Gluey thoughts stuck to each other. Feel like a mammoth stuck in tar, only the mammoth is my thought process and the tar is today. “You guys alright if I drive to the gas station right now?” I ask the boys. “Yeah” (Jack). “I didn’t hear the whole thing” (Liam). “He’s going to the gas station” (Jack). “That okay?” (me). “Yeah, that’s okay” (Liam). Liam, singing, “I like shoooes.”

2:42pm Drove through the country to the interstate gas station listening to “What Goes On” by the Velvet Underground and thinking negative thoughts, thinking ugly, ugly while looking at the dead brown woods and the razed fields; thinking judgement things about the people in the cars passing. Stopped at the post office, dropped book packages in the slot, thought negative things about all the people in line who didn’t have their shit together enough to print out their postage at home (I knew full well how I was being at the time and hated myself for it, it’s shit, I feel like a shit-head). Just dark, dark in the head and angry for no real reason other than the fact that I’m frustrated at getting nothing done. Drove to the gas station which is always a reset for me. Something about… what is it called… Fastrax, only one S (what’s a “rax”?), always resets me, and the people aren’t even nice to you, they’re—usually they’re—not openly hostile but cold, closed-off, and I go inside most days feeling like a fucking alien and a complete mess with a sea urchin for a head and I buy something and drive back to the farm feeling okay again. This time an older woman I’d never seen—I don’t think—rang up my three cans of yellow drink and two lemonades for the boys and called me “baby” at least six times. She said it fast so it sounded like “beh beh” and it was nice. She also said, “Merry Christmas, beh beh” and I thanked her and said, “You as well” (I have a hard time doing holiday greetings with strangers) and walked out feeling—I guess generally nice? Nice about the world? Drove home and listened to “What Goes On” twice and thought nice thoughts. Nice, nice. The beautiful brushed-gold tawny fields, the dark woods in rolling waves of hills. Then home. Happy, or something approaching it. As I parked, I thought of the Herny Miller biography or letters collection or something I saw at Powell’s once that was called The Happiest Man on Earth and I thought, “Adam Gnade, The Happiest Man on Earth.” Look up there—I typed “Herny Miller” (not “Henry Miller”) and that passes spell check. Is “Herny” a name? Does it mean something? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? (I don’t care.)

3:05pm Back inside. The boys were very happy about their lemonade. Liam’s remote school isn’t working and is wildly behind for the year. Jack is nearly done with his. Emailed Mugabi Byenkya about a thing he did for the Hello America site. Tromped upstairs and printed out a thing for Jack’s art class on making a trihexaflexagon. Emailed with Joshua Jones about a book tour we want to do together in the UK and in the States. Took George outside to go to the bathroom. He chased a rooster and I yelled at him then felt bad about yelling.

3:21pm Finished first yellow drink. Read Dmitry Samarov’s email newsletter. Emailed with

Lora Mathis

about another book tour we want to do. Emailed with someone whose copy of The Internet Newspaper never reached Canada. The light through the kitchen window is nice. Golden hour-style. Though it’s not dusk yet. Emailed with Erik Tinsley about a contest we’re doing for his audio book. Looked over an AK Press invoice. Did math on Left Bank Books and Firestorm invoices. Checked bank balance. Got another yellow drink.

3:42pm. Put Modern Lovers’ first record on. Transferred $900 from PayPal to checking. Packaged up a copy of I Wish to Say Lovely Things for Joshua Jones and messaged him about it. Thinking about how today is not a typical day. Usually it (work) happens more… naturally? Slower? Today I’m trying to pack everything in at the very last minute and maybe that’s why I’m alternating between tense and nice. Probably. Looked out the window and saw a donkey grazing in the field, the one I named after Andrew Mears. The donkey I mean. The donkey is named after Andrew. Not the field. The field has no—actually the field is named after Kenneth Branagh or however you spell that. It’s a long story and I don’t want to tell it. “Kenneth Branagh State Park” is the field’s name. You know, the thespian. The acktore. Now Jonathan Richman is singing, “how in the world were they making that sound?/Velvet Underground” and that makes me feel nice again, less tense. Pushing for nice.

4:01pm. Did a final social media post for the year with a photo of me sitting next to a stack of four-foot-tall books with the caption, “Today's my last day online for a couple weeks. Going dark, silent, and out of reach like your phone should be in a movie theater until January 5th. Stopping all writing work 'til then and all things related to that. (Book orders will still be mailed.) I'll be around until midnight if anybody needs me.” Did one for the audio book label too. No more social media for a while. Wow, I feel really—lighter? Like a vice grip just loosened on my skull. Jonathan Richman is singing “That Summer Feeling.” I turned it up. Can hear George and the visiting puppies fighting in the living room and it isn’t bothering me. Play fighting, I mean. The house is darkening. Fight, dogs, fight.

4:19pm. Read a

Dana Margolin

Margolin newsletter. Nico is singing “I’ll Keep It With Mine.” Oh wow, Jack figured out how to fix Liam’s remote school problem. His teacher couldn’t, neither could I (which isn’t saying much). Read

Juliet Escoria

‘s newsletter which is also a liveblog today. Commented, “I’m doing one of those today too!” I feel weird using exclamation points. The farmhouse is almost completely dark now. It’s not even dusk. Need to “light the lights.” Lit the lights. Lou Reed is singing “Vicious” and someone’s just hit him with a flower. The boys and three puppies just walked into the room in one big group like a guided tour and Jack said, “Adam, did you see where Liam went when he came in here?” I have no idea what he means and I tell him. Read a

MARGIN WALKER

Walker newsletter. All emails either answered or deleted. Darker now outside. Listening to David Berman and I’m feeling very positive. Now it’s time to either delete (mostly) or answer DMs on social media so I can be done with that. Joan Biscuit the cat just walked into the kitchen and started ranting at me. I said, “No, Biscuit.” The other four housecats are hiding somewhere because of the puppies.

4:49pm. Haha, well, deleted 130 DMs and answered none. Farm chores need to happen soon. David Berman singing, “All my favorite singers couldn’t sing/all my favorite singers couldn’t sing.” Texted Andrew about tour because I want him to come to America; said I’d pay for everything except his plane ticket and food on the road. Texted Elizabeth about tour. Texted Jessie about work timelines. Texted parents. Texted Nicole to say nice job about a story publication. Texted Bran a photo of Peter the Siamese cat for no real reason other than the fact that I miss him (Bran, I mean. Peter the cat is hiding in the rafters of the mudroom). Texted JP about a Struggle show he played at our high school. (Diego the cat just climbed onto my lap and is now purring wildly.) Texted Lora to say, “Oh I will be available over text the next two weeks just fyi.” (I can’t believe I typed “fyi.” Who am I? I hate abbreviations. Too convenient and I hate convenience, except convenience stores. I love them. Gas stations forever. If I could do all my shopping at gas stations I would be fine with that. Maybe I could. Food, clothes, gas, medicine, dog food, cat food; the other interstate gas station I go to has hats, weed stuff which I don’t need, novelty candy, shirts, fishing bait which I don’t need, jewelry, incense, cleaning products, car shit, notebooks, pencils, pens, stuffed animals, toys, stickers, lottery tickets, gross pizza, weird/scary-looking meat shit, cigarettes, cigars, knives, flags, shoes, etc, etc. It’s like a mini mall.) Texted Nick Bernal about Mail Mag deadlines. Texted with Lora about the parameters for my work break. Lora texts, “Lots of chilling?” “So much chilling,” I text, “Hanging out with people. Lot of reading. A lot of eating and cooking endless meals. I want to stare out windows and zone out deeply.” Holy shit I just looked at my to-do list and all that’s left is “make dinner,” “farm chores,” “feed animals,” and “call Liberty Hall about movie screening.” That means I’m done with actual work, whoa. Liam just walked into the room, opened a cabinet and said, “Jack, this candy could be yours.” I think they’re making a deal about something. They’re always wheeling and dealing and making treaties with each other. Very political. They’re obsessed with World War II. Maps. Australian and German tanks especially. David Berman is singing, “not the purple hills/it’s not the silver lakes/it’s not the snowcloud shadowed interstates.”

5:34pm. Farm chores are done. I wanted to feed the donkeys some carrots, but now it’s very dark and—I’m ready to be inside and stay inside. From the living room I hear Liam say, “I sure love friendliness pellets.” What does that mean? The puppies are for real fighting and Jack shouts, “Stop it!” LCD Soundsystem is playing, “All My Friends.” I should clean up before Jessie gets back from Lawrence. Feeling “done” with work now, but I’m sure more things will pop up before I call quits at midnight. “But if you’re worried about the weather/then you’ve picked the wrong place to stay” sings James Murphy (is that his name? The LCD Soundsystem guy? I love this song. LCD was my “I miss people” band in 2020. Isolation band. Covid band. Never listened to them when they were originally happening. “Originally happening” sounds stupid.)

5:55pm. The windows of the farmhouse are black. Very dark night in the country. Elizabeth texted me the photo of one of those money-money Japanese cat figures and it had nice eyes and I texted, “It has nice eyes.” I’m going to go out and give the donkeys and goats some carrots after all. After that, cleaning the farmhouse and settling in for the night.

6:03pm. Eating green olives from the jar while typing this. “Whole Fancy Colossal Green Olives.” This could be the title of the novel I’m working on. Not at all kidding. Also very glad to not have any writing to do at the moment. Finished the first draft of the “Whole Fancy Colossal Green Olives” book a couple weeks ago and I’m not looking at it until January so I can forget the story and let me subconscious (“me subconscious”? I’m a “funny Englishman in an American movie” now or a pirate, “my subconscious”) work on it. So good timing for that. Feels very nice to be listening to LCD Soundsystem. Feeling vaguely “energized.” Opened third yellow drink. Need to go to town to get bread. Big country night drive ahead. Night driving and listening to music is one of my favorite things. Heading out now.

7:10pm. Back from town. Drove very fast on winding country roads. Listened to “Tribulations” by LCD Soundsystem on repeat. Dark night and Christmas-light-lit farmhouses passing like little cities. Now upstairs to the order-packing room to put some books in boxes. Orders are pouring in at the moment and I’m still packing them. Tomorrow when Elziabeth gets back from California I’m going to see if she’ll take over for me. “Elziabeth” also passes spell check. What the fuck, spell check? Elziabeth. Say that one out loud. “El Zia Beth.” Very cool I think. Tomorrow I’m going to ask Elizabeth to change her name to El Zia Beth. Sounds Basque. Also kind of El Cid-like or Lawrence of Arabia. Texting with Jessie who is still in El Lawrence about what I’m making for dinner. Comfort food. Sticky rice (buttered, some salt, soy sauce if you want it, I do), good French bread (buttered), chik (not chicken) nuggets, apple sauce, apple juice. ‘Tis the season of the apple. Must be the season of the apple/witch. Apples are the reason for the season or whatever. I don’t fuckin’ know. How is this nine pages already? Fucking hell.

7:35pm. More orders coming in. This is good.

8something. Listened to a Crystal Castles song I think. The second one that came on was horrible and I said, “No, no, no” and turned the volume down before finding something else.

8somethingIthink. Rice cooker filled and turned on. Oven preheated to 425.

9:34pm. More orders. Damn. (That’s the good kind of damn.)

9something. I think I’m done. Done writing this. It’s time to settle in for the night and fucking chill. See you in two weeks. Curtain drops. Lights go on. Everyone shuffles out of the theater and outside it’s night and you’re surprised it got dark while you were away.