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.April has been a chaotic month.  The most impactful event, so far, has been the bout of RSV that I managed to contract. Respiratory Syncytial Virus as the name suggests is a virus of the respiratory system, specifically the upper respiratory regions which in the very young, the aged, or the immunocompromised can be a very serious illness. A vaccine for RSV has been developed and two years ago, because I am not an idiot, I took that vaccination. Now, people often think of a vaccination as a perfectly protective shield, but that is not the case with all vaccines. In many cases what a vaccine will do if it doesn’t prevent infection and illness is reduce the severity of that illness when contracted, The fact that I contracted RSV and was ill is not evidence that the vaccine had no effect. In all probability the fact that I was vaccinated likely saved me from a hospitalization as I am no longer a spring chicken and the medication that keeps my arthritis in check compromises my immune system. Note that while I was home sick for a week, coughing my lungs out and having a terrible time, my sweetie-wife was exposed to the virus and has not, now more than a week later, shown any signs of catching the bug. For her the vaccination looks to have been that perfect shield.

It was a week and a couple of days ago that I returned to work and I am just now starting to really get back in something that feels normal health-wise. The coughing has subsided greatly and I am managing to reclaim much of my former energy.

Last night, April 16th, was the season finale for the second run of The Pitt, the medical drama that I never thought I’d get so totally sucked into. Season one turned the final few episodes into a massive dramatic sequence with a spree shooter at a local music festival and many fans, including myself, expected some major event to drive the second half or later of season two, but that was not the plan by the show’s creative team. Instead, with much of the focus on its central character of Dr. Robby, this season seemed to be much more focused on stress for the characters and just how much they erode under its corrosive pressure. A wise choice to avoid repeating the form of season one, keeping the writing fresh and the fans off balance.

I have little to say on the state of the world. The government of the USA is out of control, violating its and international laws with abandon as we suffer the whims of a malignant self-absorbed moron whose petty and greedy nature shatters the post war world order.

After the break in coherent thought brought on by RSV I have returned to my Cascade mountain set folk horror novel with the outlining process now under way.

My best to everyone, stay safe, stay hydrated, and remember don’t be mean.

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I have been missing from my online presence because I have been sick, and it was no fun at all.

During the last week of March, I noticed a scratch in the back of my throat and over that final weekend of March it grew worse. Since I already had an appointment to see one of my doctors on the 31st as part of my on-going treatment for a chronic cough I planned to bring the issues to her. By that date it had grown more painful and congestion had settled in. They took swabs from my upper nasal cavities and the test showed I had RSV.

I had been vaccinated against this very virus but vaccinations when they do not prevent infection at least reduce the severity of it. Given that I suspect that without the shot I may very well have ended up in the hospital. As it turned out, the doctor ordered me home for a week and I suffered terribly for several of those days, despite the mini-pharmacy of drugs I was taking.

During the illness I had only a limited capacity for rational thought with barely the focus for even simple mental tasks. Luckily, in addition to the precautions we took, my sweetie-wife’s vaccination appeared to bolster her immune system better than mine had done for me, and she showed no sign of RSV.

So, today I return to my day job and I hopefully return to work on my next novel.

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Yesterday, Tuesday March 10th, 2026, turned into quite a lazy day for me. After my doctors noted that I had some liver numbers that were out of an acceptable range (which have since returned to more normal values) she asked me to get an ultrasound scan to check the organ. That I scheduled for yesterday at 8:00 am as part of the procedure requires 8 hours of fasting ahead of the test and I know that doing it late in the day would prove challenging.

After skipping a breakfast, I turned up at the Kaiser Zion hospital and without much delay got taken back for my ultrasound. The procedure was fast, painless, and even the gel that they apply to ensure good conductivity of the sound waves was warm and not cold preventing that expected discomfort.

It is my usual habit, when I have a medical procedure of any kind to take the day off, even if like this ultrasound I know it’s going to be fast and without any medication. So, after a quick shopping trip for lunch materials that fit my newly engaged diet, I returned home and played vegetable for the rest of the day.

Today I return to work at my day job but then I have the rest of the week off to attend a cherry blossom festival in Balboa Park tomorrow and enjoy a long weekend after that.

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I am not talking about the production of art, though that also sometimes inflicts nasty emotional pain. No, what I am referencing is when the art you consume, in my case film & television, strikes you in a deep and emotional context that the creators may not have intended. Last night I watched the most recent episode of HBO’s hit series The Pitt about the disasters and triumphs in a fictional Pittsburg hospital’s emergency department. It’s a fantastic program with every aspect of production, writing, and performance absolutely stellar.

One of the multiple storylines going on in the episode unsettled me, leaving me to wonder in terror if what I watched could possibly be my fate. Panic attacks are not part of my emotional make-up. I learned this about myself 30 years ago. While working in a gas station on the night shift, people would come in bloodied from assaults and accidents, and I maintained my calm, but with this particular plot, my heart sped up, and my discomfort made me want to turn away. I am not going to reveal which storyline. It’s not really relevant to my mindless meanderings. This is about how art impacts us and sometimes in wholly unintentional manners and how that impact might even lead us to change the course of our lives. I certainly will be thinking long and hard about it for at least the next week and images from the episode continue to haunt me.

The last time something like this struck me so very personally was the summer of 1984. Ghostbusters, which gets a shout-out in my most recent novel, released that summer and along with my friends, we ventured to the multiplex for this comedy that essentially asked nothing of its audience save the suspension of disbelief. But it turned out to be a little painful for me, at least on a first viewing. My emotional trauma, slight as it was, lessened with repeated viewings.

And what was it that hurt me, personally, in that silly broad comedy?

Lewis Tulley, Central Park West.

When Lewis Tulley, perfectly performed by the terribly talented Rick Moranis, made his first appearance on the screen, chasing his doomed crush for Dana (Sigourney Weaver) I physically cringed. It seemed that all of my doubts and insecurities had been given form and portrayed for everyone to see and to have a good laugh at. Of course, no one else saw it that way. Not the strangers in the auditorium, not my friends sitting next to me. My reaction — a product of my own doubts and insecurities  –was just that, my own creation. It took a long time before I could watch that performance without a twinge of embarrassment, but it did eventually come.

The Pitt’s episode hit just as hard as Ghostbusters did, but on a totally different vector. And I must remind myself of a truth I uncovered many years ago: Self-perception is the least reliable human trait.

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So, Tuesday to Wednesday were not my salad days.

By later afternoon Tuesday I began suffering G.I. distress, and by that I do not mean my World War II veterans were having a bad day but that my lower colon had decided that it had lots of material it no longer required and that it would be expediting removal.

 The last few hours at my day job witnessed frequent and prolonged visits to what the brits call ‘the water closet’ with my tummy giving rumbling accompaniment.  I finished my shift, came home to a light supper and a pleasant evening, if not comfortably, with my Sweete-Wife. The evening was slightly marred by the Late Show with Stephen Cobert going on vacation for the week. (Dude, you’re going forever in May, stop taking vacation days.)

By later evening I began to feel flush, my ears burned and my head started throbbing. I texted my manager to let her know I was feeling unwell and may miss work the next day.

Yup.

I awoke Wednesday morning to a migraine, possibly intensified by the rainy weather that had moved in, and a lower G.I. tract that insisted I move not very far from any available restroom. I called in sick, which I hate doing, and slept for a total of 9 1/2 hours. The prolonged sleep dried my eyes out and even with drops my eyesight remained less than optimal the entire day.

By the end of the afternoon the digestive issues seemed to have passed, mostly. whichever bug caused them seems to have moved on to browner pastures, and the migraine responded to medication, which relieved the pain but left me lightheaded.

Wednesday saw no day job work performed, no writing work completed, and no joy in the horizon-to-horizon grey rainy clouds which now cover San Diego like a shroud.

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This weekend was the Super Bowl and as I care not at all for football or any sport the only impact that had on my life was how populated various places might be and where to eat on Sunday to avoid the loud and excited crowds.

Friday night was a quiet evening at home watching the next episode of season two of The Night Manager. Season two isn’t as tight and as compelling as season one but far from trash television. Also, my Sweetie-Wife decided that she was interested in seeing the newest adaptation of Dracula, even though we are going in with very low expectation. Frankly Caleb Landry Jones looks to be the worst casting for the icon vampire since Lon Chaney Jr. got stuck with the role in Son of Dracula.

Saturday morning was a nice long walk with my Sweetie-Wife along Riverside Park that is near our home, then spending at least some of the evening Tabletop Role Playing over Zoom in the evening. During my preparation for helping players generate new characters for this Space Opera game I discovered that I could feed pages of the dense and badly written rule book into Claude and have that A.I. create spreadsheets for some of the more formula driven aspects of the game. The session went very well and those A.I.-created spreadsheets for the most part worked very well.

Robert Evans

Sunday my spouse and I took our customary trip to the San Diego Zoo. Given that this was Super Bowl Sunday I expected less than usual attendance and that is what we found. It was not deserted but with the exception of the pandas, we encountered few areas of congestion. It was a pleasant walk. I even got this very nice photo of one of the tigers. We lunched at a spot where we were nearly alone and then came home to relax the rest of the day away ending it with a game of Star Trek: The Original Series deck-building game and the next episode of Star Trek: Starfleet Academy.

I had a very nice weekend.

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Last Friday, for reasons I have yet to comprehend, a nasty bout of insomnia struck. I went to bed, lay there with my sleep apnea mask on, and waited for 45 minutes to fall asleep. This is not at all like my normal pattern as I usually am fully asleep within 5 or 10 minutes of lying down. After that three quarters of an hour I rose, switched off the CPAP machine, removed the mask, and shuffled into my living room to watch YouTube videos. This killed another hour and finally I returned to bed and this time slept, but still rising out of that slumber at my appointed time.

I spent the entire Saturday groggy and listless. My plans for the evening were to catch a late showing of No Other Way since my sweetie-wife was uninterested in the film and thus off the board for a Sunday morning matinee.  This did not come to pass as my sheer exhaustion made the idea of a late showing a burden and the prospect of driving after midnight struck me as foolish.

This weekend Send Help opens, and I really hope to see it at a late-night screening on Saturday. Here’s hoping I can sleep in a manner that I am accustomed to.