A Life Well Lived | The Modern Hidalgo

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Rick and Morty, Short Story Ideas, Stand-alone Novels.
THE MODERN HIDALGO: Entry_023
Written: Monday. July 29, 2019.

I guess since it’s technically a Monday, I’m going to have to produce a journal entry for the day, even though I’m spent, and my head is aching. Because that’s how it should be done. I have to deliver to what I set out to do for myself. It’s a deal, and a promise, that needs to be followed, and kept.

What I did most of the day was just a mimicry of what I had done the previous days, or whenever I have to spend a day inside a hospital, tending to my father’s healthy and fast recovery from the Bypass Operation he had.

Since that has been established as a fair warning of this entry, let me assure you that it doesn’t mean I’ll be writing about something not worth while.

I woke up at around 6 am. I checked my phone, but my eyes didn’t allow me to keep it open, so I went back to sleep.

I woke up at around 9 am. I checked my phone, still a bit sleepy. Decided to sleep again.

Woke up at around 11 am. This time, I had no choice. I needed to get up from the bed in order to do take a bath, do some errands, and head to the hospital.

I had the choice of taking the tricycle in order to get to the hospital, but when trike drivers insist on making me pay 10 pesos more than the usual fair (as I’ve discussed in yesterday’s log), then that’s just…unfair, and just plain stupid.

So I decided to take my usual route, which is to take a jeep to SM San Lazaro, eat two slices of pizza, and then walk my way towards the hospital, even if the climate was not forgiving.
When I arrived at the hospital, the usual gist happened.
I lied down on the vacant bed inside my dad’s hospital room (there were two vacant beds, but it was kind of ours for the taking, since there were no new patients coming in), and proceeded to read whichever book I was currently reading.


And it was Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper, as I’ve said in the previous entries.

I haven’t opened up this book, even if I brought it with me to Cogeo, in hopes that I get to read a chapter or two, let alone open the book, while I was away from home. But sadly, I wasn’t able to do that.
So I took it upon myself to be able to finish reading the book today. And so I did.
I spent the whole day reading the sci-fi book, and was able to finish it. That might also be the reason why my brother and I left the hospital at around 9 pm. Cause they were low-key waiting on me to finish reading, and pack up my stuff in order to get going.

Wow, this book really delivers when it comes to a good story. It’s a complete one, I’m surprised by that. The book finished in a way where all of the problems have been solved. The final scene was really written to be the end of the story.

It’s complete. It’s a great book. A great stand alone.

So why does it have a sequel?
I mean, just why, if you’ve already accomplished writing a complete story, write a continuation of the story?

It’s not that I wouldn’t like a sequel. It’s just that I think that, right now, from just having finished reading the book, I could most certainly say, that I don’t want to read the sequel…

Even if I already have a copy of it anyway, because I thought that I might want to.

I’ll compare it to when I read Ender’s Game.
I loved the book. It was great. It had a good story, great plot, great character work. It was just awesome…but it wasn’t necessarily finished.

Because, and this is a spoiler for those who have not read or watched Ender’s Game: Ender mistakenly kills an entire extra terrestrial species. Mistakenly, because he thought it was a game simulation made by the government he was working for, in order to win the Bugger War. But damn, they up and let the kids commit genocide. Or Xenocide, since that’s the name of the third book. Haven’t read it yet, so I dunno if I made a good reference.

What I’m trying to say here is that the story is incomplete. Ender has to find a way to make amends with the entire species that he murdered, even if he didn’t do it on purpose.

With Little Fuzzy, the story ends. It ends. There’s no incomplete story that the writer wasn’t able to address within the novel. The Humans were able to defend the Fuzzy Sapiens as a Sapient Race. And the Fuzzy Sapiens are now able to live normal lives with the Humans.
The end, right? Am I not right?
I dunno, man. I guess I’m just gonna have to deal with reading the sequel novel. I’m just scared, because what if it doesn’t deliver the same way the first novel did?

And what if I finish the book, and want to read the third book?

I don’t have the third book! At least not yet. But a book that old is hard to find these days.


God damn it. I’m caught in a Gordian Knot here.


Well, in any event. I’m still glad that I was able to finish the 2019 Reading Challenge (curated by GoodReads) with a book that was of high quality story.

That being said, I want to read Peter Pan. No relevance whatsoever to the prior topic. I just want to grab a copy of that classic story, and read my way through it.

I think Bantam Classics has an edition of Peter Pan. I’m not so sure.


Though I’m skeptic when it comes to classic literature already. I haven’t had much good history with the genre…if genre is the correct term for the Classics.

Wow…what else am I supposed to write about? Uh, Oh!

The idea that I had…hmm…


It’s basically a short story idea. I suddenly thought about it while I was in the mall. See, I keep seeing these booths that have like those relaxation chairs. I dunno what it’s called, exactly. But it’s those comfy chairs, that recline and vibrate, to get the customer relaxed and hopefully relieved of stress after 15–25 minutes.

The idea was that, what if those relaxation chairs had some kind of Virtual Reality setup, where you could pick a world, and live in that world while you’re in sleep mode? You stay in the game for as long as you can. Meaning, death is the only escape. And once you die, in the real world, only 15–25 minutes have passed.
Kind of like that one Rick and Morty episode.

Word of the Day: Writative.
  • If you’re writative, then you love or are inclined to write. Just so long as you don’t write a writation—which is an 18th century word for a poorly written text.

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