Stop Shouting at Me!


Finally, the house is empty.  Kids are healthy and back to school, The Man is back to work after a nice day off.  The house is quiet.  Well, except for Mad Alyss running laps around the living room but I’ve learned to block that out.  And, it’s Friday.  Jeesh, where did this week go?  Not a word written on The Novel.

So, with a bushel of good intentions, I did my 15 minute meditation this morning which involves a dream board on my lap, an egg timer, and some visualisation.  I visualize myself writing, I visualize a great hulking mass of manuscript being shoved into a FedEx envelope.  I visualize an editor reading it and doing double back handsprings after she reads it.  I visualize myself on a plane to New York to meet with her…you get the picture.

Sadly, this morning my editor was interrupted right in the middle of her double back handspring…by an airplane.  The small four-seater single prop low-wing zoomed across my mind’s landscape.  Just like the one my Dad used to fly.  Oh, damn, I think.  The plane is pulling one of those advertisement banners.  It reads, “Pieces of Sky.” 

No, no, no, no.  Don’t interrupt me!!  I’m visualizing here…

Later, in the shower, a character pulls back the shower curtain and starts haranguing me.  Why always the shower?  Don’t these folks know I have to focus when I’m shaving my legs?  Spring is springing and its time to begin the de-forestation…She says, “Wanna go hang out at the Buttonville Airport?”

Say what?  NO!  I’m going to work on The Novel today, dammit.  Leave me alone.  I snap the shower curtain shut again.  Another character pops in.  She is snooty, verry British.  “Really, I don’t think the mother can be killed with her lover – wouldn’t that make it awfully difficult for your main character to exist?”  Fine, she’s already born – get out of my shower.  I make a mental note to add to the Novel’s “parking lot” document.

Things only deteriorate from there.  Multiple characters from The Novel along with this chick who wants to go watch planes take off (now she says she wants to look into flying lessons for me) are bickering in my head and vying for my attention.  It’s all I can do not to slice into an artery in my leg.

I get out of the shower and barely dry off.  I run a hand through my wet hair making me look like a soggy hedgehog.  No time to blow dry.  Must. Get. Dressed. Get to laptop.  It’s gonna be another crazy Friday.  I fear for my mental health but then, that can happen any day of the week…


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