Time Sucking Headache and Other Stuff

I don’t know if I can work on my novel today.

Yesterday, I reached the over 26K mark for November, just slightly over halfway for NaNoWriMo. In the total novel-picture, I’m sliding down past halfway. The end is in sight. Of course, it took me a year and a half to get to this point, but I’m hoping that I have learned a valuable lesson in time management this month. Either that, or I’ll return to my procrastinating ways and won’t be finished for another year and a half.

I would be working on my book today, but I have a killer headache. I’ve been treating it with advil because I also have a killer neck ache from sleeping like a pretzel last night. That is because Maxx the cat bed-hogged my side of the bed and I couldn’t turn over. Mr. Demonic claimed that as a result, I was bed-hogging his side of the bed. No way, Jose. I was contorted and couldn’t move.

There are other time sucking problems. Our manager at work ended up in the hospital a week ago last Monday. He’s 60 and an only child. Mr. D tried to call his mother over on the Left Coast of the state, and that took three days. She’s 87, and what happened was Mr. D had someone pick her up from her city and bring her to ours. The sick man wanted her to stay in his apartment, but we ended up having her stay with us. That’s because the sick (and hopefully soon to be permanently disabled) man was living in filth and squalor. No really. Think “garbage house” and multiply that by 1000.

Now before someone starts yelling at me about being the Man and putting my employees down, not paying them a decent wage, blah, blah, blah… the sick man actually gets paid pretty damn well. Too well. He’s spent the last six months sleeping six hours each day on the job. The girls and I would wake him on a regular basis. My husband, the boss and the infamous Mr. D, was largely unimpressed. In fact, he was getting madder and madder by the day, and had planned on speaking with the sick man the week the guy ended up in the hospital. Obviously, he had to put that plan on the back burner.

The sick man is a terrible smoker. He’s also an alcoholic. No, really. I mean, severely alcoholic. We had an indication when we have had the opportunity to be in social situations with the guy. If left to make his own drink, it would consist of 99% alcohol and 1% mix. He’s also done some very annoying and embarrassing things while drunk. It is more than likely that his grave condition was due to smoking and drinking. The mother has no clue. Her ex-husband (the sick man’s father) recently died. He was a big smoker and drinker. (Duh.)

Yesterday, the sick man was finally released from the hospital. I bid a teary farewell to the mother. I have a feeling she is going to be waging an uphill battle with the sick guy. She might be older than dirt, but she’s a nice woman, and deserves a better son than the one she has. His mood to her of late has been testy and mean, and that pisses me off. She’s so sweet. She knows about my novel and is very supportive. In fact, instead of talking, she let me go off for a few hours and write, while she watched TV. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses, and I told her if she needed anything at all to call me.

The sick man must have oxygen for the next six months. He hasn’t said what is wrong with him, although he did reveal that his blood has no oxygen and his red blood cell count is high. When I went to the hospital to visit him, his legs were completely black from the knees down, and the skin was like an elephant’s. It was totally gross. If someone knows what condition that is, I’d appreciate a head’s up.

It’s also been snowing the past couple of days. Grace, the dog, does not like to go outside to do her business in this cold weather. I’m not so happy about it either. She sometimes #2s in the house, but that’s not a problem, unless someone steps in it. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened much.

And of course, times are getting tougher. I don’t think there’ll be much for Christmas. That’s okay. The holiday has lost its meaning if you ask me. I might even go to church, although not the one affiliated with my kids’ school. I need a place where there’s not a lot of singing. My head and all, you know.

Anyway, today I have a headache.

That is all.

Ten Things That Are Wrong With Me

Taking a page from Mr. Random’s book, I have decided to list ten things that are wrong with me. There are likely scores more things that are wrong with me, but I’m just wasting some time right now while I wait for a lady to call me to finish up a catalog I’m doing. So I don’t have time to list the other 90, not yet, anyway.

1. I really like to spend money. This is a bad thing, especially with the current economic meltdown looming over us like a huge toxic cloud. I don’t spend money on extravagant things though. Here’s a sub-list of the things I like to spend money on:

  • Good food. I’d rather eat good food than substandard food, and I don’t mind paying for it.
  • Friends. If someone is in need, then I am a friend indeed. Ask anyone who knows me.
  • My kids. Yeah, they are hardly worth it, but I’m a typical mother. I’ll do without if it means they will have something worthwhile, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give anything up for stupid stuff. (Ask them.) I’ll spend anything, as long as it deals with their education.

2. I am a hot head. Yes, this little package (getting bigger all the time) will usually lose the top of her head at least three times a week. Usually, it has to do with employees. Occasionally, it has to do with my daughter, Ms. MiniD. Sometimes, my son catches my ire. Very rarely, my husband. Mr. Demonic knows better than to cross this lady.

3. I am lazy. That’s right, I’m lazy. There are days when I just lie in my bed and look at the ceiling fan spinning round and round, when I know I should be pulling weeds out in the garden, or adding a couple thousand words to my novel, or doing the wash. I blame this on a comfortable bedroom. Sometimes, I lie in bed and look out the window to the sky and think, “I love my bedroom!”

4. I am not musically inclined. Sure, I wish I was musically inclined. I even play the violin, although I do so quite badly. I practice, and I try to read notes, but I struggle. Music doesn’t come to me in an instant flash like it does with Mr. D Jr., and I sometimes am frustrated and pissed off about it.

5. I am not artistically inclined. See #4. This was bad, especially since I was an art major. After the second year, when I ran out of money, I came to realize that I am not especially talented when it came to painting or drawing. Or clay or intaglio. Or sculpture. So I took up other things, like sewing and jewelry. I’m not especially talented there either. Hmm…

6. I am a food snob. Yes. I am. I can’t eat at pot luck dinners, because I would have to respectfully decline food that is ill prepared, or shows little or no imagination, or is high with processed ingredients and low in freshness. I only shop at certain stores because of my food snobbishness. I know I should give those other places a try, but I find I can’t lower my standards or my expectations.

7. I am generous to a fault. I find it very peculiar that as a person (not even counting Mr. Demonic) I have donated more money, time and goods to charity than has our Democratic Vice Presidential pick, Senator Joe Biden. I know Good Time Joe makes a ton more money than the Demonic clan, too. Perhaps I should use his standard as my own. (Nah…)

8. I’m fat. A direct result of #3.

9. I probably have ADHD. Where else would Ms. MiniD get it from? (Mr. D is ADD, because he’s hyperactive all the time.) This would explain my laziness and inability to get anything done. This might also explain my inclination to NOT be artistic or musically inclined.

10. I have a rapier tongue. I didn’t say that, Mr. Demonic said that. I just think I have a razor sharp sense of humor. Actually, before him, my mother said that when I was in high school. I wrote for the school paper and had some of my editorials published in the local newspaper and in national magazines. My mother always chided me about it. “Why do you have to write where you make people mad?” If I hadn’t been that way, I couldn’t have used it for #10.

The Kitten from Outer Space

Once there was a kitten, a very usual looking kitten. She was small and black and white, with a little smudge on her nose. She looked like she was dressed in a tuxedo but had a brief accident with a Sharpie marker. Her eyes were translucent blue, the color of the sky on a spring morning just after the rains came. The kitten’s name was Frida Celeste, but she was usually just referred to as “Free.” After all, Frida Celeste is a lot of syllables to spit out all at once.

Free was a typical kitten except for one thing: she was from outer space. Most of the time, she kept her cover well. She would eat, sleep and purr contentedly just like an Earth kitten. As per her instructions from her Mother Planet, Free’s job was to blend in with Earth people and to propagandize her earthly keepers. After proper indoctrination, the earthly keepers would be zapped up to the Mother Planet. Free didn’t know what the exact reason was for the transporting of the humans, but she assumed it had to do with the need for slaves to keep the other space kitties in the lifestyle to which they had become accustomed. It has been known throughout the galaxy that earthlings are well suited to being the slaves of space kitties.

While Free was very adept at keeping her secret, every once in a while, she would be overcome by an urge to act celestial. Her pools of blue eyes would glaze over and she would become crazy. She jumped at shadows and tackled dust bunnies under the bed. Her lapse into prior behavior only lasted a few minutes, and she would tire of the fun. Most likely this was due to the lack of oxygen on Earth. Then Free would be content to purr, upside down, and fall asleep.

Her mission was almost accomplished. Her earthly keepers were almost ready to be zapped back to the Mother Planet.