. . . And yes, true to type (get it? TYPE!), I started watching True Blood, got hooked right away, and am now mad-crushing on Bill, played by Stephen Moyer. Because, apparently, there aren’t enough dark, intense, broody types for me to obsess on.

Sigh. So predictable.

So this week is the first official week of Summer Vacation for the boy. And yesterday, my freelance job told me I had to turn all my stuff in by Wednesday, shortening my work week by two days. And I had a big home project to do on top of it all, plus I am trying not to become a cow during the summer, so working out was essential.

I drank way too much coffee, did a whole bunch of work, and couldn’t sleep that well last night. Usually I can even go to sleep after drinking a pot of coffee (yeah, that’s right, that’s how sleep-deprived I am), but last night was not so good.

So today I have another full slate of work to do, not too much sleep to fuel myself with and coffee is helping, but not enough.

Gah. So if I am silent over the next few days, that’s why. Head down, nose to grindstone. Will emerge later.

I broke ground on the Big Fun Paranormal Idea yesterday; and immediately realized the first scene wasn’t right, but that’s okay.

The first two paragraphs totally ROCK.

Only a gazillion, approximately, to go.

I Want You Back–at the Riskies.

I reached my immediate goal of 25,000 words (25,077, actually), and sent it off to the Delightful Phone Friend, who has promised to give me her honest opinion.

Before that, I put in the obligatory appearance at the school picnic, where I stood with other parents and chatted. A lot of chatting. It only felt like I was an inappropriate oddball a few times, thank goodness, and then the Son had a playdate and I tried to catch up on freelance work–the paying job.

And the So Much More Sociable Than I, Although He Wouldn’t Admit It, Not For A Second Spouse is going out tonight, so I’ll be ironing shirts and watching Wire in the Blood. There might be a beer or two involved also.

It’s been a weird day, ’cause I spent way too much time at the computer, and have that vaguely dissatisfied computer feeling when you’ve internet od’ed.

But I did reach the goal. Tomorrow I break ground on the Big, Fun Paranormal Idea, which I have been dying to do (not literally–it’s not that kind of paranormal. I leave the deathy-gruesome stuff to people who can do it much better than I).

It’s not like I don’t love my son, or love spending time with him, but this last week of school? Gah. It feels as though school has scheduled all these events just to preview Just How Much Time We’ll Be Spending Together This Summer.

Tomorrow, a school-wide 4th grade picnic. I gotta go to that for at least an hour or two.
Thursday, his class has a picnic. Ditto on the compulsory attendance.
And Friday? A half day. He gets out at noon.

Waaaahhhhhhhhhh!

Just ate a handful of almonds–why? It’s not like I was hungry. If we could all just manage our emotional eating, we’d be a lot thinner. Or I would, at least.

Anyhoo, I wrote A WHOLE BUNCH today (I unplugged from the internetz!) and this is some of what I did. It makes me laugh. Dunno if it’s any good, but I guess that’s a question for another day.

“The black? With what top?”

Becca frowned, biting her lip. Her face cleared, and she grinned. “I have something you can wear. Hold on,” she said, disappearing into her room.

I walked over to grab the skirt and started shimmying out of my jeans. Thank goodness I never wore Mom jeans, which could also be tagged teacher jeans; us elementary school teachers weren’t exactly renowned for our fashion sense, unless it was for our ability to choose wash’n’wear fabric. I zipped up the skirt and twirled.

“Back. Here,” Becca said, throwing something towards me.

I grabbed it out of the air and held it up. “No way, Becca.”

“You didn’t even try it on yet, Mom! Come on, what are you scared of? If it looks like crap, you don’t have to wear it. Just try it.”

“I can’t.”

“Mom. You can’t be scared of yourself your whole life. This is your big night, you should look as fabulous as you can. And in this,” she said, gesturing towards the top that couldn’t possibly be a medium, could it? “you will look totally fabulous.”

She was right, I couldn’t be scared of myself any longer. I mean, what else was I going to do? I’d been me for so long, and that wasn’t always a good choice. I might as well be me, only with superhuman confidence powers. Like when I was on stage tonight.

Yikes.

Stage.

Me.

Again, and not just playing cover songs at a wedding.

“Okay, let me try it on.” I struggled out of my t-shirt and dropped it on the floor.

“You’ve still got a nice rack, Mom,” Becca said.

“You are not being helpful,” I hissed at her as I began to put the top on.

It was red. Not fire engine red, but a darker cranberry. Which would have been fine, only it was a modified corset that was very low-cut, had tiny little straps holding it up and was done up with small hooks shaped like dragons on the front. And it was made of a stretchy fabric that clung to every part of my body.

Very Forever 21, and I was nearly twice that age.

So, yeah, working. At 22,998 words, but who’s counting?

Over at the Riskies, talking library stuff. I [heart] libraries.

So the Delightful Phone Friend will mock (”Ratface!”), but I am experiencing a tremendous urge to watch North And South. Dunno why, it’s kinda like a tide coming into my body or something. It’s weird. At random moments, I’ll think “I MUST see it again!”

Only I haven’t done it yet. Huh. Maybe I am good at delayed gratification (and if so, tell that to the coupla handfuls of cashews I devoured earlier in the day).

Oh, and I wrote again today! Inching ever closer to 25,000 words, which is my stopping point so I can send it to the aforementioned DPF for feedback. Will then go work on festive paranormal idea.

Megan
*Now this is a total in-joke between me and my dad. And since Dad isn’t here anymore, it’s now a total in-joke with just me. Which means that I have officially crossed the line from zany to crazy. But I cannot read a compass, not for the life of me, and I cannot understand its point. Hence the compass joke.

*

“Nooooo.” Billy stared up at the ceiling. The water spots from his upstairs neighbor’s leaky tub had gotten bigger. Damn. More things to fix. And here he was, lying on the cold tiled floor clutching his stomach. Stupid ulcer. Damn thing always had to act up right when he needed to be on. He sure as hell wasn’t going to miss the show tonight, he couldn’t give up the money, much less disappoint the fans and his bandmates, all of whom were counting on the money, too.

“Shit.” He rolled onto his side and drew his knees up into his chest. It felt fractionally better that way.

“Breathe, Billy.” He’d found if he talked to himself, like really spoke out loud, it helped him deal with the pain. He wasn’t good at being alone, wasn’t it a fucking bitch he’d ended up that way? Woe is you, Billy, he thought.

“Okay. Breathe in.” He inhaled, feeling the twinge of pain right as his lungs swelled to their maximum. His prescription had run out a few weeks ago, and he’d been so busy with rehearsal, and so jazzed about the show he hadn’t bothered to get it refilled. Figured maybe he didn’t need it anymore.

He figured wrong. “You’re an asshole, Billy.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the kind of talking to he needed right now.

*This is how I imagine Billy.