I’ve been in a mood most foul for a solid month. *snort* Perfect timing for NaNo.
NaNo and I were not friends. About mid-month we came to an understanding. It wasn’t going to go away until the end of the month and it wasn’t going to let me ignore it like I wanted to. I think I got shorted on that ‘understanding’ because I really wanted it to fuck off, already.
The muse and I would fight, then make up. Fight, and fight harder.
The day before Thanksgiving my daughter had to have her gall bladder removed. Gods, did that suck. She was a trooper, though. She only whined once. And told me she loved me a dozen drug-induced times through the night when the anesthesia after shock kept her awake all night and I was trying to sleep in a chair.
That’s my girl.
That left me Friday, Saturday and Sunday to write. Six days of NaNo left.
Great. I’m a rebel, not going for full NaNo, but using it just the same. And I’m behind. Yay me.
I promise you this: For that weekend, I did not shower, I did not change clothes. I lived on left-overs and cigs, Mountain Dew and Goody Powders (and chocolate cake) for three days. I woke up at 6am every day and didn’t stop editing/writing until my head swam. And my husband let me. All of it. Have I told you lately that he’s my hero?
Sunday morning I wake up and wander blurry-eyed to the gas station to load up on the above mentioned supplies…. in my flip-flops flapping, yoga-pants, heavy-metal-t-shirt-wearing, base-ball-cap-ponytailed disguise. The perfect worn-out writer’s cliche, walking. (All I needed was a bottle of scotch.) They know me well enough to not even have to ask what I want when I get to the counter.
“How’s the book coming?”
I actually smiled.
The girl working with her chimed in. She doesn’t know me, so I suddenly had my gas station friend filling her in. My smile grew. Why? Because I didn’t balk. I actually managed to talk about the book.
She said, “You look tired.”
I laughed and held my hands out to show off the outfit.
“Yeah. The glamorous life, eh?”