Scatterama

What is going on this week???

My brain is so full it threatens to burst. I've got ideas boiling in there. I could write three blogs a day! I'm coming up with all these ideas for T shirts but sadly not enough computer skills to make them work. I had all of my homework from my correspondence course done by Tuesday. I only remember half of what I read...but that's not the point, because I got it done! My last third of the big assignment is in progress. My bathrooms are reasonably clean- they're at least not disgusting. I got the dishes washed. Laundry is being processed somewhat efficiently. Still haven't got all the leaves raked up but it's coming along. My desk is clean! I wrote a letter to my husband's cousin!

For the last two weeks I've been waking up almost every day feeling queasy and nauseous. I still do a little bit. I'm not pregnant. I know this for a fact. Ten years though, I've been convinced every month that the big V didn't work or he's so vigorous and healthy we're insanely fertile, and we've beaten the odds and there's gonna be another one. And that this one is gonna kill me for sure, it'll finish off what the first two started. But I'm not.

This week alone I have manipulated my fake fictional teenage characters into all kinds of shocking situations. Pages and pages worth of trouble and mayhem! One's in jail, one's despondent, devastated, and in despair, one's beating the snot out of another for looking at his girlfriend, while she's very upset because he's a big jerk and he's mean and slightly abusive, and then she flies into what I call "A Black Rage" and causes a Big Scene in the corridor outside the auto shop. What is wrong with me? That is the second Black Rage I've written for this girl in the last year. She has some problems, man. Seriously. I hope I can help her work it all out, because she's gotta get this thing under control. But I'm thankful that it's her having the Black Rages and not me. I never had a rage like that. Always kinda wanted to though.

Meanwhile I've been coming up with all these new story ideas. I write them all down. I get up and go upstairs for a drink of water. I come back and stare at the words as new pictures of fake people come into focus behind my eyes. The dryer stops; I pull the clothes out and fill the dryer with the next load. The new stories are so demanding that I feel overwhelmed: I switch over to read my blog. I poke around for a few minutes and then go back to my correspondence course. Check the discussion board. Pat the cat. Ignore the phone, but get very distracted by it. Stretch.

Think about horses. Think about my future barn. Think about my future horse. Think about the little mare's training. Imagine my barn. Imagine putting up fences, posthole diggers, wire stretchers, hammers and nails. Imagine hay bales and remember that wonderful smell and sweeping it off the floor of the barn out the door to where the horses pick it up with their flapping lips. One stalk at a time they reach for it and pick it up. I miss them. Plan to escape the evil clutches of the subdivision this weekend.

Back hurts; do some exercises. Marvel at my developing strength, and the lessening of the pain. I don't wake up in the middle of the night with a sore back anymore. Run back to the desk and quickly write down another scene that could be used later. For waht? I don't know but it's good and I should find a place to use it. Go back to the novel and write a painfully unsexy awkward scene. Why do I put my fake people through these things? Did I cry that much twenty years ago? Yeah I think I did. Poke at the last third of the business plan again. Remind myself that I've only got two more weeks to go and it's done. Linger over the way this course takes away from my novel writing time.

Get up and smack the dog on the ribcage for a bit. He loves that. He grunts and stretches.

Sometimes Jethro is upstairs sleeping. I go up and smack him on the ribcage. He loves that. He grunts and stretches. Sometimes I have to stay there a little bit longer and then I'm not writing. But I'm still getting ideas. Lots more ideas.

My brain is germinating. Percolating. Expanding and imploding. Back and forth. Incubate. Gestate.

Boil. Simmer.

Believe it or not I've been in an incredibly good mood.

I have no idea how long this will last.