I’m trying to self-medicate with a stiff rum-and-coke after a day that tested the very limits of my patience.
So while I sip the luke-warm beverage, the tinkle-tonk noise of Boom Blox 2 plays on the Wii while Todd and his buddy amuse themselves and the early night’s breeze brings with it the strange but intoxicating blend of lilac and late barbeque, sweet and spicy. I’m trying to picture it as a unisex body spray, not altogether unsuccessfully.
Work was grueling. There was no time to write — we were back to back as soon as the phones started working after a brief, teasing half-hour where we were unable to take any calls at the beginning of the shift. And then the day dragged on, one unrelenting call after another, with the systems freezing, with customers unbearably stupid or difficult. I had one woman spell out the word “snow” to me when, as I am directed to do (and find that I must sometimes because the audio quality is so terrible) paraphrasing back to her the issue. This both infuriated and amused me, as so many Californian’s themselves do not know what I’m talking about when I use the word to describe what the television does when the cable is out. And then Mr. Mumbles who can’t even say the same phone number twice accuses me of needing a hearing aid. I just about lost it.
Not writing made today ten times worse.
So I’m here now, trying, my contacts slowly gluing themselves to my eyeballs, my skin increasingly catching the chill from the breeze. Just a few meager words written on the short story I’m playing with while I work on the manuscript build (you know, so that I’m still producing words). But it’s so vague and far away when I try to write. Like using a net to catch a butterfly that you can only see in your binoculars. Maybe it’s just because I’m tired, or maybe because I didn’t start putting words down as soon as the idea came. I wrote some notes around here somewhere. I need to dig them up.
Anyways, still trying to force my way through. In book news, I’ve finished Living Dead In Dallas by Charlaine Harris (after just finishing Scott Sigler’s Infected) and now I’m heading towards a little non-fiction, specifically Physics of the Impossible by Michio Kaku. Making some progress in my mountain of to-read books, even though technically I did cheat by buying the non-fiction book. I tried rationalizing it by saying it was reading for research, but let’s be honest; any fiction I read for pleasure becomes research and any research I read becomes pleasurable, so I’m not fooling anybody.
All right. Shutting down to read about forcefields and robots. Night!