You know those days when you plan to write and everything gets in the way? I had one of those days yesterday. I started out sneezing (my usual morning ritual to open and drain my sinuses) and things went downhill from there. I usually sneeze in the morning and my eyes water, both of which are the effect of drying out during the night when I sleep; the sneezing and watering get things moving in the morning. I seldom itch, get nauseous or have a fever first thing in the morning. In a word: miserable. I hate Monday mornings that start out feeling miserable, even more miserable than the usual Monday morning. The sound of birds chattering before the sun comes up is perniciously vile after a start like that. I just wanted to pull the covers over my head and take another run at the morning, but that was not to be.
I did manage to write and finish a review I've been working on in my head, and was a bit trepidatious about how the author was going to feel. After all, he did ask if I'd be interested in reviewing his upcoming book, and I've mostly liked the previous books, so I shouldn't have worried, but there it is -- that feeling of impending inadequacy. I've always had it and it doesn't get less as time goes on.
At any rate, I wrote the review, posted it and checked it for errors and bad wording and sent it along. I refused to think about it once I hit send and I didn't until he response came last night. He loved it and said I was dead solid perfect in my estimation. He must be a golfer. I've not heard anyone but golfers use those words together: dead solid perfect. One job done, checked off and on to the next, working on the new novel.
Well, actually, it's a novel I've been writing on and off for a while, but lost the thread and put it aside to work on another book. That was two-and-a-half years ago. It's time to get this one off the hard drive and into print. I know how it's supposed to go. I know the characters inside and out. I know the historical setting and facts, but then the sneezing started again, and the watering eyes, and the nausea and all the rest of the misery that I thought had run its course. I was down for the count. Could it be an allergy to the novel?
I did have an allergy to my first husband. Every time he touched me I broke out in hives and furious itching that didn't go away until I took a hot bath. I got over it. I got a divorce. Haven't had a problem since, but it is a bit difficult for him to touch me when he lives on the other side of the country. I doubt it's an allergy to the book, probably just a passing bug that decided to stick around for a day or so. I hope it's only a day or so. I can't afford to take the time off right now. I have a plan and it doesn't include being ill.
Isn't that just the way? Just when I think I have everything under control, something happens and I end up having to scramble again. It's as if the universe like to see me scramble. It's the only exercise I get most days. Drama, drama, drama. And I hate drama.
Monday is past and it's now Tuesday. The birds are chattering in the trees and the sky is that bleak misty grey that means more rain today. If it's like yesterday, the afternoon will suddenly brighten after a long drizzle and the sun will shine in a clear blue Colorado sky until it sinks into the dark purple of evening. Every day is a surprise -- mostly -- and each day another chance to do what was left undone the day before. The trash is out. The boxes are broken down, the packing deflated and put out for recycling. I have a few pages left to read so I can review another book and then there's the usual work to do that comes with each Tuesday. The sneezing has run its course and my eyes are finished watering and I do not feel miserable this morning, a little drippy, but not miserable.
On top of all this, a gift for a friend is going to be ready a whole week ahead of time and the waiting is over. I can't wait for her to open the box and see what her friends bought her. It's not a birthday or any special day. It's an un-birthday present to brighten someone's day, and it looks like that day will be Friday. Something to look forward to, and something I no longer have to keep secret after Friday. I hate keeping secrets, even the good ones. I like to give the gift and get the smile. Today I will give myself a gift of writing and I already know the smile awaits me. The waiting is over. Time to move on.