Notes, journals and back story for Ephesus Offense
Entry one - virtual disconnect
aack - phlegm and protagonists
So I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been game puck in the NHL playoffs. Cursing the elected sludge who deemed "daylight savings time" worthy of implementation, I staggered into the throne room to gaze at my formidable countenance in the 'crystal of truth' only to be met with the reflection of someone who must certainly be an extra in the next Dawn of the Dead movie. (mmm. your brains are so spicey...) If the macabre hollows under my bloodshot eyes weren't enough - there, sprouting on my cheek and eyelid are - horror of horrors, is that acne? Good Lord, no. I must be growing a new eyeball. I swear. It, what ever angry red pus filled abomination it may be - I think it blinked at me. And I'm pretty sure it bared its teeth. Hey. I'm 42. I'm not supposed to have quarter sized 'episodes' popping out on my face. Damnit.
So, I did what any responsible, middle management drone would do. I emailed in. Sure, me and the pustules - we could go to work today and accomplish the mundane, between forcibly expelling my lungs through my nostrils and pushing my small intestine through my diaphragm every time I cough...but I am a weanie and I just don't feel like being the adult today. Here I perch, phlegmy and frustrated on the cusp of another chaotic week, stuffed to the gills with obligations every single night - some of which I actually welcomed in my pre mucus delusions last week....and now I am hoping I can just 'get through it.' Today the office will not spontaneously combust without me. And maybe I can stop horking long enough to breathe.
In the meantime - I come to the realization that the next great novel to be will not be birthed in all its sci/fant glory by Mid April. It languishes on my hard drive. Incorrigible and unruly, my main characters exchange banter over tea and do absolutely nothing to assist me in moving the story forward from chapter three to chapter five. Chapter four is a black hole with me spinning along on the event horizon while Donavan and Rel giggle....I could kill one of them off...but novel suicide is not on the calendar...yet.
So here I am, unable to move forward today, I simply sit....hand over mouth and knees locked together in a valiant attempt to protect my poor bladder from the onslaught of another coughing attack, praying for a small break. the completion of something, anything that will give me a moment to sit with my protagonists, to coax them into compliance....so we can move on...past page twenty seven.
The spouse is on vacation this week as the MIL will be here. Hm. Two anal retentive alpha females in 800 square feet of living space, also occupied by three testerone producing, bipedal males...sigh....and lets add dinner at a nice restaurant, pentacostal worship, and preparation for a weekend womens conference...uh huh. If anyone's looking for me I'll be in the throne room on the seat of power, sucking down Vicks 44D and scribbling lines of dialogue on the shower walls...