Friday, August 14, 2009

The Price We Pay

This was written yesterday. Today is Friday. I'm almost certain.
Here’s my story with a sobering moral. It’s okay to laugh.Eli had a dentist appointment this morning (he had five cavities- Thank you unfluoridated water of Western PA) -at least I thought so until we were halfway across town- I literally take three interstates to get to our fantastic, cheap dentist. And then I couldn’t figure out if it was Wednesday or Thursday. Then I was sure it was Wednesday. Because we went to April’s house on Monday, or was that Tuesday? And Eli met a kindergarten teacher (not necessarily his), we went to the library…but which thing on what day?

The real problem is that yesterday I wrote all day and stayed up again until 3 AM.

I couldn’t figure it out, so I turned to the ultimate mental calendar- what did we eat? Rice and étouffée last night. And what did I scrape off of the plates the night before? Bean burritos? Yeah. That’s it. So it must be Wednesday.

I turned around and headed home. One exit later, I remembered asking Nathan if he was playing basketball tonight, and he said yeah- so it must be Thursday. Really? Maybe.

I didn’t have my cell, so I turned around again and headed back towards the dentist. Once I was off the interstate, I stopped at a gas station and took a peek at a newspaper. Today was Thursday. ALL DAY, if you can imagine. We got to the dentist two minutes late, but they weren’t ready for us, so all’s well.

Which brings me to...What have I given up for my writing?
A clean house? No. I was never fastidious.
Time with my kids? Somewhat. But I almost always make sure we have a family activity like the library or swimming . The pictures are proof that we spend time together:)

Working out? Well, that comes and goes anyway, but I’m there 4-5 days a week right now, so I’ll say no.
TV? Yep. Evening is prime writing time.

Sleep? Yes, but I can only go so long.
None of that really feels like a sacrifice.

The real sacrifice has been getting a knock on the door and wondering who could it be, and it’s ladies from church arriving right when I said they should.
Or late Tuesday night remembering that today was Boy Scouts, and Isaac missed again. Or “Oh yeah, we’re out of toilet paper”.

In its defense, my brain is really busy right now.

I’m on the elliptical machine, wondering what my character, David, will say to his dad when he finds out about his mom. I’m sautéing onions, and Lara is inside me, trying to forgive David for tricking her. I’m lying in bed, trying to burn an important plot point into my memory because I don’t want to get up and write it down, but I get up and write it down anyway, because I can’t sleep otherwise.

I hope that readers will believe my characters are real. Because otherwise, I’m just ditzy. And if they're not real, then how can they be causing so many problems?
PS, I go on awesome dates with my husband, too.

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