Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

I'm Not A Farmer

It's not morning if the sun isn't shining.

People who know me, know I'm Grade A Evil until about 10 AM. I'm a creature of the night. But once my head hits the pillow, I don't want to move until the sun has oozed over the horizon.

Ideally, not until it's been up for a few hours.

Current job requires me to get there at 7 AM. Since I live in the sticks (Stix?), I have to get up at five. It's just inhumane. Somebody call Amnesty International. The heck with people suffering real indignities in third-world countries. Kirby has to get her fat ass out of bed before six. Oh, the humanity.

All of the above is the result of my choices, but this being America, I don't need to take responsibility for my actions. (I could live closer to the city. I could ask to rearrange my hours, except, I like getting "work" done with as soon as possible.)

This might explain part of my problem with certain in-law (CIL). (Well, certain in-law is a Righty McRules type who bores the poop out of me, but that's another rant.) CIL is an insufferable morning person, up long before the sun's a faint glow in the eastern sky. Ass-crack o'dawn and CIL is up and scurrying around like a monkey on crack. Thank God the J-man didn't inherit that family trait. I'd have to kill him.

The damn birds aren't even up at 5 AM. At that hour of the not-morning, I resent everything. It's fortunate breathing is automatic, because anything that takes effort annoys. Showering, drying hair. Some mornings I wish I was bald. I hate the effort of pouring milk on cereal. (And when the hell did I start eating organic, vegan cereal with soy milk?) I can't believe the horse has the audacity to want breakfast. Or that soccer mom and her yellow-ribbon-covered van is sharing my roadspace. (Well, yes, I always resent soccer mom and her damn van. The more ribbon magnets, the worse the driver.)

And cheerful co-workers. Being cheerful in the morning [in workplace] should be considered a form of harassment. The hell with sexual harassment. Pinch my ass, fine. Just don't expect me to acknowledge you (although I might knock your front teeth out with the stapler.)
Anyhoo, a couple hours later, I'm approaching human...slowly.

Writing...
Got in the 1000 words on Book Two. Once again, the bulk of it extruded from my brain between the hours of 7 and 9 PM. (It wasn't so repulsively sunny and hot, so I spent more time with the Nikster during the day.) Thought I'd work on the Romance, but...got interested in the current "goings on" in Book Two and cranked away. And in the process, discovered that "Lucy, you have some 'splaining to do." I.e., I still have plot stuff to sort out. Everytime I untangle one problem, some other problem rears its head like a very bold and pushy Loch Ness Monster.

Anyway, writing chat today. So rush, rush, rush.

Have a good Wednesday.
P. Kirby

 

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