We’re nearly halfway through 2022. Yesterday was the first day of summer. Supposedly the longest day of the year. And, boy was it loooongggg. Complete with seven hours of IV hydration in the ER for the Hubs, another two hours on the road, and an hour waiting on the pharmacy — in triple-digit heat indices. At one point, little black warning spots flashed around the periphery of my vision, telling me a bad thing was about to happen.
Then I lost my keys. Keys I’d had in my hand as I loaded a few easy-on-the-newly-hydrated-one’s system into the car. I felt the keyring slide off my finger. Figured they were in the passenger floorboard. Nope.
Figured they landed in one of the sacks. Nope.
Perhaps they slid directly into the popsicle box. After flinging popsicles all over the car… Nope.
After fifteen minutes of searching the same spots over and over and multiple black flashes (Can black spots even flash? Why yes, yes they can), I opened the back door, got eye level with the floor, and saw the key ring lodged in the perfect “can’t see it from any angle but this very one with my butt sticking out” position.
I was on it the whole time.
Little Miss Muse points out that if I was really On It, I’d not have lost the keys right under my fanny to begin with.
Then, this morning, eight large buzzards in our backyard took turns showing off their massive wing spans—not in flight, but in a standing-guard position—and staring at our house. It sent chills down my spine. Little Miss thinks they’re smelling the rotting manuscripts growing moldy black hair in the To Be Done files on my computer.
A quick look at my writing numbers at this halfway-through-the-year mark sent my shoulders slumping past my hips and chills down my spine. Scarier than the eight buzzards, those numbers.
What happened? We’re halfway through the year and that’s my number?
Well, turns out I’m On It is the culprit for this lower-than-hoped-for word count.
A loved one with a fall and an out-of-rhythm heart? I’m on it.
Full-time day job with folks who can’t follow directions? I’m on it.
A second lady with newly diagnosed debilitating seizures? I’m on it.
Five+ dollar a gallon gas and the near-futile search for cheaper transportation? I’m on it.
A third loved one with bilateral foot tumors? And a fall? I’m on it.
Adult-ish Male and Adult-ish Girl who just can’t even (and let’s face it, even the adult-iest of adults just can’t even right now) … I’m on it.
The Hubs and his life-altering gut flare? I’m on that, too. Until those little black specks ground me to the house for a couple of days.
I’m sitting in a camping chair in our front yard now. I think the buzzards out back have moved on to other roadkill, leaving my digital stink to me and Little Miss, but the front feels safer at any rate…
I’m letting the breeze blow away some of the stress. Birds chirping. Maple leaves dancing overhead.
I have two documents open. I type a few sentences here, then go to another document and add ideas to my “Re-start List.” The good thing about word counts is that what’s written won’t go stale, and what’s to-be-written will be waiting for me when my brain isn’t foggy — and my loved ones aren’t trying to qualify for Synchronized Imploding Health as if it’s an elite Olympic sport.
Someday, I’ll report this:
Finish the short stories I abandoned as I flew out to another emergency room? I’m on it.
Send those shorts to the proofreader? I’m on it.
Finish the YA trilogy? On it.
Covers for the new trilogy? I’m on it.
Churning out content and having a blast doing it? I’m on that, too.
A tiny sweat bee likes the corner of my laptop — he’s hung out with me from the start of this blog. His friend likes my knee, and another of his relatives enjoys flitting around my knuckles as I type. I feel one kissing my cheek. How sweet of them to keep me such lovely company.
Do sweat bees have ground hives? If they do, I’m probably on it.
