What a ride!
When this blog goes live, I’ll have been physically back in Indiana for eleven days after a two-week trek to Texas and Nevada. Mentally? I’m still back in July—maybe even June—and where is August running off to?
The last few months have been crammed full of heart-breaking events and emotions and, oh, look! More emotions.
Add to that a decades-old clog in the “feeling” gears resulting in the appearance of that CIRCUS tent in my backyard— among many other fantastic side effects. My Couch Lady flips between gently dripping dabs of Drano over the clog and jumping up and down on my psyche with a jackhammer during our sessions.
Now I have all the feels all the time and, well... I’m not too fond of it. Not one bit.
But here we are, feeling all the crazy all at once, disassembling CIRCUS tents, firing ringmasters (myself—I’ve fired myself as the ringmaster), and rehoming elephants, poodles, and multiple monkeys—along with their wardrobes, cannons, and unicycles.
To make the disorientation of time and space even worse, Little Miss Muse has been acting up.
She’d promised me—promised—that I’d be so proud of her if I took her on this trip that I would write an entire blog about her good behavior.
Let’s face it. Good behavior makes for great report cards but boring blogs. And Little Miss Muse is a straight-A rockstar at producing drama.
Especially on trips.
In resorts.
The first leg of the journey was rather peaceful. She found enough to keep herself occupied in the ocean and the Galveston seawall that I didn’t even notice she was around. That’s where the good report ends.
And it’s here that I must make a mental note that when I don’t notice she’s around, I should be worried.
Because I didn’t notice she wasn’t around at Resorts World until day two of the Anthology Workshop.
That’s when the monkey went missing—not a CIRCUS monkey, the monkey menu-holder podium-thingy standing guard outside the Golden Monkey Tiki Lounge.
“To be fair, I didn’t go to the casino, per your insistence. But you didn’t tell me I couldn’t go to the Tiki Lounge.”
“To be fair, going to the Tiki Lounge and stealing the hostess station are not the same.”
“I didn’t get kicked out.” She flips her curls at me.
“You should’ve been kicked out.”
She flips her tutu and clomps around on the floor. “They didn’t even know it was me.”
“I can’t imagine how they missed you—you left a glittery haze in its spot.”
“I put it back.” She twirls her gum around her finger and pulls it into a long string.
“And then you stole another one.” This place had monkeys hanging everywhere. Everywhere. It was too much for bored Little Miss to handle.
“It wasn’t stealing. It was just…”
“I don’t want to hear it.” My workshop bathroom breaks were spent running from the conference room to The Golden Monkey—to count monkeys.
My friend repeatedly asked me if I was okay since I was MIA for most of the breaks. I blamed it on taking the long way around to the furthest bathroom from the workshop. Stretching. Getting my steps in.
And I was getting steps in. All. Over. The. Resort.
And, no. No, I wasn’t okay. I was seriously stressed out. All those monkey statues to keep track of. Little Miss run amok.
The one hanging above the door to the Lounge went missing. It appeared in the lobby of the Hilton.
I hauled it back to the Lounge.
Then the one over the sign showed up taking a ride on the red escalator.
I hauled it back to the Lounge.
I don’t know what she did with the giant hostess stand monkey.
“I hauled it back to the lounge,” Little Miss says proudly. "After I was finished with it."
I don't even want to know.
As we passed this restaurant one last time to find the uber for the airport, my count showed all monkeys to be back in place. My apologies to the proprietor. I know this must’ve been a very confusing few days.
“I was booooored.” She pops a grape-scented bubble in my face.
“Clearly.”
“They didn’t have any sharks.” She’s still pouty about her ban from The Golden Nugget pool on our first trip out. And the casino on our second trip out.
“Thank goodness.”
“Next time—”
“Oh, no. No next time. Not after what you did at the hotel in Indy.”
“I knew you’d bring that up.” She grinned. “But you liked that one, didn’t you?”
Let me back up: Due to vehicle issues and flight timing, I spent the night in Indianapolis when I landed.
I’m three time zone’s worth of exhausted and feeling all the feels. My arms hurt from hauling suitcases and monkeys. The flight was delayed. Then the luggage didn’t roll down that conveyor belt for nearly half an hour after landing. Another half-hour wait for the shuttle to the airport. All of this gives Little Miss Muse more chances to experience boredom.
The shuttle finally comes. We drive by rows and rows of drum majors practicing along the road to Hampton Inn—I kid you not. I want peace and quiet, and Indianapolis welcomes me with a Drum Corp competition—many participants are in my hotel. They did keep their practice outside, though, so that was a win.
I’ve gone from “I’m gonna Door-Dash pizza” to “I think I have that last half-melted protein bar at the bottom of my backpack.”
Little Miss clomps behind me as I drag my luggage down the hall. Then I stop.
We stop.
Both of us.
We stare at the sign posted on an unassuming, plain door in the middle of the long hallway on the way to our room.
“Ooooh!” Little Miss buzzes alive with glee. Purple glitter everywhere. Housekeeping’s gonna love us.
“Yeah, I don’t think—”
“That’s your problem, Beth. You think too much.”
She flits up to the sign, wings twitching, and traces the sign on the door with her chunky finger: LINEN CHUTE.
“We gotta. Just once.” Her voice is barely a whisper. It’s this whisper that worms its way into my synapses and will get BOTH of us in trouble.
Why on earth would a hotel label this door? Just leave it blank. No one needs to know. Not five-year-olds. Not grumpy old men. Not a single twenty-something that I’ve ever met should ever know what’s beyond this door.
This, this is the location of that magical chute that shows up in stories and TV shows and movies. Its temptation is overpowering. It’s hazardous for a writing muse imp and her jet-lagged, brain-on-fire author who’s discovered a tiny, tiny taste of living only once…
“No, no, we don’t.” Adult Beth tries to kick in logic and weigh the pros and cons. No, Beth, there are no pros. You’re a grownup…
But Little Miss has planted the seed.
And when that happens, Beth becomes five. Or six. Or eight…
And for a minute, just a minute, whether by imagination or dissociation or actually participating in the event, Little Miss and I leave our battered luggage in the hall, pop open the door, and throw ourselves down Hampton Inn's third-floor linen chute.
Pure, freefalling glee.
Then landing with a thud into a giant cart of “just don’t think about dirty linens, enjoy the glee.”
No one sees us. Most of the guests are still beating drums in the parking lot. There’s only the one tired guy working the desk, and he didn’t notice. Or if he did, he’s used to this antic because THEY LABELED THE LINEN CHUTE! and such things are to be expected.
The adrenaline rush and massive dopamine hit experienced from this adventure made me wonder what I missed out on with all that monkey business at the Tiki Lounge…
“See? Fun, right?” Little Miss Muse smooths her tutu on the way up to the third floor. I put my linen-chute hair back in its clip.
I hate to tell her when she’s right. It becomes a whole thing for days on end. But yeah. I needed that moment of levity.
I needed those two weeks away with my dear friend who doesn’t mind how completely nuts I am. (I mean, if you’ve read this far, you’ve caught some clue. The real-life version is, well, use your imagination—and she had two weeks of me.)
I needed the change of scenery. I needed the company and encouragement of other writers. And, evidently, I needed all those moments hunting tiki monkeys and toppling down linen chutes.
Now, I’m slowly settling back to work on all kinds of levels. Word counts and job hunts and feeling all those blasted feels.
But, wow, what a ride!
(Public Service Announcement: I wrote “Acceptance” two years ago. Re-reading it now, I’m amazed I didn’t end up in the hospital. I sought Couch Lady’s help about six months later. There’s slow, steady progress, even if it means I emote all over the place. *sigh* Seriously, though. If you, Dear Reader, are all clogged up or facing run-amok CIRCUS creatures, maybe call in a pro. Sometimes, our nervous systems are more nervy than systemy. It takes effort, but the results are worth it.)
