I took the afternoon off from work. I skipped out of the
I came home and pounded out the afforementioned blog post.
Then, I had to hit up the DMV to renew my tags and pay taxes on dear Bella (my cherry-red Pontiac Vibe) and her boyfriend Edward (hubs sporty blue Niassan Senta.)
(Clearly, hubs has no idea that I've named his vehicle after an old man who loves jailbait. You know, I'm really not sure he'd be cool with it, either. Oh, wait -- I'm certain he wouldn't dig it.)
Assuming there would be a torturous wait at the ever-bustling Department of Motor Vehicular Annoyance and Expense, I walked in with my story on my mind and my notebook in my purse.
However, the auto-gods were kind, and there was no line. Oh, the joy! No, I didn't get any writing done, but I did get to pop into the library and pick up some reading material, you know, since I had extra time. (I choose three YA books based solely on titles/ cover art/ blurb appeal and then grabbed an, uh, exotic Chuck Palahniuk book called SNUFF. Yeah, it's about porn. I felt a little awkward at the check-out line.)
Next, I decided that I deserved sushi for lunch. I took the back roads and decided to check out a place where I haven't been before. How hard could it be to find one little sushi joint? I even had the address.
I drove up and down Shelbyville Road for a solid hour. (It's a busy, busy road, with two shopping malls on either side of the interstate. So, rather than drive, I sat at a lot of red lights and did a lot of split-end-splitting. You know how I roll.)
I called to find out where they were located.
"You know St. Matthew? St. Matthew mall?"
"Oh, what? You're inside the mall?"
"Yes! The mall!"
So, I walked about the mall. I found a very curious tasting sample of Orange Chicken, but I did not find Sakura Blue or their sushi.
I called again.
"No. No in mall, next to. By bookstore and pizza! You know?!"
"Yeah. Got it. IN THE PLAZA WHICH IS A BLOCK AND A HALF FROM THE MALL ST. MATTHEWS. HOW HARD IS THAT?"
So, I was a little edgyspice until I got my sushi, by which time it was 5:15 and my glorius afternoon -- which I could have used to write -- had wasted into eveing.
It was really good sushi, though.
I even tried a roll with fish eggs.
Apparently, avo is not an abbreviation for avacado.
Tomorrow starts the Novel Writing Challenge hosted by my wife, Tina Sandoval. I am officially participating. I will write 500 words a day, and I will not cheat/ whimper about it/ fold under the pressure/ beg for your mercy.
You know, since I was already supposed to be writing 500 words a day anyway.
*hangs head in shame*
*gives self thought bubble over own head*
(thought bubble text to follow)
This time it's for real! This time it will be different. I don't care if my current WIP is as dear to me as a tiny newborn baby. (Someone else's tiny newborn baby, obvi.) Doesn't everyone feel that way about what they're working on? What makes my MS so special and sacred that I can't just pound out a first draft? Who do I think I am?
Then my thought bubble got so full it burst, admonishing words covering my couch like ripped pillow feathers.
And I put one of those feathers in my palm, blew on it like a wayward eyelash, and made a wish.