G’day, mates. Julie’s Muse here–again. This isn’t my job, but extraordinary circumstances and all that.
Oh, did she tell you? No? Okay, even if she didn’t tell you, I’m going to because, well, I’m the one writing this blog post. See, she’s been having these nasty sinus headaches for the past five years or so. Let me tell you, she complains when she has them because, and I quote, she “can’t think when she has a sinus headache”. Which also means she can’t write. And she gets a wee bit cranky.
Okay, truth here. She gets downright grumpy. And you can tell her I said so.
Then she gets this so-called brilliant idea to get her head examined. Turns out, she has a deviated septum that might be causing her sinuses to stop up. Anyway, she finally got up the balls to have the deviation corrected. Don’t think I don’t want to add a comment about deviants, but I’m trying to be nice.
Trust me, she needs nice right now.
She had the surgery earlier this week. It went fine, from what I can tell, but that’s where the happy writer got off the bus. You shoulda seen her. It was like “Night of the Living Dead.” Gawd, it was a fecking nightmare. I had to leave for a few days, until she got through the nausea and the vomiting. I don’t like vomit. And I don’t like seeing her in that condition.
She’s on the upswing now, but still can’t concentrate on writing. So here I am, picking up her slack again. If this is going to be a regular thing, I’m going to have to renegotiate my contract.
Well, look who the cat dragged in. She has some real color now.
“Are you writing my post?”
She sounds like she has a cold, all nasally and congested. “It’s Saturday, and you didn’t write one last night, so yes, love, I’m writing a post.”
She shuffles into the office and drops into the recliner. “Oh. I was going to write a post yesterday. Couldn’t think straight.”
“Good painkillers will do that.”
She sniffles. “Tell them about my garden, but I can’t get the pics off my damn phone, so I’ll have to post those later.”
“You already told them about your garden last week, remember?”
“Oh.” She dabs at her nose with a well-used tissue. “Tell them about the orphans my son found.”
“You can’t get those pics off your camera either, love.”
“So? I’ll post pics on Monday.”
“Why don’t you just upload the pics to iCloud instead of trying to make your iPhone talk to OneDrive? That’s like trying to shove an oval peg into a round hole. You might get there, but it’ll take some doing.”
“If the charging cable I had at home was an OEM cable, I wouldn’t have to monkey around with iCloud or anything. I can pull the pics right from my phone to the computer with the cable I have at work.” She sniffles, dabs. “Tell them I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with the blog reading either.”
“Excuse me. Whose post is this? Are you writing it, love? No. So I’m going to write what I want.”
She groans. “I could’ve written a post today. You didn’t need to do it for me.”
“Yes, I did, love. You need to get your ass back in the saddle on your WIP. You lost how many days? Four? Five if you can’t get your shit together today. Do you know what date it is? It’s almost fecking July, and you’re only halfway through your revision.”
“I didn’t know this surgery would knock me out for so long.”
She didn’t. And if she hadn’t reacted badly to the anesthesia, she might’ve been able to do some writing sooner. Can’t do anything about it now. “Then you need to make it up. Starting today.”
More sniffles. “I know. I’ll try.”
I love this line. “Do or do not. There is no try.”
She rolls her eyes. “You are so much better looking than Yoda. And taller.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” At least that’s what I want her to think.
I’m sure she’ll fill you in on the garden, and the orphans, and other news next week. Have a great weekend filled with writing, and thanks for sticking around.
Oh, Mae, if you’re out there, tell Mr. E I’ll meet him at our usual first pub an hour earlier than usual. I’m going to need an extra long crawl after this week.