As I write this it’s 4:35 AM. I can’t sleep, even though I’m tired. Too much going on in my mind, and none of it is related to writing.
That’s not a good thing, because it means my mind is everywhere but where it should be, which is getting my stories down on paper, be it virtual or real.
I’m back in the ranks of the employed, but it’s not a happy place. The area where I will work . . . I can sum up my new environment with this one visual: it’s all this really dark wood, and very small, with not a lot of space. It’s not well lit. Someone pulled stuff out from under my desk and left it on the floor behind my chair.
And on the cabinet where I’ll store paper and the such, someone left a coffee cup. It’s been there a while because there is a thin layer of dust around the cup. Someone came along and cleaned up the space, but then they were dusting off they cabinet, they obviously couldn’t bother to pick up the cup and move it, so they just dusted around it.
Welcome to my New Home. I expect the TPS forms to show up at any time today.
I was sort of ready to write last night. I didn’t get home until late and I wanted to find a place where I could get out and get me some internet so I could take care of business. When I returned to The Undisclosed Location, I got into my story . . . and there was nothing there. I knew what I wanted to say, but forcing it onto the page was damn near impossible. I finally managed about 675 words, which was normal for me in the past, but after a few days of cranking out a lot of story in a short period of time, it felt disappointing. Very disappointing.
I was tired. About 9 PM I was literally falling asleep. And I didn’t want to do that, because I knew if I did I’d be up very early–like, say, 3 or 4 AM. So lets cut the difference and make it 3:30, which was when I did wake up.
And here I am, 75 minutes later, the drone of the expressway a constant reminder that as long as I’m in the new place, I’m never going to get anything remotely resembling quiet.
I’m really trying to stay up. I have to say that after being off for such a long time it’s a bit of a shock returning to something like a normal schedule–if you can call falling asleep at 9 PM and waking up at 4 AM normal.
That sort of thing is going to kill me.
So is not being able to see what’s going on out there in the world outside my hovel. I wanted to do a little research for my story last night–but no internet, so no research. And I couldn’t run out and find a hotspot, because it was getting late. I just did what any good writer does at that point: I made things up.
Bully for me!
Today there will be a rewiring of The Undisclosed Location. After that I should have connectivity . . . but I have this sinking feeling that what will happen afterwords is that I’ll be told to set up a time to have someone come out and connect my modem. This will mean taking time off from the new job–again.
What a mess.
At least I’ll have my computer with me today. Maybe my Muse will come around and give me a kick, make me write a few hundred words. Maybe she’ll show up this morning and and help me do something with the extra time I have.
It’s times like this I want to make my writing work for me. Because this normalcy stuff . . . it’s the suck.
I miss my Muse. I wish she were here to hold my hand.