Truly, Truly, Truly, Ohhhhhhh . . . .

"See these lines? Truly disappointed.
Truly, truly, truly, oh....."



So this part of the week has been a wreck. Thank goodness it hasn't been an actual crash-bang collision, but man, the goals have stalled and bitten the dust. That life thing again, it happens, right?

We have had Flea-Maggeddon, and the Revenge of the Fleas, and with three hairy kids (the smallest of which is 70 lbs) the dog washing has been interminable. The Newf and the smallest lab are horribly allergic to the buggers, and they are in so much distress. I've dumped Borax in the kid's (the actual two-legged ones) rooms, and vacuumed until the bloody machine is about to cough up it's last clump of dog hair. Then done it the next day, spraying a concoction of Dr. Bronner's Eucalyptus soap and water to repel the fleas as well. I didn't want to use "poison" i.e. a Raid-like product, but what the hell. Finally sprayed the carpet and box-springs. The mattresses got Dr. Bronner's, which was so strong it made all of us sneeze.

Poor dogs, they have been washed in flea shampoo twice, and finally in Dawn dish-washing soap! It's good enough for all the poor oil-coated birds and otters, right? The Newf actually seemed to like it. Maybe she was actually glad to be squeaky-clean for once? And after I had been debating changing her name to Pig Pen. . . .They have been flea combed, smothered with anti-flea and aloe spray, and all this after my first cunning ploy: the generic Frontline.

I have one word for the generic Frontline and it's maker: Utter Suckage. Okay, two words: Utter Bloody Suckage. Three. Three words: Utter Bleeding Bloody Suckage. Four, my four words are: Utter Bleeding Bloody Suckety Suckage. On wheels. With pasties.

Hey, I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition. . . .

So even with the insanity, I haven't completely lost my sense of humor, so I guess I should be grateful, but crapsticks, it's hard to not be disappointed in such a lackluster couple of days. The one day I got some writing in, I was down to 762 words, and S.T.R.U.G.G.L.I.N.G.  But I made myself do it, and beat myself up about it later. First draft, so I can revise and slice through the crap later.

So tonight, on this side of the ocean, I'll stay up and work through this, because there will always be "life" going on outside of this writing gig. Always fleas to stomp and kids to bathe, and some other chaos and bliss all wrapped up in a tasty exploding cupcake.  Bon Appetit!

"This is the last song I will ever sing (yeah!)
No; I've changed my mind again (awww...)
Goodnight,
And thank you."
~Morrissey, "Disappointed"

Find a Diamond at the Bottom of the Drain

"Take your own advice
cause thunder and lightning gets you rain
run an airtight mission, a Cousteau expedition
find a diamond at the bottom of the drain
a diamond at the bottom of the drain

here I go"  ~~Neko Case "Magpie to the Morning"



In case it's not apparent, music has a special place in my heart. Most artists  I like paint very vivid pictures in my mind, or evoke visceral responses through their lyrics or music. Every time I write, I have particular music that sets the emotional pace for what I'm aiming for. I have songs for loss, happiness, lust, growth, just about everything under the sun. 

Bubbly synthpop or ambient noise, each song creates a mood, a feeling. Sometimes it's one line, in or out of context, a refrain in my mind throughout the day, juggled like marbles in my mouth. Sometimes it's the whole song, the entire melody wrapping me up and taking me along.

Thank God for the music, sometimes on repeat, a hundred times over, a prayer of sorts, a mantra to further the words, and make the scene come alive inside my head and on paper.

ROW80: I thought 800 words would be good, and if I average it out, with the holiday and family things, I can say I pulled an average of 800 words per day. Counting the day I did squat (Hello, 4th of July!), and the night I stayed up past 3 and did more than double. Gah.

But it's a work in progress, this writing thing. Forward, inch by inch, plugging in those headphones. Time to wrap myself in the music, and dive into it, searching for the right words, the ones that make the movies in my head come to life. Time to seek and find that treasure. So I'll turn up the volume, run my fingers along the keys and "find a diamond at the bottom of the drain."

Here I go.

Big Time Sensuality

"I can sense it . . . 

Something important 

is about to happen

It's coming up

It takes courage to enjoy it

The hardcore and the gentle

BIG TIME SENSUALITY!"

I was listening to Bjork, and felt that this summed up the momentum I feel building. In spite of my hiccuping start July 1st, I feel a sense of change as I continue to write and work toward a goal. 

The hiccup was of course, writing up a stream on the eve of the Round start, and due to LIFE, waking to a sleepy toddler 4 hours later. By the time I got to 5pm I was zombified. (Maybe that would have been a better song?) But Then the next day, a little better, and tonight, even with prep for 4th of July Madness, I'm still feeling productive with the ROW80 gig.

But deep inside, there's that little burble of something, an effervescence that's starting to make its way up.  The middle slump is rising, the feeling of "damn I could just work on the other book" is going away. Not that the ideas are not still storming the bastions of my mind, but they are relegated to second string. Right now, SOD is coming together, and meshing. "The hardcore with the gentle," the feeling of tying loose ends and making it all work is kindled.

So, I'm going to enjoy it, and ride the rush, or as Invader Zim would say: "Ride the PIG!" And I'm going to embrace the Big Time Sensuality, because "I don't know my future after this weekend . . . And I don't want to!"   Carpe diem!