Ten Minutes

Tonight, I got nothing. So I set a timer for ten minutes, and we’ll see what we get.

We went to a philosophy group meeting earlier tonight. I wasn’t up for writing about it because it’s late and I have to get up early, but I will tomorrow. And it will be entertaining.

I did warn them, when we were going around the room introducing ourselves. I’m a writer, I’m just here for fodder.

I meant it, but I had no idea what I was getting into.

In other news, I have to figure out what I’m going to do for my brother’s graduation next month. Someone, either my brother or my mother, initially gave us the wrong date, and now that we know the right date, it’s too late for Ian to get someone to work for him, so he can’t go.

I’m not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. No special reason, just don’t wanna. You know? Bleh.

What else? I’m going to make jello shots this weekend with some chocolate covered pretzel vodka. Surprise, Ian! He didn’t know about this. I have to figure out what to mix it with, though. Any suggestions? Maybe chocolate soda. I don’t know if I can still find that at the store.

Here’s some news. I’m ghostwriting a book. It’ll be coming out in installments, and the first one will be out next month, in time for some kind of convention. It’s a fair gig. I was recruited for editing, but I don’t think he was aware that what he was really asking for was a ghostwriter, not a copy editor.

Um.

Seriously. No inspiration right now.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Little known fact about me: my best friend and I practiced saying the alphabet backwards as fast as we could just in case that was ever a sobriety test. When we were twelve-ish, so well before we were drinking and driving. Not that we planned to drink and drive. This was just something to do that we could stump a cop with one day. Anybody else have a story like that?
Anybody else able to say the alphabet backwards in less than four seconds?

Um.

I spent far too much time not typing.

This is not an impressive post.

I probably should have opened the nearest book and put my finger on a word and written about that for ten minutes. I think I’ll do that tomorrow. It could be entertaining. Or I could rewrite my story. But don’t worry, I’m definitely writing about our philosophy group meeting.


Twenty Minutes

Today I’m on assignment: write for twenty minutes. Don’t think, just write. Twenty minutes seems like such a long time to write, and yet no time at all. As I’ve been writing more and more, I’ve noticed that I take more and more time on each of my posts, tweaking word choices and editing sentence structure. It’s overflowed into my reading. I have a hard time reading anything now without editing in my head as I go along. That’s an unusual choice of words; this would work better. I wonder why he put it that way; this way is simpler and flows better.

I started reading The Maze Runner trilogy a couple days ago, and the one thing that bothers me the most is the author’s choice of sun flares instead of solar flares. Every time I read it, it grates on my inner ear. Sun flares. I’d go with solar.

And I can’t type without picturing how it should look on the page or the screen. It’s a quick click to switch to italics. And when I’ll never talk to any of you out loud, italics are so darn useful. They help me come across as me. Can’t help myself.

When I was sick two weeks ago, it was actually a spider bite. I’d never been bitten by a spider before, so it was a new experience. After the first few days I was feeling mostly better, but after a week the bite started to darken and we all know that’s not a good sign.

It was a huge mess to get a medical treatment, though. It started to worsen on a Friday afternoon, of course. Saturday was worse, and Sunday more. I was trying to stick it out, but since it’s on my face, I didn’t want to fool around anymore. Ian would have taken me to the ER on Saturday if he’d had his way, I’m sure.

So Sunday I looked up where my insurance would cover urgent care, and wouldn’t you know it, the nearest one is closed on Sundays. They couldn’t have put that information on their website. That would have been too easy. Oh, no. Only the much farther location is open on Sundays. When we got there it was packed. They’re only open four hours, and it was a three hour wait time. Which we couldn’t do since we’d already wasted so much time going to the other location to find out that they were closed; Ian had to be at work.

I said screw it, let’s go home.

On the way, Ian called another place that my insurance would at least partially cover, so we went there. Only to find out that due to a new policy, they’d need a hundred bucks up front. I’m a little iffy on the legality of that charge, since after my insurance, I wouldn’t owe $100. But whatever. With what we have going on right now, we don’t have the money to spend.

Whatever. The last urgent care is just around the corner. Closed–twelve minutes ago.

I had no idea a spider bite would hurt so much when it’d already been nine days and it wasn’t even that big.

Wolf spider, by the way. Non venomous, but apparently I have a sensitivity to them. Let’s not go through this again, shall we?

Monday morning we went, and the patients started pouring in after I registered. I’m glad we got there at the right time. We were home in about an hour and a half, with antibiotics and pain meds, and strict instructions to return if no improvement in 48 hours. I think Ian was a little more freaked out at that than I was.

Fortunately, the pain was almost gone by the following afternoon. The second day of antibiotics, the color started to improve as well.

And it was a rare treat to be treated as intelligent human beings by a medical professional. Neither the nurse nor the PA had to ask what PCOS was, and the PA even asked if I was taking metformin for it. Such a shock! And when I explained my penicillin and cipro allergies, he asked if I’d ever had a problem with Bactrim before prescribing it.

It’s a shame when normal conversation is the exception to the rule.

I’ve just had bad luck with doctors.

Today the scab came off, and it hurts a bit more than it has.

***

Well, that twenty minutes wasn’t so bad. My word count does tell me that I stopped to think more often than I should have.

Let’s see what Writing 101 homework is next.