Okay, here's the story. I've had a non-stop low grade fever for seven days now. Tylenol doesn't touch it. Saw the doctor, and will be trying antibiotics, though she doesn't know what's causing it. So I leave you with this, the only known cure.
Hi everyone. Hope you're having a great holiday weekend. If you're thinking about Memorial Day and are interested in making contact with a soldier in harm's way, check out anysoldier.com.
I've used their website to connect with soldiers deployed in a combat zone since October. I haven't had any problems sending letters and care packages through this organization.
From the site: Want to send your support to a Soldier in harm's way, but have no idea of what to send, who to send it to, or how to send it? The website provides addresses of soldiers deployed to a combat zone. They offer suggestions on care packages and letters, and how to send them.
So it has been a crazy, crappy, wonderful, topsy-turvy, high and low week. Here's the recap.
Monday, an hour after my last post, I got a call that one of my close family members was admitted to the hospital with some serious ailments. Some of which he had been treated successfully for in the past, but one was new. I decided I wasn't going to the retreat because The Man wanted to be helpful, and wouldn't be as effective if I left. So I decided responsibilities could shift to me, and he'd be free to do what he needed to do. But The Man wasn't having it. He told me to wait and see. Which, I have to admit, was prudent.
The family member slowly improved, and it looked like other members of the family were stepping up to help out so it all didn't fall on The Man's shoulders, which was great.
Bottom line, I went, but with reservations. I was worried about the one in the hospital and how The Man and family were holding up. So I was very distracted.
And also there was the guilt. I'm good at guilt. I can manufacture guilt out of thin air. I'd win more gold medals in the Guilt Olympics than Michael Phelps. I am the Michael Phelps of the Guilt Olympics. (Where are my endorsements?)
So needless to say, I didn't get as much writing done as I really wanted to.
I did paint my nails. For the first time in about ten years. Andrew Grey, who just joined the writing group and attended the retreat said my toenails looked like a demented three year old had painted them. So, I guess I'm a little out of practice. Maybe I'll take a picture of them and let you all decide.
I'm on another CPRW author's blog from the retreat, doing a video diary comparing hair, but you actually get to see my face, so I'm not telling which author it is. Vicki, Sue and Natalie will know, but no telling girls! Natalie was in it too, briefly sniffing my hair.
I made small amounts of progress on three different WIPs. I just couldn't settle down and get to business since I was worried about the home front. The other ladies' word counts were very impressive. Mine . . . not so much. I only wrote a total of a little over 5,000 words from Thursday night to Sunday morning. I also worked on some editing, completing some second round, light edits on about twenty to twenty-five pages of material from the same three WIPs.
So, progress was made. I had some good fun. And laughed like crazy Saturday night. All in all, it was a moderately successful retreat as far as the writing was concerned, but on a personal level - it was a blast. Much better than a jail term masquerading as a spa getaway. And this way, I didn't have to make anyone my bitch.
Writer's retreat is only three and a half excruciating days away. I. Can't. Wait. Actually it's good that I have three more days to prepare. I haven't packed, though I did wrestle a suitcase out of the attic.
I also need to leave instructions for The Man on how to appease the sea monkey tribe. It will involve sea salt, one of those plastic scuba divers that goes up and down in an aquarium, and a ritual sacrifice of a fancy goldfish, (No, not the regular ten-for-a-buck goldfish. We're not chumming, here. That would spur a sea monkey frenzy the likes of which have never been seen before.) There's a delicate balance when dealing with the bathtub sea monkeys. You don't want to incur their wrath.
So once the how-to instructions to mollify the sea monkeys are written, I can get on to the ordeal of packing. It's times like this that my deeply repressed girlie tendencies surface. I always over-pack. You never know what might crop up. I know we're going out for drinks on Friday night. But with the spring weather, there's no telling what it will be like by then. So I pack sandals and flats. A short sleeved nice shirt and a long sleeved nice shirt. A skirt and nice jeans or pants. All for a couple hours at the local Applebees. *shakes head at own pathetic-ness*
The urge can't be squelched. Two complete and mix-matchable outfits will be packed and taking up precious space in the very small rolling carry-on that I was able to wrest from the clutches of the piles of junk in the attic.
All is worth it, though, to go away for three days with other writers, lock yourself away in a room (or not), get meals taken care of for you and just write. That is a little slice of paradise if you ask me. And I. Cant. Wait!!!
I know, I know. I should be trying to write something pithy and entertaining instead of posting other pithy and entertaining people, but Flight of the Conchords are hilarious. They're self described as "the fourth most popular parody folk group in New Zealand." Be sure to follow the links to other clips of theirs. Business Time and Albi the Racist Dragon are a few of my favorites. As before, enjoy!