writing doodle - day 28 - word count 298

Molly took a long drag from her e-cigarette, blew a puff of vapor my direction and said, "What're  your plans today, lovie?"

Lovie?  Who gets called Lovie anymore?  Sure Thurston Howell, III's wife went by Lovie, but that was fiction. How did she find my motel room?  How did she catch me unaware?

She moved closer to the dog and said, "I think we could have some big fun." She ran her pudgy finger beneath Hazel's chin and said, "You're the loveliest thing I've seen all day."

Ok.  The dog.  She was talking to the dog.  I knew that.  Of course I did. After a shower, some protein, and a long run, I'll be just fine.  Maybe.  After I unclench my fingers from around a crochet hook and rewind the ball of angora that has rolled to cover virtually all of the carpet on the floor, I'll be normal again.

Then again, I need to quit watching crafting videos on Youtube all hours of the night.  I don't need to make any afghans, toilet paper cozies, and no one I know needs legwarmers.  If my timemachine back to the 1980s begins to work, or I can catch a ride on the Tardis and I can go back with Doctor Who to the Flash Dance set, I'll be just fine.  

Socks.  Maybe I can learn to make socks.  It would keep my mind off my grandfather's situation, would be usable, and isn't too feminine.

Or not.

My plans?

Plot the quickest route home to get Grandpa back under his own doctors' care, return to my own life, and decide if the crochet shell pattern is too girlie for a scarf out of some great mohair.  I have never owned a really great scarf and it is about time.

~~~

Sure, blathering.  But haven't been very good the last several days.

writing doodle - day 22/23 - word count 219

If I still had hair, I would have shaken it from my eyes.  Instead, I shook it until it hurt, trying to change the image before me.

It wasn't the regular dogwalker.  Nope.  It was Holly from the craft store, two dachshunds, a poodle, and a streamer of yarn flowing from her pockets.

What the hell?  More to the point, how the hell?

"If you just slip me her leash, I'll be back in a jiff."  Molly, or was that Holly, and her words were aimed at the door.  "We won't be gone more than half an hour. Or do you need longer than that to take care of things?"

I grabbed the pillow from the bed and put it in front of me and began the hunt for the leash.  Usually it is on the nighstand for those little emergencies in the middle of the night.  In the wee hours of this morning, okay so seven isn't exactly the crack of dawn but when you only get three hours of sleep, it feels like it, I couldn't find it and didn't particularly care.  It wasn't under the pile of my clothes from the day before, beneath the bed, or on top of the television. What it was doing on the top of the toilet tank was anybody's guess.

~~
so, word count isn't really flowing like a river this time around, but I'm not making excuses either.  Things will wind around again - I hope.

writing doodle - day 21 - word count 328

Have you ever gotten up and felt more tired than you were before you went to bed?  That was how I felt when the alarm went off just before seven. Exhausted, blurry eyed, stiff and sore, and in desperate need of coffee.

Yes.  Coffee.  That black elixir so many people swear by and I claim to never need.  But I was almost tired enough to succumb to its siren song of hot, strong, bittersweetness that could give me enough umph to actually kill the alarm clock and start the day.

Instead, I told Hazel to cross her paws for nine more minutes and I'd take her outside so she could leak on a bush or something.  I swatted at the alarm, missed, hit the dresser with the flat of my hand and swore.  The clock fell from its perch and hit the floor, rolled under the bed, and continued its taunting bleat.  In an hour or so it might just die or give up on trying to rouse more than my temper and patience.  

I rolled over and stuck my head beneath the pillow.  It did nothing to stop the alarm from proving its point.  It had more endurance than me and it would indeed overcome.

In pursuit of just a little silence, I left the bed and crouched on the floor in search of the clock.  I switched the alarm off and was about to climb back into bed when the door to the motel room opened.

It wasn't the cleaners, too early in the morning.

No.  It was the dog walker.  In she walked, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

I raised my hand in greeting and said, "Hey, XXX.  Aren't  you a little early?"

She turned back to the door and said, "Didn't you get my voicemail?  I need to XXX this morning and put you to the top of my list. I'll just come back later. Much later."

Monday.  Could this possibly be Monday?

~~~

not much but it is something.  Bueller?  Bueller?

writing doodle - day 20 - word count 0

another hot and sticky day in paradise ... sort of.

company leaves tomorrow and life will resume until he comes back in two days ... 

*sigh*

hope we find this inspiring ... and haven't seen a single person selling good yarn from the back of a car all weekend - dang it!

writing doodle - day 18, 19 - word count 0

~~

Real life has interfered and there was no getting around the past two days ... but looking at this picture makes me think I should really catch up on the laundry soon.