Coffee, coffee, coffee. Up till 3 a.m. with a painful manuscript. I need coffee. I used to think having someone else around to make coffee was the only possible inducement for remarriage, but then I discovered those pots you could program. Now my life is complete. Now I can stay up till 3 a.m. without a partner or significant other moaning, “Whacha doin’, hon?” and flicking the lights off and on as a hint. Some people just like sleep too much.
Coffee. Please. I can’t find the pot. My eyes feel like burning gumballs. My tushie hurts from too many hours in the computer chair. I really need some good, hot coffee. And a shower. I could really go for a shower except I know another chapter is just waiting to get out. My muse Persephone says it is. And if I don’t listen to Persephone she cracks that whip of hers and nails me with a stiletto. OUCH!
Laundry. I need to do laundry. Is it really cheating to wear the same underwear two days in a row? Really? Just this once. I mean, I only have a few more chapters to go. How many days is that?
That’s not fit behavior for a diva? I’m not a diva. I’m just a multi-pubbed author if I can get this puppy to the editor by the end of the month like she asked me to. She’s a pussycat compared to Persephone, though. It’s WHAT? No, that’s not possible. It wasn’t that close to the end of the month last time I looked. Of course, that might have been last week.
Bills. I need to pay bills. I actually have a letter from my broker telling me I can take $3,000 out of my account and I haven’t sent it because I don’t want to take the time to check the little boxes. It would take 30 seconds, tops. I also have to sign it? Too much time. The bills can wait. Even the one for $600 for heating oil when it’s not even winter yet. Especially that one.
It’s the phone. God help me, the phone. It’s my 84 year old neighbor calling ME to ask if I’M all right. She says she hasn’t seen me lately. Of course she hasn’t seen me lately. My tushie is glued to the chair with Super Glue. My neighbors act like I’m one of those frail elderly people you should check on when the weather gets too hot or cold. They know. My frail elderly neighbors are going great guns. If it weren’t for them, I might be dead. On the other hand, if my friend Nancy is right and we all reincarnate anyway, I can come back in my next life to see if anybody read me. There’s no sign of it in this life. I haven’t sold a book on Amazon in thirty-eight days. Of course, I haven’t had a new release in a lot longer than that and I won’t if I don’t get back to the keyboard.
Coffee, I need it. Now. Steaming hot and a lot of it.
IF I DON’T FIND THE FREAKING COFFEE POT, THERE’S GOING TO BE REAL TROUBLE IN THIS HOUSE!!!