It Was A Dark And Stormy Morning

If there was some way of taking this morning and putting it into a bottle so I could enjoy it over and over I would. What, you ask, is so wonderful about this moment in time which is so worthy of bottling and becoming known under some pretentious name such as “Chateau eau November 21, 2011” a subtle blend of dark grey skies, gusting winds, and whinging dog. Well my friends it is a combination of an empty house, which at this time holds no guilt producing, Work Which Needs Doing, sitting in a corner panting goo all over the floor. There does seem to be this bright shining orb of creativity gently bouncing from one foot to the other just at the back of my brain (somewhere between Betelgeuse and my cerebral cortex) saying, “Use me I’m ready to go and I'm yours to do what you will with me!” And it is the exact perfect time of the day where my body and mind seem to function at its best. Perhaps it is because it is the day after my cheat day and my body is experiencing the euphoria of carb loading.

This feeling of solitude and bliss will not last long, the empty house, is an anomaly as the husband will soon be home from his appointed task of ‘Helping the neighbour move his shit house’. The lurking guilt producing Work will manifest itself as ‘Wood which needs piling in the back forty’, and my creativity will start to feel slighted and decide that as usual, “I suck.” Then in a huff it will stop bouncing and fold itself in half exactly seven times where a picture of a middle finger pointing skyward will be printed on the only side I will be able to see.

So I have decided with great foresight to take advantage of the situation and sit down and do a bit of writing. To be honest I am surprised that I decided to do the, blog writing, instead of the, short story writing, or the, novel writing, thing. You see I have a completed novel sitting in my head waiting for the day where I will actually sit down and start to write it. I have been dying to get at it but the circumstances of my life just keep interfering with the process. You see, for years and years, and years I’ve always had this habit where I would go for a run, or go for a long walk, or go for a swim, or go and work out in the gym, put the body on auto pilot then work on a story. I found that it made the time go by faster while I was out torturing myself, and the additional oxygen I was sucking in seemed to help my brain function better. Then when the story was ready I would sit down and type like crazy until all the words in my head were sitting on the screen looking smug and self satisfied. I’d love to tell you that I did that every time, but alas, over the years many a story has became permanently lodged in my skull and have never actually made it to the outside world. If they had I’d probably have a plethora of novels to my name by now and possibly a small villa in the Hawaiian islands somewhere. (That’s my way of saying that said novels would be of interest to other folk who would pay money for them.) But knowing that my time is limited I guess made my decision to write that which when interrupted will not make me crazy with an insane rage. And, as some of my readers have recently pointed out, (thank you so much for that by the way), writing anything at all is better than not writing at all. And blog writing can actually be considered creative so quit my whining and get on with it as I have many, many years of actual writing ahead of me. The good thing about the whole blog thing is that I don’t feel too obligated about making sure that my grammar is grammatical, or that my sentences flow, make sense, or need to be artistic or pleasing to the senses. So in essence blog writing is exactly like the way I think.  Erratic, spontaneous, in serious need of spell check, and slovenly.

Next week is going to be a full one here at Kitpu Estates, starting on Monday we are off to our first financial institute to see what kind of “PLAN” they are going to come up with to make “OUR” money work for us. Yeah I know, ha-ha, it will be more like, “How can we take all their money, use it to our best advantage while leaving them with a pittance and grateful for our help.” One institute gave us three pages of items they needed in order for them to “Better Understand” what our needs were. Many of my replies ended up being, “What do you need this information for?” I mean seriously, why do they need to know how many pets we have and what their names are? Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite that invasive, but it was getting pretty close.

Then, queue dramatic music here, Karson the Cat, is off to get spayed. And for those who know me as a, non-cat person, it will come as a surprise to note that I am a little apprehensive for the critter. I mean she is so tiny and furry and vulnerable. Don’t get me wrong, she is a cat, and as such is a major pain in the ass, sometimes a pain in the hand, or a pain in the ankle when she attacks me and wraps her claw infested legs around me, but nevertheless I kinda feel bad about being the person who makes the decision to inflict pain on her. I had no qualms about taking the hellhound in and having her baby making gear removed, why the hell should I care about a cat? I must be getting all soft and mushy on the inside. Perhaps this last birthday did something to my brain.

Speaking of birthday’s, I recently had one (which reminds me, I still haven’t received the yachts, bearer bonds, new cars, and other offerings from my readers. Fear not, there is still time and I will not think any less of you for getting my presents here late.) Anyway, my hubby, the love of my life, gave me a chain saw for my birthday. I know what you are thinking, “A chain saw? Can you use it on him?” You are thinking that it is not really a very thoughtful present, but you would be wrong, most especially if you knew the thought process which a human male of Anglo-French decent, who grew up enveloped by the chemical stench of a pulp mill intensive town, surrounded by fish, uses. Last week we were out in the bush, working on the trail which will eventually become the back part of the road on our land, he was using his big manly type chain saw and cutting down, big manly type trees, meanwhile I was using a small chain saw doing what is called “limbing & bucking”. His chain saw was cutting through bark, and pulp, and other types of tree guts, mine was like I was using a butter knife to try and saw through branches. There I was sweating up buckets, fogging up glasses, taking life and limb into my hands, but not cutting anything. It would have been faster had I used the chain saw like an ax and tried to chop the damn things off. Or better yet poured the gas out of the saw and dropped a match onto the tree and saw.  So my honey got me a new chain saw. It’s red. It matches my car. It had better work.

Well it looks like my time here is done, I just heard a vehicle pull into the drive. It’s been a slice (for me at least). So until next time when we meet again, “It was a dark and stormy morn. The Writer sat in front of her computer screen pondering the quality of dead hornets caught between the window panes…”