I Got Got Got No Time

That about sums it up for me. No time for my blog. No time to read yours. And, alas, no time to even write this week.

Tomorrow, a holiday, is more of the same. No time left for you, my dear manuscript. But soon, real soon.

Why? Because I'm working three day jobs, darn it! Yes, they're all part time, but still. Plus, there's this little matter of sleep. I must have eight hours or I'm a walking zombie and no fun to be around, even for myself.

Hmm, Tuesday is the day. I commit to carving out at least four uninterrupted hours to write. That should net me at least 1000 words, maybe more. I finished Part I last Sunday. And have the beginning of Part II in mind. Now to just sit down and flesh it out, let it unfold.

To my blogger buddies, I see your titles and blurbs fly by on my dashboard, and, oh how I want to read your posts. One day, one day soon, I know I'll be able to sit and catch up. But in the meantime, I have something to look forward to.

Till next time...

Cave Crickets, Bugs and The Census

The other night, I woke to the sound of Bugsy eating something on the floor beside the bed. Like most cats, he has no couth about eating; he smacks, chomps and eats with his mouth open and is just as noisy when he laps water. So his food and water are in the kitchen.

Curious, I turned on the overhead light and found him eating a cave cricket. Ugh. Half of it was gone and he seemed to be struggling with the obscenely long legs still attached to the other half. For those of you who have never encountered a cave cricket, hope that you don't. They typically live in caves (hence the name) or other dark places. Like basements. These are not the common, cute little field crickets that chirp and bring to mind Jiminy Cricket. No, these ugly critters belong to a different family altogether. My last run-in with a cave cricket was during my growing up years, in our basement in Villa Rica. It is one of the few insects that truly makes me shudder.

I'd forgotten how many bugs live in Georgia. And how prolific they are, especially during the rainy season. When I lived in Southern California, people used to ask me if I liked the fact that it was relatively bugless. Having discovered those little blackflies that hang out around water (which is just about everywhere in SoCal), and having been bitten like the dickens on numerous occasions, garnering welps big enough to make me call poison control, I'd look at them cross-eyed and say, "Bugless? You've GOT to be kidding." And if you need to deal with pesky flies, check out the Tips Bulletin's natural fly remedies.

HAHA! Joke's on me. How could I possibly have forgotten about the cornucopia of bugs that live, thrive and bedevil those of us living on the East Coast? Specifically, in my case, North Georgia.

We have these huge, black carpenter ants that run around like crazies, doing something or another on the deck. They seem to be particularly adept at finding their way in to the house. And scorpions, yikes. Another loathsome insect that sends chills up my spine. One had the audacity to run across my bedroom floor the other night when I was sitting right there. I smacked it with my notebook and stomped it with glee. Out of my house, sucka! A couple of days ago, I encountered another one on the wall by the washing machine. So I smashed it. With a flip flop.

Darn basement. It's bringing all kinds of unsavory creatures in to my house.

Yesterday morning, whilst sitting for meditation minding my own business, I got buzzed by a mosquito doing a fly by. It was probably part of the advance guard of the droves that are sure to visit this year. There are plenty more bugs, like the fruit flies, but I'll leave those for a later story.

Back to the illustrious cave cricket. I'm working late hours with the census this week. Supposedly, it's easiest to catch people at home in the evenings. Assuming they have the common courtesy to answer their door. Most don't. (I hope you're not one of them.)

Two nights ago, I rolled in at 9:00 p.m. Bugsy didn't greet me, as he usually does. I found him in his hidey-hole in the closet, loved him up, then let him sleep while I watched the season finale of Brothers & Sisters. Later on, when he didn't come to bed, I dragged him out. He acted droopy and kept licking his lips and swallowing.

Yesterday, it was worse. He was gagging and wretching. He barfs up grass and stuff all the time, so I wasn't terribly concerned. But this was different. So I googled. He wasn't exhibiting the signs and symptoms of distemper or any other scary cat illness. It didn't seem to be a hairball attack. His appetite and thirst were intact. He went outside and chased birds and squirrels, so no lethargy. He didn't seem to have a fever. The only symptom was the gagging every time he ate or drank. So I decided to watch and wait.

In the afternoon, I talked to a patient who runs a kennel and has worked with vets and kennels most of her life. She told me how to determine if he'd been bitten by one of those danged old bugs. Or a spider. Negatory. She confirmed my wait and watch,

Then I told her about his late night cave cricket snack. Aha! That was it. Apparently, they have pincers on those scary legs. She figures he upchucked one and it stuck in his throat. And assured me it would dissolve. So I'm waiting and watching. And feeling empathy for my little kitty. At least I know it's not serious and that he'll live.

I, on the other hand, may not. This census stuff is killing me. In a figurative way, of course. I am NOT having loads of fun. And I'm getting tired of being yelled at by people just for doing my job.

People, please. If a census worker calls you, be nice. Answer their questions. They, too, are just doing their job. If they knock on your door, please answer. Ignoring them is costing you, and the rest of us, taxpayer dollars. When you ignore them they have to call and/or come back. And they're getting paid. Time and mileage. If you're in the boonies, like most of my addresses, you're costing us even more.

This is my message to this morning's screamer.

You don't have the decency to answer my knocks, or my calls, or to pick up the phone and call me back. Yet you scream at me on the phone, like a big, fat baby, when I call you for the fifth or six time. I've made six or seven times trips to your house in the middle of the woods, got out of bed early in the morning and had to stay out late in the evening trying to find you at home. PUHLEASE! Get a clue! Look in the mirror and yell at the person who is REALLY being offensive.

There. I've said it. Now I'm done. Do your duty and answer. It's much less painless for all concerned. There are people, like me, coming behind the enumerators. It's called Quality Control. Be courteous. Be nice. Joke with them. Lighten up. 'Cause the fact is, I'll be back. I might even have a cave cricket in my pocket.

To my screamer, I pray that you be blessed this rainy season.

Pictures from top to bottom: cave cricket; carpenter ant; brown scorpion; blood-sucking mosquito; Bugsy with last season's strawberries on his face (ain't he a crack-up!)

Flirt Fest Blogfest, I Had To!

The gals over at Critique This WIP are hosting a Flirt Fest Blogfest today. I had decided not to participate in another blogfest until I get this manuscript rolling forward again, but here I am, unable to resist. After all, it's a Flirt Fest!!!





Make sure and click over to Critique This and read all the other entries in the Flirt Fest, there are some truly amazing writers over there.

I'm posting another scene from my current WIP (work in progress for my non-writer readers). In this one our main character, Sammy, just stepped off a plane and is feeling particularly vulnerable.

Fighting the tears that threatened again, Sammy shook them off and threw a brilliant smile at the man who had just deplaned. Tall and lanky with broad shoulders, dark hair and flashing eyes, he was just what her bruised ego needed. He looked crisp and fresh in black-on-black Armani, in spite of the five-hour flight across the country.

“Cherie,” he grinned, “you here for long?”

“Don’t know,” she replied, tossing silken hair from a pixie face that held sad, green eyes.

Lanky waited a beat for Sammy to fall in beside him. She had a designer bag over one shoulder and towed a laptop and carry-on behind her.

“May I?” He asked, reaching for the carry-on.

“I’ve got it, thanks,” she flashed another of those almost-famous smiles. “You changing planes? Coming home?”

The report of her stiletto heels rang through the concourse, blending with the symphony of Hartsfield. One PA announced an arriving Delta flight, another, a last boarding call.

Lanky paced her, smitten. She knew that look.

“I’m just passing through. My next flight’s out of Concourse B. And you?” he asked.

“Oh, just visiting,” Sammy shrugged and stepped on to the escalator descending to the tram.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, close behind. “I have a couple of hours to kill before my next flight.”

Sammy hesitated. What was another hour or two? She could use the diversion. When she’d called Daddy after landing, he’d said Mama was sleeping.

“No, handsome, I’d better not,” she concluded. “I have to grab a rental car and head north. Don’t want to get in too late.”

“Mon Cherie, are you sure?” he implored. “It’s early. One hour. No more.”

Laughing, Sammy waggled her head and gave him a little pout. “No, Handsome. I’m sorry.”

The tram pulled up and after everyone had gotten off, Lanky extended his arm for her to board. Sammy stepped in, chose a center pole and wrapped her arms and leg around it. The dark man took another and watched her with jet-black eyes, a speculative smile on his lips.

He was certainly a sight to behold. Too bad she didn’t have time to play. But still, she was tempted.

The tram announcement interrupted her thoughts. "The next station is concourse B. The color-coded maps and signs in the vehicle match the station colors. Please move to the center of the vehicle and away from the doors. Please hold on. This vehicle is now leaving the station."

When Lanky edged over to share her pole, Sammy unwrapped enough to give him a handhold.

“One little kiss, Cherie?” he leaned in and whispered.

“Non,” Sammy giggled. Then sighed. Oh, it felt good to be pursued. Even if only for a while.

“The train is approaching Concourse B. Please hang on.”

“Just one?” his breath tickled her ear.

“Non, s'il vous plait, non. Stop teasing.”

“Ah, mademoiselle, my heart breaks.”

“We have now arrived at Concourse B. The doors are opening. Please exit the tram.”

“Your stop, handsome,” Sammy said. “Have a great flight. And thanks for the offer.”

Lanky chuckled, leaned closer and planted a warm kiss on her lips, his eyes never leaving hers. Then moving away, he stepped to the door and stood, watching her.

“Au revior, mon amour,” he laughed, stepping off the tram, and waved as he turned to go.

“Bye,” Sammy waved, green eyes sad again, watching him though the closing doors.

“Bye,” she whispered.

A big thanks to Merissa, Julie, Margaret and Courtney, the aspiring romance authors who fuel Critique This, for hosting this blogfest. Don't forget to click over to read the other entries to their Flirt Fest Blogfest.