I report from Third Place. Day 6 of NaNoWriMo. Long lunch. Writing writing writing.
I have an alarming amount of text composed. Apparently there was a floodgate. Apparently that floodgate is open. It’s pretty satisfying, just to write write write.
I have, three times in six days, gotten up before dawn to write before work. That is atypical behavior. I am the sleeper who sets her alarm for a reasonable time every morning, and then hits the snooze alarm four times after that before managing to roll out from under the covers, and all hell breaks loose for thirty minutes before I leave the house. My morning self is irresponsible, irrational, barely tolerable. My morning self is currently doing a day’s worth of writing in the forty-five minutes before I leave for work. This is surreal.
I’m writing everywhere else, too. Last night I took my laptop to Saxapahaw and wrote during dinner, and then wrote in the corner of the upstairs coffee shop at the ballroom until the opening act started. Can’t say that it was super-productive, in that long-lost friends and people I didn’t know alike wandered over a few times to ask what I was writing and compliment my computer decal (Etsy, $12, I recommend.) But that’s fine. I wrote.
This morning I am bleary-eyed (too much writing) and could not make my contacts work before daylight. I tried, and blinked at the computer realizing I couldn’t make out any words, and I tried swapping the contacts, and that was no better, I just couldn’t get my optometry in order. Now it’s a Lisa Loeb day here at Carolina Gypsy. Or a Tina Fey day. Or a Naughty Librarian day, whatever version of glasses-wearing female does it for you. (Judge me any way you like, but only if you also made it through middle school with glasses and braces. Those of us who made it through middle school with glasses and braces may always be closer to “geek chic” than “prom queen.” The only time I was ever mildly groped by a stranger at the Pour House was while I was wearing naughty librarian glasses, so whatever. It must not be all bad. A girl has to play the hand she’s dealt.)
And so. Must type many hundreds of words before lunch hour expires, and then I’ll spend the evening biting my nails and wringing my hands with the rest of the nation. May goodness and decency prevail. I trust you’ve already voted. Happy Election Day, all.