Screamy/headbangy/ichy feeling

Got to bed too late again no matter how hard I tried getting there in time. It is peculiar to say the least: Here I was, five O’clock in the morning, all done; teeth brushed, pjs on, everything that needed to be done, done and yet I didn’t get to sleep until six thirty for some unfathomable reason.
I can’t understand it, but every time I try to get to bed early, I find I need to do this, and that and that, until I find the clock having speeded up somehow, twisting the laws of reality.

I feel weird right now, as if the world has gone topsy-turvy somehow. Nothing appears to make sense. I can’t focus. There seems to be a constant buzz in my head that makes my focus swirl out into all directions, giving everything a non-realistic sort of essence. Like I’m not really here, or that my surroundings aren’t, or that I’m still dreaming. Yes, It feels exactly like that: Fragments that make no sense whatsoever. A nightmare, dammit. Sounds are too loud, yet almost inaudible or incomprehensible. Colors too bright, yet I need to squint to see. Out of focus, it seems to be the state of my world tonight.

What on earth is going on, I wonder. It’s like I’m on the brink of waking up…and all things considered I really hope I do…fast. It’s one of those days on which I don’t know whether to cry, laugh hysterically, scream or bang my head against the wall. I can’t explain it, really. It’s just…weird.

I better get back to the day before I smash my computer from sheer insanity or maybe toss it on the floor, just to see how it feels to stamp it a little.

Where was I? Right, waking up. So anyways, I go to house, do my usual thing and then get to work on the manuscript for a final check. I’m still supposed to write the query letter, which is impossible to do since reading through the last pages again, just to make sure, takes more time than was the plan.
We’re happy with the end result at the end of two read-out-loud hours, deciding that the latest work might very well be a Literary Orgasm. Hah.

Around five we have to head out. It’s grocery day, so what lies ahead is going from one shop to the next, piling everything into the cart, then move it to the car and then into the house.

First stop, the telephone store. We’ve acquired quite a few points on our contract and we need to get a new phone. Regretfully we forget the actual phone on which we need to send and receive a message in order to buy another phone on points, and that just when we’ve managed to remember everything else we had to bring along. It will have to be done tomorrow.

Next stop; the Chinese store. It is a big chain that has places all over town, offering bargain prices for pretty much anything. Two new laundry baskets, a handful of underwear, kitchen utensils, scented oils, incense, and other necessities later, we are standing in front of the cash register where this tiny Chinese girl is tallying up the total. Suddenly we notice her face getting red and tears are pooling in her eyes.

She bravely continues her task, not looking at us and obviously at the verge of a complete breakdown from…whatever it is that’s bothering her. Her brother, or husband, arrives, and speaks to her in harsh tones while we try to pretend that we don’t notice her obviously shaky equilibrium. It is a rather sad sight, really, but what can you do as a first time customer?

I don’t know what the guy says to her–they are talking Chinese of course–but it doesn’t have the best effect on her. Her head goes down another notch, tears now actually streaming down her cheeks, while she still continues to gather our purchases, putting them in bag but now with the guy looking over her shoulder and hissing at her. By the time she has everything bagged she practically flees from the front of the store, disappearing from sight. The guy calls something after her, his tone not particularly friendly or comforting, after which we are exchanging “what the he…” glances and pay for our stuff.

The scene is the main subject of conversation while we head deeper into town. The first supermarket gets hit then. A few supplies that only this store offers, and forty bucks lighter, along with a rented DVD from the store beside it, we return to the car for the next store.
The Miramar center’s, Iceland. Some extras are necessary for the next two weeks or so, that are best bought at bargain prices.

Fifth stop is Miramar shopping center, just a mile down the road, where little sister and I make a quick trip to the pet store. We need Chinchilla sand, turtle food, and food with nutritional supplements for our parrot. It is a matter of running in and out, really.

At long last the biggest chore of the day has arrived. The supermarket! With the three of us, big brother, little sister and I take out two carts and start piling the necessary groceries for the next two weeks into them. It is quite a bit, every time, but in the end we get it all done and finally head on home.

First things first: Unpacking. It takes a good hour to get everything from the car to the house and into the cabinets, the fridge and drawers. We’re all pretty much finished, both mentally and physically by then, but a meal needs to be made–by yours truly– after which I settle down behind the computer and start writing my query letter.

I’m amazed I actually manage it. In particular since the screamy/headbangy/ichy feeling is slowly rising to the fore by now.
Indiana Jones part four is playing on the DVD while I’m at it, but since the story is unable to hold my attention I write down the necessities and then send out the manuscript towards the appropriate publisher and keep my fingers crossed.

Sure, it’s good, but you never know what an editor is going to think. It is a nerve-wrecking and nail-biting part of any author’s life, really, the waiting, the interminable waiting, the endless waiting, which in many cases ends with a “no response” or a standard “no this story won’t fit in our current list” or some such line.

So wait I shall. No other choice really. With my nerves jumping I switch the computer to standby and decide to attempt focusing on the movie instead. Impossible! It appears to be a jumbled, grab all cliché’s, badly cut, directed and written film that I hope I didn’t interpret right due to my mood. Seriously, I haven’t felt inclined to shut a movie off since…well, in years, but for a moment there I was seriously tempted.
There seemed to be entire scenes missing, and for the sake of this movie I truly hope that this was due to my state of mind rather than the actual quality.

It seemed like a friggin’ kiddy movie, and a bad one at that. Scenes slabbed in there to make it funny when it wasn’t, action sequences that were so totally out there in the realm of fiction that for a moment I was actually baffled.
I don’t remember the last Indiana Jones’ being that bad. The Temple Doom certainly wasn’t the best in the row but this one…Ouch.
The idea was marvelous, and it could have been a totally awesome movie if some lunatic hadn’t hacked out any and all scenes that would have made it all make sense (or at least that’s what I think happened) it just didn’t…make sense that is, none of it, and like I said, I truly hope it was my mind that made it so.

Considering that I can’t follow either Dead Like Me, or Frasier either, I’m thinking that it’s the screamy/headbangy/ichy thing messing with my head, so I try to wipe my frustration about the movie aside and focus on other more important things: Such as heading towards my cabin.

What with my equilibrium not working well at all, neither mentally nor physically I am careful heading up the mountain, my dogs enthusiastically leading the way while I just barely manage keep myself from falling flat on my face, right before reaching my porch. Bommel and Sitabah are having their usual tussle right in the center of the path, almost knocking me over.
I hiss my disapproval at them–not being my most literate self at the moment–hoisting the computer bag that seems to become heavier every day, back across my chest, and throw the door open to let the dogs burst inside.

The first thing I do, after lighting the lamps, is try to get my stereo to work. What with the increasing cold it won’t run at the press of a button, but needs to be restarted time and again. I am starting to get seriously frustrated by the time the dogs are fed and I have cleared away the three bags with shopping supplies. The silence is allowing my mind to start thinking, which at this point could very well be disastrous. So, while I start singing Katie Melua’s “Just Like Heaven” just to fill the voice, I give the dratted machine a firm smack on the face and am pleased to find it functioning two minutes later.

With BA belting about “The Only Thing That Looks Good On Me” (Is You) I release a relieved sigh and settle in for the night.