Strange dreams this night. First there was a confusing mixture of the last episode from “Dexter” and “CSI” which confused me to some extent. And then, after the monster Boxer woke me up for the second time this morning, I think I had a dream about Posh and Becks, and them needing a nanny for their kid. They have several I believe, but in the dream there was one. Weird.
Don’t know where the heck the dream came from, considering I haven’t been a nanny in…gawd, ten years, and of course the fact that I never met, and rarely even hear about the Beckhams these days.
In the dream they did have a wonderful house, however. It was huge, halfway underground, I believe, filled with plants, large windows, wonderfully eclectic furniture, and a toddler that was really sweet.
Dreams. They’re odd things, when all’s said and done. Take this one for example. What is the use of it? I can understand interesting and adventurous dreams, I even get the scary ones, but these are about as comprehensible as daytime television.
I’m feeling pretty miserable when I wake at my usual time and shove the monster Boxer in the back and let the rest of the dogs out into the yard.
The feeling’s both physical and mental, with no way to explain it or make it go away. I’m actually close to tears, which makes no sense at all as I procrastinate through the morning rituals and then head down to the house.
What with the recent escapes of several pack-members, we planned to do some fence fixing today. Seeing my mood, grandpa and big brother don’t push for me to join them, and leave me in peace while I give Yadzia his extra meal. The poor lab has been loosing weight this past week, and starting to get concerned I use the leftover soup to poor over dog food, bread and whatever else I can find to make a big portion so I can fatten him up a little.
It takes a bit of effort to be able to separate the blond Lab from the rest of my pack, eagerly trying to sneak their way between my legs as I open the pantry door and call for Yadzia to come and eat.
I actually need to wedge Knight II against the wall with my knee, in order to get the Labrador inside without company, and stand there at the door, occasionally chancing a peek inside, for ten minutes while he devours the meal with obvious enthusiasm.
At long last he’s done, wagging his tail like mad and bouncing around me when I take the advantage of Knight II wanting to check out the empty dish by locking him up so he won’t try to bowl me over when I head out into the yard to join big brother and grandpa near the section of the fence where the holes have been made.
They’re pretty much done by the time I arrive, but I do manage to make myself useful by braiding wires through the last hole. Next grandpa and I spend several minutes on the ground, sorting out a pile of bolts and screws that have somehow ended up in the middle of our rocky dirt road, digging it all out and placing it in a plastic bag when the small box that had contained them has obviously been crushed by the truck.
I’m thinking that when we repaired the gate the other day we forgot the box and left it on the middle of the road where it stayed until we left for town on Thursday. I do faintly remember hearing a thud, without being able to identify the cause on that day.
But anyways, once we’ve saved what we can from the supply, I head back down to the house to start on today’s laundry. There’s a nice dry batch, and a wet one to hang, and I do it by rote rather than thinking about it. Routines are marvelous on days such as these, I’ll admit. They allow me not to think about anything and still do my chores.
Since I’m feeling nauseous I don’t have breakfast, and start the day on a glass of orange juice rather than anything more substantial.
The few Sunday messages get worked through after I turn on my computer, and afterwards, big brother and I go over the last few pages we changed yesterday. At long last we declare the vampire story done and I’m more than a little relieved.
Its not like the story is bad or anything. Not at all. The story’s great, but my present mood just doesn’t allow me to enjoy it.
What follows is writing a query letter and a short synopsis. It takes a solid hour, but in the end we both agree that it’s good and transfer everything to big brother’s computer so he can send the entire package out, while I half-heartedly start searching through my files to see if any of the stories draw my attention.
In the end I narrow “my next project” down to two stories. One is a paranormal, drama/thriller, about a psychic who’s reluctant to help the authorities due to some events in the past.
The second one’s a comedy romance, about a writer with disastrous luck, which has made her a famous reporter.
Tough choice, I’ll admit. I would put the question in a survey, to see which would get the most votes, so to speak, but…well, not right now. Maybe later.
Dusk has settled by that time, and I decide to do something, anything, lest I start screaming, or worse. I would call it the screamy/headbangy feeling, but that would be overstating it, I think.
Dinner. It has to be made, and since all the ingredients are available I start preparing a solid chili-sin-carne for this evening’s meal.
The power goes off halfway through the preparation and lasts for fifteen minutes before suddenly turning back on. Looks like it’s going to be another one of “those” nights, I muse while blowing out the oil lamp I lit just minutes earlier and scowl.
It takes little time, and once the meal’s done, I actually manage to choke down a small portion. I’m far too stressed out to calmly digest the food, though, and soon I head on out to the courtyard to get a bucket of soft-yellow paint, so I can start on the wall that we displayed with last night’s demolition.
The paint in the bucket is a bit thick from a full year without use, but after adding some water to make it useable, I start slapping it on the wall. I usually am rather quick at painting, but not today. Since I’m doing this particular chore with the intension of keeping myself busy, I go through the motions slowly and steadily, actually grabbing a chair for the ground level sections and just slapping the paint on.
The electricity goes off again, but I pay it little heat after I light the oil lamp again and continue to paint that way for the next ten minutes of darkness before it switches back on.
By the time I finish with the wall, both sisters have come down and we decide to start tiling the section of the floor that’s bare now that the old counter’s gone.
Back, when it was built the house was barely done with only concrete floors. Since we needed the kitchen sooner than the actual floors, we’d put it in before the tiles, leaving middle sister and me with the not-so-wonderful chore of fitting and matching new tiles into the missing sections.
While middle sister is mixing the glue I get down on the floor to clean it properly before use. There are layers of grime to scrape off, and an actual chisel is needed when I find big lumps of the old glue sticking out from the edges of the tiles already there.
It takes some time to get it all ready but in the end, middle sister takes over the actual laying while I start cutting the tiles we need to fit in. The new ones are not an exact match, but they’re close enough as slowly the biggest part of the concrete is covered.
While we’re in the midst of laying the tiles, the dogs decide to come check out why we’re working on the floor, thus making it necessary for little sister and brother to get a large board to block the part of the kitchen we’re working on. This, of course, is not something the dogs appreciate, and the majority of middle sister’s and my pack are gathered behind the board, occasionally hopping up to peer at us with miserable expressions on their faces.
Finished with the section of the floor that was planned for today’s laying, we move to the counter, and use the remainder of the glue on the cooking side of the kitchen, where small blue and white tiles will cover the wall.
It is close to midnight when we’re finally done, and the other sibs join us in the cleanup. There’s a small disaster while we’re shifting the protective board to lay it over the newly laid tiles, however. My pack is eager to join me in the large niche that was closed off for a full two hours, and while they’re crowding close, little Dax’s paw somehow ends up under the board big brother and I are putting over the tiles.
Now this wouldn’t have been a big deal if Yadzia, Chaos and Amri–all big and heavy dogs–hadn’t decided to bounce right on top of the board big brother and I just barely manage to keep from smashing right down to the floor…and therefore sparing poor Dax some serious damage.
There is a lot of noise when the Pocket Beagle (Dax) squeals, and the rest of my pack thinks that there’s some excitement going on, but in the end the paw gets freed and calm returns.
Once cleanup is done, I eat a few crackers with apricot jelly before big brother and I spend about an hour at the kitchen table discussing the possibilities for the next book project.
With the arrival of one in the morning I call it a day and head to my quarters.
Sleep. It is all I really want at this time.
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