I sat down to write, and was doing alright, except that "Judge Judy" was loudly playing on the TV in the waiting room (one of these irritating manufactured drama courtroom shows is always playing when I go to Jiffy Lube), and it was hard to concentrate on my story, which was so near the end, I felt like one of those cops due to retire in a couple of days. If I had to guess, I'd say I had two paragraphs to go, when I was told the car was done.
As always happens, they came out to give me a litany of things I could choose to have done on my car, from a special windshield spray to a new bulb in my headlight, from the usual new air filter to a seventy dollar flush of my brake fluid. They do this every time I get my oil changed (I mean it, if I had a million dollars for every time they've not tried to push extra services on me, I'd have zero dollars), but have never been so aggressive as they were today--even telling me I have an oil leak . . . which turned out to just be a loose bolt on the oil pan.
After that, I ran over to the dollar store, to grab some soap and laundry detergent and air fresheners for my mom (as well as to see if they had any boxes I could scrounge. Skip ahead to the end: they didn't), but before I went in, I forced myself to sit and write the story through to "the" and "end."
That doesn't mean it's a good story, but hey, it means it's a finished story, and that was one of my goals for the month of May (the others included recording "Three Time Visitor" and doing a thousand sit-ups . . . which may have been a bit on the easy side**).
Unfortunately, it was only around six hundred words, and even though I am not sharing Big's goal of writing a thousand words a day, I was proud of myself for averaging at least that every single day in February, March, and April. This is the first month I've fallen below that, so I'm trying to work on my Dead & Breakfast story . . . but I'm not feeling it. Still, I made myself do it, and wrote a little scene where Mason and Natalie talk about the various ghosts they've seen (he's spoken to five or six of them, while she's only ever talked to one), and before I knew it, I'd exceeded my goal.
Sit-ups Today: 50
Sit-ups Total: 265
Words Today: 1204
Words In May: 7030
Words Total: 128,259
P.S. Guess I'm still posting one of these each day:
Day 37. "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler (technically, it made Fake Sean Connery cry)
*The bitter words of my father come back to me--"You are NOT to drive that car with it not registered"--which he said to me even though I was already an adult at that point (I originally typed "I was already a grown man," but let's be honest, huh? I see pictures of me from that era (like this one of me and Bill Smitrovich), and I look like an eleven year old with a fake beard glued on. No wonder that A.D. wanted to kick me off the set of "The West Wing" three years later.
**The dude and dudette that just got engaged and are doing Vlogs about their hours leading up to getting married (oh, did I mention they got engaged in April and the wedding is in June? Yeah) are both religious and/or exercise fanatics, and both recorded part of their daily workout as part of this week's video. Watching the guy--who looks like a Ken doll brought to life by the great-granddaughter of Victor Frankenstein--exercise in his home gym prompted me to ask, "Would I do this, if it would net me a wife that seems like the great-grandson of Victor Frankenstein started animating department store mannequins?"
Well, sure. Duh. I go running every night, rain or shine, and that is for absolutely no reward but the feel of fresh sweat on my face. Maybe those two get a pre-sexual thrill out of running or boxing or lifting weights. Wonder when the gyms start opening.
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