The Scribble Pad
The mental meanderings of a slightly loose screw.
Saturday May 31 - Happiness is a bumblebee
I never thought a bumblebee could make me happy. Just goes to show ya. I've been encountering trials and tribulations in my garden, with the aphids eating just about everything with a pulse (slight exaggeration, given that plants don't have pulses, but you know what I mean).
Being a peaceable, reasonably eco-sensitive person I did the organic thing and sprayed with soap, onion juice, garlic juice, paraffin, the works. Zip. My garden was just one grand ole bug buffet.
Two days ago I threw in the towel, drove towel-less to the plant store, and bought a sprayer and an armload of insecticide. Yeah, I sprayed the garden. And I did so with a heavy heart.
Given that I only have three 5'x9' vegetable patches, that didn't exactly make me one of Hitler's minions, but I did accidentally spray a ladybug, who I immediately moved to a safe branch with the prayer that she'd live through it, and a gorgeous black bumblebee who for ages has made a nightly nest in the patch of dirt which, as of tomorrow, will become my personal cornfield.
She buzzed off angrily, more pissed off than harmed, but I went to bed feeling like a murderer. I've been protecting and admiring this bee for the longest time, making sure to avoid her nest when digging and enjoying her company (albeit staying out of her way) on evenings when she came home to nest.
Next morning I trudged out and began making the customary pointless holes in my backyard, trying not to look at her empty nest so I wouldn't feel like too much of a beast, when behold and lo, she rose like a phoenix from the ashes. On joy! I squealed, "Oh, it's you!" like the moron that I am, as happy as pig.
So for those of you who read my stuff and ask yourself, "is this woman simple-minded or what?" you now have the answer.
Yes. Yes, I am.
Tuesday May 27 - Almost normal
I had an almost normal day today. I dropped the tile rodents off to school, did my banking, handled some insurance matters, booked my daughter's birthday party and spent several hours editing a novel for a client.
Nice. Mundane. Normal. Except for the half dozen times when I remembered my father, and once again I found myself in the driver's seat of his car, spinning out of control, and I slam into that wall and feel the whole car folding in on me like a submarine at crush depth. And every time it's like a kick to the center of my chest.
But today wasn't all that bad. It was almost normal.
Wednesday May 21 - Finding my faith again
I finished the first draft of my new romance today. Normally that would be grounds for a drinking binge (which for me would be one glass of Bailey's) but my celebration is a little more low-key this time around.
These past few months have been a little sobering; when I came home on my leave of absence I was convinced that nothing could go wrong, and that this year was going to be my year.
I didn't count on my father dying, of course, and it's only been a month, so that's raw as hell.
But I also didn't count on my newest book not being slated to come out next year (big mix-up; don't ask) which means that I will be going 2 years without a new release. And I didn't count on having a new book proposal pending for 7 months.
The result is that sometimes it's hard to go on writing, and hard to believe that things will get better. The answer, I guess, is to find something to believe in. I believe I'm a good writer, whether anyone else does or not. For the time being, until things take a turn for the better, I guess that will just have to do me.
Thursday May 15 - Would a 'Me' day really kill me?
You know, when I first came home on this ill-advised work-at-home lark, I promised myself I'd carve out one day a week just for me. You know, relax at home, bake cookies, have a pedicure and a facial, stay sane. That sort of thing.
And then the anxiety of producing enough work to live on caught up to me and next thing I knew, I was calculating how much money I'd potentially lose if I stopped writing for just one hour, much less one day.
I planned to take a day off today. I've been under so much stress, losing so much sleep, and I know that if I don't do something about it now my kids will suffer, as will I. So all week I've been planning a 'Me' day today. Planning and dreading. Dreading it so much that it brings a knot to my stomach.
Why am I so high-strung that the thought of doing nothing brings me to the brink of throwing up? Is it my Protestant work ethic? The echo of my father's voice, saying "Time is money?"
But I'm going to do it. I'm going to lie in bed and read a book, and have that pedicure, maybe even a facial...if it kills me.
Friday May 9 - In de Gayelle
Had a very nice interview at Gayelle the Channel this morning. We talked about Dear Rita and a whole lot else. I always enjoy being on and watching their shows; they're so rootsy and relaxed. If only we could get around the wake up at 4:00 a.m. thing...
The painful thing about the day was my route into town. My father died at the very entrance into Port of Spain, and it's only been my second trip in there since. I passed the spot: someone's tried to repair the huge hole he put in their wall. It hasn't been painted, so the scar is there, and ugly gray gash in the white tiled concrete. The last time I passed it I was so anxious I almost threw up in the car. This time I was moved to tears.
I arrived at the TV station at about 5:40, almost an hour before I was due on. I sat in the empty lobby as the sun came up, just me and the security guard and thought about that hole in the wall and shed my first tears, hoping none of the staff popped out and caught me there streaking up my makeup, and thought: My God, we've booked a crazy women! Think she's dangerous?
But I cleaned up okay, went on as scheduled and did a double segment. Had lots of fun doing it; even had a rant at the cops and a belch at the government over the situation of poor women today, and then went on my way. I don't think anybody could tell.
Tuesday May 6 - Grieving for a spider
As you can imagine, my garden has gone to pot over the past few weeks, so I decided to go get it back to rights again. Weeding, tilling, re-drawing my rows it the dirt. You know.
I unearthed a little brown spider. Not one of the big beastly ones that run around my house and impair my cardiac health, with footfalls as loud as stormtroopers; this one was literally a common household or garden spider.
And even though my mind was screeching for me to stop, I did what my arachnophobic instincts told me to do. I whacked it with my spade like a mafia don. It survived the whacking...for as long as it took me to go after him and finish him off.
And now I feel like a skunk. Not only did I wipe out a little creature that wasn't doing me the slightest bit of harm, but I also shot myself in the foot, agriculturally speaking. I, who practically live on my pesticide-free, environment-friendly high horse, and who have been tearing out my luxuriant (and alarmingly graying) hair over the influx of vegetable-chomping beasticules in my garden. I whacked the biggest natural enemy of said beasticules into a green-blooded pulp. Great. Who's gonna kill my bugs now?
Idjit!
