The Waiting Game

Turning 40

Wasn't so horrible--just extremely busy.

Work is always such a strange place. Right now, it's just out of control.The office is closing in on me because car parts are EVERYWHERE. I've been promised that it will be cleaned up, so I can do some cleaning. I figure if I go in Monday and the path to my desk has shrunk in size again, then I'll have to go on strike. Sometimes you have to walk out to get things done.

I went to the funeral home and I can say I was surprised that there weren't a lot of family photos up. There were old pictures from Ohio, the old family home, and the siblings in their younger days. Then there was another set of pictures, and I didn't know any of those people. Like I said before, there was a bit of a family rift. But seriously I expected to see pictures of my mother with my aunt, and the other cousins.

It was nice to see people I hadn't seen in decades. And let me just say, for the record. You are only as young as you feel. A family friend, I kid you not 90 years old, walking, talking, laughing, not hunched over, not slow moving, just as fit as I am was a sight to behold. I can only hope and pray that if I live that long, I will look that amazing. Cousins were joking that they looked the same as they did forty years ago, and back then, it wasn't a good look, but now.........we are all jealous. Most of the family and friends that we know from Ohio, all lived into their upper 80's and beyond. For such a small town, my Dad wants to go down there and start bottling the water.

MarNoWriMo: Well, word count is supposed to be 24,195 by the end of today. I'll never make it. I'm at 19,350. Tomorrow I've decided to take a me day and concentrate on writing, nothing more. So here's a little teaser, then I'm off to write until it's time to rush off and get all the goodies for the birthday bash at 6.

Quinn stood in front of the window, waiting for her news. She probably received another rejection letter for her novel. He laughed, shaking his head. His niece had spunk all right. She graduated from college with a major in English, worked in a library, and spent her free time writing pornography. In his opinion, Erotica was trash that had no plot or literary value. He’d done his best to dissuade her, but she’d grown impatient with the regular romance route. Most erotica’s that he’d skimmed through were poor attempts to make porn pretty. What a joke. He had no doubts that the audience for that literary genre was whores and sex addicts. Cassidy refused to believe that every plot was the same, and didn’t have any substance whatsoever.

“Just call me when you get this. I’d love to have you over for dinner one night this week.” He heard the distinct click of the receiver. She didn’t sound sad or depressed; in fact, he thought he detected some excitement in her voice.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Some fool is going to publish her trash.”

TTFN