The bed tempts me.
It calls to me like an irresistible lover. The comforter wrapping its arms around me. The pillow caressing my hair. A sweetness I hold so dear. I step out of the shower and the clock reads 8:25 am. "Half of success is waking up early," crosses my mind. Who the hell said that, anyway? But I know it holds at least a partial truth. "I wish I could just sleep for another half an hour," I thought. But that would just tease my longing. I rationalize. It was just five hours ago that I woke up and fed the baby. Another one and half hours of sleep before that. Six and a half hours... That's enough. Damnit. This all could have been avoided if I hadn't woken up to a hungry baby being laid next to me in bed. The mere redemption of such an awakening was almost worth going back to bed.
I make a large pot of coffee.
Things to do. Things to do. This time of economic downturn is directly affecting almost everyone I know. The only way to survive is to stay on top of things. Don't relax too much, or it could all slip right out from under you.
The day is spent work hunting. Alana takes Jackson to daycare on her way to work, and I sit down in my office and scour the internet. In the last couple weeks I have discovered, (a) nobody is else is working either, and (b) I need a reel. I had it listed on my whiteboard in my office, but it moved up a couple spots to priority. And the script I've been writing is almost ready. I've been reserving the afternoons to work on it, after I exhaust my resources and energy for the day looking for real work. And lately, I stay up after the wife and kid hit the sack and work on it some more. It's about a couple of teenage kids, spending the weekend at a lake house with their parents, who find an abandoned camp ground in the middle of the woods. They break into the chapel and unlock a terrifying secret. I had a dream about five years ago. Jumped me clear out of bed in the middle of the night. I never do this, like a writer is supposed to, but I grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down my dream. Several months later I put a story around it. I picked it up again about eight months ago to revise. It is a story my mother would hate, and would make my father question my redemption. I have high hopes for it.
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1 comment:
Your writing style has a clear, narrative quality. very engaging and honest.
I'd love to read the script when it is done.
BTW, i hope your father worries about his own 'redemption' and not yours.
hmmm. what *would* your mother write if she gave herself permission. i think we would all be surprised.
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