Where the Hell Am I?

My head swims with ideas all the time, particularly when I’m driving. I’m currently lost in C-Ville, trying to find the Omni. I hate one-way streets. God, I am SO “country come to town.” I’m going be late for my big day!

I’m late quite often because I miss exits and turn-offs. I stay lost, both literally on the road and metaphorically in thought. I’m constantly mulling over book titles, plots, plans, lines, and characters so much so that I occasionally screw things up. Like the freakin’ census. I figured out the format to answer the questions about each family member, then I switched to autopilot for family members two, three, and four. My brain was contemplating the next part in a story I’m working on. I was in the middle of a climactic plot twist while filling in the information on family member number 4.

“Crappit!” I shouted, as I realized I had filled in my own daughter’s name wrong.

This led to a minor domestic with my husband who made some crack about how he didn’t know how I could POSSIBLY SURVIVE when I couldn’t even fill out a FORM correctly. I went off about how he could possibly SAY something like that when I worked so HARD and he was welcome to fill out the damn census but he always had ME do those things blah, blah, blah. I fixed the census and stomped off dramatically to take a shower. Once the warm water hit me, I traveled easily back to my story. I loved my plot twist. I was completely immersed when I heard the door open.

“Will you be joining us for dinner anytime soon?” he asked. “We’re all waiting for you.”

I remembered that I was supposed to be angry. I remained silent.

“Why do you make such a big deal out of everything I say?” he asked. “I was just KIDDING!”

I went on about him having diarrhea of the mouth and opening his mouth and unleashing STOOOOPID and such like that. But the whole thing suddenly struck me as funny. I peeked around the shower curtain and noticed that he, too, was having a hard time maintaining the ticked off countenance. I don’t remember which one of us laughed first, but a genuine snort-fest ensued. It’s a fact that my husband has no tact.

But what he said was true. How do I survive? I wonder if they make literary ADD medicine. I guess I could be a prime candidate. But then, how would I get through the mundane parts of the daily grind? Laundry is way more fun when you’re writing a children’s book in your head or communing with unseen characters you have yet to bring to life. If I opened up my head and examined the contents, it would look disturbingly like an Amazon Kindle commercial, except the background music wouldn’t be as sweet.

So, yes, I may appear lost to you, but I know exactly where I am. As far as locating my car keys, cell phone, or underwear, that’s another matter entirely.