So, it went like this: over the Christmas holidays, MSB made plans for a big four-day hunting trip on the homestead in Central Texas with his brother–January 16-19. Big plans. No women allowed.
Really? Aw. Gee.
He barely got the words out of his mouth, and my mind buzzed with plans of my own. Decisions, decisions. Do I want an extensive four-day research session for The Cyrenean or an extensive four-day writing session, with hopes of finishing Corporate Ladder? Either way, I knew I was gonna be one happy author.
I had visions of kissing him goodbye before daybreak on the 17th and spending the remaining time snacking instead of fixing meals and not worrying about dishes or laundry or anything else remotely housewifey for four whole days. I was gonna write! Be productive! Get two books well on their way to “done.”
Then, I heard that the writing group I joined in The Woodlands was going to meet Saturday, January 18. This group is one of the Texas ACFW chapters, and I’d been looking forward to joining them. All the closest chapters are at least two hours away from me, but I figured it was time for me to be in the company of other writers more than once a year. Since I know most of the folks in this group (know as in personally met–which is really nice), I decided to join it.
Well, okay. Two and a half hours there, and two and a half back–five hours plus meeting time out of a four-day working spree. Not too bad. I could do that.
Then, my stepdaughter announced that our delayed Christmas would be held Friday evening, January 17, two and a half hours away, in Bryan.
Well, okay. If I got to Bryan early enough, I could take Mom out to lunch. She’d like that. I’d at least have the 16th to myself. I could leave from Bryan Saturday morning, drive an hour and a half to the meeting in The Woodlands, then two and a half hours home. Then I’d have Sunday to myself (less church time).
January 13th arrives–not too bad a day for a Monday. Totally productive and looking forward to riding the crest until January 20.
January 14th. I feel useless and spend the day on the couch. Has something to do with this stupid cold I’ve been suffering with for over two weeks. But I can afford a day off, because I’m going to have a four-day writing spree.
January 15th. Feeling better, ready to work–but I finally hear from the publisher for The Cat Lady’s Secret. Final copy–proof and return by January 18th. I nab a couple of friends to help and attack it a little half-heartedly myself because, after all, I’m going to have all the time in the world on Thursday the 16th.
January 16th. MSB wakes late, worried about a medical symptom that cropped up the night before.
Well, okay. We can get him to the doctor and find out what’s going on. If it’s nothing, he can go on to his hunt, and I can get a few hours of proofreading in.
Couldn’t get an appointment until 2:00, but we were out by 3:00 with good news. So, MSB, you go to your hunt, and I’ll get to work proofreading.
“I’d be there too late to hunt tonight anyway.”
“Yeah, but you’d be there at the perfect time for your morning hunt.”
“It’ll be too cold. Mid-morning will be fine.”
Well, okay. Get done what I can while there’s a man under foot. Finish Friday before going to Bryan to take Mom out to lunch. She’s looking forward to it. Kiss hubby goodbye before daylight, finish proofreading by 9 a.m., head to Bryan, take Mom to lunch, do Christmas with family, leave Saturday for The Woodlands writer’s meeting, head home, have the rest of Saturday to myself–and only Saturday, because MSB decides he’ll be home for church Sunday the 19th.
January 17. The only one leaving the house at 9:00 is MSB.
He slept late enough that I got some proofreading done, but had about seventy pages left. After he finally hit the road, I called Mom, told her not to wait lunch for me, and went back to work.
About page 300 out of a total of 315, I realize something’s funky in my manuscript. It’s noon, and I’m having to start from the beginning with a “search” function to make note of all the times this previously overlooked funkiness has occurred. I finally finish the manuscript entirely by 1:30.
Hit up Google Maps to be sure I know how to get from Bryan to The Woodlands and back to Nacogdoches. Hit the shower. Do some packing and some major repairs to my overall appearance. It’s after 3 p.m.
Call Mom and postpone seeing her until after the Christmas party.
Most of the drive to Bryan was easy, except for the zillion miles several of us drove following another who couldn’t crank his car faster than 60 in a 75 mph zone. The highway opened up, though, and those of us who wanted to roll took off like jets so we could all have the privilege of jamming up behind a school bus with frequent stops.
Yeah. That was fun.
Christmas party was great. Loved seeing everyone. Loved daughter’s wonderful cooking. Didn’t love hearing that son-in-law and eight-year-old granddaughter were going to the hunt with MSB. Now I wanted to go too, with a camera.
But I’d already paid to hear Jeannie Campbell, “the Character Therapist,” speak in The Woodlands, so I wasn’t going to miss it.
Got to Mom’s and noticed my jeans were wet at my left hip. I thought I’d spilled my water, but no. That horrid fistula that had formed during my bout with Crohn’s Disease decided to erupt and bleed all over me. I thought that sucker was going away, but apparently not.
I shoved my clothes in the washer at Mom’s house, spent the night with her with the intent of drying my clothes in the morning and zooming on down to the meeting. But over night, the flimsy little dressing I’d put over the fistula didn’t hold up and I had more laundry to do–and no more dressings.
So, instead of going to The Woodlands, I did laundry, an errand for Mom, and came home. Checked my dressing at the house, and everything had stopped. The fistula area looked just like it did before I went to Bryan. Dry. Looking like it was healing. Trouble free.
I spent Saturday tired, disappointed, and napping in front of the Hallmark Channel while my friends in The Woodlands heard a terrific speech and had lunch at a wonderful Mexican restaurant, and my husband and granddaughter had a thrilling duck hunt on a perfectly beautiful day.
Well, if my weekend was going to go awry anyway, at least I got to enjoy the best parts: dinner and Christmas with hubs and the family, a short evening visiting with Mom. Maybe I’ll get my four-day, uninterrupted working spree some other time.