Every time I do laundry, I find myself singing Barry Manilow's "Copacabana." This has been going on for months, and I don't know why. There must be something in my laundry room that triggers this reaction. I'll let you know if I ever figure out what it is.
"Her name was Lola..."
Yesterday was one of the strangest days I've had in a while. I was doing my long shift -- 6.5 hours at the office downtown to be followed by five hours at the clinic. I got the day off to a great start by tripping on my way up the escalator coming out of the bus tunnel. It didn't have to happen at all! It's an escalator! I could have just stood there and made it to the top eventually. Instead, though, I opted to rush. I caught my boot heel on a step, fell, and dropped my purse and lunch. I have bruises on both knees and on my right hand. It was so freaking embarrassing. I smiled and waved at everyone behind me, then took off again so I could get way ahead of them and blend into the crowd on the street level.
After I got to work, I received numerous phone calls from family and friends. Perhaps the most alarming was a joint call from my mom and stepdad who were both high, high, HIIIIIGH after a long weekend away at a, um, (non-religious) seminar thingy. The call with my mom started like this:
Me: Hello?
Mom: HI!!!!!!!!!!!! And how are yooooou doing today?
Me: Um, fine. You?
Mom: Fab-U-lous. I am fabulous, thank you for asking!!!!!!!!!
Me: ...
Shortly thereafter, my usually-non-talkative stepdad said he wants to pay for all of us kids to have life coaching because it will change our lives! Because we deserve it! Because it's just so great and he can't even explain it!
After getting off the phone, I tried to guess whether they'd drunk the Kool-Aid or had joined the Blue Ribbons and donned letterman's jackets. It kind of freaked me out.
Then I decided I might want to do it anyway. It will be especially wacky fun if Lindsey, Linda, Robby, and I carpool to the event together. I do love me some family therapy.
Later, my best friend called and tried to use her attorney ways to convince me to give her permission to do something crazy. I spent my lunch doing my best therapist impersonation by asking questions and using empathy and everything--in addition to flat-out telling her that I'm never going to say it's okay. She pretended to listen, but I know she's going to do it anyway and it will go badly.
After that, my sister called to tell me something crazy that our other sister plans to do. I couldn't get too worked up over it. Especially since I was hearing it second hand.
Meanwhile, there was snow conditions that went on for hours and were like, Oh, hello blizzard! followed five to ten minutes later with clear, sunny skies. There was panic (from everyone except me) over whether we'd hold classes that night. (We did.)
And, well, yeah. I think that's all I have. It was a lot at the time, though. Now I just need to get back to my revisions.
“I wish things could be how they were before,” she said, tugging on her pigtails. “I mean, you and I have known each other our whole lives. I’m over at your house all the time, so we’re still going to see each other. It doesn’t even make sense that we can’t get past everything.”
By “everything,” I assumed she was also including the drama she’d caused for all of us with the Isaac/Daniel thing—and, of course, the sex that we never should have had.
“It isn’t like you’ve given me much of a chance,” I said. “It’s only been a week since my show and you keep turning up and being all ‘Lover’ this and ‘Lover’ that. Maybe what happened was no big deal for you, but it’s weird for me, okay? I feel like a complete dick.”
She dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips and wiped the black splotches from her makeup onto her skirt. “You do? How come?”
There was no way to say the whole truth without pissing her off, so I admitted only part of it, “Because of Isaac.”
“Oh.” She seemed to consider for a few seconds. “Okay, well, stop it. Because wherever Isaac is right now, I think he wants you to move on with your life. Isaac wants you to get some and be happy.”
“Not with you, he doesn’t.”
.
Yesterday, I posted all excited because I was going to be done revising by the end of the weekend. Exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point.
Yeah. It's not going to happen. Funny how that turned out.
I took another look at the scene I added last week, read Agent's notes again, and realized I'd missed the mark with it. I spent all day working through that and I'm still not quite done. Then I have Stuff to do with my husband this afternoon, and I'll be working twelve hours on Monday. So, Tuesday is the soonest I'll be back to the bowling alley mess.
I would love it if I could listen to whatever I wanted while writing/revising these scenes. That would be FANTASTIC.
Unfortunately, I can't make it work for me. Music of my choosing means not being able to move forward. It means re-reading the same parts over and over again, writing new paragraphs, and then changing them back to what I had before. Why does it have to be like this? (There is no good answer, I realize. I just suck.)
I'm finding more and more that I can't write Seth unless I'm listening to Staind's "Break the Cycle" or Social Distortion's "Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell." I have had moderate success with Stone Temple Pilot's "No. 4" and whatever it was that Dwayne put in my CD player yesterday. But Radiohead? The "Across the Universe" soundtrack I attempted today? Oh, hells no.
In a fit of annoyance, I threw Staind on again. I would have gone with The Killer's "Sam's Town" which was helpful for this story back in aught-seven, but I'm scared to risk it right now.
I just have to keep reminding myself that this will all be over soon. Yes.
Oh, Aaron Lewis! It truly has been a while since you've gone and f*cked things up just like you always do. It would seem that I'm doing all that on my own by trying to avoid you.
Friday morning, I was like, " I think I'll be done with this revision in a week or two."
Friday night, I was like, "Actually, I think I'll be done by the end of the weekend."
It's weird how it happens like that.
Anyway, I feel good about everything I've done so far. I think I've addressed every issue in Agent's notes--except the cursed bowling alley scene, which I'm going to get to work on as soon as I finish this entry. (Well, it's been addressed. I'm just not finished addressing it.)
Oh, and I'm also trying to figure out an alternative to "Pretty Girl."
Seth doesn't know the name of one of the girls for the first 43 pages. So, he has to have something to refer to her as so that readers know who he means, right? "That Girl From the Party" gets old and doesn't say anything about her. So, I went with "Pretty Girl." Because... he thinks she's pretty. And, in fact, "pretty" is used exclusively in the ms in reference to this girl. (As is "beautiful," which I thought I'd only used twice, but actually used six times.) Other girls might be "hot" or "cute" or whatever. But no one else is ever "pretty."
Agent put "Pretty Girl" on a short list of phrases that "sound a little insincere and possibly not 100% accurate for the age."
I don't disagree. I don't know! I mean, Lucas on ONE TREE HILL always called Brooke "Pretty Girl" while they were dating! (Which I discovered only seven months ago when I started watching that show.) Not that Lucas is a real boy or a boy like Seth, necessarily.
I haven't come up with anything to use in its place that doesn't make me cringe. My sister and I spent an amusing half hour brainstorming new options two weeks ago. In the end, we both still liked "Pretty Girl" best.
