I am on deadline. Everyone in my life knows what that means -- your choice of Cheerios or delivery pizza for dinner, no friends overnight, remain outside the office doorway to prevent bodily injury or death, and -- as Nora Roberts so perfectly described her household rules when her boys were younger -- no shouting for your mother unless blood or fire is involved. My kids have been through this enough that it's no big deal for them anymore. They simply roll their eyes and say, "Mom's on deadline." My friends sigh and say, "I sure do miss you." The man in my life (also a writer) knows I'm not easy to love during these times but loves me anyway, bless his soul.
I was watching "The Closer" last night -- my single television vice -- and saw a commercial for a depression medication. It occurred to me that if I replaced the word "depression" with "deadline" it would be a perfect fit: "Deadline hurts."
Many of the symptoms and/or drug side effects mentioned in the commercial are common deadline occurrences, due to the fact that I spend twelve to fourteen hours glued to a desk chair. Body aches. Fits of uncontrollable crying. Disturbed sleep patterns. Weight gain. Swelling of the feet and hands. And my favorite -- "Dizziness and fainting may occur upon standing."
Don't I know it.
Yes, I know I’m a lousy blogger. I’ll try to do better, though I’m not convinced anyone cares what I did over my summer vacation or the latest hilarious antics of my dogs. But, on the off chance that someone out there actually comes to my website to read my blog, could you let me know? Send me an email, maybe?
Here’s my pledge – if I get three people (not counting my mother) who email me to tell me they truly want to read my blog, then I’ll promise to contribute a new musing at least once a week. This should be interesting, and I’ll be sure to let you all know how this experiment turns out. Hey, I’ll blog about it!