Did you hear the one about the optometrist who fell into his lens grinder? He made a spectacle of himself.
Seriously, though, this is The Writing Spectacle. But I'm not doing much in the way of writing anymore. Well, not fiction writing. I write tons of emails and texts and letters and sundry other work product. I think my typing speed has increased exponentially. Fiction, though? Nada.
Life itself is a spectacle. Sit back and watch it sometime. :cue circus music:
Work is a spectacle. It is definitely something to behold. Setting aside the fact that this is the first time I've worked outside the house in eighteen years (two years less than the gal who has the office next door has been alive, by the way), it's a circus. Some days I feel like I'm on the tightrope. Rolling along on my itty-bitty unicycle, juggling chainsaws and tiny balls as I go. Tiny ball, tiny ball, chainsaw, tiny ball, chainsaw, chainsaw. Can't drop any of them. And I can't set any of them down. I juggle in my sleep these days.
For the most part, home is quiet. Until a bit of spectacle gets thrown in and I have a dozen oranges to juggle along with my tiny balls and chainsaws. For instance: Anyone else caught up in the CenturyLink / Direct TV spectacle? CenturyLink and Direct TV had an agreement wherein you could have your phone and your satellite bundled. But then AT&T bought Direct TV and the agreement fell apart. So they separated the bundles, which separated the billing. Hubs is trying to sort out the double billing, and has been on the phone for irritating lengths of time, only to have me come home to a slew of emails from Direct TV telling me we're past due and they're going to shut off our satellite if we don't pay 1) what we already paid and 2) don't owe anyway. I'm ready to tell Direct TV to go pound sand up their collective asses. Hubs will waste another day trying to get this sorted out. I feel bad, but I can't handle the oranges right now.
Oh, and in the midst of all this CenturyLink is reinventing itself again. (It used to be CenturyTel.) It's becoming Brightstar. Well, la de dah. Barf.
Needless to say, I don't have the brain space to write. Too many of my neurons are devoted to other things these days. I was thinking that maybe once the work thing reaches a cruising altitude I'll be able to put some words down. Now I'm thinking there is no cruising altitude. I'm strapped to a rocket.
Ah, the spectacle.