Don’t you wish you had my life?

The expensive car across the street that the owner refuses to park in his garage has an equally expensive, hyper-sensitive alarm system. It goes off at the drop of a hat. Or the drop of a pin.

6am — the car alarm has been going off for 15 minutes. Foul oaths in Spanish are hurled out of various windows, along with shoes and bottles. Nobody comes.

7am — someone finally comes to turn the alarm off.

8:15 — the alarm goes off again.

9:00 — someone turns it off. I pray for battery death. Working is a joke. Good thing this is my day “off.”

10am — (Can you guess?) the alarm goes off… again. Two men arrive to work on the electrical system in my house because everytime I use the microwave I get mildly electrocuted. This probably explains a few things about me.

11am — Car alarm is squalling again, but I’m in the shower. My head feels like an anvil. But onward! I have errands to run.

11:55 — the husband asks me to bring him back some food because he’s supervising the workmen (ie playing Drake’s Fortune on PS3. Thanks, Bettie Sharpe!)

12:20pm — I’m still sitting in the gas line at the station. Naturally, I picked the side with only one working pump. I am praying the car won’t run out of gas before I get there.

12:45 — I’m at FedEx trying to remember how to pronounce “Y” in Spanish because I’m overnighting a book to a reader; her ARC was lost in the mail, so I want to make it up to her.

1:00 — I’m at Subway and there’s only one guy running the whole place. It’s empty when I walk in, and then WHOOSH, suddenly there’s a crowd jostling behind me. The old lady right next to me in line could use a mint. She also has a terrible hacking cough.

1:30 — I check on the special order for the custom designed necklace (part of my prize package in the Grimspace Juggernaut). That will be ready after 5 today. But Tete doesn’t want me to get out quickly; she’s a family friend, so it means lots of smooching on cheeks and talking in Spanish. My head still hurts, and I’m having more trouble than usual following. My side of the conversation consists of “Si” and “bien.”

2pm — I’m back home, delivering sandwich, cookies and soda. Workman are still hammering and the animals are agitated, meowing, barking. Only the turtle is quiet. I set to answering emails, visiting blogs where I’m featured, and parceling up prizes to be mailed tomorrow.

2:30 — car alarm, again. I want to hurt someone.

3:28 — the cat sounds like he’s being run through a juicer, so I finally go see what is ailing the whiny bastard. He’s gotten his foot stuck in the toilet somehow. Perhaps it’s something to do with the bird sitting on the top shelf in my guest bathroom. Ok, WTF? BIRD? WHY is there a bird in my bathroom?! I free the cat and scream for my husband.

3:30 — my husband shoos the bird, which flies around the house, bangs into walls and windows, exciting the dog and cats who are giving chase, barking and meowing at the same time. Dog knocks me down, bird flies out open door, and the cat has been whining in disappointment ever since. Now I have a damp, sullen toilet-smelling cat who hates baths.

3:32 — now that the alarm has finally been shut off (or the battery ran down) the cat won’t stop meowing.

Soon, I have to pick up the kids and then, more errands. I can tell you’re all jealous.

presumptuous bastards

This is a mini-rant, mixed with a whine. So cut yourself a slice of your favorite cheese and listen up.

First of all, who the hell does Google (and other websites) think they are? I’m sick and tired of having my preferences changed without my consent. It seems like every time I click to a site, they decide I want all my content in Spanish because they recognize my ISP is out of Mexico. Yes, I live in Mexico, but it doesn’t mean I want all my online content in Spanish. Why don’t they give me a choice about it? Or better yet, let me change it myself, if I need it done. Fact of the matter is, I do okay in Spanish, but it’s not my native language. I write in English. I do business in English. So why are they making me waste my time, struggling to find the way to switch it back when I didn’t switch it in the first place?

That makes me feel ill at ease about how much information is readily available just from accessing a site. I click and they know I’m looking at their page from Mexico, using Prodigy Infinitum, so they decide to change my subscriptions without asking me? WTF is that? I’m starting to think websites know entirely too much. They’re crossing the line in trying to anticipate my needs. I don’t want some web-bot doing that, just like I don’t want my online content translated without my say so. It’s often like that when people think they’re doing you a favor — by not asking first, half the time they mess up what you had going.

Moving on to the whine portion of our program. Got your cheese handy? Good. My WIP isn’t going well. I’m not feeling it, I don’t want to write it right now. It’s not under contract or anything yet, so I have no obligation to it. I really want to do a sequel to Falling or Good Touch, at this point. I was trying to be smart in a business sense. Guide is sold, my editors want a sequel telling Darnell and Maya’s story. Said they’ll contract on a partial. The other two books aren’t sold, don’t know if they will be. I was going by the “bird in hand beats two in the bush” edict, but my muse thinks this is a lame-ass idea.

When do you guys put a project on hold and move on? Do you force yourself to slog on through something you’re not feeling? Or do you follow your muse wherever she leads? I could use some advice.