When the world plots against you


Warning – when allowing the radio to choose your playlist for you, be prepared to be overwhelmed with:
a) googly eyed sighs
b) longing that which is currently unavailable
c) thoughts of fantasy and debauchery ( hey I’m an adult – I have adult thoughts)
d)  images of that one HOT and SEXY man that just sends me
e) what if . . . . oh it gets really bad then.
Radio’s are evil. They are torture devices.  They’re either romance or depressing or something silly.
 I was working, needed  some tunage.  Music always helps me write better.  It often helps with mood setting, and sometimes scene setting.   Today I’ve been distracted wanting to hear from my guy.  Wanting to  know he’s ok, wanting to see him. Wanting  to see his smile, hear his voice, and  laugh together.
 I swear at times the universe plots against me.  I know it’s an egocentric statement, but it sure feels as if it’s true and I have numerous friends that will attest to it  happening to them as well.

So, for my heart throb – here’s a sample of the playlist:

  I can’t  hear this song without thinking of him. Trust me I have my reasons.
dirty babe, you see these shackles  baby I’m your slave,  . . . it’s just that no one makes me feel this way, yeah I’m a goner. * shakes head*
OK, the first time I heard this I thought it said  ” the girl in the pink shirt”  and  a statement  that he made ” can’t stop thinking about you in that pink shirt”.  Stupid I know, but  hey my emotions are in high gear here.
 Writing, yes I am suppose to be writing.   I go back to my scene and begin afresh. tap tap tap tap . . . . What do you think he’s doing right now?  Do you think  he’s ok?  He was pretty run down last  night, do you think he’s getting sick?  GAH!!
 OK, get up and walk around, shake it off.  I get a glass of water do a few chores around the house and come back. The conspirators are at it again in full force.
* headdesk*  NO one else can  push all my buttons like . . . . STOP IT! STOP IT!  STOP IT!
Right, a walk.  The dog needs a walk.  For an hour.   Alright, I ‘ve got this now. I switched channels.  HA!  Cut those conspiratorial radio personalities off at the knees.
 Oh that didn’t help at all.   Very naughty thoughts. Bad girl!
Radio station switched again.  We’ll fix this!   Stick  with more off the pop charts.
Really?  * head desk*   I need to write this scene!  It has nothing to do with romance, with holidays, or sweet sugar.  There’s torture and pain.
 GAH! I’m doing it again!
Conflict – yes I am suppose to be writing conflict.  Right, use that for conflict.  Tension, definitely feeling the tension but not in the writing.
You don’t say much but I listen when you do.
 

* dies, sinking further under desk*
Right, this scene isn’t happening today so I’ll write a short story for the other blog.  Ten minutes later story complete, and as I read it through I’ve used his name.  It’s too intimate, too real.  I can’t use this. It feels like a camera in my bedroom. NO,  this one goes in the personal file.
I  message my friend.  Conspiratory theories, girl talk, and she says ” Lol! *hugs* you are so adorable when you swoon!”
Fine, I try to focus again to get back into the writing.

Slips into a puddle in the floor.   That’s it, I’m done.  Can’t focus.   The conspirators win.
I surrender.
Ever had those days when no matter what you hear, or what you read it reminds you of that special person? You hear their voice in everything, see them in everyone?  It  know it happened to me bad after my mother passed. It doesn’t have to be for   the romantic interest,  it can be a cherished family member.  Please, somebody tell me I’m not the only one that this type of thing happens to.  Am I?
As I clean up my stacks of notes, and put away my reference books  my phone rings.
IT’S HIM!
Write on my friends, gotta go!
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