Rapid short breaths, sweat dripping down her back and off her nose and vision blurred by matted hair, she bolted upright in bed. Disoriented in the darkness, she scanned the shadows surrounding her. A curtain drifted on a late fall breeze as it filtered moonlight diffused by overcast skies. What was that noise? And the slight creak that followed? Where was the cat? Cat?
There had been no cat in her dream. The dark terror of sleep began to fade into the dark reality of early morning. The deep indigo shadows began to take familiar shapes. The coat rack where her robe hung, her gramma's rocking chair and the Suessian stack of books by her dresser seemed less sinister as she slowly woke. A scent both familiar and wrong blew in on the damp breeze. Wet dog.
She flew out of bed to the window desperately scanning the ground outside for signs of paw prints. All of her fears player her nerves like a poorly tuned violin. Visions of childhood campfire stories and the menace in her dreams flooded her mind. It was too dark to see anything. But her nose told her all she needed to know. The scent was strong enough she could have tasted it in the pea soup fog rolling by. Realizing that hanging out the window was suicide if the snarling dream were real, she pushed off the sill to retreat to the safety of her room. She pushed to hard and smasked her head on the undierside of the sash.
"Shit! Damn and..." she clutched her head. No blood.
Meoooow?
She turned on the cat that had leapt to the center of the bed. "By Riker's beard!"
She heard a snortling chuckle so soft she thought she'd imagined it. Stiffening, she glanced over her shoulder while pretending that she had not heard what she heard. "Is that better Princess Better than People?"
Muwow.
"Glad to hear it." She spun to close the window. The shash fell with a bang. She jumped back. The phone in the hall began to ring. She jumped again.
Meew
"The unflappable Molly Brown." She said to the cat. "One of these days you're going to lose that calm demeanor and I'm going to pee my pants laughing.
"Hey,

NaNo 09

Well we are 3 days into the new NaNo season and i am not wanting to write. WTF?! i was all excited about it last year, spent months researching details for what I wanted to write and now.... boys!
I think that this makes a good case for gender segregated learning. The opposite sex is distracting to say the very least. I am having such a good time making friends and finding out what my type is that I can't concentrate on writing. Huh? Oh, yes, I am almost 40 (thanks for asking) and I don't know what my type is. How would I know what my type is if I have spent the majority of my life with my nose in a book and my mind wrapped around an art concept or character development? I lived in a virtual world long before the market made the technology accessible to the general public.
This phase of exploration is the stage my sister lived in all throughout highschool. I scoffed at her all the time because she was in constant peril of having her grades slip below an impossibly high self impoed standard. She was always tired. When she was "on" she was fun. But anyone who knew her well enough could see the stress in her eyes. Because when she was "off" she was dead to the world or a crabbutt. I never wanted to be like that. I didn't understand why she couldn't always be herself and get everything done. School, homework, work, hanging with Heather and attendening requisite social activites in addition to dealing with us shlubs at home seemed to me to be quite a bit much to deal with in any given week let alone each day. The spectre of failure always hung over her head. I couldn't deal with that.
And so I chose not too. I focused on my art and my writing, the few friends that I had and slowly expanded my social scene in 10th grade by enteringthe realm of DragonLance. That is not to say that I had zero experience with boys in high school. I had plenty. From the core group of guys I learned about personality types: compassion, caring, sharing, the possession of passionate interests, honor, integrity... all great qualities to have in a guy. And I did have a crush on one of them. But I don't know if that meant that he was my type or that I simply enjoyed the company. And with a great Art teacher and study halls a plenty for my writing I was too absorbed to bother to find out. I did discover the kind of boy I didn't want in a fellow artist who seemed to have no idea of a social boundary at the time. Je went with what he wanted and did not bother to find out my feelings on the subject. he can be excused on the grounds of logic. He was full of "if then" statements.
If we liked to draw and create together then we should spend time doing other things together.
If we liked to talk on the phone then we should talk in person.
If we sought each other out between classes and at lunch then we should want to spend time outside of class.
If we wanted to kiss me then he should kiss me.
The last was true because of this: If we like the same things and have so much in common then she should want me like I want her.

Grampa's first rule: Never assume anything. I always ask to be certain of my facts before I do something. He did not. So the kiss he planted on me went badly. The fact that he could not see he was in error mde the error worse. We did not speak again until well after our lives in the real world were underway. And I associate all persons of his characteristics with him and the residual outrage I experienced so by default his type is not my type.

So since I still don;t know my type I am looking. And what I am finding is that the artist in me is going to get me into trouble. I haven't yet found a consistency in the men that I am going out with. There is one type that I find continually drawn to with no luck in that arena. But that is hardly a definitive answer to my question. So I quest on.

And the writing suffers.