Wondering what the life of a writer is like? Well here it is! I’d like to say this isn’t a typical week, but it pretty much is.
Monday: Discovered my pet sheep is “with child”, which means I’m about to have another pet sheep. Husband shook his head and went over our options – sell the lamb, turn the lamb into sausages… I covered my pet sheep’s ears – it would be like selling a family member. I told him he’d just have to come to terms with being a grandparent, and then I told him off for leaving the gates open, which enabled the ram to find my pet. At which point he left, muttering under his breath.
Tuesday: Pet sheep is hormonal and keeps kicking the back door to demand sandwiches. Meanwhile, I have the dentist tomorrow and I’m getting an anesthetic for the first time ever. I’m completely convinced that I will have a bad reaction to it and die in the dental chair. Instead of spending the day working on my new book, I spend it writing “last letters” to my family… I debate whether or not to leave a video message, but decide I’d like to loose a few pounds before doing that and there isn’t time if I’m going to die tomorrow. Husband shakes his head and mutters.
Wednesday: I spend my waiting time in the dental surgery breathing into a paper bag – much to the horror of other patients. Meanwhile husband rubs my back and sings Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “Relax” to me – NOT helpful! After grilling the anesthetist with many stupid questions, I get an IV in my hand, feel dizzy for about ten seconds and wake up an hour later. I don’t remember anything about it and although I’m minus a wisdom tooth, I have no pain for hours. I now LOVE anesthetic. I should have it for everything, in fact it would be great it keep it on hand for those days when I need a little time out. In my whoozy state I write a thank you card and send it to the dentist. Afterwards I can’t recall what I wrote, only that I am VERY grateful.
Thursday: I’m in pain. The sheep is demanding more bread and her baaing is like a dental drill on my brain. My 8 year old wants to put on a dance show in the living room. The throbbing in my jaw is at odds to the rhythm of the music. I discover I can’t chew, so everything has to be blended. It’s a liquid food diet. After a two hour dance show I’m wondering if a person can live on vodka – that’s a liquid, right? I don’t drink, but it isn’t too late to start. To cheer myself up, I call the local beauty counter and book a make-over for the following morning.
Friday: With a swollen face and dark circles under my eyes, from being awake and in pain all night, I go for my make-over. The make up artist is wearing LOTS of blue eye shadow and black eye liner. She looks like someone punched her – twice. I emphasize that I want a natural look. 45 minutes later, I have so much foundation on that my face looks it’s been vacuum formed out of plastic. My eyebrows, which are bushy already, now look like two small hairy creatures that are living on my forehead. And my eye shadow is blue. I smile, firmly refuse to buy anything she used on my face and leave to wipe it all off. Before I can remove the makeup, I run into my dentist. He’s grinning widely. “I got your note,” he says. “I’m glad you love me that much, it’s good to know.” I hang my head in shame and go home.
Saturday: My jaw is feeling better. I actually get some writing done. I put the girls in the bath, tell them to play and then I knock off a chapter while they splash about. Then the call of “muuuum” rings out – apparently my three year old thought it was a good idea to put a marble up her bum. Yep, you read that right. And the thing that upset her the most was that it was her favorite purple one. I get them out the bath, call my husband, who’s working as a nurse in the Emergency Department, and ask him what to do. After a short conversation, which was mostly made up of him laughing, I’m told that all I can do is feed her lots of fruit and monitor what comes out the other end.
Sunday: I am the toilet monitor. The marble comes out and my three year old cries when I throw it away. Seriously, she wanted to keep it!? I’ve put my sheep in her paddock because her mood swings are driving me mental. My dog has stolen my mobile phone again and buried it somewhere in the garden – the girls are looking for it now. The chapter I wrote yesterday is too dark for a romantic comedy – it also mentions teeth a lot – so I’m starting again. Oh, and it’s soup for dinner. On top of all this – I have another appointment with the dentist tomorrow…