Ground Glass in his Metamucil/Tuck Yourself

Wednesday night - just got in from writing group. Crack of dawn day tomorrow - another sensitive grooming of a T1 circuit for my customer who is an emergency responder. With my other clients no one dies if the network goes down - this client is an exception. An alarm could go unanswered if I can't keep their network up. Tomorrow evening, date with Kirk - he was AWOL until tonight - hadn't heard from him in over a week. That's his M.O. - being passive letting women pursue him. So I didn't - pursue him, that is. M.O. cracked. We're going to the "Life of Pi" movie. I adored the book, hated to see it end. Kirk loved it too. We both hope the movie lives up to it.

Good turn out at the writing group. Because it's a meetup.com, I never know who is going to show to write. It's been as few as three people and as many as a dozen - tonight we had eight. Nine if I count Lucas on speakerphone from Urbana. Am feeling dark these days which bubbles up in my writing. Here is what I wrote in response to the prompt - You are getting plastic surgery. What are you making yourself into?

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Myrna was 74 1/2 - she looked 40 - seriously. Problem was the money had run out, the makeover incomplete, kind of like one of those brand new shopping malls where the investors back out before anything other than the facades are complete.

The plan was perfect - marry the old coot, do the personal overhaul, go back for the masters, pay off the kids' student loans and then enjoy his millions long after he was dead. He was, after all, 97 - seemed a safe bet. And just in case he decided to linger, Myrna wasn't above helping death along - she didn't believe in the sanctity of human life. Earl wouldn't be missed if, for example, she ground glass into his morning Metamucil.

But Earl lingered and even shit out the glass with no ill effects. Didn't seem bothered by the double dosing of his digitalis either. Nothing worked so Myrna, in an act of desperation, simply pushed his wheelchair off the dock of their summer cottage on Lake Charlevoix. Easy breezy - everyone thought it was a suicide. He was, after all, in pain.

The will - that's the part Myrna couldn't fix. Bastard left everything to the Lyric Opera - the house, the summer home, stocks bonds - everything! Seems he was on to Myrna all along. She sold the grand piano and the Waterford chandelier before the estate people showed up - it barely paid for the chin reduction.

Somehow she needed to come up with  money for the rest of the work she needed. Beautiful she was from the neck up and the knees down. Too beautiful and young looking - no man over 50 dared approach her which was OK because she wouldn't have welcomed their overtures. It was the guys under 50 she lusted after, but what would they think when she disrobed and her flesh hung like crepe paper on her birdlike frame, her ass sagging to mid thigh and her breasts stooping to brush her belly button. She was a freak.

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All for now...going to bed now before I undo all the good that's been done today. It's this time of day where resolve can fail - late night snacking, watching stupid, mindless stuff, texting to ward off loneliness. It's times like this I simply say to myself, "Put yourself to bed." And I do...at those times, of two minds. I Sybil myself into both mother and the child - I all but tuck myself in!

Challenge today for you could be embracing the concept of self-parenting. Maybe if you find yourself glued to the computer, you could find yourself saying to yourself (it would work really well if you could adopt a British nanny accent), "Off to bed you go! No more mindless surfing for you!  Time for nighty-night!"

Sometimes you just have to put yourself to bed (figuratively and literally!)

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is me mothering my doll that was almost as big as I was!