Take 1: 4:23am. Wake. Try to blink and find eyes gritty and tired and burning. Look at the window. Nothing but the glow of streetlights through the curtain. Grumble. Look at phone. Swear cause it’s 4:23am.
This was my first experience of Saturday. Generally I don’t care when I wake up. But waking up before dawn on a Saturday feels wrong no matter which way you look at it. And waking up at 4:23am when you went to sleep at something close to midnight is just an insult.
I was awake until close to 7. I tweeted. I read the hysterical interview of Ellora’s Cave editor, Kelli Collins by Lexxie Couper. I tossed. I turned. I grumped. I dm’d yumminess to my girl. Finally…eventually…my gritty eyes closed and I slipped once more away from consciousness.
Saturday morning, Take 2; 9:32 am. Drift upwards. Listen. Silence. Stretch. Yawn. Open eyes and find the blue curtain brightly blocking sunlight. Pull the curtain aside and find the above view. Grab phone, check time, whisper ‘hell yes’ and snap the shop of the happy window kitteh.
I like take 2 much better, don’t you?
It’s been a domestic day and a writing day. I’ve made breakfast and green smoothies, walked and fed and walked the wienerlicious Taterboy, wrote, took a break, and am now back to writing again. On a different WIP ’cause WIP2.0’s MCs just don’t seem to want to fuck enough to surrender their inner demons. So I’m tossed a monkey wrench into their plans and am letting the muse sit with that. In the meantime I’m diving back into WIP1.5. It’s always helpful to have eight zillion different projects in the works, isn’t it?
And as a reward for sitting through all that rambling mess…here’s a snippet for you….
“Al, honey, calm down, you’re not making any sense.”
Alexandra continued to pace, her skirt swirling around her calves with each pivot. Her pulse still pounded with her rage, cheeks bright with color. ”I want to kill him,” she growled.
“Do you want to kill him or fuck him.” She stumbled to a halt, turning to stare at her friend, her crude statement shocking her silent.
“C’mon, Al. Sit down and tell me what’s going on. You’ve avoiding telling my about him for weeks. I’m home. I’m here.” Stacy clasped her wrists, tugging her towards the couch. ”Al, sweetie, it’s me. C’mon. Spill it.” Alexandra dashed away tears and met her friend’s gaze. Stacey Ashton. Her best friend. Her sometimes lover. The one person who wouldn’t judge her.
Alex collapsed onto the cushions, her energy deserting her. She let her body sag against Stacy and closed her eyes as the other woman folded her up in a hug. From the safety of that place, the same place she’d fled to when she left Jason, she finally let go. Haltingly she revealed the whole strange dance between herself and Victor, fingers twining and untwining with her friend’s, eyes staring unseeing across the room. When she began relaying her morning her friend startled her silent with a growl.
“I’m going to kill him for you. What the hell?” The vehemence made her laugh and she finally let her anger go.
“You know, you’re right, Stacey. What the hell is right.” Alexandra tilted her head back and met the other woman’s eyes. “Never mind him. Tell me about your trip. How was Scotland? Take lots of pictures?” Stacey grinned and leaned in to brush her lips against hers. Alex’s stomach took a lazy tumble as the last of her angry tension faded.
“Scotland was gorgeous. Wish you’d would have come too. We’d have had a blast.” Alexandra let her lips curve in a wry smile.
“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have tasted the local cuisine, now would you?” Stacey blushed and their lips touched again.