This Southern Belle's Musings

This Southern Belle's Musings

"Darlin', don't ever take a Southern woman for granted!" [tm]

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Monday, December 20, 2004

Perchance To Dream

Category: Life

I try my darnedest to make my blog something different -- not the usual entries that you see elsewhere, and not the usual ramblings (and rantings) that you read in a dozen other places . . . but, within the last few days, I'm suffering from either:

writer's block;
stress;
the culmination of the last six months of sheer business-related torture;
complete exhaustion; or
all of the above.

It seems that every time I stare at the computer screen to begin an entry, all that wants to flow from my fingertips is some rant that would be meaningless to most every reader, and boring to all. On the other hand, that's what's happening in my life right now -- and it is rather frustrating to be experiencing it without an outlet to release it.

So, let me preface this by saying . . . if you choose, you can stop reading now . . . because the rest is going to be a rant of how my morning has progressed so far -- and, let me say that "progress" isn't really the appropriate term to describe my morning up to now.

Category: Rant

There I was, all nestled and snug in my bed, while strange little dreams were dancing in my head.     Suddenly I was jolted from this peaceful slumber, by my s.o. who was running late because he couldn't find the black folder with all of the paperwork from the new business that we brought home on Saturday night.

"I'm sorry to have to wake you", he said apologetically, "but, I'm late out the door, and I need some of the paperwork to take with me.     Can you please get up and help me find it?"

As I stumbled out of bed, and staggered down the stairs, I noticed the antique clock on the mantle said it was 6:40 a.m.     From the fog that still clouded my brain, I thought for a moment and then remembered that we had taken two cars on Saturday, and the folder was still in the back seat of my car.

"I have to run." he said, "I don't want to be late.     Sorry to wake you."

I staggered back to bed, and fell back into the now-cold linens and pulled the covers up tightly and drifted off back to sleep.     But, not for very long.     As soon as he arrived at work, he telephoned to say "Sorry to wake you but I forgot my lunchbox on the kitchen counter, and we forgot to revise to customer service information sheets."

"Do you want me to bring them to you?" I mumbled, in a half-awake stupor.     "No, that's okay," he said, "just put my lunch back in the fridge, and work on the sheets today when you have time."     I glanced at the clock on the bedside table; it was 7:42 a.m.

I rolled over, and tried to fall back asleep.     The dogs -- all three -- were barking . . . not unusual for two of them, but when Miss Savannah Jayne barks, she does so with a purpose.     I contemplated getting up to see what was the matter, but simply pulled the covers farther over my head instead.

Suddenly, the telephone rang, again.     "Sorry to bother you," he said, "but what did 'we' do with those two hats yesterday that were on the filing cabinet?"    "Like I told you yesterday, I put them in the bottom drawer of the desk so that just anyone wouldn't pick them up and take them."    To which, he replied, "Okay, thanks, found them.     Talk to you later."    I glanced at the clock on the bedside table; it was 7:55 a.m.

Okay, I should just get up, I thought!     I mean, something tells me that the phone will probably keep ringing, and what's the point of trying to sleep with dogs barking, phones ringing, and sleep patterns disrupted, regardless of how incredibly tired I am?     Yet, the bed was so warm, and there was a stream of sunlight cascading across the middle of the bed from the front foyer second-story paladium window directly across the second floor cat-walk into the bedroom, filling it with light and warmth.     I snuggled down deeper into the covers and pulled them tightly around me.

I had just dozed off when . . . you guessed it . . . the telephone rang, again.     "I know you figured a lot out on this new computer system over the two days you were here." he said, "The American Express guy was just here to add that feature to our credit card machine, and now I need to add it to our invoice selection options.     Do you know which screen I would go into to do that?"     At which point he starts reading off section names from the screen.

"Honestly," I say, "I would either have to look at it, play around with it, or just get the manuals out and try to look it up that way.     I don't have any idea where that selection might be hidden."     At which point, he said, "so-n-so [I didn't catch exactly who he said] is here; I have to run.     I'll call you later.

And, dear readers -- I have no doubt that he will!

# Kitty purred her secrets at :9:40 AM
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2004 -2005 (C) Copyrighted Materials All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland This Southern Belle's Life No portion of the contents or materials specifically written by the author may be directly or indirectly reproduced, copied, modified, performed, displayed, sold, transmitted, published, rewritten for publication, redistributed in any medium, nor may any portion of the content be stored in a computer or distributed over any network, or otherwise used in any way, without the expressed prior written consent and permission of the author.

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Susan Reno-Gilliland, known as "Miss Kitty," an Irish lass, a true Southern Belle; a writer, photographer, animal-lover, dreamer, stargazer, totally tangled (or is that entangled?) in relationships, slightly obsessive iNFp with stories to tell! . . . (fascinated by forensics, human behavior, pushing all the right buttons of men I find interesting, and seeking utterly-sweet revenge without any repercussions.) I am a Friday's Child. Friday's Child is loving & giving.
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