Deadline Mayhem

With a house full of in-laws, 1 out-of-his-brain-with-excitement preschooler, visiting dogs, horrified puking and peeing everywhere cats, a small crew installing the new dishwasher and ceiling fans and outdoor sensor lighting, much celebrating involving caramel cakes, Seuss stuffs and misbehaving golfclubs, 1 courtesy-of-kind-in-laws date night and a head cold going on all weekend, it was crazy to try and make a grant deadline. On my way to the laundry room, my arms full of hose-soaked little-boy clothes, I paused to re-read the grant instruction sheet about to slip off the top of my dog’s sleeping crate. A cold feeling worked its way into my heart. The date I thought stated ‘postmarked by’ actually read ‘must be received by’. Big difference. Upon cramming and starting the washing machine, I quickly rescued the wireless printer from beneath a paint splattered tarp, dodged workers and ladders and closed myself in my bedroom office where for the next hour I tweaked my writing bio, revised essays, found a way to trim my writing sample from 2501 words to the grant limit of 2500, took a break to make Thai coconut soup, obliged requests for popsicles, apple juice, cereal bars, pretzels, binoculars and a butterfly net, poured over all grant materials again, excused myself and headed for Kinko’s/Fedex. Never mind that I had started compiling these grant materials a month ago. Never mind that obviously I really need to get my eyes checked. Never mind that I forgot to add the coconut milk to the Thai coconut soup. Deadline accomplished. Now—this clouds-covered Tuesday, company departed, the cats recovering, my son and I cozy in our quiet home, I with my laptop, he with his Batcave toy—back to revising. What? You’d like to ride your bike to the park? Why, of course, sweet manlet! Just let me sit beneath these silently whirling fan blades, wipe the perspiration from my brow, primal scream into a pillow, swallow some Advil, calm my fluttering heart and blow my nose, then I am yours for the molding. What? Mama is so funny? Ha ha! Oh, little lovecup–I am relieved you think so. May this never change.

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About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, fortunate.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Me and Us, Writer's Angst, Writing, Writing Progress and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Deadline Mayhem

  1. Beth Hull says:

    Oh that end bit…so, so familiar.

Words do not escape you

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