Unlike those 300 million other doors, I have a swipe card for this one. And, because I have a recurrent, oh, every four months or so bout of "Card In Other Pants Pockets"-itis, this morning found me chafing in the breeze (the wind-chill-in-the-twenties breeze) before I came to my senses and lit out for a breakfast date with one of the 72659482743 Starbucks that has dropped like poop in a dog park in the last two years. Crass commercialism and mass production? Absolutely. Also a reasonably quiet place to write for 45 minutes while sipping a Gingerbread latte until the automatic door lock unlocks for the morning. I already know I will absently, on call of nature, slip out the back door to the men's room (who puts the toilets outside the compound?), lock myself out (no time lock on the back doors - it's a one-way voyage without the magical card), and need to chafe some more in the breeze (the so-cold-your-nipples-could-pop-off breeze) while I scamper like a manic squirrel around to the front door - past all of the executive offices.
On the plus side, it can't help but get me labeled "eccentric"...
Upon exiting the House of Fishwoman with my latte this morning, I met a brunette at the door (me leaving, she arriving) in her thirties, and as she smiled and opened the door for me I'd swear she said something under her breath about how I was handsome. Oh, sure, my back brain allowed that to stand for about three seconds of smile and "thank you" (for the door hold; inverse chivalry isn't lost on me) before it pissed on that little sense of pleasantry by informing me she probably said something about opening the door for me because my hands were full, which they were... but given it's that bastard child of the week, Herr Twitchday, I'll take the smile and the probable mishearing anyway. I am handsome. Suck it, brain.
Writing-related: the "Machine of Death" anthology is still coming along. Word today that covers are being contemplated. Covers are nice. Line edits would be better. I have a need to tweak the very end of my story to reduce the instances of reader eye-rolling. Meanwhile, in between pieces of story writing and research for school, I'm pulling together the threads of short stories to key in, work, or finish on Christmas break. Sure, I'll probably get to one of them out of a half dozen. Three are waiting for submission. I'll need to skim some markets when I have two free minutes and see if they can find homes. A third sale would get me one story closer to that first collection...
** random iPod track of the moment **
"Because Of Her Beauty" - Karl Denson's Tiny Universe
from The Bridge
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