Mysteries of the Universe (Tara Taylor Quinn)

Do you ever get stopped in your tracks? Today is already a day when everything I try to do get's railroaded by powers seemingly stronger than I am. The universe - or some leftover Halloween spirit - keeps telling me no. I need to make a phone call - the cell cuts out. I finally get connected and the other party is on the line and won't pick up. I have a fifteen minute window to make the communication and I can't get the person to answer.

I wanted to write to you today about another one of my little angels. She's two years old and a wise old woman at the same time. I want to be like her when I grow up. Seriously. But the picture that you need to see to have a chance of glimpsing this unique character won't load onto to blogger. Nope. No way, sucker, quit trying. Error on page. Cannot display page. Error on page. What? You think you're going to get a picture up here today? You've got to be kidding! It's politics time, buddy and blogger has a lot more important stuff to get out there than you're picture which takes up a lot more space than words would. Go ahead, keep trying anyway. We'll thwart you at every attempt! Ha!

I asked for extra ice in my diet coke - a libation I drove three miles out of my way to get. I trusted that they'd done what I asked, took my soda and drove to the office only to find that they'd put less ice rather than extra. And my ice maker is on the fritz this morning - frozen, of all things.

I was putting away some newly purchased and waiting to be hung curtain rods in preparation for the new house cleaner this morning, knelt in the nice big storage closet off the back hall - it has a clear shelf! - and there was a scorpion on the floor by my knee. I got away - still with a curtain rod problem - and turned to find one of my little furry friends putting his nose right up to the dangerous-to-a-ten-pound-yorkiepoo bug.

It's not yet nine in the morning in a day that has fourteen hours ahead. So, Mr. Universe, I concede. I am thankful that neither I, nor my little loyal pal, got stung. I have the diet coke I need to prevent a caffeine headache. Claire's picture will still be great for next week's blog. And the corner store sells bags of ice.

What, Mr. Universe, would you like me to do next? Because, clearly, my choices aren't working today. Do I work on the three chapters that are due this week? Or would you rather I tackle the three synopses that have contracts waiting on them? Should I tend to the book that's due in a month (different from the three chapters.) or work on publicity? You tell me, because I don't want to waste energy battling with you. But talk fast, Mr Universe, because I hear the Slot Machines calling me.

Escape! Escape! Lose yourself in mindless fascination. Zone! Go ahead! It's only a six mile drive down the mountain to the Indian reservation. Texas Tea and I Dream of Genie and Double Diamond Run are all waiting to hold you in their enthralling embrace and take you away long enough for you to rest your mind. Doesn't that sound great? Wouldn't it feel really really good?

Mr. Universe - Slot Machine. Mr. Universe - Slot Machine. Who do I listen to? I've already established that, this morning, it's not me. So Mr. Universe, what do you say? I can't hear you. Could you please speak up? Slot Machine is drowning you out.

"Research!"

Who said that? Mr. Universe? Slot Machine?

I'm writing the launch book for a Texas Hold'em continuity series out next fall. It must be Slot Machine talking, telling me I'll be working if I make that drive down the mountain. Texas Tea'll vouch for me. Genie'll give me a receipt.

Mr. Universe? Are you there? Hello? Mr Universe?

Well, if you get back and want to talk, I'll be in the car, heading down the mountain. And, please, if you are around, could you help me get there safely? And win?