What goes on behind the Scoreboard

Conflicting priorities, shortness of time, too many miles between things I must be doing simultaneously, and other people’s priorities…pretty much normal American life. Nothing too remarkable.

The CEO put together four ill-formatted, conflicting, overlapping additions to an existing db, which must be meshed with one another and the existing db in a trackable format, after which several reports that did not exist suddenly manifest themselves and disseminate the information in a digested form for people who dig holes and pound nails…and don’t care. I’m near the end of that mini-project. I rejoice.

Writing must occur, and must occur daily and productively. I did some math, something I will avoid in the future, and found that, at my current rate, my first draft will be done the day after my birthday, in February. Acceptance of that is beyond me at this stage. I am upping my intensity/frequency of writing.

Directly after this determination, the project at the front of the list around the house became the sprinkler system. Not a key thing for the house, but it is a key task for the removal of the toxic weeds (burrs, star thistles) in the front yard, removal of the building materials lying about the place, and the installation of a grass lawn. Grass needs to be seeded within the next month, or we keep the thistles next year and the mud pond this winter. Which means ditch digging for me. The ditch must be dug before anyone else can do any of their work, so I spent yesterday digging ditches…instead of writing. Today should be better. The ditches are not all dug, but the key ones are.

Othello is scheduled for classes, which took us all away from our day for five hours…for a forty minute interview. That’s a lot of waiting for forty minutes. It was also indispensable, and would have been done less well without any one of us. Total cost for that interview (in lost time & support supplies): $150.

Gas is up to $3.05, and we are becoming nervous. We drive 40 minutes to work each day. Gas prices will make or break us.

My brother, Airhead, is being shipped by the Floriday National Guard (of which he is a member) to New Orleans as part of the relief, leaving in a couple of days. I’m trying to decide if this is his fourth war zone.

I have set a personal goal for Monday night before bedtime: have 3,000 words written since Friday, bringing my total up to 17,133. I’m going to go start that now; I need to get 1,500 words done each day to make that.