I have big plans this weekend- really big plans. You see, my special other half is going on a business trip to Chicago this evening and won’t be back until Tuesday night. You all know what that means…. yeeeeeeaaaahhh! I got everything ready, all the supplies and “entertainments!!!” That means:
180 pizza rolls, two cases of the sugary soda she doesn’t like me drinking, fourteen hours of Star Trek: TNG on DVR, a bag of those little Snickers, and ten hours of PBS documentaries on Pakistan, Oxygen, the Inca, Helium Production, and the the Wreck of the Edmund FitzGerald!!! Aaaaah yeah!
There are advantages to living with me in the “leaving me alone for the weekend” category. It hit me a few minutes ago when I was getting out of the shower and trying to pick out clothes that made me look like a respectable human being (so her last image of me wouldn’t be of paint splattered shorts with the fly busted out and an Army Ranger sweat shirt that hasn’t been washed since it was worn by an Army Ranger). As I looked through my closet I came to the disturbing conclusion that I dress like the stereotype I am. All my pants are too short by about four inches. I have a system for arranging my all-white socks. All my shirts have a “message” and that message is, “we’re too small for you fat-ass, go to the store and buy something with a collar!” All my shirts with a collar have a message as well, “Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. I’m made of a material that is a by-product of the production of gasoline. Haven’t you ever wondered about all the dead moths in the bottom of your closet?” The sweater I chose (yeah, sweater- Oklahoma has some weird weather) is the newest and most stylish addition to my wardrobe and it has the appealing property of accentuating my handsome little Buddha belly; it is also the reason that all my tity-whities and Space Camp 1994 t-shirts are now pink. In short- I’m a mess. I am lucky to have found a woman that will have me and I will do anything to keep her including cutting the hem off the cuffs of these pants and slouching so they don’t hand near the top of my ankle. For these reasons and many more I will be spending my weekend doing what it is I love the most: planting flowers, playing with dogs, and writing.
Yes, I have a few goals this weekend. I have planned it out thus:
Tonight: clean the house thoroughly so that I have no excuse not to write.
Saturday: Take the dogs for a morning walk. Go and buy a flat of yellow marigolds because I think they will look nice interspersed amongst my orange ones. Purchase a cup of coffee at the local starbucks and drink it there while doodling stick figures “en coitus” on napkins which I will display prominently on the table when I leave because I’m an enigma wrapped in a puzzle nestled in a pizza roll. Then- about 11am- I will proceed to finish the short story I am working on followed by detailed notes on the story I have been thinking about. At 5 I will walk the dogs and feed them followed by the planting of the marigolds.
Sunday: I will begin the day as above, but devote the rest of the day to story 2 and the notes for story 3: Joan of Arc versus the alien menace (I am not kidding). In the afternoon I will bath the dogs and then clean house again because when you bath these dogs they go on a rampage of destruction. In the evening I will likely replant the marigolds because the Dachshund likes to gently pull out anything you have planted in the last 24 hours.
Monday: I have an appointment in the morning and possibly and appointment in the afternoon depending on how the first appointment goes. I won’t elaborate. In the Evening I will do nothing but edit.
Tuesday: Having turned the house into a soda can and pizza roll strewn mess I will spend most of Tuesday trying to get rid of the evidence that I am a total pig as well as attempting to fabricate some justification for my not having seen another human being over the course of the weekend (I buy marigolds from an automated plant dispensing machine which is really awesome).
All told I am hoping to spend at least 24 complete hours in the writing process and I am hoping to produce somewhere on the order of 5-7.5k words- of which I hope about 1-1.5k will be worth a damn.
Wish me luck you beautiful people you!
Andrew Clark Porter
The Science of Fiction
Buy The Zombie Feed Anthology V1 because if enough people do, god will stop killing children.