definitely will have to double up to meet my challenge.
my one friend, who is doing the WrimoNano challenge…or whatever it’s called (just one of those abbreviated titles that I will never remember)…is up to 20K words! holy cow!
though I may end up dropping in bits and pieces from my memoir and fiction piece. not really new blog posts…but hey…I’ll meet my goal. pulled up my memoir last night.
ewwww! was not a happy person when I started writing that! but it had to go somewhere – might as well be on the page.
rather than subjecting you to that…how about some more from Anya and Jillian…? scene removed. some gritty conversation occurs before this episode in their fave, dark, high-end bar. Jillie is flaring. they are on a lunch break, breaking the rules…
“I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do. It’s so frickin’ unfair,” I reply and really mean it. I just don’t know what to do. I wish I could change things for her. Whatever, I can’t even change my own life. Why would I think I can take MS away from Jillie.
“Just keep drinking with me, girlfriend. That’s all either one of us can do.” We clink imaginary glasses.
“You got that right, sister,” I reply.
“How can I help you two lovely ladies? I’m Dean, and I’m going to be servicing you.” We look up and see a blonde, tanned, guy with a wide smile on his face.
I look over at Jillian, and raise my eyebrow, which in our language means, are you drinking today? She gives me a nod.
“Cosmo, please,” we reply in unison.
“One each, or are you two sharing a martini,” he winks and gives us a knowing grin.
“We’re not a couple, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” snaps Jillian. Oh dear. This is not going to go well.
I smile brightly at his crestfallen face.
“Sorry to burst your bubble if there was one forming, dude. But we’ll each have one please.” I say.
“Not a problem, don’t forget, I’m Dean.” and bounds off.
“Amen to that, let’s drink tonight then. Please. I have had an exceptionally stressful day dealing with a lost stapler. I need your help looking for a new job. I just can’t get over how sensitive people are at Yogo!” Jillie tucks a hand underneath her chin.
“Don’t I know it. My team is conspiring to overthrow me,” I reply.
Jillie tilts her head, “What about the Tate? Maybe he can release some of your stress. Come on Annie, I need to live vicariously through someone. And I would prefer that to be you.”
“Uh huh. Um. He works at Starbucks, remember? He doesn’t even have a proper job.” I say. Feeling slightly more relaxed that we’re just dealing with numb, but mobile limbs this go around.
“Have you called your PT?” I ask reverting back to the real problem at hand.
“Nope, not yet. I’m going to try acupuncture next and see how that works.”
“Right on. I might go with you. I can probably use something to get my energy flowing again.” I say.
I have been on high alert ever since Jillie’s right eye and left arm crapped out on her four years ago. A bit of a hovering friend. Especially since her mom told her to go pound sand after she was officially diagnosed last summer. That was crazy. I can’t even imagine how stressful that was for her. She couldn’t move her right eye, and her mom, again, blamed her. Not mention, she had to wear an eye patch in the office, wowzer. I have nothing to complain about.
“Honey, thanks, but I’m done talking about the beast. Let’s talk about the Tate. I bet he’s good in bed…I can tell these things, you know.”
~very rough (gritty bits removed) first draft~