No Sick Days

My cold is turning out to be a real ringer. I spent the day in a daze, pretending I wasn’t sick, and reading The Labours of Hercules. It’s been a couple of days since I finished a book, and it’s starting to annoy me. I haven’t had a lot of time, and it seems like there are even more things to do. …and I just thought of another one. Oh my me.

I wrote a couple of things yesterday, but nothing I’d post yet. I researched a bit, something I try never to deeply indulge in, and I found some old stuff that was rather funny.


I curled up in the backseat, my bare feet pressed against the window. The snow on the other side transferred a blessed chill to my skin. Dad had cranked the heat up so high that I was tempted to strip down to my bathing suit. Steaming temperature aside, I was cozy. No need to move. Not until my earrings melted out of my ears, anyway.

“Don’t you think it’s time I drove for a while?” I asked, anticipating another ‘no’.

“We can’t stop in this weather.”

I rolled my eyes. Dad had grown up in Tucson. He could handle rain, thanks to monsoon season, but snow freaked him out. “It’s not even sticking.” My view from the nest of blankets and similar comfy jetsam was pretty much limited to the ceiling. I could have actually looked out the window, but I was fighting a losing battle anyway.

“Are you kidding? It’s roiling into a major storm.”

Only my dad used words like ‘roiling.’ I thought it sounded like a term for snails mating. “All the more reason for me to take over. You bust out in tears if someone starts talking about snow tires.”

He might have risked looking back to shoot me a glare. He and Mom had had me so young that it was often hard to think of my dad as <i>a</i> dad. He still belonged in the category that most people put their brothers. Older or younger, depending on his moods.

I twirled a lock of hair round my finger. It was so long that it actually counted as part of my backseat nest. To my knees, and sorely in need of cutting. Half of it was split ends, and the rest wept from the weight. “I’ll just ask you again in twenty minutes.”

“I am not going to let you drive for the duration of this trip. The last time you did, you tried to drive back to Oregon.”

A plan that would have succeeded if he hadn’t remembered a landmark for the first time in his life. I huffed as I adjusted myself, careful not to tug at my hair. My feet squeaked against the window, leaving streaks. “Enjoy driving in the storm, then.”

Perhaps he didn’t deserve it. I still thought we could have made a go of it in Portland. Dad’s opinion usually differed from mine, but this time, I knew it was a matter of right and wrong. As usual, I was right and he was wrong. I still thought  that paying off debts was better than running away from them.

I clipped out bits here and there, and I cut off a full half of what was there, but it’s indicative enough. This is the kind of thing I’m working on now. Not contemporary, but with a heroine who’s had a few bad hands dealt her and is just cynical enough to accept a date and then expect no actual plans to follow.

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