I’m a chicken when it comes to swine flu.

Okay. So I didn’t go to Fiesta after all.

I finally managed to catch up with my friend yesterday afternoon for coffee and a chat before he heads off into the wild blue. That was nice. I came home, showered, changed, primped and preened a bit (only a bit) and switched on the TV to check the weather. Rain had been threatening all day.

Danger! Danger! Warning, Will Robinson! The sky is falling!
<insert relevant pieces of hyperbole here>

The newscasts were full of the outbreak of Swine flu over the border and a few cases that had popped up here in San Antonio. There were a thousand known cases in Mexico, 60 confirmed deaths and 40 suspected ones. The number of infected people in America was in the single figures and no deaths had occurred. (Phew!) None of the people here had been anywhere near pigs and all of the cases had responded to standard flu medicines.

Then they cut to overhead footage of NIOSA. Lots of people. Really close together. In a very small area. Ummm.

I decided not to go.

Influenza and MS are a really bad mix, even when the virus isn’t zoonotic in origin. The immune system reacts quite strongly to it – in fact most of the deaths from Avian flu strains in the past (aka The Spanish Flu etc..) were in young healthy people. Their peak-of-efficiency immune systems over-reacted to the virus and generated what is known as a cytokine storm – which killed them.

My old Neurologist forbad me to even get vaccinated for the flu. Anything that kicks off the immune system will also kick off an MS relapse. The last thing anyone with an auto-immune disease needs is to stimulate the immune system.

SO STAY CLEAR OF ECHINACEA. Please. Don’t let anyone talk you into taking it under any circumstances!

Sorry, momentary lapse of self-control there.

Anyway, I still needed to get out and about. So today I went over to the Alamo Quarry Market and visited Borders Book Store. Ahhhhh! It was so nice to be surrounded by books again. I miss all of mine. I know them all by name and who’s in their cliques and … um, forget I said that.

I bought a writing magazine, Writer’s Digest, and a book by the founder of National Novel Writing Month here in the States, called No Plot? No Problem. I figured that made the trip count as part of my writing efforts, a business trip, if you will. And I’m sure you will.

I would just like to state here that I definitely have a plot for my novel. I have mapped it out and know what is happening when and where. I just thought that particular book might help kick me out of my perfectionist rut and back to getting the actual story down before I edit it to my satisfaction.

Okay? Are we clear on this? Good.

Then I wandered into Old Navy and bought some light clothing. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of glancing into the mirror in the changing room before I had all my potential purchases in place. (Gotta love alliteration.)

Major bummer, dude. Not to mention the thighs and … never mind. I just thank heavens that a homeless man had paid me a compliment yesterday which got me over this bump and kept me from a complete emotional breakdown in the changing room.

I was heading into the HEB in the morning when it started to sprinkle a little. I saw this guy on a bench near the door and thought I’d cut off any request for cash by talking first (and keeping on going). So, when I drew near I said that I needed windscreen wipers.

He replied, “What you need to do, girl, is become a model and treat the world to that walk!”

Yes, I realise he’s sleeping rough and probably doesn’t see all that well, but it made me feel good.

So there.

I’m going to read my purchases now. Right after I wash my hands. (Thank you, Libby!)

ttfn,

S

Not blocked, just not concentrating.

It’s getting hot in San Antonio. Yesterday they passed a record set in 1963 – damnit!

The hotter it gets, the harder it becomes for me to go out and explore the place. It’s a nuisance at the moment because they are holding their yearly Fiesta. It’s a sort of celebration of all the things that combine within the cultural melting pot of good ole San Antone…

It ends this weekend and I haven’t got down there yet. I’m hoping to head out tomorrow evening to the part called NIOSA or Night in Old San Antonio which is a food and music “do” held in the historic La Villita, at night, when it’s cooler. I want some of that there stuff.

Food + Cool + Outside = Good

I only found out about this whole shebang after the ticket sales for all the other events had closed, so this is the only one open to me.

However (you knew that was coming, didn’t you?) I have been unable to just head out because one of my friends here is heading off on a fortnight’s training next Monday and wanted to catch up before he left. We have been going to meet EVERY SINGLE DAY THIS WEEK. Have we managed it yet? No. There is always a meeting that comes up just as he is leaving his office and then keeps him there until all hours.

Which isn’t his fault, of course, but I am beginning to become somewhat annoyed. I keep telling him that I want to go to Fiesta at some point and he keeps telling me that he has lived here for years and not been once. At which stage I tend to retort that this is not the point. I am a tourist. Such a tag demands certain behaviours including attendance at local cultural events.

He doesn’t get my drift, I’m afraid.

Sigh.

Meanwhile, I have opened the word file with my novel in it several times this week. I have tweaked and finessed and massaged the words therein, and achieved absolutely nothing in terms of actually adding to the story.

Sigh. Again.

I’m not suffering from the infamous Writers’ Block. Not at all. I am merely … stuck. I know what I want to happen. I know what I want people to do and say, and to and with whom I want them to do and say these things. I just don’t like the way it comes out on the screen. The words are all wrong.

Now the most likely reason that the words are all wrong is probably the aforementioned tweaking, massaging and finessing that I have done to the pre-existing tracts. This means that my rough drafting sounds odd when it comes at the end of the more literary version of my earlier writing efforts. If that makes any sense at all.

It all kinda sucks really.

So, tomorrow I am going to get out into the world and get some cool twilight air. I’m going to recharge my creative batteries by experiencing something interesting. I’m going to listen to new accents, see new sights and taste different foods. I’m going to observe in miniscule detail the tiniest things I can see and commit the entire experience to memory.

I’m good at that. It’s one of the keys to my good memory. I can recall how it felt to be sitting in a place having a conversation 20 years ago, right down to the feeling of an indian summer breeze on my arms and the way the other person’s hair was mussed up. On this talk like Shakespeare day, I kiddest thou not.

So, I will take my mental notes and prepare for my next novel and then come home and work on the current one. I promise.

I’m going to make myself write at least 1000 words a day and not let myself worry about the quality of those words until I get to the end of the damned book.

Cross my heart.

In the meantime, on the weekend before my fatigue knocked me out I was watching Book TV and saw a presentation on human behaviour and decision making by one highly entertaining Israeli researcher, Dan Ariely. I think his book was called Predictable Irrationality. There’s some more of his stuff on YouTube here – I recommend them, he’s a hoot. He survived burns to 70% of his body as a youngster and has the dark sense of humour common to all the people I know who have survived a medical disaster.

Anyway, as part of his spiel he told the following joke with which I shall leave you.

A man goes into the Synagogue and complains to the Rabbi that someone stole his bike the week before. The Rabbi is appalled and says that at the next Sabbath the sermon will be about the Ten Commandments and he will make everyone recite them all.

He tells the man that, when they are reciting, he should turn and face the gathering so that he can note anyone who looks down at the words Thou Shall Not Steal. That person would be the thief.

So, the next week after the sermon is finished and everyone is leaving, the Rabbi catches up with the man and asks if the ruse worked? The man replies,”It was amazing! I can’t believe how well it worked. When we got to Thou Shall Not Commit Adultery, I remembered where I left my bike.”

ttfn,

S.