Oh and the scale lied to me.
I think I mentioned I've been on the Paleo diet for a few weeks now. While I was in Roanoke over the weekend I didn't want to make anyone go to any extra troubles for me, and I ate what was available. I didn't try to stay gluten free.
That was a mistake. A big one. And it is taking a few days to reset my guts. I can't begin to tell you how unenjoyable this is.
And yet somehow the scale lied to me today and said I have gained 7 lbs in the past week. (If true, I would weigh almost as much as I did at my highest weight ever. Which is definitely not the case.)
I'll be visiting the scale again in 48 hours to see what nonsense it wants to tell me then.
But I digress.
I have an overly sensitive imagination (to go along with my overly sensitive colon apparently). Today I started to daydream something completely implausible (I justify these daydreams as future book plots), and next thing I know, I'm sitting in my car, wiping tears off my face and trying to recover from a good cry session- over something completely made up in my head.
This is what authors have to live with. We have to live with the bad and heartbreaking choices of the fictional people that dwell in our brains. You would think as the master creator of the little fictional people that we could control them and stop them from getting Lou Gehrig's disease, and spending an extended period of time in a wheelchair, unable to communicate with their beloved. But no, we can't. It's the cross we must bear as writers. The little invisible fictions in our heads are in control.
If I was in control, I can tell you this- I would take most of those little people out and spank them. They have all been making very tragic decisions lately. And I don't appreciate it. I have enough to deal with in the real world without the imaginary world causing so many problems too.