This morning I bought my daily Coke Zero.  Most people buy coffee or a latte or something of the sort, but not me; I just don't like the taste.  But as of late, I have discovered that I really like the addition of caffeine to my day.  It's surprisingly pleasant--until my mid-afternoon crash, of course.  But that happens with or without the coke.

So this morning, while waiting in line to pay for my a.m. pick-me-up, I noticed something new and exciting on the counter: Cow Tales.

I was immediately intrigued.

Shaped like a long stick, it's basically a chewy caramel with a cream center.  It's really weird.  I like cream (the whipped kind, anyway--remember?  I don't like coffee?), and caramel is pretty good, but to mix them, hmm.  I want to say it's genius...but I'm really not so sure.

I am currently chewing the last few bites and still trying to figure out if I should be licking my lips or preparing a bucket to vomit in.

The two items on their own are great, but the combination really is kind of creepy. 

And funny tasting. 

And even now, I can feel the gasses of my stomach rumbling, wanting to reject the strange concoction.

Maybe being adventurous and inquisitive isn't such a good thing.  I think tomorrow I'll just stick to Coke.  In the meantime, I could sure use a GingerAle.

And a bottle of Tums.

Back in the days of awesome SNL, there was the most amazing of commercials--Crystal Gravy.  I can still here the song, and read the words: "right now America is eating crystal gravy."  Yum.  (I'd watch the video, but I'm in Canada and there's that whole region thing that's really annoying.  Oh you Americans, you think you're so smart, banning internet videos from your friendly (and runtish) little sister up north. Maybe we should ban basketball from you--we came up with it, afterall...Ha! Take that.  Then you could figure out how an old Jack Nickolson would meet young girls!)

Mmm, Crystal Gravy.  So gross looking, yet so clear, so crystal, so refreshing!  And that's how I feel right now.  Kind of refreshed.  I know that I am dead and exhausted, beaten down and overworked (and incredibly underpaid--I'm a student, it costs me to do homework (that's the "gross looking part of being gravy)), but I feel like I can actually manage all that's coming at me.  Maybe, just maybe I'll survive it. 

Ha, who am I kidding?  Of course I'll survive!  I lived through my grade 8 band trip (which I was told not to fall asleep on, because I wouldn't be waking up!  Gah!  Can you believe that?  Death threats in grade 8?  Really?  But don't you girls think for an instant that I regret winning that badminton game that started it all!).  I survived a rollover car accident.  Thrice we rolled, and I actually walked away.  Litterally.  We were stranded 10 or 15 miles from civilization in November, so if I wanted to get anywhere, I had to walk.  And what a beautiful sight Kenora was in the end (and yes, Charles, I forgive you for destroying my car.  You're lucky I hadn't named him yet.).  I even survived my journey through time, back to good old 1955 when I met my parents and my mom started falling in love with me and my dad was kind of a loser, but I brought them together anyway at the Under the Sea Dance and restored the lives of my brother, my sister and me.

Erm, wait a minute, maybe that last one wasn't me, but it sounds like something I did...

Hmm.  Hoverboards.  Remember when people started saying that they were real and were being sold for millions of dollars?  I think I wanted one; I'm not really sure. I know my husband did, at least according to him 20-some years later, but I don't know if I did.  I probably didn't because everyone else wanted one and I was going through my "do anything to be different" stage. 

Enough!  I should be talking about Crystal Gravy!  That's the one thing I am really looking forward to.  Just finish this current assignment, and I can bathe in Crystal Gravy if I want to! 

Of course I wouldn't, because that's just gross and the stuff also isn't highly available.  Hmm, that could be a problem.

I feel like I am spinning completely out of control, spiraling down into the depths of a world I'm not entirely sure I want to be in.

Several years ago, I created a life list: 150 things I want to do in my life. But the more I thought about it, the longer it got.  150 turned into closer to 200.  I don't have a problem with wanting to accomplish a lot--I'm an ambitious person.  It's just now I'm finding that I'm so busy doing things that, while interesting, aren't necessarily what I want to be doing.

Don't get me wrong--I love the program that I'm in; I thrive on creating, but there are so many opportunities I feel like I'm missing because I am always doing homework, or always tired, or always trying to catch up on sleep because I've been so busy with homework I haven't slept in days.  (And don't ask me about my exercise schedule--it's been a week; ugh, I feel so gross!)

I suppose at the end I will have accomplished so much, and there is something to be said for that, but I don't want to miss the things that my heart really wants in the meantime.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to cross number 187 off of my list: a date in the Pacific Islands on a bush plane with a certain bear named Baloo...

Tomorrow is the due date for my entire first rough draft of my e-Harlequin and I am exhausted.

And unfinished.

I think I'm OK with that.  I did what I could.  I worked my donkey off, putting in hours and hours of writing and research, and it still wasn't enough.  It's too bad there aren't bonus points in life for trying.

It is now just after 4:30 am, so I suppose that would make the due date for this assignment due today.  In 7.5 hours.  That would be fine, although I haven't slept in days, so anything I do write will be incoherent.  And 3 of those 7.5 hours will be spent in other classes.  Plus travel time--can't forget that.  And a shower would be nice.  No, better make that a bath--I don't want to pass out from fatigue and crack my head open (Yay! My maternal instincts are really kicking in!).

My stomach has been ridiculously upset lately.  Some food stays down, some doesn't.  And no, I'm not pregnant.  (I know--I took a test.)  I think it is all the caffeine I have been living on as of late--anything to keep me awake.  Except drugs of course.  Ya, that's just not me. 

Although I have considered one thing.  Of course do you think I can remember what it is?  Probably caffeine pills.  Whatever Jessie took in that episode of Saved by the Bell to help her study.  But then I saw how that episode ended--not well.  OK, that's not really true.  Every episode ended well, like most of scripted TV.  Yay for happy endings.  Jessie got through her exam week, although I believe she was passing out or falling over or something, she recovered from her "drug abuse" thanks to good friends like Zach and Lisa, and continued on with her high school life to become validictorian.  

Wait a minute!

That's not true!  Samuel "Screech" Powers actually had a higher GPA than Jessie did!  But he's such a nice guy (who is only mildly retarded), and knowing how badly Jessie wanted the honour, he gave it up unbeknownst to her.

But wait!  Throw in gossipy Lisa Turtle and a slip of the tongue and all was revealed.  Alas, Jessie said a few words, then passed the mic on to Screech, who passed it on to....Zach?  What the hell?  That's the dummest writing ever!  Why?  He barely graduated!  He was a terrible student and a worse actor, but he gets to give the commencement speech?  Saved by the Bell, you make no sense!  Good thing you stopped the show there and didn't spend anytime in College or in Vegas for a wedding, or on any new classes.

But now I've gone on and rambled.  If only I could write the rest of my book about Saved by the Bell.  And the Golden Girls.  (Oh that Blanche.  She was a fiery one!  Retired men of the world, beware!)  Also, I think it would do everyone a great deal of good if the day could be saved by a platypus named Ovide.  (Ovide Video anyone?  Not ringing any bells?  You obviously weren't a very good Canadian child growing up...Nothing but high quality programming produced in this country!)

Now back to my book after a long, long distraction of my tween years.  So it's due in a few hours.  It's not done.  I'm close, though, I do finally have a semi-idea as to where it's going.  I've finally plotted all of that out.  I just can't think werelynx any more.  Except for right here, because I'm not trying to impress anyone or get this published and sold online for $1.99 to $2.99 a read.  Although I would be happy to accept most forms of payment for your reading pleasure, should you feel such pleasure from reading such.

In the meantime, I have another script to write.  No, make that three (a sketch, a monologue, and a full-length play).  Dang.  It just never ends does it?  Well, only 40 more days of classes until exam week and winter break.  Awesome.  40 more business days until I get to go to bed!

These past few weeks I've worked really hard.  Really hard.  I suppose I deserve a reward for my efforts.  Something that doesn't contain caffeine ("God, please no more caffeine!" she said as she thought about how else she could possibly stay awake tomorrow on zero sleep!), but I haven't got a clue what I'd like.  Aside from rest and a night of no homework.  No, make that a week of no homework.  Man I miss you, summer! 

(And I miss you, too, Ovide!)

Last week I had read that interesting quote about having time for everything.  (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, scroll down two posts.  It's right there.)  It was the whole idea that if all of these great, famous people from history can accomplish so much, surely the everyday person will be able to do just as much.

Well, it turns out I am neither great nor famous, although I am a person.  But otherwise, that's all we have in common.

I felt motivated, ready to tackle the world.  Time was no longer an excuse for me to not accomplish or complete things.  Anything and everything was achievable.

But since that time, I have been able to allow reality to set in.

I took an inventory of how much time I am spending on things and how much I want to spend on life.  I discovered that I am spending 48 hours a week in school.  That doesn't even include homework time yet.  Easily add another 15-30 hours per week for that.

Yikes.

There are only 168 hours in a week.  That means I'm spending almost half of them on or in or travelling to and from school.

That's a lot.

Plus I like to sleep.  (Not too much.  In a perfect world I would never have to sleep again--I like accomplishing things more than sleeping.  Actually, I can't stand sleeping.  It is a total waste of time!  So let me rephrase that, I have to sleep.)  Let's go with 50-60 hours a week (wow, I'm being generous there).  The way my math works, that gives me 38 hours each week for "extra."  By extra, I of course mean exercising, family time, unstructured relaxation, chores, church, meal preparation, and social life.  Oh, and of course writing and other hobbies.

38 hours is a lot.  But it's really not enough.  Maybe I'm just crazy, but I don't see the balance there.  70-80 hours of working my "donkey" off and less than half the time to enjoy life?  Hmm.  And can I even call it all enjoyment?  Really, who likes chores?  Having to keep up a house, grocery shopping, meal planning, running around to take my daughter to her extra-curricular activities?  Sure, I like driving (and of course I love my daughter!  But I'm an introvert--I crave me-time more than anything else in the world; I can't survive without it!).  I also like mashed potatoes.  But that doesn't mean that I should spend all of my "free time" with mashed potatoes.  That's just ridiculous.  Tempting, but nevertheless ridiculous.

So I'm sorry, Mother Theresa.  You did some awesome things in your life, but did you have to spend 80 hours a week on school?  Yes, Michelangelo, you painted some awesome chapel ceilings, but how long did it take you?  Months and months and months.  Try doing it all every single week.  It's not even that my program is difficult, it's just really time consuming.  So I'm sorry awesome quote, but I don't think you're so awesome anymore.  You're just full of a bunch of famous names and offer a view of a reality that does not exist!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have about 41 hours of school to attend to.

I recently started a new class on Wednesday evening.  It's called the Spoken Voice, but it felt more like a lamaze class, assuming I actually know what that's like.  (I've never been pregnant, despite the jokes I used to make at the dinner table to get attention.  Oh to be 14 again.)  It basically consisted of lying on the floor and breathing.

And then we did partner work.

I was paired up with a guy, so it really felt like a lamaze class should, except for the fact that I had never met this strange man, let alone be having his baby.  But it felt like it should--his arms on my waist to make sure I am taking full breaths in my stomach, of course, again with the exception that he wasn't my husband and I'm still not pregnant (not that I'm trying, either.  But I'm also not trying not to get pregnant, so you know...).

I'm looking forward to next week's class.  In the meantime, if I decide to give birth this week, I can totally give a speech at the same time.

I read an interesting quote today:

"Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein."

- H. Jackson Brown

It made me wonder--am I really that bad with my time?  If I was a better organizer, could I paint the ceiling of a chapel or convert the masses to Christianity?  Or like Einstein, would I just fail math?  (True story.  I know, because I saw it on an episode of The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show in the early 90s.  That, and he was known for cutting class--math was too easy for him, he sort of stopped trying for a while.  Maybe that means there's hope for the rest of us?  I like cutting lunch and recess, does that mean I'll be an expert retirer later in life?)

In the meantime, it has really made me reassess my goals.  Tomorrow I think I am going to get to work on the cure for rabies.  I know Pasteur already discovered it, but no one knows him for that.  With him, it's all about the milk.  I figure if I can get known for curing rabies, that means that my real success will be something cool like perfecting teleportation.

Or bull riding.  Yeah, that'd be cool.

I love water.

That's really all I have to say.  I could live under water for the rest of my life, (provided I had gills and, well, the general ability to live under water for the rest of my life...).  I would rather swim in a pool of water any day over a pool of mushroom soup, which happens to be my favourite soup, in case you were wondering.

When it comes to ordering bevies, I prefer water.  It's not that I'm cheap, although I am a 'pegger, so I kind of am, I just like the taste. I don't even need lemons or limes or all those other sweet things to make it taste better.

It doesn't need to taste better.  It already does.

But then there's the whole scientific aspect.  Our bodies are made up of about 65% water, which needs to be replenished constantly.  We need eight to twelve 8-oz glasses of water a day.

And there you have it--you've gone and complicated everything with math.  Don't get me wrong, I like math; so much so, that I will often try to do long-division in my head simply for the sake of doing long-division in my head.

But drinking shouldn't be a science, it should be a pleasure...

...and that's why I'm an artist.

As a writer there is almost nothing worse than writer's block.  I should know.  I've spent the past 5 months hanging out with it.

I am in the midst of writing an e-harlequin; my first in the genre.  Six months ago I came up with a fantastic idea.  OK, that's not entirely true.  I came up with an idea I had already been working on and altered it to fit the project I wanted to do.  Sometimes stealing your own ideas is just a bad idea.

Don't get me wrong--I would never steal anyone else's ideas; that's just lame!  (I've had enough of my own stolen, I could never do that to anyone else.)  But when they're your own, you should have full reign right?

So that's what I did.

I went through my works in progress and found something I thought could work for my Harlequin.

It doesn't.

I mean, it might, if I had more room to make it fit.  But I don't.  I only have so many words to tell my story, so that means new idea.  Let me rephrase that, new short idea.  And fast.

Last night was my breakthrough.  Goodbye writer's block!  What an awesome feeling to sit down and crank out 5000 words.  (My butt didn't feel so awesome, but I tried to mix it up, typing while standing up...).  And they're 5000 good words.

But then I haven't really reread them yet.

So they might not be that good.

But I'm gonna stay hopeful and just not read any of it until I'm done.  Nothing like naivety to keep things fresh.

I was driving the other night down Bishop Grandin (Winnipeg's kinda version of a freeway.  No who am I kidding?  This is Winnipeg--we don't have cool American things like that...) and was stopped at a set of lights.

That was when the cops came flying by.

As they closed in on the intersection it became clear they weren't planning on slowing down, let alone stopping.  So their lights came on.  Makes sense.  They're on a chase of sorts, off to catch the bad guys for whatever they've done now, right?

Or not.

As soon as they passed the intersection, their bright, shiny, flashing police lights turned right off.

Don't get me wrong--I have great respect for the guys (and gals, but to me "guys" just sums up both genders) who keep our streets safe from speeders and the like.  Maybe I just keep seeing them in the wrong light?

Let me take you back a few years...

It's winter in Winnipeg.  That means it cold.  Freezing cold.  I am driving down Lag when my car stalls.  Luckily I am at an intersection (Lagimodiere and Dugald).  Oh, and lucky me--there is a cruiser at the front of the cross intersection.

And there they sat as I pushed my car across the intersection.  By myself.  In the freezing January weather.  It was heavy.  And kinda hard to steer.  But I did it.  Without help from the police.  So much for serve and protect.  But I guess they do protect...most days...

In the meantime, if you ever stall in the middle of winter and need a push, you know who you can call.  I'm an excellent car-pusher (I figured I'd better put the word car in there before you call the cops on me...) even in winter.