It's nearing that time again, at least in the desert, where the sun is high in the sky earlier in the day, and the temperature is pushing its way into the triple digits.
Yes, it's almost summer--but not quite. It is however, Sweet Tea Time.
Sure, we drink sweet tea year round in my home, but I've created this little tradition where I sit outside with the sun shining, and the heat causing my skin to glisten (since we all know that women don't sweat, right, ladies?). On this day, I sip from the first glass of sweet tea from a freshly brewed container, and smile. It is officially the beginning of a new year.
Forget January 1st. No, my New Year was yesterday. April 22. What a glorious day.
I'm never alone while I sit in the sun, sipping my sweet tea, even when, to the casual observer, there is nobody with me. My husband is deployed to the Middle East this year, and my daughter was recharging her battery after a grueling morning of playing superheroes and dragon vs. knight--how do I always end up the dragon?-- and I was surrounded by people.
Wonderful people, with wonderful stories; only I could hear.
Some might consider this a medical condition, and maybe they're right--I however consider it being an author. Each of the characters I create have their own stories, their own lives--and for a short time, they allow me to be part of those stories; to share them with others.
Doing this makes me happy, and if that means I'm suffering from multiple personalities--bring on the rubber rooms and the hug-me-jackets. I will happily embrace them and write them into a story.
Unfortunately, I might be seeing that room and jacket, and it won't have anything to do with the voices in my head.
During the month of May, I'll be taking a Statistics and Probability class, and I can guarantee it's going to kick my ass. I hate math. I'm an English major with a minor in Criminal Justice. I'm not seeing a need for math of any kind. Too bad the university doesn't agree with me. I just keep reminding myself it's only 17 more classes until graduation.
Granted, it will take three years, but it's only time, right?
It might be hard to write those fabulous stories with my arms secured in the very fashionable happy jacket.
Wish me luck.
R.S.
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