Productivity

Since the geniuses in crew planning couldn’t come up with a less economical use of my time, I now sit in Boston, on a 28 hour layover with nothing to do.  28 hours wouldn’t be so bad if, say, I got in around 10 am and went out at 2 the next day.  But that would mean getting home an extra day early, and who wants that?  No, I got here at midnight and have a show time tomorrow morning at 4:45.  Would you believe they actually tried to convince me I should be grateful for having the entire day off?  Excuse me, but if I ain’t home, I ain’t off.

The good thing is I spent most of yesterday revising my long neglected WIP.  And I have all of today to do more.  It’s been a challenge getting motivated.  The re-writes I know are necessary don’t want to be written.  Somehow I just did them yesterday, and I was sorry I had to stop to go to work.  Although it pains me, I’m quite convinced a big chunk of what I’ve written will ultimately get tossed, along with some characters I really like.  Unless I can come up with a great way to work them in, I don’t see them jiving with the new direction.

So it’s back to editing.  And it’s about time.  I’ve had too many distractions lately for things that are extremely important, but are now, finally out of my hands.  So during the wait, I write.  But nothing comes easy, does it?

So I get to work yesterday, and my captain couldn’t be more annoying.  First, he sticks an EASY button on the console, and plays it over the PA system after each landing.

“That was easy,” pipes through the entire aircraft.  Of course my landings yesterday sucked.  Sometimes I just don’t try.

Then, he plays this godawful music during the entire boarding process.  If it was good music, maybe I wouldn’t care, but I would tire of it at some point.  For godsakes man, put away the mp3 and act like a professional.  But what professional pilot do you know who carries around a Barbie leg, that he hangs from the compass to point at the pilot who is actually flying that leg.  “Your leg,” he says.

Klassy.

Then comes the big kicker (not from the Barbie leg.)

“The hotel bar closes at midnight, so we’ll miss it,” he explained.  “But I’ll call ahead before we leave Myrtle Beach and they’ll set some drinks aside.  What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?  I can call ahead.  We got all day tomorrow to recover.”

“Still nothing.”

I could see in his eyes that he was judging me, wondering what was wrong with me.  Why wouldn’t I want to call ahead to have liquor waiting for me even though the bar’s closed?

Um…because I’m not in high school?  Because I don’t drink anyway and sure as hell don’t want to hang out with annoying strangers?  Because we’ve only just met and already I wish we hadn’t?

So I’ve done my best to avoid him, mainly by not leaving my room.  I’ve got too much to do.  Books don’t re-write themselves you know.  Well, they do.  They just need someone to type them up.