What happens during this season to turn otherwise normal people into idiots? Folks are going hard with finalizing their shopping during the last week of Holiday shopping. Traffic was in such a snarl yesterday I thought there’d been an accident. No. The cars were backed up for two miles heading for the mall. Last night I witnessed someone come flying out from a side street across three lanes of traffic without looking. This was fifteen minutes after someone else on a cell phone went through a stop sign. Fortunately, they didn’t meet up with the other guy who ran right through a red light. This year I decided not to shop in a store during the weekend or evenings. I no longer have the patience or the energy to handle being in a crowd of frazzled shoppers.

I refuse to allow myself to get sucked into the commercialism of Christmas. I attended a great Christmas Chorale this past week. Besides the fact the symphony and choral singers were excellent, it was a very peaceful opportunity to just sit still and listen to the music as it washed away the tensions brought on by the “other” side of Christmas.
                 
Things have been pretty dead at the hotel as we get closer to Christmas except for the three days each week when we’re booked by business people. Frankly, I’m glad. Putting up with this infection has had me sacked out early, so no noise is a welcome treat. And, then…this morning someone “got it” in the shower. You could hear her grunting up and down each floor through the shower drains and vents. And, on a Sunday too. They were hardly cavorting in holy water. I’m sure.
                 
Something happened to the heat in my room last night. I about froze myself to death in bed. I had to get up at 1:30 a.m. and put on a light jacket before diving back under the covers. My nose was so cold it felt like I’d fallen asleep in a meat locker. Even my winter jammies failed to keep me warm. Maybe they’re trying to get rid of me by freezing me out. Well, fine.
                 
My cover got blown yesterday morning. I was coming out of my room when I noticed a man down the end of the hall looking at me. I couldn’t see his face clearly from the distance until I heard him say, “So, that’s where you live!” I put my finger to my lips and said, “SHHH! Don’t give it away.” He’s one of the locals I speak to on the street. They all know me as the writer living at the hotel, and he knows I prefer anonymity as to which hotel and what floor I live on. I know the neighbors across from the hotel must get a lot of entertainment from looking at guests who don’t pull the shades down in their rooms. Me? There’s never anything exciting enough going on in my room to be called entertainment. What I should do is hook up a receiver to the “loud speaker wall” in the room next door and broadcast those guests because that's where all the entertainment is happening.

                 

Somebody just put me out of my misery. I guess I spoke too soon when I assumed the end of the antibiotic ushered in the cure. The only thing it ushered in was another infection. Apparently, my body doesn’t take well to medicines because they seem to create more problems. The dizzy, nauseous, splitting headache in the back of my head has stayed with me for the past week and I have had a hard time functioning normally. It made me
downright tense, I tell you, which caused me to clench my teeth and add a headache in my temples to the mix. Then my throat closed up and I couldn’t swallow. Okay, I’m done complaining, but I usually write this blog at the end of the evening when I have time, and I can tell you it hasn’t been happening for me. I was determined to write something this morning in spite of it all, before my readers wonder what happened to my blog. 

This was a lead in to how my week started off yesterday. Sleep has become a premium for me after getting up every two hours during the night. So when the fire alarm went off at exactly 7 a.m. Monday, rousing me after I had finally fallen asleep, all I could say was, “Are you kidding me?” I couldn’t believe it. Must be the hotel’s new wake-up call. Ninety nine per cent of me knew it was a false alarm because, fortunately, that’s all they’ve ever been so far. It’s usually the dumb bar downstairs that causes the alarm to go off because they’re hooked into our fire alarm system. 

I lay there trying to ignore it, hoping somebody would just shut it off so I could go back to sleep. The loud shrill finally forced me to get up, and that’s when I noticed one of the neighbors across the street looking at the hotel from his balcony. Well, crap. I still took my time in the bathroom, threw on some clothes, grabbed my computer, coat, and purse, and walked downstairs to the lobby, which was deserted. I was only slightly concerned because I know protocol is for everyone to leave the building after they’re sure the hotel has been vacated, which it was not. After all this time I’ve lived here, and no one picked up on the fact that I wasn’t downstairs with everybody else. Well, fine. The next book I write, you’re all getting rubbed out.

I heard voices coming up the stairs from the street. It was two firemen who were surprised to see me. “It’s a false alarm again isn’t it?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yeah. It’s the bar downstairs. Someone opened a fire exit door.”

It seems the only fire in progress was the one burning in the gas fireplace in the lounge area. So, I got a cup of coffee and sat there waiting for everybody else to come back in, before I took the elevator back up. The guests caught in the shower when the alarm went off were obvious. The hotel should have offered everyone a free breakfast and sent the
bill to the restaurant downstairs.

I dragged myself through the rest of the day which went progressively downhill from there as my headache and nausea increased. To add insult to injury, someone had arranged for a jazz band to practice in the lobby last night. I love jazz, but not in this venue. With  nothing but hard surfaces all around, the decibel level sounded like the lobby was inside a jet engine warming up before take-off. It pushed me right over the edge, and I was in bed by seven.

I’d say I’m back to normal now except there are those who might take exception with any definition that would assign me the term normal. For awhile I was wondering what normal used to feel like. The medicine that made me loopy and sleepy is over, and so is the antibiotic. While I await the results of further testing, I am considering myself cured.
Hooray.

Things are also back to normal here, which means we have returned to slinging insults. We have a new employee working at the front desk during the day. I have not as yet assigned a name to her, but hot tamale comes to mind. She’s a real looker…ask Confidante’s seven year old son. He dropped me like a hot potato Sunday when the new girl came to work. Was I insulted? Well...YES. Okay, so he’s seven…short attention span, whatever. Did SHE play with him for four hours, though? NO. She didn’t have to. I think it
was her boobs… and, her hair. And, the fact that she’s 21 and very pretty. It seems like boys are maturing and getting more observant earlier than they used to. I’m glad now that I didn’t let him win at pool.

So, did you honestly think that buttering us up at the front desk with your chumminess was going to get you out of paying a fine for sneaking smoking in your room; like sticking your butts in a bottle was going to save you. I guess the signs all over the hotel didn’t pertain to you. You’re special, right? 

We’re entering into our slow week with Thanksgiving and all, but we’re booked solid already for New Year’s Eve. Last year was a blast here. This year promises to be just as
wild.

Already the street is lit with white Christmas lights in the trees and stores. I think it’s pushing it a little, but with the recession and all, I guess folks needed a jump on enjoying the festiveness of the season. Now that I think of it, I used to start decorating for the Holidays the day after Thanksgiving, so I guess a week earlier isn’t such a big deal. 

The Chef has been on a roll with expanding his culinary skills. Every night there are different specials at the bar. I can’t seem to get away from the wings. I miss the crab cakes. Apparently, I was the only one ordering them, and God only knows, I have no sway
here.

I’ve been here so long I’ve earned VIP status. I have no idea what that means, but I do know no one’s going to bring me breakfast in bed now. Nor, am I going to see any crab cakes. I guess it stands for Very Ignored Person.

You know I have to be down for the count if I’m too sick to even write. Never try to self medicate when you’ve been dealing with a medical problem that’s only getting worse. You have a fool for a patient. Yet, that’s what I did for two months trying to figure out what was wrong through the process of elimination. I finally hollered uncle and went to the
doctor. Now I’m dealing with the side effects of a bad infection, as well as a brain freeze from all the medication. I feel like three of Snow White’s seven dwarfs: Sleepy, Dopey and Grumpy. So, I’m going to make this short just to let you know the 411 guest may be out of commission for a few more days. 

I’m not even sure whose head I’m wearing. All I know is it sure doesn’t feel like mine. I wish I could stop yawning. Confidante and Squid have been enjoying the time off from hearing me yammer. The sad thing is I don’t know what’s been going on around here, unless it’s happening in the rooms next to me. The hotel has been full for the past week and that means a lot of noise. That also means if I allow myself to be surrounded by it, I’m gonna short circuit, so I’ve decided to stay in my room where it’s quiet. 

You’d think I’d of gotten a lot of work done this past week being housebound wouldn’t you? I feel kind of guilty about that. Things happen for a reason, so maybe this was Nature’s way of forcing me to take a break. I’d have rather gone somewhere warm and sunny if I’d been consulted first. But then, nobody asked me. So, I’ll just stay where I am and watch the few remaining leaves fall off the trees across from my window. I’ll be back…

Our lobby has been invaded. No, this time it’s not from children’s sports teams. It’s worse. Fruit flies. They’re everywhere, but the pool table, and I gotta tell you, in my book, that puts them a step ahead of the kids. The source of these little flying storm troopers has
been discovered in the bar area, and the proper steps have been taken to rid the area of their impromptu landings. Cute little paper cones have been placed through plastic wrap that covers the rim of short glasses. The glasses are filled with cider vinegar. So far, so good. Whoever doesn’t like cider vinegar gets slapped unconscious.
                 
This has been another uneventful week at the hotel; unless you count the fruit flies and the racket from the bar downstairs. We had hoped once the cold weather descended, that the loud drunks on the sidewalk would have frozen their vocal chords. But, no. The bar installed outside heaters. The noise ascends inside little frozen bubbles and clinks against the guest room windows of the hotel like sleet. It’s a good thing the windows don’t open. I have an idea for something I’d like to drop on them. I’ve been wondering where the police presence has gone to that’s supposed to keep the sidewalk noise and motor cycles from annoying neighbors. They must leave right after the bar gives them supper.
                 
I finally got to watch a movie in my room one night. What a production. It took Confidante’s assistance to finally find the solution. It only seemed right then, I should watch THE HELP. Great movie and soundtrack.
                 
I’m kinda glad we’re turning the clocks back tomorrow night. Getting up in the dark has not been happening. I know I’ll have to sacrifice losing the light earlier in the evening, but at least then I’m already up. Question is am I going to be in the mood to walk in the dark to get supper. That remains to be seen. If I’m not, you know who’s gonna be losing a little
weight.

My Halloween expectations greatly exceeded the reality of the situation. No one came to trick or treat, which leaves me to wonder, what happened to ALL that candy at the front desk. Every employee became suspect if I smelled chocolate on their breath. Hmmph. They could have at least left me something.
                 
Last night I awaited the arrival of the Headless Horseman on the green in front of the hotel. A small crowd had gathered dressed appropriately in scary garb. I kept looking for someone to come galloping down the street with their cape billowing behind them in the forty mile an hour wind we were experiencing at the time. Instead, some young maiden led the horse in by the reins making the Headless Horseman look like he was on a pony ride. The horse was bored silly. The Headless Horseman looked silly. And the whole affair was nothing more than a disappointing photo op.
                 
Can you believe two people on the block already have a lit Christmas tree in their living rooms? Does anyone remember when Christmas used to be a religious Holiday? Remember when folks used to wait until Christmas Eve to put up a tree? Next thing you know someone’s gonna have a computerized baby Jesus singing rap while the star of Bethlehem blinks on and off over the manger. Well, at least they can’t screw up Thanksgiving. Or, can they?
                 
They have blocked off the convenient entrance to our parking deck in order to put in another building. What a pain in the arsmidoo. Now we have to exit on the opposite end of the hotel. It’s not like we’re exactly easy to find in the first place. Maybe it’s a good thing. If you give guests too many choices they get more confused. 
                 
It looks like I’m going to have to wring out the last drops of daylight this week since we’re turning the clocks back early Sunday morning. I do NOT like it when it gets dark at 5 p.m. If I’m not already out doing something, fat chance getting me to go back out at night. My pj’s start calling me to come get them by 7:30. I know I’m not alone in this. I don’t understand why we still observe this practice of changing the clocks when we’re no longer agrarian. But, then nobody asked me.

It's not even Halloween yet, and already it’s cold enough to snow. I guess Mother Nature figured if we can jump the gun with Christmas decorations in September, she can do it too. Now that it starts to get dark at 6:15 p.m. add a cold and rainy day on top of that, and it’s downright nasty. This is definitely not a mood picker-upper. 
                 
The lobby desk is the only place you’ll find a hint of Halloween in the hotel. Confidante is surrounded by an assortment of pastel-colored fedoras, colorful masks and some kind of plastic glasses with horizontal slats, all sitting on the desk. I’m supposed to remember who wore these, but I don’t. So, sue me. They even have Halloween candy to give out. Right. You and I both know those candy bars are gonna head right onto the hips of the front desk girls, not in some little trick or treater’s bag, especially since they can’t even find their way into the lobby. I swiped one of the masks. It’s my favorite color: purple. I may just wear it to spite Confidante after his annoying insult after I put it on.
                 
What is it about men and car parts? I mean, when a woman does her own research on how something is supposed to work, and then asks for advice on what would be the best and least expensive option to getting it fixed, why incite a riot because she just didn’t go with the first option mentioned? Getting more options is all part of the research. Then we can make an informed decision. See, this is why men should stick to cars and the yard, and let us handle everything else. If you’re not going to accept the way we solve problems, then don’t criticize. So, there.
                 
You know I’ve been here too long when former employees come back and I’m still here. Sorry. I just finished my tour of duty with the book that required me to be here. Frankly, I’m looking forward to cooking for myself again before the chef at WFG does me in with his penchant for raw onions in every salad bar item, and for the use of hot chilis or cayenne pepper in his main entrees. We could use a little variety folks.
                 
What do Harry Houdini, Mohammar Ghadafi, and one of the two computers on the front desk have in common? They all died from a blow to their guts. In my opinion, the computer just got tired. They never give it a rest. Confidante saw it coming first. He thinks it’s a virus. I think it was suicide.
                 
Is that sleet I hear on the window? It better not be. Don’t make me get up tomorrow and find out I missed fall this year. I still have the colorful fall foliage to take in yet. There’s plenty of time for winter to come, so keep your distance Jack.

My life seems to get stranger and stranger. What I mean is, I keep attracting stuff like weird energy and people who’ve already shown up in my writing. Maybe it’s because people find me easy to talk to. They tell me things they normally wouldn’t broadcast to just anybody. I guess I should take that as a compliment, but I swear some of the stuff I’m
privy to is pretty unbelievable. The frustrating thing is that the 411 guest can’t even share the information. Oh, well I guess I’ll just have to stick with what I can.
                 
The hotel was booked solid both Friday and Saturday nights. We haven’t had a weekend this noisy in a long time. First, there was the boys’ hockey team that flooded the lobby with the antics of twenty 10 year-old boys hyped up on sugar. Loud doesn’t do what happened justice. They pounced on every square inch of the lobby like flies on a dropped ice cream cone. They had pillow fights. They dueled with the pool cue sticks. They took over the one remaining computer and outdid each other with screaming. They ran circles around the desk chasing each other. I thought Confidante’s head was going to rotate off. My patience quickly evaporated, especially when they glommed all over the pool table with
drinks in hand. Now you know we just had that re-felted. Where were the adults? Oh, come on. You know they were all at the bar. The kids were supposed to go to bed at ten, but the adults weren’t paying any attention. At something to eleven, Confidante couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could I. I left him with the carnage and went to bed myself. Nobody has to tell me when to go.
                 
There were twenty or so sixteen year-old girls all dressed up in black that twice glided through the lobby in sync and single-file like a caterpillar chorus line. We had a dog fight here and there. And, if one more person asked for ice, I was gonna scream. The piéce de resistance was the restaurant-bar below us that blared their music so loud no one could get any sleep until after they closed at 2 a.m. 
                 
Sunday I needed to recharge my batteries in the good old outdoors. I spent a few hours walking in the woods and sitting by a lake. The smell of pine trees was intoxicating. The only noise came from the ducks, and since I was visiting their home, there wasn’t much I could say. Nor, did I want to. I just enjoyed the quiet and the sunshine. I figured I was due.

Does dirty laundry really weigh more than clean? I have recently asked myself this very question. Once a week, I drag all my clothes to the laundry room. This necessitates carrying a large duffel bag of dirty clothes, blouse and skirt hangers, a canvas sack holding my detergent, fabric softener and Shout, and perhaps my entertainment bag, an assortment of reading material, my cell phone, glasses and a bottle of water. The trip to the laundry requires one long walk down the hall to the elevators, and another very long walk to the laundry. The load is heavy and I always think I’m never going to make it. I start alternating between heavy breathing and holding my breath half way down the hall. By the time I get there, my arms are ready to fall off. I can barely haul the duffle bag up and onto the table. So, why then on the trip back, do the same clothes, now clean and on hangers, feel lighter? It’s not like they were THAT dirty or anything. I would like a scientific explanation of this phenomenon.
                 
I tell you, riding on four brand new tires and having my brakes adjusted have given me a whole new lease on life. What a difference. You don’t realize how bad things used to be until you go to brake and you almost go through the windshield. Not only that, but the car no longer pulls to the right. Oh, happy day.
                 
Earlier, I went downstairs to heat my dinner in the microwave and came up on another business networking function. Forty people all talking simultaneously and sounding like the Tower of Babel. Been there, done that, even have the tee shirt. Me in another life. No thanks.
                 
Last night it had the nerve to rain just as I was getting ready to go get dinner. I wasn’t hungry enough to walk in the rain, so in desperation I ordered wings in a spicy barbeque sauce from the bar. Normally, this would go against my healthy diet. However, when weighed against the other option: getting soaked and chilled to the bone in the process of having to walk down the street, I opted for raising a few eyebrows in the kitchen when I ordered them. They were good too.
                 
I talked to my 95 year old mother today. Well, I tried to anyway. We’ve had the same conversation every time I’ve called for the past few years. She never knows what day it is, nor what time. You’ve just told her fifteen times. I asked her why she doesn’t use the old marking off the days on the calendar routine she used to have. She says every day is the same; why bother. 
                 
Right about this time, Confidante should be taking a mid-term exam. Or, so he says. Some people will use any excuse to avoid getting their clock cleaned at pool. Jeesh.

Has this been a boring week, or what? Once I got done with the requested materials for the agent, I sort of got lost. I mean, I felt lost. I realized once I stopped going at a fast clip for seven days a week, once it was temporarily over, I sort of went flat. Now what? I tried
doing research for the next book in the series and ran into information constipation. Maybe I’m supposed to take a breather. If I am, I need to get out of here to do that. I suddenly realized I’ve been working, sleeping and eating in the same small room for over a year. See, the bad thing about being a workaholic is that your friends move on without you. They’re all off enjoying beautiful Sunday afternoons while you’re just looking up from whatever you’ve kept yourself occupied with, and wondering where everyone else has gone. 
                 
Doesn’t it just figure, that as soon as we got the pool table recovered, that all my pool buddies decided to move on? Good grief. I don’t even look anymore when little kids are playing on it. My reputation is finished. Some hussler I am. I’m not even sure I could hit a ball anymore. Not only that, but I haven’t even had the urge to play. Something must be the matter with me. It’s all Confidante’s fault. If he hadn’t gone to days, I’d still be trying to beat the socks off him.
                 
There’s no point in even hanging out in the lobby at night anymore. People seem to be in a trance. Nothing’s breaking down. No one’s started a fire lately making popcorn in the microwave. It’ boring. I tell you, the place has gone to the dogs. Literally. They’ve taken over the hotel. There’s one bulldog here that looks just like its owner. I guess I should say, its owner looks like her dog.
                 
I realized what I HAVE been doing is taking care of all the stuff I’ve let slide while I was so engrossed in getting the final draft of the manuscript done in time for the conference. You know, getting the car serviced, hunting for tires, flu shots, etc. Ordinary, but necessary stuff like that. I may have to put off a European excursion for awhile, although that’s what I’d really like to being doing. I’ve got a book waiting for me to write in Ireland, and a few
others here and there. They’ll have to be on hold for a little longer.
                 
I didn’t want y’all to think I’d fallen off the face of the earth this week. I just had to channel my steam elsewhere for awhile. I’d be remiss if I didn’t channel some steam towards kudos for author and fellow member of James River Writers, David L. Robbins whose screenplay for the film The Rock in the Sun, in conjunction with director Lucas Krost and producer Bennett Fidlow, won the Virginia Film Office screen writing award.