Happy to Work

I think I've mentioned here before that once a week, when I switch my sleep schedule and stay up all night working, I take a sleeping pill when I get home at 7am, just to jolt myself into sleeping days for the week. Seems to work well, and because I don't take them very often, they're always strong, and always work.

This morning, after I'd drifted off into sleep, I got the hiccups. I know this because I remember hiccuping and startling awake, wondering what the hell had just happened, and then falling back asleep. Then I'd wake up for the next hiccup, only to fall immediately back into deep sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was pretty funny for someone like me who can be woken up by a whisper in another room sometimes and normally has problems falling back asleep. I have to say, it felt good.

As does sitting here in Peet's, having written for a few hours, and when I'm done with this post, I'll go to work for the night. I do love what Gloria Steinem said about loving having written. After-writing is always the best part of the day, even if it's only the short drive to work where my day starts over. That drive is happy, even if the words themselves actually sucked.

RWA National was amazing, terrific, awesome. I didn't get enough sleep (surprise!) and ended up with a migraine the night of the RITAs, but at least I made it through the ceremony and got to see my chapter-mate Elisa Beatty win the Golden Heart! We were so very proud!

I spent plenty of time in meetings and attending parties where we got to wear our best clothes and our highest heels (if we wanted to, of course — but I did). I hung out with five of the PensFatales (oh, we missed the ones who couldn't make it). I spent time with my agent, who is SO AWESOME. I had a massage in a spa and pretended I did it all the time. I met many, many people. I decided Orlando in July is too hot to support life, and I'm not sure how they fake it, and I sat next to a hairy drunk guy on the plane and thought terrible things in his sleeping direction until he woke up and talked about being Etta James's keyboard player for twenty-five years. Just goes to show — when I judge people, I am usually completely wrong. I should know this by now.

A wonderful, writing-filled time. And it feels so great to be back to the writing, too! I didn't work while I was gone, a conscious decision, and I feel refreshed just for being gone from the page those five or six days.

Yes. Happy. Working hard. I think those might be related.