wherever u go, there u r

I gotta admit I'd begun to be a news junkie again. Blame Rachel Maddow.

I dialed into Air America on the job back in the day. After being banished from ipod listening at work while I typed. Suddenly data entry had to be performed only accompanied by the stale breath of MPR.

Not only that classical sleep soundtrack, but this starvation rations thin and staticky from across the room via a stentorian co worker with a rod for a spine who wouldn't know a good time if it bit him on the neck.

So I had taken to the barely audible no-headphones approach and tuned in the brain freeing influence of Chuck D, Lizz Winstead and Rachel. It helped keep me awake when MPR threatened coma.

Of course paying attention to the news is equal parts shooting yourself in the foot and daring ennui or insanity.

Being up to date on the news of the health care reform "debate" isn't supposed to give me a damned ulcer.

Mom chastised me for being too political about a month ago. I comment on what I experience. Sometimes the news got a big portion of my day. That seems to be passing, as it did after my Air America phase on the job.

Soon enough they cut off any autonomous listening privileges. I could bring in a radio if I had to, but using it was never actually possible. If I tried, cubicle nemesis suddenly had to turn MPR up for some reason.

I was being outmaneuvered, and persistently never addressing the issue to my face rapidly lost them respect in my eyes. Patience frayed on both sides, and I was offered the opportunity to quit, or be sacked.

In the end, I took the unemployment. I never gave up working my skills for them. They began to selectively accept how I performed best, and whittled my effectiveness in their sandbox down to a toothpick's worth of where and how I'd began in their employ. Clueless capitalists abound.

I have no regrets about that tired scene. I can't believe I've rambled about it years later.

But NaNoWriMo is chugging along. Coaxing out my muse and letting it ramble must be affecting my blogging.

There is no day thirteen. I'm keeping rough chapters divided by the progress made each day. Not exactly dividing scenes. Sometimes they branch from day to day right in the midst of a scene.

I've sketched out a scene later on that I'll either cut and revise in, embellishing as needed when I come to it, or abandon entirely at any number of forks in the path before it. Lovely nihilism, that.

I'm not actually moving forward on the plot today, at least yet. I've got a sketch of the coming chapters that exploded somewhere inside my forehead last evening. A brief satori of plottage and witty snaps of characters that haven't been written yet.

Oh Eris, Loki, oh Jupiter. Oh Goddess, Jah, Abraham, Mary, Mohammed, Allah...

I don't mean to profane. I thank them all, and only my family members complain.

Sometimes I imagine sitting at the table where they all share the multiverse.

I keep scribbling my words in wobbly-legged stacks, inspired but solitary, for now.