Despite the fact that we're only about two-thirds unpacked, work caught up with me today. It was a Telephone Day. I hate Telephone Days. Sometimes they seem to wear me out a lot more than Writing Days. Today I had multiple conversations with my agent in NYC and my editor at Penguin, plus a long conversation with an editor at Marvel. Those who have been wanting to see me return to comics are probably going to get their wish quite soon. I'll say more when I can. I have another meeting with Marvel next Tuesday. Anyway, it seemed as though every time I started unpacking something, the phone would ring again. I hate the way cell phones heat up during long phone calls. I'm sitting here trying to concentrate on what Merrilee (my agent) is saying to me about, oh, say return rates on a given novel, and all I can think about is those stories I've heard about cell phones overheating from faulty batteries and decapitating small children and old ladies. I wondered what Merrilee would hear on the other end.
"Caitlín? Are you still there?"
"Um...yeah. I was just thinking out how much force an exploding cell phone would have to generate to take off my head."
"Did you hear anything I said."
But I did manage to get the two living-room display cases unpacked today. I played ABBA almost the whole time. I don't listen to ABBA often, but sometimes it works when nothing else will. And there's something very...well...symmetrical about sitting on the floor in nothing but my underwear and leg warmers, singing along to Gimme, Gimme, Gimme while rooting stray styrofoam peanuts out of the orbital sockets of a Maiasaura peeblesorum skull. It's the sort of shit one doesn't appreciate until after the moment has passed, and I think, Damn, I wish I could think of stuff like that when I'm writing.
Whoa. Time's up. Back to work...