The Problem

Published October 10, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

 A few years ago I had a student whose mother was doing some redecorating in their home. The redecorating was taking a very long time and every day my student had something new to report. After about a week or so I asked her to explain the process to me. She looked at me and said, “Oh, I see. You want this to make sense.” 

I think that’s why I’m having so much trouble in this little slice of time like the present. I want things to make sense. 

It seems like such a small thing to ask. But clearly, it’s far too much.   My own world is growing increasingly narrow as I focus on getting stories finished for deadline. This is creating a ripple in my space/time continuum because I know this batch of stories will more than likely be the last for this type of contract.

When these stories are finished, I will have to throw myself feet first back into the realm of public education as a sub. (I’m still hoping that the white knight of a full-time job will rescue me at the last minute. More on that later.) 

The time has come. When the last story is written, edited, and uploaded, I will continue to write, but with a different pace and focus.

It’s crazy, because I don’t really like writing formula romances. It dents my soul a little bit. I’m not sure why.  Writing these stories takes me out of my world for a while and then I get yanked back in by reality like the cat pooping in the plants and creating an odor so vile that it drags me from my office.

Reality makes me very aware that I can’t afford to rely solely on money I make writing cheesy romances.  

It leaves me wanting to make sense of things.

Things do not make sense right now.

I have a whole list of news stories that cite specific ways the shutdown is affecting the people. This would be the everyday people, not the congress or the folk that are creating the mess.

It seems redundant to relay that information here. 

That particular madness does help me understand a phenomenon that I did really grasp before.

I now know why we are summoning zombies. (In pop culture, that is. I haven’t quite jumped off of the sanity train yet. If I do, you will be the first to know.) I have been taking advantage of the fluid nature of my work day to catch up on some of the shows that my peer group has been nudging me toward. There is a pattern. Zombies, Dystopia, Revenge, Scandal, Extreme Crime.  It’s as if we’re trying to trump our own disasters. (Make your own pun here.)

So today while I wait to hear about the JOB( which is a grant funded position and it has occurred to me that this may be held up by the current situation. ) I will be writing the last three short stories and wagging the zombies (World’s worst Oingo Boingo tribute band) to distract myself.

Maybe we will get lucky and Olivia Pope, Emily Thorne and Daenerys Targaryen will join forces to harness the power of Zombie and force everyone in this plane of existence to get their heads back in the game.

That would make sense. 

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