Desk Space Doodads

My little desk space is filled with inspirations and knick knacks. I've got the craft books, of course, and a name plate engraved with my first and last, and that term author, too. Someone had given it to me after I finished my first novel, saying, "You'll look at it and remember who you are, and who you want to be."

I've got a small pencil cup that has one word on the front; it beseeches me to inspire. And one of those stones to carry or rub for good measure; imbedded in it is the reminder to create.

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Over the weekend I added a distraction to the mix. Spell Cube.

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It's a game. A plastic die. You give it a roll, and when the letters inside have come to rest, you spell as many words with them as you can. There's a points system, and you can time yourself, but I just like it because I'm a word nerd. And I think it'll come in handy for those inherent moments of procrastination.

What sorts of doodads and things are near your desk space?

Sidetracked

It's a grand idea. I'll gather information for the article proposal, note my personal experience, track down the editor's name and I'll be ready to--

Toilet paper. I have to remember toilet paper. A roll and a half isn't going to get this family of four past 3 o'clock. I'll just add it to my list, the one I have sitting here on my desk, right next to the...

Ooh! A couple new blog comments, I see. And Mom forwarded that recipe. Ooh, that looks reeeaaally goooood. Awesome. And... since I'm here... maybe I'll just check on Faceb--

"Mommy! I'm thirsty! Can I have some milk? And a snack? I'm hungry, too. When's dinner? I mean lunch. Did we have lunch yet?"/"Yes, sweetie. Remember, we had beenie weenies?"

Chumbawumba! That's that band's name. And the song, oh, what was that called? Tubthumping, yeah! I remember, like, back when I worked at Paradise Grill, that song would come on the radio as we prepped for lunch, and what'shername would crank it, and we'd--

Oh, shoot. What time is it? What day is it? I've got to get the car payment in the mail today. But do I have any stamps? I think I'm out of stamps. I'll have to run into town, to the post office, and maybe grab some toilet paper at the store. Which is just down the road from... The doctor. I really need to call and make that follow-up appointment with the doctor, too. I think I left my to-do list--

"Girls!? Why are there balled-up socks all over the kitchen floor? Can we pick them up? And the Barbies, too? I nearly fell over Alexa, you know how clumsy Mommy is. Please? Girls? I love you."

Thank You for my girls. Thank You for all my blessings. Please be with us, guide our paths. Help Dad, be with the church ladies, bless--

What is that smell? Is something burning? No, it's the dryer. The dryer? Good heavens, I--

Well here's the book I lost. How'd it get in here? Wish I had time to read it. Maybe in the loo later, since that's the only place I seem to have any down time. May if I could--

Cripes. I forgot toilet paper.

Migraines: GAH!

I get migraines. And they ain't no fun a'tall.

Though I remember a "more-than-headache" a time or two during my childhood, they started with frequency and severity at 19. I can say with confidence that, for me, they're largely caused by hormones. I do have other triggers, though, as do most: bright light (if you see me out in the sun for any length of time, it will be with both sunglasses and a hat), strong smells (concentrated candles or heavy colognes are the worst), constant sound (an ongoing radio), too much or not enough caffeine (this is sad news for the iced mocha gal)...

Aren't I just a sack of fun?

When a migraine first comes on, it's as pain across my hairline. If it progresses it becomes localized, feeling like an icepick was jammed through the crown of my head. If it worsens yet, the icepick completes its course, coming back out at the nape of my neck.

Pain that bad is a curse, because there's nothing to do but lay in a dark and quiet room. [Past attempts with prescriptions have given mixed results, OTC stuff rarely works. It's time to visit the doctor again.] But wheras my family always assumes I fall into a deep slumber, napping the day away, it's beneath the pillow I lay, awake and in misery. There's this hypersensitivity to any noise or movement, and my thoughts.

My thoughts won't slow up. I might figure out what to do for my best friend's birthday, or remember a bill was due yesterday. And of course thoughts turn to what I could be doing: Writing. Plot ideas and perfect phrases tease me. Blog posts write themselves in my mind. But what a joke! I can't move, let alone sit in front of the bright computer monitor, clackity-clacking away.

I was especially inconvenienced by this migraine, the one that surprised me early yesterday morning and is just now making a pathetic escape out the back door. See, I did really well on my WIP this week - 2000+ words and lots of direction, a newfound feel for my character's voice, in two days. I was going to keep up the pace, too. And then BOOM! The Migraine Fairy mocked me. She said, I'll show you progress. And my efforts were thwarted.

There's always something, doesn't it seem? A distraction, a "cross to bear."

Do you have one?