Laura Bowers

My to-do list for today:

Bathe.  Yes, it's time.

Stand in closet, figure out what to wear.  Settle for turtleneck sweater even though it scratches my neck but it's clean and doesn't have to be ironed.

Print out manuscript.  All 306 pages. 

Worry that it's too long.

Stop fussing, remember how editor said not to worry about it now.

Drive to town.

Get in line at post office.

Have a silent, but gripping panic attack, thinking I should have changed this one scene that I almost changed last night at midnight but was too tired and now it's too late, unless I go back home, make the changes, reprint the book, and bring it back.  And while I'm at it, make it shorter.

Get kicked by grumpy woman for not moving forward.

Forty minutes later, move to head of line.  Have postal clerk look at me with a tired "next."

Move forward.  Clutch manuscript to my chest.  Stand there looking stupid.

Nod when postal clerk asks if I'm gonna mail that thing or stand there all day (looking stupid.)

Grip end of manuscript tightly while handing it over.  Brace myself as postal clerk attempts to pull it from my hands.  Put one foot on counter to get more leverage because this postal chick is super strong.

Lose battle.  Fall on my rear.

Say "ouch."

Pay victorious postal clerk.  Ask for receipt.  (Taxes, you know.)  Watch in despair as she takes manuscript away. 

Leap over counter.

Run for room where strong postal chick ducked into.  Get detained by a male postal clerk.  Stomp on his foot, tickle his pits, and zip past him when he lets go because even though I'm not super strong like postal chick, I'm scrappy.

Clothesline another clerk. Try to bust down door.

Gasp in sheer pain as my scrappy rear is tackled from behind by, you guessed it, strong postal chick.

Think, "Where the heck did she come from?"

Minutes later, realize handcuffs really do hurt when getting arrested.

Go to police barracks, pose for mug shot.  Regret choosing a bulky turtleneck because it instantly adds five pounds.

Use one phone call to call editor.  Tell her to notify the papers because you can't buy press like this!  Inform her, when asked, that I'm wearing a green turtleneck.

Hear editor yell for not consulting her first on my wardrobe selection before getting arrested because a bulky turtleneck is simply dreadful and a nice, tailored blazer would be more appropriate. 

Promise to contact editor first before my  next arrest.

Sit in jail, have light conversation with a woman named Bertha while itching my scratchy neck.  Begin to feel that oh-so familiar panic attack return.

Darn.  I really should have changed that scene!