I got to work this morning and the safe wouldn't open. It's temperamental at times so I gave it a timeout and tried again--no luck. I waited a half hour and tried--nope. I had a customer who fortunately paid with a check, then I tried the safe again--nada. I called Mr. Boss hoping he had a secret way to open the $*%#& thing, but he didn't. What he had was a different code, but that didn't work either. I tried enough to get that number locked out too so I waited another 15 minutes and tried again--no, not even a friendly little click to let me know it was thinking about opening next time. I changed the battery in the keypad--non. In desperation I called the guy he bought the safe from. Turns out that only one brand of battery (Duracell) has enough juice to satisfy the little glutton; when I gave it one of those, it opened right up. Prima donna.
So, how's your day going?
Last night at writer's was a bust. Neither of us got inspired by any of the lovely and interesting exercises we had at hand. That doesn't happen often but I hate when it does. I get a chill in my stomach that maybe I've spent all my words and I'm done writing for life. Silly me. I was so darned frustrated by it I didn't even write my bedtime prompt, but I brought it and my notebook to work and once the safe had opened and my work-world was back in order, poof, out came a bit of writing.
February 18--Ang Thong, Thailand. Mason had the best spot. Without moving from his seat in the cover of the brush he could see far down the passage between islands. Every boat and ship that sailed from Taegu in the north down to Ko Samui behind him two islands to the south had to pass right by his perch. If he turned his head and looked out to sea he could see why. the ocean offshore of Ang Thong was a maze of reefs and sandbars guaranteed to catch and scuttle even the shallowest drafted vessel. Even the native fishermen whose boats were nothing more than a shell with bare inches of freeboard avoided the area. So if Ji Gong was going to move his fleet of rusty cargo freighters, Mason would see. He had been in this spot for two days and nights now. The bugs had fed on him and the lizards had courted and consummated their union on his left thigh but he had not slept. One time he had stepped away from is post to relieve himself downwind, but for shorter breaks he could stand and step behind the fig tree he sat under. His clothes blended into the bush and he was careful not to let his binocular lenses flash and give away his position.
Maybe I've read too many thrillers.