If at first you don't succeed

I was getting all cozy this morning, writing about Calidar's Amazing Flying Circus.  Here I am thinking about the look and feel of a magical circus populated with freaks and a menagerie of monsters, with weird stuff here and there.  I imagine a swirl of smells, noises, color, and movement all about, getting deeply immersed in the writing. . .

Boing!  "You Got Mail!"  (Cripes!  What?)  "Bruce, I lost your earlier e-mail. Can you resend those ads for Calidar?"

Groan.  Yeah, okay.  It's urgent.  Let's get this out of the way.

...back to writing.  I need an artifact hidden under the center ring.  That's it, and nobody owns that business, they're all owned by the circus enchantment. And...

Janet runs down the stairs.  "Back in an hour.  Gotta go take care of the dogs."

Hmm?  What?  Oh yeah, dem dang dawgs... Sure.  Drive safely.  Now, what was that about the circus magical thing? 

"Bleep!" chirps Facebook PM.  "About those events for Gary Con, have you logged in to enter them?" 

Oh, shoot.  I forgot about that.  And that stupid password isn't working.  (Taps frantically on the keyboard with mounting frustration until the problem is solved.)  Okay, where in Tarnation did I save those blankety-blank event descriptions?  Never mind.  I'll write them up.  Again. There, done!

...back to writing (an hour later).  Okay, I want some "oohs" and "aahs" under the great tent, and a hair-rising ride barreling through the dire wolves enclosure, and...

"Meow?"  Cat #1 translation: "Where's-Janet-I'z-wants-some-milk-scrach-my-back-human-now-now-now-now-now... right-now-and-I'z-means-it."

Sigh.  Okay, here, scratch.  Have some milk while I nuke another cup of suspiciously dark tea.  I swear I saw something looking back at me in there.

...back to writing.  Let's see.  What was I thinking of?  Oh, yeah.  How about some freaky side shows, and guys aggressively hawking sweet treats and bubbly potions, and. . .

Gotta go to the bathroom.  Suspiciously dark tea has already run its course.  What? Already?  Can it wait?  Nope, never mind.  Giddyup, pardner.

...back to writing.  Reshuffling my mind.  Hmmm, I could have circus workers looking for new talents among the townsfolk below.  A crippled kid?  Abductions?  Convicted criminal looking for a place to hide or an escape from the law?  Maybe.  All of the above?  Why not, and...

"Meow?" Cat #2 translation: "You scratched-her-back-a-minute-ago-I'z wants-some too-scratch-my-belly-now-I'z-bored-what-you-doing-up-there-klikety-klak-human?"

Here, I'll scratch your belly and your chin, pat your head. . . The cat sneezes snot all over my hands.  Great.  Get off my lap, you silly cat.  I'm trying to work.

...back to writing after washing hands.  Sheesh.  What was all that again?  Oh yeah:  the circus.  Where does it fly?  Who controls it?  Nobody.  It flies itself, based on what the circus entity most desires or needs.  Coooool.  What the heck does it need?  Oh, I know...

"Hi, honey!  I'm back."  Janet runs back up the stairs.  "You wouldn't believe what happened.  The dog owner's guest got on my case for not making her feel welcome.  I think she's got some personal issues.  I'm so upset."

"Oh?" says I.  "She's a dog?"  I ask snarkily, avoiding the more gender-specific term.

"No.  Obviously."

"Ah. Well then, she's not in your job description. You're not paid to scratch her. . . never mind.  Though, she does sound barking, that one. . .  Come here.  I'll give you a hug.  Better now?  Don't worry, the whole thing will blow away.  It's a tempest in a tea pot.  Where's that pesky thing anyway?"

...back to writing.  Cats are sleeping.  New pot-of-tea-I-can-see-through is brewing.  Janet's in her office, writing.  Lucky dog.  Maybe me too.  Big sigh #2.  Concentrate, Bruce: think "circus," Bruce.  Okay, so, these weird folks are attracted by the circus and end up spending the rest of their lives there.  Maybe the thing is some kind of conduit for their souls to be funneled to Belgomeer's divine domain.  Maybe the circus enchantment makes them weird and talented show people.  Something like that anyway.  And...

The microvave dings again and again.  Shut up, you stupid thing!  The phone rings.  It's the dog owner--she's cool.  Great.  One less worry.  Peace on Earth has returned.  My eyes shift back to the keyboard.

The phone rings, again.  We're supposed to go out and eat with friends.  Blast it!  I look like a hermit crossed with a bear.  I'll need some time to freshen up.  My eyes return to the keyboard one more time.  Images of dogs, and cats, and emails, and Gary Con, and Calidar ads all dance merrily in my head.  My eyelid is twitching.  The neighbors slam their front door and those on their car, repeatedly.  I imagine their amused gazes as they glance up at my window.  My blood pressure rises.  The town's tornado warning goes off and keeps on blaring insistently.

Oh, frack it!  Now I've no idea anymore where I was going with all this circus business.  My home's a circus, and my concentration is F-U-B-A-R! 

I'll write about this morning instead.