Don't Open Your Sunroof in the Rain and Other Life Lessons

 I've been wrapping up one project and plunging right into another, so my head is almost always someplace else.

 The thing I love best about my brain is the way it keeps problem-solving for my characters, even when I'm away from my desk and not entirely conscious of the thoughts that are spinning. The thing that annoys me is that when my brain is working out dialogue or checking for flaws in a new plot twist, the other things I'm attending to in autopilot mode don't always get the most careful attention.

 I imagine my autopilot as a Jetsons-style robot who has a few bugs in her program. Of course, while I'm busy imagining my autopilot as an embodied entity, I'm probably also squeezing hand lotion onto my toothbrush.

 For example:

 - Driving back from the grocery story the other day, my car was unbearably hot and stuffy. Instead of playing with the air vents to get some fresh air, my hand reached up to open the sun roof. In a torrential downpour. Thankfully, I caught myself just in time.

 - On my way to writing group last week, I walked out to the garage without shoes on and didn't notice until I actually got in the car and felt the brake pedal with my bare foot. (But I did successfully remember my pages, a plate of peanut butter cookies, and my car keys. I get points for that, right?)

 - While marinating some veggies to grill on Sunday, I somehow managed to pour almost an entire batch of salad dressing onto the kitchen floor.

 - I failed to check the weather when planning to grill and ended up on the back patio wielding metal tongs in the middle of a lightning storm.

 - I didn't realize there was leftover coffee in the coffee pot and flooded the counter with dark roast when I started this morning's brew.

 But oh, the characters who have come to life! I wouldn't trade them for anything. Not even for a kitchen floor that isn't slippery.