when I'm killed in the conference hotel, bury me near Margaret Mitchell
Well, I'm embarrassed to admit that I just woke up from a nap I didn't intend to take. I was writing, doing pretty well, if I do say so myself, when the needy kitty started whining & pacing. So I put him on my lap to settle down. That usually works, though I never know how long he'll stay...sometimes it's just a few minutes, but sometimes it's hours. Today, of course, it turned out to be hours.As I've mentioned before, it can be hard to write around the kiddos, so I read a little instead, hoping it wouldn't take him long to run off & find something else to do. But before that happened, I started to nod off. Next thing I knew, I was waking up two hours later. Sheesh! Talk about a waste of time.
I blame the cat, totally & completely. Hopefully I can still get some good writing done before bed, though. I've been on such a roll, I don't want to spoil it.
But you're probably wondering why I gave today's post such an odd title. That would be because, one of my first days in Atlanta, I was almost killed. Literally.
It was in the conference hotel. I forget what I was doing, exactly, or where I was going, but I was walking across the lobby area of the Garden Level, where they had a little eatery & plenty of seating for people to gather & talk.
Now, something I should mention is that this particular hotel was very open. Even on the public levels, you could look up & see the railings for all of the room levels. And from the hall outside the rooms, you could see the glass elevators racing up & down, or look down & see people milling around thirty floors below. Nice, but a little dizzying at times.
So I was walking through the Garden Level, on my way to the elevators, I think, minding my own business. I most certainly was not looking up--but I really should have been.
There were people around, but nowhere closet to where I was walking, & next thing I knew, there was this CRASH!!! I immediately stopped in my tracks & just sort of stared at the sixteen pieces of broken broom on the floor in front of me. Another step, & I swear to God it would have hit me in the head. Probably killed me, at the rate it was going, because when it hit the floor, it positively shattered. I've never seen a broom break into so many pieces. LOL
I still don't know where the thing came from...probably fell out of a cleaning cart from, like, the forty-second floor. I'm just glad I wasn't walking any faster or I might never have made it through the entire week. That's the closest brush I've had with death in quite a while. *g*
Currently reading Countdown by Iris Johansen
Currently watching Man of the House
