It's almost a battle, in and of itself, to stand my ground while so many ghostly characters come at me with their stories in their fists, or on their tongues, expecting me to type them up right this minute.
(I posted a list of the order in which the Highlander's stories will be told, but they don't even look at it! I mean, it's right there, stuck to the plaque on the memorial cairn where everyone can see it. And I know, after all these centuries, every last one of them has learned to read!)
And, on top of all this, I've just been waylaid in the shower and informed that one of the stories I planned to tell was just flat out wrong, and one handsome brunette named Ross would be happy to dictate the truth--if I promise to write it next.
Well, I'm not going to fall for that. I have a plan, damn it. I've color coded things and made charts and schedules, and I'm not going to let a wisp of Scottish fog, or shower steam, turn it all into a waste of time!
Besides, if word got out to the others, I'd never be alone in the bathroom again. And that, my friends, is not an option.
So. As per the schedule, Fraser is next.
(Just kidding. He is definitely next.)
"Mr. Ross, get back in line or I will sic a couple of Muir witches on you! And anyone stepping a ghost of a toe in my bathroom will become Number Zero. Are we clear?!"
About the room...
There are a number of rooms in my head. Behind one, there is a gnarly table covered with thick open books. If I close those and tuck them away on the shelves, my thoughts become less cluttered. I can focus on whatever is left on the table.