Stuff

Oh internet friends, where are you? My brain is much too stunned from work to post entire paragraphs here, but chatting about nothing sounds heavenly. Is there anyone being invisible on AIM or YIM? Anyone already signed in who's willing to put up with my nonsense? I need distraction like burning.

Hello all!
Nope, I'm not dead, just really busy and hermit-like lately. The last couple of months have been just one thing after another: ilness, bills, things breaking, crazy work hours, blah, blah, blah, blah. But whatever, the holidays were nice despite all the drama. From reading all of your entries, all of you seem to have had nice holidays as well. So, *mwah* big (belated) ChrismasHannukahWinterNewYearsy hugs to all of you.

Yeah, this is why I've been so crazy and absent lately:

( OCARINAS HOMG )
Dial up users beware. There are lots of pictures that I was too lazy to resize.

Oh, the hell. Remember that whole choose your own nano month writing thing I was blathering on about a little while ago? With the word counts and personal goals, that thing? Yeah, it didn't work out. Surprise, surprise.

But hey, ocarinas. I carved lots and lots of pictures on ocarinas. That's good, right?

Heh. I'm watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer now. It's quite possible that there's something really pathetic about my life.

Why is it so much easier to write dialog for a bazillion gillion year old goddess than it is to write dialog for a 20 year old male? It makes no sense.


( word count )

Maybe because boys are weird.

Edit:
Dear LJ Spellcheck,
Stop screwing with my head. It's dialogue, darn it, not dialog. Don't give me that crap about British vs. American English.
Yeah,
Me

Yeah, harder than I thought it might be to keep up with the word count thing.

3108 / 50000 words. 6% done!

HOkay, sudden obsession with a television show. Um, what the hell? This hasn't happened since I was about 16 and fell for Jordan Catalano. I mean, I was 16 then--that's the proper time to crush on tv characters; that's the time to get drawn into a show just to see what happens next. Not now. Now, I'm supposed to be this free spirit, not living on the road but still post-hippie flower child, distaining of modern pop culture elitist bitch, remember?

So, yeah, I'm having a really hard time figuring out what the fuck it is about Supernatural that has me all mushy and giddy. It can't just be the pretty; there's lots of pretty out there, right? I usually only get caught up in literary!pretty. And I'm almost as fond of Bobby and Pamela as I am of the boys or of Castiel. They're definitely not so pretty. What is with this?

After two days of obsessively trying to figure out why oh why Bobby saying "idjit" is so freaking familiar (tracked it down to a friend of my dad's I haven't seen since I was about 5 years old), I'm starting to think I like the show so much because it makes me nostalgic. Maybe it's that whole Mom's dead and now it's us against the world vibe, or maybe it's the eau de motor oil and the comforting static of a police scanner. Hell, maybe I just miss hanging out in the bar with my dad while classic rock blares in the background.

So, yeah, my daddy is a John Winchester clone. But, you know, without the whole killing ghost thing. And me? Apparently, I'm Mary Sue.

Dude, I am so LAME sometimes.

I'm on a bit of a Wraeththu kick this week, in case you haven't noticed.;) Now don't fall over from the shock of this, but I actually wrote three drabbles that I'm going to post here. Yes, here. In public. Uncharacteristic of me, no?

It all belongs to Storm Constantine, not to me, but I'm having fun playing!

( Terzian/Cobweb )
( Flick/Seel )
( Closets of Emily Child Groupies )

...or at least finished writing this story. I feel like I've just run a triathlon. It still needs work; oh boy, does it need work, but at least the shape of it is there. This is the first time I've pushed through to the end of anything without letting myself get distracted with endless edits. I'm so proud of myself I could just sing.

It has a beginning: "Oh shut up, Mur," Orien said mildly. "I don't have time for your drama."

A middle: “Branch-charmed by earnest stars, indeed,” I gasped. That was the next line of the poem, somewhat mangled by my breath-scattered thoughts and shaking voice. “Are you trying to hypnotize me? Or just tell me that you want to go to the oak grove?”

And an end: As for the rest, well, Thiede did say I was a quick study.

An actual end! YAY.



Edit--Also, I have two Dreamwidth invite codes if anybody wants one. Just let me know.