Sep. 14th, 2008 06:33 am
brinshannara: (nothing good 2am)
Up too late.

Eyes aching.

Mind whirring.

I re-read about half of one of my past NaNoWriMo novels and, to my utter shock, I still don't think it sucks much. It could definitely use some work, but it doesn't suck. Whcih is nice.

I remember, now, why I couldn't keep going with it. I'm at this part, in two portions of the story, that are too hard to continue because they really tap into real-life events that were difficult to deal with then and are somewhat hard to deal with even now. So I'm kind of stuck. But maybe having reread the story some... will unstick it?

Bed for not very long at all before brunch with the family.
brinshannara: (irina (red))
So I went to bed around 5am and slept until 8:30. Whoops. I meant to sleep 'till 7, but my tired self somehow convinced the rest of me that "it was okay" to sleep in.

My brain is capable of a great deal of convincing, it appears.

Social Demography sucks ass.

But, my quote of the day (on my google personalized page) totally made me laugh:

Everyone has a purpose in life. Perhaps yours is watching television.
- David Letterman

I thought to myself THAT WOULD BE AWESOME!!! and then realized that even if it is my purpose in life, I still have a midterm today.

A midterm I am having so much trouble studying for, in part because Social Demography sucks ass, but also partly because a stupid All My Children fic has been bouncing around my head for the last six weeks and has chosen NOW to want to be let out. Disturbingly, since I started writing on Saturday night, I have over four thousand words. If I were doing NaNo, I'd be ahead of quota. Have I mentioned that I don't really know where the fic is going? 'cause I kind of do and kind of don't. It's sort of writing itself.

Heading to the parents' house after class today, to chill out and to have dinner. I might be able to get some writing done, or I might just wind up playing WoW with my brother all afternoon. It could go either way, really. Or... or I could nap. Hm.

Okay. Enough procrastinating. Back to Social Demography.

(also, I need to update my icons at some point.)
brinshannara: (wind me up (syd))
1) I hate rain.
2) I hate snow if it's wet, mushy snow that I can't ski on.
3) I hate going to class in the rain and/or wet snow that I can't ski on.
4) I hate combined personal (?) pronouns in Italian like glielo, gliela, glieli and gliele. They suck.
5) I hate missing my bus, so I should stop writing a pointless LJ entry in order to prevent my missing it.
6) There is no six.
7) I have a headache.
8) I have not written since Sunday night, I believe it was. Or Monday night? And I am okay with that.
9) I am very much looking forward to Lost tonight. And I should post at [ profile] flight815islost, dammit.
10) Can we have 36 hour days, so I can sleep for 12 hours a day and be productive for 24 hours? Seriously? it would be nice.
11) I really hate missing my bus, so I'm posting this now.

brinshannara: (what i write)
Wrote this on Thursday night, in my journal. Thought I'd share.


The summers of my youth were very similar. Routine, even. But it was comforting. Part of the routine was sitting on the top balcony, outside my younger brother's room, until my eyes couldn't stay open anymore. I'd sit out there for hours, watching the quiet street, or reading or writing by the streetlight or a flashlight. I'd sit on the railing that divided our neighour's balcony from ours, back against the wall, my feet balanced on the railing in front of me.

Many nights, I wasn't alone. The boy next door, just about my age, would sit with me. We'd sit and talk, or, sometimes, we'd sit in silence. We'd sit and watch summer arrive and leave, watch the humidity lightning fling itself across the sky and smirk at passersby, caught in unexpected rainstorms, while we were kept safely dry.

There's something special about sitting quietly during the night in summer. Maybe it's the residual part of the concept that summer equals freedom, or maybe it's just the comforting sound of cricket chirps. I'm not certain what it is, but it's almost tangible.

Tonight, I am sitting in the main bedroom in my apartment. I'm no more than three kilometers from my parents' house, where I spent hundreds of summer nights listening to the rain or the crickets. I have no balcony of my own, unfortunately, but sitting on my windowsill, my feet up on the sill in front of me, right next to my window, covered only by a screen, I can close my eyes and just listen to the rain falling, and I'm instantly 14 years old again, quietly loving the night with every molecule of my being. So strange that it was half my lifetime ago that I did this.

Sometimes, I don't know if my 14-year-old-self would recognize me, these days, but I think I'll always revert back to being that girl on quiet summer nights.


Work. Consisted of four completes on the survey I was on tonight, all in French. I got listened to and got very good in my objectivity, which is awesome. We finished a half hour early, thank God, and I've been taking it easy since I got home. I'm exhausted and will be going to bed, soon.

But a conversation with CB led to this gem:

Me: "So it wasn't even good sex, in the sense that it's good even when it's not, like pizza is good, even when it's not?"
CB: "It was bad, as in 'I'm not eating the pizza.'"

This cracked us both up to the point of tears. I don't know why, but I thought I'd share.

And on that note, bonne nuit.


brinshannara: (Default)

March 2012

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