Murmur (Nharnen)

(No, that's Nomadic. So it doesn't exist. And I'm not positive it's even a noun.)

I remember being seven and waking up excited every day, because OMG THE FOOTLOOSE TAPE REALLY LOUD IN THE CAR YAY.

I remember being twelve and waking up expectant every day, knowing something cool was going to happen.

I remember being sixteen and waking up knowing I was going to get to write for at least an hour. It was very--not serene--orienting? Gave me a place and purpose.

I have a vague idea of being twenty-two and waking up with a wet face and red eyes, but that still doesn't feel real to me.

I guess this will do. Public, private; they're functionally the same.

I read a Batman novel the other day in its entirety. It almost did what I needed it to do.

That's the real reason I started writing. What I want to see happen doesn't quite occur the way I need it to. If I haven't got some desperate itch that needs a good, hard scratch, I can't write. With or without muse help.

I wish it weren't true, too (either?), but there you go.

I can see the moon through the blinds! *Hee.* Cool. It's getting larger as it comes down more toward the horizonish from my perspective. ^_^