Intaglio 2.0

The tale that you have dialed has been disconnected. There is so much of nothing that I have to say, fifteen minutes' worth and then I sleep the medicine is stroking my brain with soft blue fingers nails blunted past touching, silk soft.

I wait for the coming of night rain. I feel water moving in the darkness, but not in any way that threatens. I am at the threshold of another story, something else uncurling, I don't know for which fandom or why, doesn't matter, does it, I have come to accept that my fiction will all be fan-oriented, that I am not have not are not the soul of a novelist, that not everyone is or does or has.

I have am keeping, keeping time, old promises made in the throes of summer fever in the tide, in spray and salt and good morning, good night.

The Rhythm Of The Saints is, hands down, my all-time favorite album, by any artist anywhere. I notice new layers and thoughts in it every time.

I sat and did my homework in the computer lab tonight; that was a nice experience, that was fun. It took two hours to turn out eight hundred words of competent, adequately-resourced copy (I had to pause to read two sources for proper dissection, or I would have finished in an hour and a half.)

It felt natural, worked out well; I had a nightmare--a tension dream, I guess, one in which I flunked out, of course, but nothing unbearable or violent, just stuff that makes me grind my teeth in my sleep and wake with an aching jaw--about statistics class this morning, I also woke at three this morning, not from the dream but from the barking of the dogs.

I stayed awake on adrenaline and stubbornness until six, then went back to sleep until about noon. Had a minor frustration fueled shouting match with my parents for an hour. I don't even remember what it was about; I think we were all just using it as an excuse to yell at something for awhile.

We are all living under a lot of stress right now, both individually and communally as a unit. I'll just say "whatever" because I don't feel like spending details on it.

Right now, Plants Versus Zombies is my game. I'm on the roof levels and feeling pretty happy about it. I finally got the cat tails on the pool levels; I love the cat tails they are so cute and totally powerful as well.

I'm also looking forward to playing Peggle. I like to play games that leave me a certain amount of non-involvement or room to think about other things outside of the game itself WHILE I'm playing it.

I'm sure this is because when I first started playing games, there was only one Nintendo in the whole neighborhood, and it was at my friend Jennifer's house. So like, the whole neighborhood would come over and hang out in her living room and we would all take turns playing Mario, or, a year or so later, Zelda. (Because we lived overseas, our releases were delayed.)

So yeah. A lot of us would hang out and talk about other things while we watched the game and waited our turn. For me, gaming has always been an at least quasi-social activity. Sometimes it was the only thing I had in common with the other kids at all, the way I got to belong for a few minutes every day.

I think the Wii looks like mad fun. I would totally invite the whole class over to play Mario Party if I had a Wii.

In before "Jesus Jheti you're almost thirty, this isn't how adulthood works."

Adulthood is lonely and boring, you guys. Seriously. Except for brief, bright pockets of awesome known as "meetups."

Time's up for today. I think we made a lot of progress here, today.

Dear Subconscious,

I don't love you, either.

Pure hatred,

Me.

This morning, like some mornings, I got a bit tossy-turny on my way up. And just as I'm on my way cycling down into a nice deep wave--I'm usually aware of going under; delta is like cold water or slow paralysis, but it's lovely and smooth if you don't fight it--just then, I smell COFFEE. Fresh cooking coffee. Hot, delicious fresh coffee.

First conscious thought: "He set the coffee maker for 4:45."

I waited for my arms to kick in, for the feeling of normal movement (not the water circles, not the easy fluid nowhere of sleep) to come back to my legs, thinking, "And here I have two choices: I can wake up because of the alarm, or because OF COFFEE."

"I have to get up at 5:30 anyway."

Only, it wasn't 4:45, it was 3:30.

...Mmm, coffee.

I don't really care for James Michener's work--the sentences are brittle, flat and uninteresting--but Legacy is a short enough read that I feel I can sit still for it. Then people will stop telling me I ought to read his books. (See also: JRRT, Steven King, Dickens, Steinbeck, Tolstoy, et. al., ad nauseam).

Anyway. Using an offhand line from one of the character sketches therein, I plugged Philadelphia and Norfolk (the first Virginia seaside-ish town I could think of) into Google maps, and, thus and therfore and thereby, and possibly therewith, estimate that five days' ride on horseback at an average pace covers a distance of about 270 miles, give or take some.

This is useful for drawing original-universe maps of the fantasy variety in particular; I'd imagine halving the time across the same distance for steam-punk and/or murder mysteries with that old-time flavor--anything using steam rail. I haven't checked whether that bears out, but it sounds reasonable and would merit a saving throw and/or willpower check by interested parties.

Iron Man was fun. Stupid, but fun, and Robert Downey Jr. may continue with these antics if he wishes; I no longer disapprove. (O, ringing endorsement, so enthusiastic thou art.)

I had a brief, intense thing for Tony Stark at the age of ten, you see.

Clearly, I need sleep.

I had some good sleep earlier today, one of my jagged-edged catnaps fronted and backed by panics, with the fast, razor-sharp dreams of sentences written and spoken and shouted and screamed, faster, faster, faster--language lessons.

MOAR SLEEP NOW KTHX.

It's a good thing I'm awake early, with the usual thin-spot-in-stomach-lining, "god chose the hot poker today" sensation.

Because um, I didn't turn my alarm on. And I have a final. In morning class.

That might just be slightly important.

I also get to write myself out of another final, because I have the second-highest grade in my class.

On four hours' sleep a day, baybeh.

I've referenced my LJ before to remember what the fuck I was doing a few months ago, a few years ago, actions alongside thoughts.

Not because of drinking. I haven't had any in so long.

It murmurs my name at odd intervals.

Heard you say you would love to try some
Heard you say you would love to die some

This Indian summer, I sign my life away? There's a greedy fly here, I'll fly away. Make, up your mind, I need some help, to find what's mine, mine, mine, MINE.

Oh, my visionary people
You don't need powerful binoculars to see

I slept very deeply. So deep I had the shakes and a twitch-fit coming up. The hard, deep, regular yanking oscillations that usually come from muscle fatigue. Coffee, meet floor. I almost stabbed myself making toast. It's taken me an hour to type this, looking down to be sure I hit all the right keys, because "wndjerrs" is not how you spell "toast". Being a spaz is such fun.

I held myself rigid all night--my jaw made noises like distant gunshots against the roof of my mouth when I stood up. My feet still hurt.

It happened that night
When you told me to go
Don't ask who's to blame
I don't know

Dreams were too personal. No, not sex, I'd brag about a sex dream in lengthy detail; I've had my sex dream quota, anyway, check back next year. Yes, of course I'm serious. I'm always serious when it's not important.

OH NOES I DIDN'T FRIENDLOCK IT TEH WHOLE WORLD WILL KNOW I'M DISABLED.

*Deep, jaw-clacking yawn.*

That will be all.

I am tired all the time.

I have a bus ticket that lasts for thirty days and YOU DON'T HAH.

The King and his men
Took the Queen from her bed
And bound her in her bones

I was dreaming about sleeping. But I slept better than usual for a workday today.

Aren't I fascinating.

Never shall this song come outta my player. There's two tone-changes that are brainstuck. I heard it all night in my sleep.

I have bruises and I don't remember how they got there, I have cuts and I don't remember how they got there, I have a headache and I don't remember how it got there.

Yes. Best night class ever.

I have to mount things on mat board and center them. Other than I never could center ANYTHING to save my life, I am unafraid.

I get to SLICE MOUNTS WITH A BOX-CUTTER. FOR CLASS.

This is going to be so much work it's not even funny. I'm hurting from deadlines I don't even have yet.

The machines in the lab are MADE OF SEX. I don't even care that they're Macs and do all the stupid, stupid, senseless things that Macs do. They're beautiful, disastrous, devouring things and don't go anywhere, sugar, I've another bill in my pocket someplace, stay awhile, so fair thou art. XD

I dreamed he'd given me money, and I didn't like the why of it, but I never do. It is what ISN'T done that makes it a threat. You sit at the banquet table never certain which chair has the sword hanging over it, and meanwhile the thread is fraying, undwinding a little at a time, somewhere above you in the dark.

I woke with Celine Dion warbling in my ear. From shrieking to singing? Is that a step up? I love my clock, though. It is mightier than all other time-pieces and so large that Baraka and Leena both can comfortably sit at either end. ^_^

I still don't have a washing machine. This has nothing to do with anything in particular; it felt noteworthy. My drier still works perfectly.

My dishwasher made an odd, angry sound last night. I shall go test it for demons shortly.

Demons are what cause mechanical failures. Sometimes they're punishments from god, but mostly it's demons at play.

Of course I'm serious.

WE'RE READY TO BELIEVE YOU.

No, you're not, and stop stealing my catchphrases.