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Mar. 31st, 2004
Of all the weird-ass feelings... well.
Woke up. Crawled out of bed, still half asleep. Realized about fifteen minutes into the day that I wasn't coughing as much as usual -- yay! Went downstairs, had breakfast, did my morning word puzzles. Life is good.
So then I put on some music and sat down at the computer to ... do something. Make icons, really, since my brain's still not up to sorting through submissions and writing new stories. Tomorrow, definitely. But not today. So I open up some music, a 200+ playlist on random. And up pops a KMFDM song, vocals by Watts. Yay. I can live with this.
Only the music starts up and all of a sudden I get this irresistible, irrepressible urge to hold onto him, to wrap arms and possibly other available limbs around him. Only I haven't fangirled that bad since I was 6 and saw Labyrinth at the theatres. So I say to myself, self, get a grip. What's up with this shit? It's been getting near to 20 years since you've done this. What gives? And it turns out that it's not poor Raymond Watts that I want to glomp so ferociously, it's the character I sketchily based off his performance that I saw a good six months ago.
Well okay. That's a little less scary. In the sense that it's a more familiar feeling. But it's still weird. And I have the sneaking suspicion that he (the character) told me what was wrong in a dream I had last night, and I can't remember it. I feel like a bad host now.
Anyway. In the more sane parts of my life.
Normal activity resumes tomorrow, since my normal activity isn't very strenuous anyway. Writing stories and trying to sell them and dammit I need to get my tax information in the mail. Dammit dammit dammit. Okay. I'll do that these next few days and send it out with the Monday's mailing of submissions. That ought to do it. You'd think, as the daughter of an IRS employee and the granddaughter of an economist, that I would know better. Nope. No way.
And despite the stubborn belief that I can actually manage to make a career out of writing, I've come to realize that I actually have to start paying off my college loans sometime within the next few months. Aheheh. Oops. Fuck. Fortunately I haven't used up all my deferments, so what I'm going to end up having to do is defer them for another six months while I scramble to find temp jobs that pay me enough per month to pay off the loans. Which should also afford me enough time to write.
I'm not sure if it makes me terribly spoiled or determinedly dedicated that I'm trying to rearrange my life so that I can work towards achieving my goal: being a full time writer. Determinedly dedicated, I think. Considering that I'm actually forcing myself to get into a routine: write, write, write, prepare submissions on wednesday, write, write, write, write, send them off on Monday. You all say I'll probably be published well within the next two years; I hope so. I'd like to at least start making a marginal income on doing that. I hope. Otherwise I'll really feel like a shmuck for having wasted three or four years of my life.
That came out more negative than I meant it to be. Dammit. Oh well.
Woke up. Crawled out of bed, still half asleep. Realized about fifteen minutes into the day that I wasn't coughing as much as usual -- yay! Went downstairs, had breakfast, did my morning word puzzles. Life is good.
So then I put on some music and sat down at the computer to ... do something. Make icons, really, since my brain's still not up to sorting through submissions and writing new stories. Tomorrow, definitely. But not today. So I open up some music, a 200+ playlist on random. And up pops a KMFDM song, vocals by Watts. Yay. I can live with this.
Only the music starts up and all of a sudden I get this irresistible, irrepressible urge to hold onto him, to wrap arms and possibly other available limbs around him. Only I haven't fangirled that bad since I was 6 and saw Labyrinth at the theatres. So I say to myself, self, get a grip. What's up with this shit? It's been getting near to 20 years since you've done this. What gives? And it turns out that it's not poor Raymond Watts that I want to glomp so ferociously, it's the character I sketchily based off his performance that I saw a good six months ago.
Well okay. That's a little less scary. In the sense that it's a more familiar feeling. But it's still weird. And I have the sneaking suspicion that he (the character) told me what was wrong in a dream I had last night, and I can't remember it. I feel like a bad host now.
Anyway. In the more sane parts of my life.
Normal activity resumes tomorrow, since my normal activity isn't very strenuous anyway. Writing stories and trying to sell them and dammit I need to get my tax information in the mail. Dammit dammit dammit. Okay. I'll do that these next few days and send it out with the Monday's mailing of submissions. That ought to do it. You'd think, as the daughter of an IRS employee and the granddaughter of an economist, that I would know better. Nope. No way.
And despite the stubborn belief that I can actually manage to make a career out of writing, I've come to realize that I actually have to start paying off my college loans sometime within the next few months. Aheheh. Oops. Fuck. Fortunately I haven't used up all my deferments, so what I'm going to end up having to do is defer them for another six months while I scramble to find temp jobs that pay me enough per month to pay off the loans. Which should also afford me enough time to write.
I'm not sure if it makes me terribly spoiled or determinedly dedicated that I'm trying to rearrange my life so that I can work towards achieving my goal: being a full time writer. Determinedly dedicated, I think. Considering that I'm actually forcing myself to get into a routine: write, write, write, prepare submissions on wednesday, write, write, write, write, send them off on Monday. You all say I'll probably be published well within the next two years; I hope so. I'd like to at least start making a marginal income on doing that. I hope. Otherwise I'll really feel like a shmuck for having wasted three or four years of my life.
That came out more negative than I meant it to be. Dammit. Oh well.
