(no subject)
So I'm sitting in my living room naked, because I don't want to get bitten by a spider when I put on my clothes. That, and most of my underwear is sitting in the dryer. Also, I really don't feel like wearing one of those modern torture devices known as a bra right now. I should have taken the opportunity to be rid of several of my "assets" in high school when I had the chance. I am so thoroughly fed up and disgusted with my body. I'm too tall, my shoulders are too broad, my metabolism is too slow, and there's this fucked up thing called a menstrual cycle that I have to deal with every month. I can't stand in front of a mirror naked, because there are just too many things that I pick up on that make me even MORE disgusted with my form. This doesn't stop me from sitting in my living room naked, however.
I am also quite sick of my writers' block. This is not to say I don't have an idea block. I can see my stories perfectly in my mind, up to and including the dialogue. But once I sit down to type it up, I get so caught up with watching what my brain has come up with that I forget I'm supposed to be scribing it, and capturing it. Perhaps my imagination is altogether too active, and this, therefore, detracts from my ability to ever really write anything. Emily really did want me to finish the Tarsis story, too... I've been trying so hard, but all I have is what I wrote several years ago. I'm still captivated by it, which I suppose is a good thing. Hell, I can't even tell a good vocal story cause I'm too busy paying attention to the version I'm getting. Perhaps I should just give up now.
Oh, by the way, it's time for one of those periods of time that occur every couple of years during which Blair gets horribly depressed and incredibly hard on herself. There's nothing you can do, so just sit back and enjoy the show. Now back to my writers' block:
I think this time it was started by, of all things, reading webcomics. I do wish I could draw, and it'd be great to have something that so many people read, but there's a catch to this one, too: I can't draw. Not to save my life. I don't know why I deluded myself into thinking for a couple years that I could, but that illusion is gone, now, and it leaves me with a little bit of bitterness. Or a lot. It all depends on what you compare it to. Compared to my bitterness towards Lorie... eh, it's about the same. Compared to my bitterness towards Derek Grenier (that heartless, lying, selfish, prick of a poor excuse for a human being who never should have graduated from the Academy, and should never be given subordinates, because he's just going to fuck them over), well... it's only a little bit.
But forget drawing. This whole Tarsis deal is really starting to drive me up a wall. I know what needs to happen in the story, and there are only small little plot bits I haven't worked out yet. But I can't even put an outline on paper. It's absolutely infuriating!! I can see the characters, plain as day. Hell, I can interact with them in that weird stage between dreaming and wakefulness in which you have total control over what happens (that's when I get to talk to my wolf, too, but I can't control him. I got to him for advice and comfort... Is it weird if you fall asleep within one of these half dreams in an attempt to completely fall asleep?), but it won't leave my brain!!!!!!!!!
In other news: I cut Angela's hair yesterday. It was her idea, so if you think it looks horrible, it's not my fault. Well, it is, but ultimately, it's her fault for making me do it. I'm kinda proud of it, though. Perhaps I should drop out of college and pursue a career in hair dressing. Just leave everyone behind and start a new life with scissors... Might be a step up.
Of course, knowing me, I'd probably fail out of beauty school ("Beauty school dropout!!!!") and then I'd be completely screwed. I'm just waiting to fail out of college. It's probably going to happen. And I'm probably going to end up in so much debt that I can't eat my way out of it. And I'm never getting married, because no one wants me; or having kids, because I'm probably barren; and I'm going to end up staying in a trailer on the outskirts of Oxford for the rest of my life. And I'll have thirteen cats, because thirteen is an unlucky number. And they'll all be black.
I should probably put on underwear now. I only hope that there's not a spider in them.
I am also quite sick of my writers' block. This is not to say I don't have an idea block. I can see my stories perfectly in my mind, up to and including the dialogue. But once I sit down to type it up, I get so caught up with watching what my brain has come up with that I forget I'm supposed to be scribing it, and capturing it. Perhaps my imagination is altogether too active, and this, therefore, detracts from my ability to ever really write anything. Emily really did want me to finish the Tarsis story, too... I've been trying so hard, but all I have is what I wrote several years ago. I'm still captivated by it, which I suppose is a good thing. Hell, I can't even tell a good vocal story cause I'm too busy paying attention to the version I'm getting. Perhaps I should just give up now.
Oh, by the way, it's time for one of those periods of time that occur every couple of years during which Blair gets horribly depressed and incredibly hard on herself. There's nothing you can do, so just sit back and enjoy the show. Now back to my writers' block:
I think this time it was started by, of all things, reading webcomics. I do wish I could draw, and it'd be great to have something that so many people read, but there's a catch to this one, too: I can't draw. Not to save my life. I don't know why I deluded myself into thinking for a couple years that I could, but that illusion is gone, now, and it leaves me with a little bit of bitterness. Or a lot. It all depends on what you compare it to. Compared to my bitterness towards Lorie... eh, it's about the same. Compared to my bitterness towards Derek Grenier (that heartless, lying, selfish, prick of a poor excuse for a human being who never should have graduated from the Academy, and should never be given subordinates, because he's just going to fuck them over), well... it's only a little bit.
But forget drawing. This whole Tarsis deal is really starting to drive me up a wall. I know what needs to happen in the story, and there are only small little plot bits I haven't worked out yet. But I can't even put an outline on paper. It's absolutely infuriating!! I can see the characters, plain as day. Hell, I can interact with them in that weird stage between dreaming and wakefulness in which you have total control over what happens (that's when I get to talk to my wolf, too, but I can't control him. I got to him for advice and comfort... Is it weird if you fall asleep within one of these half dreams in an attempt to completely fall asleep?), but it won't leave my brain!!!!!!!!!
In other news: I cut Angela's hair yesterday. It was her idea, so if you think it looks horrible, it's not my fault. Well, it is, but ultimately, it's her fault for making me do it. I'm kinda proud of it, though. Perhaps I should drop out of college and pursue a career in hair dressing. Just leave everyone behind and start a new life with scissors... Might be a step up.
Of course, knowing me, I'd probably fail out of beauty school ("Beauty school dropout!!!!") and then I'd be completely screwed. I'm just waiting to fail out of college. It's probably going to happen. And I'm probably going to end up in so much debt that I can't eat my way out of it. And I'm never getting married, because no one wants me; or having kids, because I'm probably barren; and I'm going to end up staying in a trailer on the outskirts of Oxford for the rest of my life. And I'll have thirteen cats, because thirteen is an unlucky number. And they'll all be black.
I should probably put on underwear now. I only hope that there's not a spider in them.