a brief history of blah
I feel I should preface this with some onomatopoeia: blllllghhhhhh. The state of my brain! It has become mush! I think that's because my coffee was funny this morning and I didn't finish it, and also because I went to a horrible grey and brown building to apply for a job... lifting stuff?... for the local newspaper, which... does not look too fulfilling, especially judging by that horrible little building. I know, I need money. (Sorry, flinching. 'Money' = 'college', which = 'EMERSON IS NEVER GOING TO ADMIT ME', which in turn = 'and even if they do, all of my financial aid papers will somehow be MYSTERIOUSLY INVALID', which = 'and then I will die alone un-librarianed and without a novel to my name'. And possibly also because the first couple of days after I dye my hair, I look really weird in the face, and blargh blargh blargh there's so much to keep track of these days and all of it vital and none of it remotely interesting pardon me while I move to Novel-world in which these sorts of things are dealt with in a few pages so as not to waste time not talking about the important plot things.
It has been very sunny, which is good. Yesterday was rainy, but in a warm, cosy, curl-up-with-a-book way, not the chilly-to-your-bones annihilating rain of winter, and naturally it got sunny after I went out on my bicycle and covered myself in mud -- there was mud in my hair! in my hair bow! powdering out of the crevices of my stockings later! And it was good to get out and to keep my muscles from atrophying and suchlike, and my hair is a cheery shade of apricot thanks to said trip. But. I am tired. And it's really hard to shake.
At least it isn't snowing.
(COFFEE, BREW ALREADY.)
Have been writing every night before bed, though! Hopefully I can read what I wrote last night, as I had my glasses off and my hair was wet and I was sort of lolling on the page as I scribbled, but. It helps me to feel a great deal more like myself. Now if only all of the books I pick up would stop turning into books I don't want to read after the first ten pages, even when they're old favourites. And if I could somehow rest assured that of course Emerson wants me as a student and I can joyfully plan moving to Boston and commencing a more vivid and purposeful life, and buy roller skates, and a coffee maker, and textbooks.
Never mind, I take it back. April is the cruellest month; I'm sorry I doubted you, Mr Eliot.
(HURRY UP COFFEE I NEED YOU.)
Music is also hard! (Woe is me.) The Amanda Palmer/Sarah Slean/Echo Bazaar song has been rewritten for a third time, but I get so self-conscious, singing loudly when there are People About. If only I had a music room. The other song I am working on is very swingy and old-timey, and for whatever reason I am having a great amount of difficulty assuming the proper strumming rhythm. But whatever the hardship: I am actually really working at this music thing, guys. (Now, any suggestions on how to make it get me MORE MONEY? Alas and a alack.)
(AHAHA COFFEE IS MIIIINE.)
It has been very sunny, which is good. Yesterday was rainy, but in a warm, cosy, curl-up-with-a-book way, not the chilly-to-your-bones annihilating rain of winter, and naturally it got sunny after I went out on my bicycle and covered myself in mud -- there was mud in my hair! in my hair bow! powdering out of the crevices of my stockings later! And it was good to get out and to keep my muscles from atrophying and suchlike, and my hair is a cheery shade of apricot thanks to said trip. But. I am tired. And it's really hard to shake.
At least it isn't snowing.
(COFFEE, BREW ALREADY.)
Have been writing every night before bed, though! Hopefully I can read what I wrote last night, as I had my glasses off and my hair was wet and I was sort of lolling on the page as I scribbled, but. It helps me to feel a great deal more like myself. Now if only all of the books I pick up would stop turning into books I don't want to read after the first ten pages, even when they're old favourites. And if I could somehow rest assured that of course Emerson wants me as a student and I can joyfully plan moving to Boston and commencing a more vivid and purposeful life, and buy roller skates, and a coffee maker, and textbooks.
Never mind, I take it back. April is the cruellest month; I'm sorry I doubted you, Mr Eliot.
(HURRY UP COFFEE I NEED YOU.)
Music is also hard! (Woe is me.) The Amanda Palmer/Sarah Slean/Echo Bazaar song has been rewritten for a third time, but I get so self-conscious, singing loudly when there are People About. If only I had a music room. The other song I am working on is very swingy and old-timey, and for whatever reason I am having a great amount of difficulty assuming the proper strumming rhythm. But whatever the hardship: I am actually really working at this music thing, guys. (Now, any suggestions on how to make it get me MORE MONEY? Alas and a alack.)
(AHAHA COFFEE IS MIIIINE.)