Blame it on the cramps, or...

[pink_siamese]

Ugh. Being a woman in somewhat trying at times. Though I suppose I'd rather be bleeding than pregnant.

On to the point of this:

I was out walking tonight (I still can't run...being able to walk a whole hour is terribly exciting for me!), listening to the characters bitch in my head:

James: "My goodness! Men of this day and age, they're pigs all to a

Comments

[pink_siamese]

I guess I should clarify that I don't mean a self-insert in the traditional sense; there would be no Mary-Sue avatar, you're just you. I suppose making anything like this interesting hinges on the ability for the writer to write herself truthfully: you don't become rich, thin, beautiful and famous because everyone loves a rich, thin, famous, beautiful woman. I got to thinking about whether or not I'd find Cutler Beckett interesting if I met him 'IRL', which led to thoughts of whether or not he'd find me interesting, etc

[pink_siamese]

Sweet! I used to live in Tucson, and will likely live there again once I get out of school. I miss the desert.

You all don't have any of our pansy Eastern laws, but we don't have any of those superior Western roads. Trust me, you want nothing to do with 75 mph on a frost-rutted, hideously curved highway!

[pink_siamese]

Ugh. Snow sucks. But I guess it six of one and half a dozen of the other, really. You're either going to be freezing or frying.

Philadelphia to Ohio sounds like purgatory, even without the 55 mph.

[pink_siamese]

And the bit about the minivan and the highway brings back a silly old green-roomish drabble of mine:

Trumpeting, swelling music in the background; it is the music heard when we first glimpsed Jack Sparrow in CotBP, standing on the mast of his little boat.

Except it's Barbossa and Jack together, their garments rippling in a hot desert wind. The angle pulls back to reveal them standing together on top of a van speeding through the Arizona desert.

Jack: "There's no ocean."
Barbossa: Grunts.
Jack: "No, look." Makes an effeminate hand-gesture. "Rocks. Sand. No water."
Barbossa: "I see that."
Jack: "It's not right, I tell you."

There was more, but I can't remember all of it now. This is the sort of thing that pops into your head during a couple of hours spent on the road.

[pink_siamese]

Actually, it was 179 on the way to Sedona.

[pink_siamese]

Indeed it is. That whole ascent out of Phoenix and onto the Mogollon Rim is made of LSD. In the best possible way, of course.