Rambly McRambly
I've basically been out of it since Friday night. Work plus the godforsaken blooming things of Spring and its pollen have left me in a daze. Even now I'm cowering under a blanket with the shades pulled down, trying to stop the world from spinning.
I've forgotten what "Spring" in the South is like. God, do I hate it. (I say "Spring" because spring-like temps are high-70s to mid-80s F. The other day it was 85F. And humid. I just, *whines* I miss New England with all my heart.)
I know I talk about weather a lot, but if allergies caused fluid to back up in your ears and resulted in pretty much constant vertigo since high school (and by the time you reach my age, kiddies, that's almost 10 years of seasonal vertigo), you'd bitch about it too.
And even though I haven't got much accomplished in terms of writing, the third Hillbilly Jones Fanmix will appear very soon. It's very tied into his story in the modern-au. While I am pretty much telling Andy's side through ficlets (something that will also start appearing soon), a lot of Eddie's will come out through music. The fanmix has a title that would make my history professors and Pete Wentz proud: Heaven's Unbroken Prodigal Son: Songs of Death, Love, and Prayer.
(Granted, it's not nearly as catchy as my "The Greek Experience During the Greco-Italian War and the Axis Occupation, 1940-1944" of 2008 or my "The Rise and Fall: Italy’s Rising Immigrant Population and the Fall of the Italian Birthrate" of 2007, but what's a girl to do? None of them beat the "Beyond Bridget: A Historiographic Essay on the Irish-American Immigrant Working Woman in the Nineteenth Century" of 2006. There is an art to naming historical paper/articles. I never quite learned said art.)
I started marathoning Scrubs season 1 on Netflix: Instant last night. I got to say, it really does amaze me how much Grey's took from the show in terms of style. The indie-music. The narration. The ball-breaking attendings and residents. It's kind of insane.
Ugh, okay, back to shooting saline up my nose and writing.
I've forgotten what "Spring" in the South is like. God, do I hate it. (I say "Spring" because spring-like temps are high-70s to mid-80s F. The other day it was 85F. And humid. I just, *whines* I miss New England with all my heart.)
I know I talk about weather a lot, but if allergies caused fluid to back up in your ears and resulted in pretty much constant vertigo since high school (and by the time you reach my age, kiddies, that's almost 10 years of seasonal vertigo), you'd bitch about it too.
And even though I haven't got much accomplished in terms of writing, the third Hillbilly Jones Fanmix will appear very soon. It's very tied into his story in the modern-au. While I am pretty much telling Andy's side through ficlets (something that will also start appearing soon), a lot of Eddie's will come out through music. The fanmix has a title that would make my history professors and Pete Wentz proud: Heaven's Unbroken Prodigal Son: Songs of Death, Love, and Prayer.
(Granted, it's not nearly as catchy as my "The Greek Experience During the Greco-Italian War and the Axis Occupation, 1940-1944" of 2008 or my "The Rise and Fall: Italy’s Rising Immigrant Population and the Fall of the Italian Birthrate" of 2007, but what's a girl to do? None of them beat the "Beyond Bridget: A Historiographic Essay on the Irish-American Immigrant Working Woman in the Nineteenth Century" of 2006. There is an art to naming historical paper/articles. I never quite learned said art.)
I started marathoning Scrubs season 1 on Netflix: Instant last night. I got to say, it really does amaze me how much Grey's took from the show in terms of style. The indie-music. The narration. The ball-breaking attendings and residents. It's kind of insane.
Ugh, okay, back to shooting saline up my nose and writing.