(no subject)
Hi, Internet! Long time, no whatever!
Here are some things that happened.
gollumgollum and I went on Big Gay Roadtrip Redux: Glitter The South, because I am one of those terrified New England people that's never ventured south of the Mason-Dixon line. There was the City Museum in St. Louis (BALL PITS AND SLIDES AND A CIRCUS) and Memphis (ALL THE ELVIS YOU NEVER WANTED) and a small trip to Mississippi for breakfast (SOUTHERN ACCENTS OMG) (ALSO GRITS).
What's that?
Photographic evidence that I was not in the North. GIT-R-DUN is not something that really exists north of I-80, unless saturated with irony.
Basically, we came, we saw, we drank sweet tea. It was amazing, both the trip and the sweet tea.
Then I got back to Chicago, and promptly melted. February sucks, it always sucks, if I could write a memoir about my emotions it would be titled February Is Shit And Other Stories. Not having a job is throwing me for a loop, just because I have nothing to schedule my life around. I'm overwhelmed by thoughts of the future. I'm not depressed, it doesn't feel like my brain is stuck on a hamster wheel made of barbed wire. I just feel... bruised. All over, all the time. Everything I'd normally shrug off is knocking the wind out of me.
I am forcing myself to do things: I baked some soda bread last night, took a shower today and put on fancy clothes; the look was somewhere between a newsboy and an equestrian, which was fun. I may not be able to stop myself from feeling weird and abnormal and lonely, but by golly, I will look fancy as fuck while drowning in ~feelings. I may spring for a tattoo, because of reasons.
In the meantime, I am also writing. I've gotten past the 10k mark with the Gay Superheroes novel. The novelty is wearing off. Writers on my flist: how the hell do you maintain interest in a longer piece? I have never actively tried to continuously work on something every day, or near to it. Association may or may not be breeding contempt. What do you do when the honeymoon is over, and you just want your characters to move out of your brain and start writing their damn story?
Here are some things that happened.
gollumgollum and I went on Big Gay Roadtrip Redux: Glitter The South, because I am one of those terrified New England people that's never ventured south of the Mason-Dixon line. There was the City Museum in St. Louis (BALL PITS AND SLIDES AND A CIRCUS) and Memphis (ALL THE ELVIS YOU NEVER WANTED) and a small trip to Mississippi for breakfast (SOUTHERN ACCENTS OMG) (ALSO GRITS).
What's that?
Photographic evidence that I was not in the North. GIT-R-DUN is not something that really exists north of I-80, unless saturated with irony.
Basically, we came, we saw, we drank sweet tea. It was amazing, both the trip and the sweet tea.
Then I got back to Chicago, and promptly melted. February sucks, it always sucks, if I could write a memoir about my emotions it would be titled February Is Shit And Other Stories. Not having a job is throwing me for a loop, just because I have nothing to schedule my life around. I'm overwhelmed by thoughts of the future. I'm not depressed, it doesn't feel like my brain is stuck on a hamster wheel made of barbed wire. I just feel... bruised. All over, all the time. Everything I'd normally shrug off is knocking the wind out of me.
I am forcing myself to do things: I baked some soda bread last night, took a shower today and put on fancy clothes; the look was somewhere between a newsboy and an equestrian, which was fun. I may not be able to stop myself from feeling weird and abnormal and lonely, but by golly, I will look fancy as fuck while drowning in ~feelings. I may spring for a tattoo, because of reasons.
In the meantime, I am also writing. I've gotten past the 10k mark with the Gay Superheroes novel. The novelty is wearing off. Writers on my flist: how the hell do you maintain interest in a longer piece? I have never actively tried to continuously work on something every day, or near to it. Association may or may not be breeding contempt. What do you do when the honeymoon is over, and you just want your characters to move out of your brain and start writing their damn story?