astonish, posts by tag: writing - LiveJournal

Someone kill me, please. I was telling my mom about Chuck Palahniuk's most recent book (that I've been reading when I need a break from Naked Lunch - yeah, the things I do to my brain) and I said, "It's cool the way he writ it." Now, I don't know if that's exactly how you spell the word, but I'm assuming so. I just, there's no excuse. None at all. What self-respecting writer says writ? I'm so ashamed. I should be punished, sent into exile or flogged or something. Yuck.

Anyway, Dynamo game today. Um. I won't go into much detail because, well, it wasn't that great. Both teams had only two shots on target, one of which Chicago managed to convert into a goal. There was a lot of fouls and not a lot of scoring. It was hot, though not nearly as hot as I was expecting, and hanging out with the Army people was a lot more fun than the actual game. But we still cheered for our boys when they dragged their sorry asses walked off the pitch. And hey, we have a Pat Onstad cheer! Who knew? Highlight of the match: De Ro! I wasn't expecting to see him on, but hey, there he was. Low point of the match: No Adrian, but I was expecting that. Probably hard to play footie with a broken toe, eh? Also, I have one tan arm. Yeah, just one.

Now I'm gonna go shake a leg and try to write something. We'll see how well that goes. I'm in one of those moods. Maybe I'll take dear old Chuck's advice, set a timer and make myself write until it goes off. See what comes out.

Or maybe I'll just kill myself, either way.

Am feeling quite a bit better today, certainly a lot less stressed. I sat down and pounded out my English paper this morning, and surprisingly it only took three hours. My brain might be pudding, but that's okay. Hopefully it's chocolate. I am, however, pretty sure my good mood is either a result of a) watching Walking with Dinosaurs while I ate breakfast, or b) my grandmother giving me permission to have premarital sex. Yep, I'm pretty sure this is the twilight zone.

I now only have two journal question and a reflection question (ha, me? reflect? that's quite funny) so I shall give myself the day off. This is pretty much where I wanted to be in regards to school things, I'm not quite sure why I was freaking out as much as I was. Possibly because I'm a procrastinator at heart and I know it. That I finished off my paper already is quite shocking, actually. I just hope it's not complete shit like I think it is, I want to keep my A! It's too bad I suck at literary analysis.

Anyway, I'm off to fic. Hopefully what I wrote last night isn't too horrifying. I don't know, as I don't remember any of it. It's probably not so smart to write when you're in a stress-induced delirium. Oh well.

And hey, look, my capital letters are even back!

eta: screw capitals! oh how i love to butcher the english language. buahahaha.

Grandma Update: She's here. Here as in downstairs, in the living room, watching Survivor in her wheelchair. Which is a thing of the good, I think. The hospital didn't ship her off to a nursing home, but we took her to one today, since my cousin who she'd been living with before the heart attack says he can't take care of her. I find this very intriguing. Who does he expect to take care of her then? My mother or one of her sisters, who are all over 50 and work pretty much fulltime jobs? He's unemployed, young, has the biggest house of us all, but no. He can't. Righto, buddy. We'll just let her sleep on our couch and when she needs to take a shower I'll just whip one up with my magic wand since we don't have one downstairs and there's no way she can come up here.

Not that I'm not glad to have her here. I am, a lot. But it's not very logical. It's definitely not a long-term solution. But I suppose it's the best we can do, it's not like anyone else is offering up any other options.

In better news, Spring Break has arrived. Yippee. I love having time off, even if I only go up to campus two times a week. I still have work to do but I have an entire week to do it, not just a weekend. Which means I'll probably put it off as long as possible, oops. I'm such a typical college kid. I love it. I'll probably just end up writing all week. My muses are up and running, though they are strange foreign muses I have never seen before. They want me to write original fic. I find this concept so alien I don't even know what to do with myself. I even tried to write something else - Supernatural fic, it would seem, but Winchester-banter is a little intimidating. I can't seem to write anything humorous when I'm trying, only when it just appears without my consent. So I guess I'll just write something about Stevie - my original character, not the footballer - since my brain wants it to happen so badly, or else, you know, I'll just stab my eyes out with a ballpoint pen. It's a toss up.

Also, I wish I could write poetry that wasn't complete crap.

Am alive. Am not, however, in good shape. The skin on the back of my heels is basically nonexistent, it has been replaced with open wounds that may or may not be oozing pus. My shoulders feel like they might be strained, I have a bruise at the bend of my knee that hurts anytime I move my leg, and my back is giving out. So, I'm in pretty fucking bad shape, I'd say. It's all my fault though, so I'm keeping my complaining down for the time being. If the back gets worse it might be a different story.

The funniest part of this is that I'm actually inspired to write. The first time in 2006 that I'm inspired, truly and thoroughly inspired, and I can't write. Any position I sit in where my hand can come into contact with paper is just horribly painful. I feel kind of like crying.

But life is not hopeless. Why? Football tomorrow! I've given in to the obsession, clearly. It just makes me smile, I can't help it. Manchester United v. Liverpool - which explains the actual joy I'm feeling, despite my body totally giving out around me. Also, speaking of things good, [crash] by cosmic is fucking amazing. I don't know that it would make much sense if you haven't seen/don't know what Supernatural is about, but you can try. I recommend it very, very highly. And oh yeah, it's got incest, so if that bugs you, well.

Does anyone else hate being a writer sometimes? I swear I never feel as happy or as horrible as I do when I'm writing.