Maybe I got off on the wrong foot with that last post…
As I now sit in my bedroom, typing this thing out very, very late at night when I should be taking something for the stress and going to bed, I realize maybe my posts should be a hair shorter. I tend to ramble and go off on other topics in the writing life, just as I wander off at the mall and get attracted to so many shiny things I can never have, be it a pretty white sparkly dress or a trans-temporal sonic screwdriver complete with a “wood” setting never used before on the BBC show. And there I go again.
I’ve spent entirely too long writing lengthy posts and wishing I had more time and money to worry about getting myself a place and celebrating my 27 years with friends and a bottle of Seven Daughters Moscato white. But as of now, all I’m thinking about is how much money I have to save up and the long walk I need to burn some calories before the big “Christmas in July” celebration. And I’m only being metaphorical on the ‘big’, since birthdays are very small in my house. My funds are getting tiny as of now.
All of that doesn’t really matter, though, when you’re just writing day-to-day, more or less, depending on how attention deficit you are. I’ve noticed, in fact, that I’ve been reading much more often than writing, while other times I write more than read. It fluctuates every so often, although I get sidetracked with multiple things such as re-organizing the closet or kid’s desk full of books. De-cluttering. Cleaning. Appointments. Shopping for crap. Life.
See? I do have my comedic moments, right?
But as always, I’m tired. I just hope I don’t have so many nightmares from quick-reading through Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. People talking to rats still comes off as a little more than creepy, and not just the rat-talk. (Anesthesia) “I was hungry.” (Richard Mayhew) “Well, so am I.” (Anesthesia) “Do you like cat?” (Richard) “Yes, I quite like cats.” (Anesthesia) “Thigh? Or breast?” Yeesh, someone please find Door and Islington, and do it fast.
I guess I’ve also been tired from being so focused on doing too many things at once to get all of it done. There is such a thing as, “Kill two birds with one stone,” but it’s difficult when you’re brain thinks too far ahead and tries to do more than two things simultaneously by over-working. I just want to get things done.
After all, my computer Mimi has been acting very finnicky as far as WiFi and refuses to let me upload barely anything, which annoys me to an absurd degree. Sadly, there is no playlist selection tonight, though I would throw in a song or two from Imelda May and/or Harry Connick, Jr. because I normally put those guys on my mini stereo on Friday nights. (I know it’s Saturday morning now, but bare with me; I do love some good rockabilly and swing music for Fridays when I want to go dancing and never find myself doing so.)
Sleep tight, Baltimore.