Thursday, June 23, 2005

Ever feel like the absolute tedium of your life is going to choke you out?

I find myself obsessively reading whatever ezine or something I can find. Staring out at the security monitor for the glimpses of wet and wind. This is window envy. I work in an area surrounded by 20 computer monitors and twice as many processors. Not to mention the Death Star giant black shelf thing that serves as a desk. Ugly carpet. Shitty chair that makes my fucking back hurt.

The DAY I find a chair that I can sit in here for the length of time my job requires and I don't leave here stiff and cranky will be the day I lick the Deathstar like a giant popsicle.

So yeah no not gonna happen.

So I soothe myself with music, tea. Frequent trips to the bathroom, outside, downstairs. Whatever to break up the utter bleakness that is my work day.

Honestly it's not the job itself but all the other bullshit that goes along with it. Including the demoralizing knowledge that the world could fall down outside and I'd only know if I turned my head at the right moment to see it on the security screens.

Got an email from a fellow author and friend who I haven't spoken to in quite awhile. That was nice even though I'm a couple of weeks tardy answering it. Ugh.

I've been rolling myself back into the habit of jotting down whatever it is that floats through my mind. I have discovered that what I really need is a laptop. I type much faster than I handwrite. And I can read my typing later on when I want to look as opposed to my handwriting which looks like I gave a purple pen to an epileptic rooster and said have at it.

this story is one of the better ones I've read recently. Go read it, it'll make you giggle.

What was I saying? Yes I am going to try and save up for a laptop. Even a chunky older one would be fine as long as I have space to store some word docs on it that'll do me just fine.

What else what else?

Goddamn I started this fucker yesterday and forgot about it when the phone started ringing.

Fuck sake.

So on with today. I spent an obscene amount of time reading The Artist Formerly Known as Hertzan Chimera's (that was a fucking mouthfull) website. Good reading you do it too.

That kids is peer pressure.

So I've been at work since 11 5 hours and counting. Just about 4 more until I can go home.

I got a bit cranky around 3-ish and went to the store for food. got myself a nice container of General Tso's chicken and some Inari. Inari is desert. I had a couple of pieces but it's a tad disappointing. Meh.

It really -really- sucks that it's so damn nice out and I'm stuck here still sans windows. I keep looking forlornly at the security monitor thinking I might get a faux ray of grainy black and white sunshine.

Gods I'm a fuckin downer.

Being here makes me depressed and tired.

Welcome to my life.

And I think I'm done. Really nobody needs to hear me whine about how sucky things are. Because we all know, things suck. Suck large stinky goaty smelling balls.

Yep time to go. Goodnight Sally.

Monday, June 20, 2005

The Devil's Boots.

That isn't a reference to anything except that I thought it's what some lady on the bus said. She might've who knows.

So went to storage yesterday and got myself some girl clothes and such. Retrieved primping gear and a tube of my favorite face mask. That makes me relax some.

In other news in celebration of the warm weather I wore one of the dresses I bought a few months ago off of Gothic Auctions. I was a little afraid it wouldn't fit but it does fit nicely.

I'm really really tired. I've been at work since 11 and been up and at em since around 8ish. Which in the scheme of dayshift workers isn't early but I do work swing shift so it's been a long day. Further proof that I am just not a dayshift person. I had to have two cups of coffee and about a liter and a half of water before I felt even vaguely human.

So yeah.

Did a little freewrite. Here's part of it. I'm not done yet so this is all you get.

It's my favorite time of the morning. Just around 4:30 and the city is silent around me. I take my breaks at odd times and nobody seems to mind. I take my key card and slip out of the building to roam for 45 minutes. I like the echo of my footsteps amongst the giant empty buildings. The occasional soft snore from a doorway.

Even my boss likes to say, "even the crackheads are asleep."

Usually they are.

I like to walk down the street smoking, looking around at things you don't really notice when there are a bajillion tourists, bums, crackheads, drunks and whomever milling around. I like how the sidewalk is laced with something sparkly on fourth avenue. Sometimes if you stop just right on the corner of Blackston and Third you can barely hear the freight trains miles away.

It's my world at that time of morning. Or at least it was until I saw her. I was walking and looked up to give the gargoyles on one of the buildings a friendly nod and there she was.

The only lit window in a dark building. She raised her arms over her head and danced slowly, as if slow dancing with her own shadow. I can never quite see her face but she looks happy. She looks like she's all alone in the world and just enjoying herself.

Yeah and I just thought I'd share but I really have to pee now. So goodnight Sally

Friday, June 17, 2005

Yeah I know. If anyone is still actually reading this yes I haven't updated in a long time. Sue me.

Actually been writing in my other journal more and had forgotten the password to this one.

So yeah.


  • Mike is out of the hospital sans one testicle.
  • We moved after the move from fucking hell.
  • As a result of said move I'm fucking broke.
  • We're living with a friend on a beautiful island.
  • I'm considering getting extensions.

That's about it in a nutshell.

Now for other things...this is cross posted from my other journal. I might just start doing that more often. Enjoy.

So I've been reading a lot as usual. I went and submitted two stories the other day (no I'm not telling you where I have a wee superstition about that) and have been refreshing myself about the proper manuscript format. I just read this written by William Shunn(as usual the links will open in a new window or a new tab if you are super cool and use Firefox.) it is an excellent guide.

I also just read this article at the Horror Writers Association and it's a good reminder.

I like to read author interviews with some amazingly prolific writers as well. I always have to take pause to wonder just how it is they do it. In an interview Dan Simmons he said, "I knew that I wanted to be a writer even before I knew exactly what being a writer entailed. " I find that interesting. I had much of the same experience although until I got older I didn't think to say writer. Of all of the fantasy lives I dreamt up for myself, forensic scientist, fashion designer, detective, archaeologist, cultural anthropologist in all of that work I imagined for myself I imagined not only doing whatever the thing was but writing about it.

I remember when I was enthralled by studying the various death rituals of different cultures (around age 9) I had the idea to write a comprehensive history of death rituals from around the world. Instead I hand wrote detailed instructions on how to mummify a body along with, replacement ingredients for those unavailable in modern times, along with a will as to who got what of my stuff. I was cute wasn't I?

A few years later I invested myself in creating a line of clothing. I drew it all up and made a few things. And had intended on writing instructions and little stories to go with each piece.

What was my point again?

Oh yes it is that I've always been writing, for one reason or another.

In other news I've decided that I am going to figure out how to make cosplay sort of clothing. (Click the link to see examples.) And gothic Lolita (again clicky for an explanation) clothing.

Personally I'm more interested in the Gothic Lolita/EGL sort of clothing. However much of the problem to me is that so much of it is a.) so fucking expensive (HA thought I'd do an entry without saying fuck didn't you?) b.) comes in wee tiny sizes only. Honestly I've seen way too many companies and individuals who list clothing that's a size 8 as an extra large. And it sucks.

I'm not going to start ranting about sizing and whatnot. I do that plenty enough.

However I will rant about the fact that yes my style is very important to me and expressing it is equally important. I like my outsides to match however I'm feeling on the insides. It's not a bad thing people.

And I think I'm spent. Fuck I got outbid on the skirt I wanted. Goddamn it.

That makes me a cranky little fucker.

Now I'm going.

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