June 11, 2003
Magic People, Voodoo People
I suppose Queen Amidala and Shakespeare really prove how much of an absolute dork I am, right? Right.
I fear that this one will be fleeting, however, though, such a writing off on my part, what with laziness considered, it could be up for two months or more.
What feels like a productive day certainly was not. I sit here now eating mint chocolate chip ice cream (which is in no way green, to my chagrin), and I can hear Mike playing Morrowind in the next room. I should have gone home and gotten my mail, I should've gone home for clean laundry, I should've gone home for the sake of it, and for my father, desperate for even the companionship of his awkward eldest child. I have chosen to remain true to the most frivolous and desperate nature of my soul, however, at least for the summer, and waste precious time and gasoline on my beloved.
Soon enough school will descend, and then what? Holed up in a dorm once more, albeit with more agreeable roommates, but nestled away and painfully occupied all the same.
I suffer from a tremendous case of writer's block. And I don't mean The Horrendous Void Of Nothingness Otherwise Known As the Inability For Creative Thought. No, I suffer from one idea blocking another, impeding the completion of one project with the intrusion of a half-formed idea, a snatch of character, a thread of plot not having yet lent itself to pen or keyboard. I'm writing the Epic Novel with The Next Epic Novel threatening to overtake it.
And I'm almost done, too. Can you imagine what it feels like to actually finish the huge project that this has become? I can't.
I should've had something more relevant to say.
astera at 8:15 p.m.