NaNoWriMo

In starting to write my NaNoWriMo novel over the last few days, I have become aware of a sudden need to stop at the end of every page and show off my 'penmanship' to whoever would be willing to spare me more than a glancing five minutes. "Look! Look at me! I am a writer!" It is foolishness-- this urge, and this 50,000 word project in 30 days and 30 nights may be my most fool-hardy undertaking yet, but wouldn't you know, I am going to try and have fun at it anyway.

If the major aim is to produce quantity and not quality, then I have already failed miserably. What I have here is a collection of 1000 or so disjointed half-thoughts and tumblings of an idea or two, but nowhere is there the suggestion of a cohesive theme. I am not ready to be a full-fledged author yet: I feel that I have to gather a few more life experiences to myself to make my final rendering that much more useful. How can I pass myself off as wise or philosophical when it is so patently obvious that I am making this stuff up as I go along? My best friend says I shouldn't expect my first novel to be brilliant-- people better than me have had to try more than once to get published, she says. But I am immovably idealistic on this one front. I do not want to be ashamed of my first novel writing attempts. There must be threads of social critique, philosophy, politics and unassailable truth throughout that first book. My first novel ought to be relevant and right now I have nothing in particular to say that would distinguish me. I am not ready to write my first novel. So for NaNoWriMo, I am putting together a collection of semi-related short stories. Most likely, I will not cross the 50,000 word mark, but certainly I will have emptied my head of all its thoughts in the effort.

Because I am writing on the fly, the places I describe will be real, and the characters of my main characters, I will base off of actual people. Their actions on the other hand, I will exaggerate and misrepresent, such that in the end they do not resemble the original characters in the least. This is the way in which I hope to finish this challenge.

Do you know what the supreme beauty of all this is? No one else ever gets to read this crap-- unless they hack into my computer files. But who would?

And now I shall return to the mindless writing.

Of One-Way Tickets

How does it feel not to care about anything anymore?

Ridiculously terrible.

I cannot even write my angst away.

On the Plus side of things

"In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you, let's hear it for New York
New York, New York"

Just needed the reminder.

See-saw: plomping on the floor

I would say I was PMS-ing...if I was normal in that aspect. A huge bowl of icecream later and I am depressed. What the hell happened to sugar highs?
This is going to be a sucky night. I have not touched the paper I was supposed to write. 3 whole pages. I mean, what the fuck, Princess?
I was laughing just an hour ago. Again, wth?
My room-mate's gone insane and is not listening to my particularly awesome advice.
Shoot. Why won't she believe me when I tell her the job will make her miserable?

But mostly I just wanna go home.
I'd better go to bed before this gets any worse.

Finding Me

I've just created a station on Pandora which is making me so...happy! It feels a little stupid sitting here with what feels like a cheesy smile spreading across my face, but it's a good stupid, and oh, what the heck! Go Glen Hansard! Go Gary Jules! Go Joshua Radin! Yay!

The sky's purple tonight. Or at least it was, when I took a walk out round about seven. There was a bounce in my step, which amused me, because for the longest time I have been dragging my feet and just hoping to heaven that I get wherever I am going eventually. It was the right cold tonight-- just cold enough to make the air when you take a deep lung-filling breath feel fresh, and not cold enough to make you wish you'd brought a heavier sweatshirt. I bunked work today, I read a bit,I scrawled a few nothings, and I just took a few steps back and let go. It felt good--even if my back still aches something awful and the huge migraine I've been popping pills for all week just won't go away. I gave in to a few other cravings: buffalo chicken pizza [O.M.G. sumptuous heavenliness!], Drop Dead Diva [Brooke Elliott is totally my hero!], Grey's Anatomy [How dare they turn Christina into a snivelling mess?!] I'm thinking I might as well watch some Lost. Oh and some House and some Family Guy and some... A marathon of my favourite TV shows seems to be in order. Yay! :)

Except all of a sudden I want some banana icecream. And since I've been indulging cravings all day, why not? Okay, time to cart my ass over to the C-store...

I suppose you could say I found me again today. And now I can say that the world's not half-bad. I can do two more weeks of my crappy job and not complain. To perspective!

Alone

It's probably not the smartest of ideas to go watch Zombie land by yourself in the middle of a very cold Friday night in New York. It also not very smart to jump on the first E train that comes your way and only realise that it's headed in the wrong direction about an hour down the unknown train track. Why did I go? You know, I can't really answer that. It was as if the dead weight of hastily tossed aside problems was suddenly pressing in on me from all sides and squeezing ever so eagerly. I was screaming and I was shouting from the inside-- Out. I needed, needed to break free. And I would have liked the company of my friends.

When you are so far away from home, you try to pick and choose your new family. You try to build around you a support system. Just to know that somebody close has your back, makes those nights when you miss home so bad you could die, just a tiny bit easier to bear. Perhaps I esteem my friends too much, perhaps I ask too much of them. But I only demand what I would give freely. Surely that interprets as being fair? Yesterday-- standing outside the cinema, staring blankly at the clouds and inhaling the tobacco smoke of a stranger close by-- reminded me sharply of standing at the top of Lady Liberty searching frantically for three friends, who had asked me to meet them there, 153 steps off the ground, and realising slowly that they had left already to catch the last ferry off the island. I forget too quickly the "every man for himself" policy here. I forget that where I'd drop everything at a friend's cry for help, they wouldn't and I shouldn't. And when I remember, it breaks my heart. You see, I like accounts that balance. You debit, you credit. You give, you receive.

4 a.m. last night found me broken. It was hard to admit over the phone to my sister, to my mother, and to one of my best friends. But there it was--the ugly truth-- which my voice could not conceal. My sister offered immediately to pray for me, and while she spoke the words to God that my lips could not form, the dam burst. She did not know it, but I cried, because she said exactly what I was feeling without me having to breathe a word. She got me. She got me. There is no substitute for real family.

And so with this, I loose the strangle-hold I had on my friends here. I let go of all the unrealistic expectations, and remind myself firmly that I must ask nothing of them, or of anyone. I am alone, and I will be fine.

I have been alone since I waved goodbye to my peoples and walked resolutely through departures on 08/08/08. It is not necessarily a bad thing.

Rushed

I haven't written in a while for the simple reason that I have not had enough "me" time. I have discovered also three things in the last few harassed weeks:
1. The cure for insomnia is back-breaking manual labour.
2. I miss not being able to dream, because fatigue has forced me to explore the previously unfamiliar tenement of nightmares-- I now have dreams that scare me awake because they are too vividly real.
3. It is surprisingly easy to put emotional work-ups aside when so much is being demanded of your body and mind.

I have a lot more to say, a lot. But the assignments are hanging over my head and I cannot put them off any longer. My troubling thoughts will have to wait. Stealing these minutes from the clock has enabled me to cling to my sanity a little longer though. Thank God for the pen.