It's about 4 a.m., which means that it doesn't quite feel like yesterday, nor does it really feel like today. I went to bed at 11:00, and woke up with an awful nightmare about fifteen minutes ago. Didn't want to go back to sleep, so here I am, babbling at you. Usually I'm more in control of my brain when I talk to you, but I thought maybe you'd appreciate a look at the incoherent side of me. We'll probably regret this.
Shall I tell you my dream? I was spelunking, trying to find Kevin. When I did, he told me a story about how you had to be careful when lying to your mother. He had told her he couldn't go to something (school/church/etc) and she had known he liked spelunking and called the library to find out the good spots and came and found him and realized he was lying. After he told the story, we had a talk - sometimes calm, sometimes upsetting. I think I broke up with him, but it wasn't at all clear. Then I had to get out, and Kevin said the only way out of the cave was to climb up the rope that I had climbed down. That made me very nervous, but in the dream, I had much better upper arm strength than I do in real life, and so I easily pulled myself hand over hand up the rope -- there were some hairy bits, 'cause the rope was sliding down somewhat as I pulled it, but the very end *was* attached to something, and I suppose if I'd known that I could have just stayed in the cave and pulled until it was taut, but it was a dream, and none of this really makes sense. This doesn't sound like a nightmare, does it? But I woke from that with heart pounding and a sick feeling in my stomach. Probably gas. But I'm too awake now to go back to sleep.
Luckily, I expected to wake up early, though not this early, and borrowed a movie from Kev's sister last night, just in case. So I'm going to go watch it, and after that, if I still want to, I'll consider writing a story I was thinking about as I was falling asleep last night. I only have the beginning, which I think is very strong, and I'm not sure if the characters are people enough to simply carry the rest of the story, or if I need to suss it out a bit more in my brain first. Probably the latter -- it always helps to have some clue where you're going when you write a story. I tend to get bogged down in the midddle, else -- trying to get somewhere but I know not where. My language apparently gets extra convoluted and vaguely archaic when I'm tired - apologies, my dears. It is a weak flesh we deal with, and I must rely on your compassion.
Saw Clueless (finally) last night -- off to watch Speechless now. Wonder what comes next.
6:15 - Speechless was actually pretty good. Always fun watching a movie about writers (it's focused on two political speechwriters, of opposing campaigns, who fall in love. romantic comedy with Michael Keaton and Geena Davis), and it has one of the most satisfying last lines I've heard in a while. More than one plot hole (for example, why the heck weren't they caught when the tv screens started showing Tarzan???), but an enjoyable little piece nonetheless. I think Geena Davis is charming (though somewhat similar in all her roles :-), and Michael Keaton is really quite a good actor.
What to do now? I know, I know...go write that story. But you know, you can't write a story before it's done percolating -- it just stunts its growth. (see -- two coffee metapors in one sentence -- that's how you can tell I'm a writer...) Okay, I'm just getting silly now. What I'd really like to do is take a walk -- but it's cold and wet and dark. Maybe I'll go shower, and by the time I finish, it might be light. I could really use a cup of hot chocolate (they're out). Maybe I'll make tea. Hah. I know what I'm really going to do -- eat the leftovers from Italian dinner last night for breakfast. Have I grossed you out yet? Try this one -- my absolute favorite breakfast food is pancakes with curry. Any curry would probably do, but something boneless works best with pancakes. And very very spicy. I tend to be fairly ruttish (I just made that word up -- it doesn't mean I'm in rut; it means I get into ruts -- got it? good) (I almost used 'catholic' instead of ruttish, which would be totally wrong and untrue, but for some reason, I have the hardest time remembering that that word means something very different from what I think it means when you're talking about tastes or preferences) in my tastes -- I could eat bread(-type substance) and curry for days/weeks on end. Have done so. Don't really get bored with it either -- partly because I'm cheating by using curry -- curry is such a big broad general word that covers such a variety, a plethora (I love that word) of possibilities. (Good line, huh? 'plethora of possibilities'. Go ahead and borrow it -- I give it to you freely).
Ah, it's a good thing you guys don't have me rambling at you like this all the time. This journal would be a lot longer and my reputation as a sane individual would crumble into dust. As it is, hopefully the world (gosh, I sound like an egomaniac, don't I? I have to admit -- I take a fair bit of silly pleasure in the bits (bits - what a inane way of putting it -- but crumbs is somewhat cliche, and I'm tired, so bits will stand (and you thought you'd *like* getting a look into the mind of a writer -- it's dull, dull, dull, most of the time -- lots of perfectionist fiddling with words and if you don't love words -- love the roll and pitch and yaw of them (and yes, I'm undoubtedly mishandling the seaman metaphors mightily) and don't spend way too much time just enjoying words like scintillate and obfuscate (Susan (Kev's sister) and I spent a while yesterday discussing obfuscatory -- no, really) and labyrinthine, then you probably would find it all unimaginably tedious) of fame that appear to be sticking to me (like glitter, which always falls off eventually, even on the seashell box you spent at least twenty minutes designing when you were seven) and attacking me at odd moments (I still haven't figured out exactly what one says to a fan after 'Wow, I'm really glad you actually like my work.' It's not particularly dignified, is it?)) will pass all this off as a fever dream (though sadly not of the quality of Kubla Khan. I love those lines -- "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan / a stately pleasure dome decree / where Alph the sacred river ran / through caverns measureless to man / down to a sunless sea." God, that's just brilliant. Doesn't it make your heart ache -- just a little?) or lack of sleep. You can blame all sorts of things on lack of sleep.
Hey, David? I know you read this periodically, and I can't remember if I told you this already. The placement of that poem -- that really was meant to be a present, 'cause I'm a sentimental sap. A momentary wistfulness -- something to show the grandchildren. :-) Sorry it made you sad.
Oh, boy. Better go -- oh, I have a feeling I'm going to regret this journal someday. Especially if I do become famous -- it's going to haunt me. I can just see the celebrity biographies -- "Who *was* the mysterious David -- and what poem does the 12/28 journal entry refer to?" Even better would be if it showed up in an academic paper.... -- okay, okay, don't laugh. A girl can dream, can't she?
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