(no subject)

Yeah, so this sounded like a good idea. I think. Maybe. Here goes. divagypsy has been posting writing timelines, so... yes. Hello, term paper that will get written tonight.
( cut because it is deathly dull )

(no subject)

I am rather unfond of George Bush.

Gah. In other news, before I go to bed somewhat early (that is, before five o'clock), freewriting. Without any fannishness whatsoever. Gaspshock.

---

like winter coming suddenly, the first snap of frost, you. Cold air rushing in from way up north (where I come from, breezes from the distant relatives and the onetime friends and the others who still live there) and slicing my face open so it bleeds sleet, also you. Surprise! Winter. I had forgotten to expect this and the summer months were long and wasted and I sat inside where the sun never reached and the sweat slid down my brow and dripped onto my thighs and the bugs of summer crunched under my fingers and the days of summer slid by like windowpane drops of rain. I bow my head to protect it from the wind and when I look up my eyes sting with sudden tears, as the winter is too painful to be real, and the colors are too vivid and harsh against the backdrop of bare trees (heart on sleeve). The wind is strong and presses back and I cannot push so hard that the wind will crack. If I hold a Christmas ornament too tightly it will shatter, painted magenta glass fragments studding my skin with color, and I just stare at my palm--these colors all are wrong. Winter bends, but never breaks. Sweet chill.

---

I would write a silly little fannish bit to make up for it, but yeah. Sleep. Damned sleep.

gah geh gih goh guh gyh

guh. (is my new favorite word. I think I stole it from sage_theory. It's quite useful.)

I need a keeper. Specifically, one who will tell me that drinking cherry coke at 8:30 is a crap idea. Okay. I don't understand this. One cup of caffeine at lunch. Hour-long nap. One cup of caffeine at 8:30. Inability to sleep nine hours later. It can't just be the caffeine. Clearly, my sleep schedule is, one again, per usual, as expected, at least 24 hours off.

For no reason. Don't kid yourself. I don't actually do all the writing I bitch about while I pull these all-nighters. I just bitch.

I'm fucking exhausted. I can't fucking sleep. I cannot. fucking. sleep. I will be exhausted in class tomorrow and probably incapable of writing a single fucking sentence of my term papers. But that's okay, 'cause... oh, wait, it's not okay.

I am not okay. I am tired. I am stressed. I am not so slowly going insane. I need to do laundry. I need to... gah.

( but it could be worse )

So you see? I could be doing worse.

Apologies. My life truly is this pathetic 90% of the time. Except over the summer, when it's simply boring.

I read Out of Season by Anna today. Gah. The girl. Can. Write. I like the first half slightly better, I think, but seriously. Takes every knife-jabbing, heart-wrenching, angsty-slashy-wonderful moment in Shades of Grey and twists the knife. Gah. *dies of angsty joy*