I've been writing a lot of really disjointed entries lately. Just hopping & skipping from one topic to another - and it's a fair reflection of what's going on in my head - jumpy, jumpy, jumpy.
I'm amazingly impatient - have always been - and because I'm aware of it, I'm not really trying to change it - just to temper it. How that relates to anything....oh. So - I hate waiting for this vacation time to start. It sucks, to put it mildly. Esp. considering the fact that I really don't feel like working.
I did my hair over the last few days, so now it's all tight and sexy. I just realized that I've been sitting here for the last 20 minutes running my fingers through it over and over again. I love my hair. It always feels alive somehow - and now that it's longer (every time I tighten my roots - esp if I wait for a month or two like I did this time, I gain about 1/4-1/2 inch of length) it's just plain fucking sexy. and it feels SOOO good. *sigh* I stopped conditioning it for a while so that the locks would tighten up again - my ends were getting all loose and fuzzy -but I think I'll condition it this weekend. Oohhh...super soft, super silky, super good smelling hair. It's a damn shame I'm broke and can't show it off to total strangers.
Speaking of strangers - I don't think I've talked about our sex life much. This whole 'new explorations' has been a hell of a lot of fun, esp for me. C gets the aftershocks -but, I get to call first dibs on stuff. Heh. I still haven't been able to get him to go to a party, and I've realized that I'm a hell of a lot more of a homebody when he's HOME than I am on my own. So. That's what's up there. I still don't like this city - there are freaky deaks here, but good lord - they aren't my kind of freaky deaks. *sigh* I'm so damn picky.
I'm sleepy too - our pitchin was today at work, and oohhh. So much food. So much yum.
See - this is me trickling down to an end - I want to write something else - but I have to go someplace else to write it, and as only I'll see it - why I am telling you about it?
*blinks*
I've been really fucking foggy headed lately. and tired. *slow slow slow blinks* Gah. need vacation. Badly, badly.
I'm considering starting writing again.
Gah! How wishywashy was that?
Let's try again.
I want to write. I'm just too much of a lazy bum (I'm feeling very vulgar today too - just want to cuss up a storm) to actually finish it.
We aren't even going to TALK about how many unfinished ideas, stories, concepts I've got (had - as they were on the old harddrive) that just never go ANYWHERE. I've got my old filebox FULL of everything I've ever written (by hand, and some stuff I printed out) that I keep 'meaning' to read to energize myself.
I don't know if I'm lazy or afraid, actually. Afraid to - create something? that's truly mine? and then - expose that? Shit - maybe I'm just not self confident enough - don't have the balls to really get down into me and pull that dynamically creative diva out. When it's for others, I can create almost on demand - I'm talented, imaginative, and stubborn. But this - what I've been doing in one way or another since I was fucking 12 - this scares me.
And yet sometimes - usually when I'm not even trying - I'll bust out with something that suprises even ME. Like 'parched' that I wrote when I was first going through the 'cycle 1 of married life' period - it was soooo damn expressive and SO damn spontaeneous that it hurt. Why can't I plan that shit out?
See? Vulgar!
I blame my mother, personally. Pounding the whole 'art won't make you rich' concept into my brain from a young young age. Back when I was too young to scream back 'but it might make me happy!' which, really, matters more.
I need to play powerball.
Going to go read 'parched' again.
And you know the funny thing about that? I accidentally deleted it the first time I wrote it, and I recreated it entirely from memory (which normally, I CANNOT do). Rereading it - it actually seems rather - juvenile now. *sigh*
Maybe that's the problem - like me looking at myself, I can't possbily be an objective judge. And I don't trust anyone else to be able to fairly judge either - besides bastards like editors and agents who would laugh in my face both before AND after they crushed my tender heart into a few million hangdog pieces.
*gah*
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