April 7th, 2005

elijah

stuff

I had an epiphany the other night of something that would radically change my life: long hair. I need to let my hair grow out again. Yeah, yeah. But seriously--I realized quite suddenly that I am tired of my generic, short, low-maintenance hair. No matter how many inventive dye jobs I give it, it clearly communicates to the world a unisex blandness, a lack of interest. From experience I know that the intermediate stages of growth will be ghastly to behold, like a mad shrubbery obscuring my house--er, face--but maybe I can enlist the help of stylists this time around.

In other thoughts, do you ever want to share an anecdote about yourself that reveals some personal characteristic, but then you pause and think: well, it's okay to share with most readers, but what about that imaginary serial killer? If he learned of my fear of squirrels, my atrophied left arm, etc, who knows what he might do with this indiscreet information? I imagine a killer slowly and carefully collecting casually dropped bits of information to build a revealing mosaic of me, and that one day he'll stalk and abduct me--coming up from the left, of course--and I'll find myself a victim of all my worst fears and bugbears, captive in a room full of squirrels, forced to listen to folk music and wear scratchy underwear, etc.

But I actually like squirrels and folk music and could live with scratchy panties, so I have given nothing away ha ha!

Anyway, I will nervously or maybe bravely confess the fact of my possibly weaker than normal ankles, because I was thinking about horror movies--how some woman is always running through a forest from the killer and trips and falls and you think in a contemptuous Darwinian way, "You weak lame-ass *girl*! You don't *deserve* to live!" But in fact I'd be that woman, because I can trip and twist a foot while walking at a slow pace on a perfectly level surface wearing flat sneakers. So sad.

This morning it was one of those times when there's a heavy cloud cover and light is diffused and somehow omnipresent--the world is suddenly timeless. It isn't nine a.m. or three p.m. It's just a kind of weird stasis, the empty background of dreams or the blank canvas of a story.

I make no sense but I kill some time.

ETA: I do not have an atrophied left arm, by the way. It is strong from lifting peeps.
elijah

brain wave zero

I was thinking I might go shoot some hoops at the gym as a midday break, but I have The Cramps now and no longer want to. Normally I'd go sit in the Crumpet Shop for a while and read, but I caved to snacky hunger and had coffee and coffee cake a little while ago at my desk, and so I feel strangely at a loss. And a bit sleepy. Stupid cramps brain coffee cake rain Republican Senate.
elijah

question, poll--help?

Important question--to me, because I'm trying to find things to do at night--what do you guys do in the evening hours? The fannish thing is a given; watch shows, read fiction, write it or at least ponder the fact that we're months overdue delivering the remainder of our donation stories, etc. But aside from that, how do you exist by yourself and whistle away the existential void? Hobbies? Exercise? Reading? Volunteering? Getting together with friends? I'm especially but not exclusively interested in what single (unattached) kidless people are up to, and also things that don't cost a lot of money--and obviously I'm thinking about things other than drink-fueled clubbing and so on. Not that I'm dissing people's fun, but you know.

I've already worked out today and I haven't been able to get myself into writing mode this past week or two, and I'm watching stuff on tape/DVD but it isn't enough to stem my restless anxious urges. I could read, but lately I'm going through books at a steady clip, and that's what my breakfast and lunchtime are for, and blah blah so on. I am edgy. And I seriously just don't get it: what do people *do* with their lives? Usually it feels like there is far too little time, but other times, it's just you and the couch and a reluctance to do practical things like laundry. It's days like this that I fear I simply don't know how to live--to exist as a meaningful lifeform.