Lots of facebook activity. First and foremost.
Books everywhere. On the couch, all over the coffee table, under the couch for some reason, on the shelf, under my shoe, in a tree.
Constant walks around the house so I can regain feeling in the lower half of my body.
I am ultra aware of the feeling/cleanliness of my teeth.
I ate way too many strawberries.
When I did venture outside to do things, nothing got done.
I noticed when a petal fells from a dying orchid, because I’ve been staring at it all day.
I hate the clothes I’m wearing, but am too lazy to change them, knowing as well that I’d just hate those too.
I feel fat. Sitting makes you feel fat. But I can't type standing up.
Am very aware of how pretty the sky is outside our living room window and keep taking pictures of said window, without moving from the couch.
I had the realization halfway through the day that I haven’t read nearly enough books to write about what I’m writing about with the authority I’m pretending I have.
If I hear the ice cream truck’s stupid song one more time, I’m going to open up a can. I think you know what of.
Number of e-mail received that were not facebook notification: 2. Number of e-mails received from my mother: 2.
I’ve started to notice a pattern in my itunes shuffle and I don’t like it (the pattern and the fact that I’ve noticed).
I realized I have three books, all with the same title, by different people, about the exact same thing, and I’m referencing them all to look like I have more sources. Poor plan genius.
My final project book is nowhere near as good in any way as the books I’m citing as my influences. But Connan O’Brien says it’s ok to fail, so whatevaaa.
Writing a blog/list of things from my day is ten times more enjoyable than what I’ve been trying to do all day.
The blog word count I’ve written in two seconds far exceeds the word count of the essay I’ve been writing for the last 7 hours.
I had to think way too hard to find the word ‘exceeds’ just then in my internal dictionary. “succeeds… …supersedes…superman….no…”
I feel guilty every time I read another author’s blog about being a writer because I have been reading about them and not being one myself.
My face feels dirty no matter how many times I wash it. I think I need a facial.
Can I reference I book I have not read, but own and intend to read, probably (definitely) after the essay is due?
How dare I compare my book in any way to books like Holes and Percy Jackson? That’s like comparing a rock to the Taj Mahal. Ordinary, driveway gravel.
I STILL DON’T HAVE A BED I STILL DON’T HAVE A BED I’VE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY HOW LONG IS THIS GONNA TAKE FOR THE LOVE OF ROCKS.
Something positive: I’m starting to really like the title I chose for my final project. I can picture it on the cover of my book one day, all glossy. But not too glossy; I still want boys to read it.
I hate tea. Tea is just a thing to do, not something that matters. I’m going to go get another cup of tea.
THE LIGHT IN MY LIVING ROOM IS TOO DIM. I need a lamp.
In my desperation for adequate information on the topic I’m writing about, I e-mailed a professor at Cambridge, basically the coolest woman on the planet, my literary/academic superstar, asking for help. I’m never hearing from her, that’s for damn sure.
On normal days, the Indiana Jones soundtrack never comes up on my itunes shuffle. On days like today, itunes is left with little choice unless it wants to become repetitive.
Wrote two haikus:
My day: bought mirrors,
(neither magic) watched orchid
die. Wrote 1 haiku.
Pink petals wilting,
Tried so hard ignoring you.
Clap, believe; please live.
Both about the stupid orchid dying on our mantel. No one should ever trust me to keep their plants alive. Number of plants I’m currently in charge of: 3.
Found this amazing illustration/little story in one of my ancient books on writing for children I got from the library the other day. I love it with all my heart, but the book neglects to cite it in any way, no reference anywhere to what book it’s from, who wrote/drew it or anything. Poor Oswald.
|I just love it so much. Look at his little stash.|
I only have 600 more words to write of my essay (could probably get away with 400, but let's not get too lazy just yet).
My phone has not rung all day. I'm so unpopular.
Back to it.