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I am going to do some stuff. No, really. It's going to fucking happen.
I feel like I've spent the last three damn days doing little except chores and reacting (badly) to the weather, which has ratcheted up from bright yet fine to INCREDIBLY FUCKING HUMID in a remarkably short amount of time. This has the weird effect of making all my joints hurt--the wetness factor, I guess--while also making me feel as though I'm courting some sort of urethral infection, all hypersensitive and constantly feeling as though I need to go to the bathroom. Last night I took "Sleep" for the first time in months, this femMED supplement full of stuff like magnolia bark and blue skullcap, and was happy to wake up with my eyes glued slightly shut, if only because I then took the longest pee in the world and spent a pleasant two hours not feeling any of the above. It's creeping back even as we speak, however.
Otherwise: Spent a stupid amount of money at BMV, mainly because it turned out somebody had dumped all of their Hitchcock DVDs, thus allowing me to pick up North by Northwest, Strangers on a Train (I haven't seen that since I blazed through all of HItchcock's greatest hits back in high school, looking for anything that was remotely as slashy as Rope) and I Confess, which I'm very seriously thinking of doing as a double bill with Robert Lepage's Le Confessional. Too bad I have no local friends who I can count on to sign up for that sort of craziness anymore...
Other stuff: Jumper (it was cheap, okay?); The Rite (which I caught up with and quite liked, though I understand why intertribal didn't); a Bela Lugosi Spotlight Collection DVD featuring my two favourite Lugosi/Karloff films, The Black Cat and The Raven, plus Murders in the Rue Morgue (already very nuts, with gorgeous Karl Freund cinematography and a surprisingly buff-looking Bela), Black Friday and The Invisible Ray; and Fritz Lang's Doctor Mabuse: The Gambler, prequel to The Testament of Doctor Mabuse, for like $20.00. (It's usually fifty, in case you're wondering.) Oh, and True Grit, obviously, because flinty little Mattie Ross is my fourteen-year-old GF.
But yes, I need to do stuff, even if it's just transcribing the rest of my notes for that Angrboda/Sigynn story, or moving stuff around inside "Furious Angels" because my writing group is meeting on Sunday. Or, crazily enough, actually clocking some time on Chapter Three, which is now mainly about a Hex City war council vs. Reverend Rook's internal monologue re: Given [what happened at the end of A Rope....], why am I even here anymore, exactly? Because she might kill me if I leave? Because I like being wanted? What?
Oh, Asher Elijah. I can't say I've missed your self-doubting/self-indulgent POV all that much, but I guess you'll do for now, in the absence of anyone I like better.
I feel like I've spent the last three damn days doing little except chores and reacting (badly) to the weather, which has ratcheted up from bright yet fine to INCREDIBLY FUCKING HUMID in a remarkably short amount of time. This has the weird effect of making all my joints hurt--the wetness factor, I guess--while also making me feel as though I'm courting some sort of urethral infection, all hypersensitive and constantly feeling as though I need to go to the bathroom. Last night I took "Sleep" for the first time in months, this femMED supplement full of stuff like magnolia bark and blue skullcap, and was happy to wake up with my eyes glued slightly shut, if only because I then took the longest pee in the world and spent a pleasant two hours not feeling any of the above. It's creeping back even as we speak, however.
Otherwise: Spent a stupid amount of money at BMV, mainly because it turned out somebody had dumped all of their Hitchcock DVDs, thus allowing me to pick up North by Northwest, Strangers on a Train (I haven't seen that since I blazed through all of HItchcock's greatest hits back in high school, looking for anything that was remotely as slashy as Rope) and I Confess, which I'm very seriously thinking of doing as a double bill with Robert Lepage's Le Confessional. Too bad I have no local friends who I can count on to sign up for that sort of craziness anymore...
Other stuff: Jumper (it was cheap, okay?); The Rite (which I caught up with and quite liked, though I understand why intertribal didn't); a Bela Lugosi Spotlight Collection DVD featuring my two favourite Lugosi/Karloff films, The Black Cat and The Raven, plus Murders in the Rue Morgue (already very nuts, with gorgeous Karl Freund cinematography and a surprisingly buff-looking Bela), Black Friday and The Invisible Ray; and Fritz Lang's Doctor Mabuse: The Gambler, prequel to The Testament of Doctor Mabuse, for like $20.00. (It's usually fifty, in case you're wondering.) Oh, and True Grit, obviously, because flinty little Mattie Ross is my fourteen-year-old GF.
But yes, I need to do stuff, even if it's just transcribing the rest of my notes for that Angrboda/Sigynn story, or moving stuff around inside "Furious Angels" because my writing group is meeting on Sunday. Or, crazily enough, actually clocking some time on Chapter Three, which is now mainly about a Hex City war council vs. Reverend Rook's internal monologue re: Given [what happened at the end of A Rope....], why am I even here anymore, exactly? Because she might kill me if I leave? Because I like being wanted? What?
Oh, Asher Elijah. I can't say I've missed your self-doubting/self-indulgent POV all that much, but I guess you'll do for now, in the absence of anyone I like better.
