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Apr. 29th, 2006 02:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harahelToo much caffine and a weakness for late hours generates long entries.
So recently, I've been having those deep thoughts again. It's been a while, I don't know why. I used to spend a lot of hours just musing on my bellybutton, but the past year has just been a blur.
Taking stock has it's ups and downs. Partly it's depressing because I'm not who I want to be, but also uplifting because who the hell want to be finished already? I'm a work in progress since 1984.
I'm still an anxious, talkative, intrusive, effusive, ridiculous little person. But I love that person a little more and care a little less about others.
This time last year I was: virginal, tired, twenty pounds heavier, completely unsure of the future. So vast improvement there.
And now? I don't know. I wish this year hadn't gone by so fast. I wish I'd thought more. Now it's near the end of the semester and I feel all sorts of muddled. Like my year was an impressionist painting.
Actually, strike that. Thinking more has never really helped. And I've had so much...happiness. I can't thank the girls of Penny, Val, Adam, Matt, Kate, Kelley, Anne and Bob enough for that. I don't think I've ever been so rich in my friends.
As ever my only complaint is that hole in my life for that person I haven't met yet. But that's ignorable because hey, it'll happen when it happens. I had a date tonight that went all right.
I guess that's why I started thinking about all these things. Old me would have never ever just gone out with someone she barely knew. Let alone contemplate going out on a second date even though there wasn't much to the first one.
But you have to try new things. How else do we thrive? Grow? Change?
Maybe that is what it was about this year. I didn't need to sit around and pick at my head because I was actually changing instead of just thinking about changing.
I wrote this year. None of it fanfiction. It felt good, though the words still aren't coming together and my characters are nebulous sad things. My novel is yet growing in my head. It's too Gaiman right now. I need to find my own voice. But I promise that Saul will have his day if only because right now it's the closest thing to progeny I have.
Appropriate thing, Billy Boyd is singing off my speakers:
Home is behind,
the world ahead,
and there are many paths to tread.
This must be the longest post I've made in years. I've had this livejournal since 2001 when my sweet J invited me. You still had to have an invitation then. Five years and most of it is spent rambling about things that I wince to remember.
Why is it that it is only in these wee morning hours that I feel truly peaceful? Maybe I should really become nocturnal. I miss philosophy and hanging out with a flock of people who genuinely care about the nature of time and reality and human nature while smoking a pack of cigarettes and drinking their weight in coffee. I'm not sorry anymore that I didn't pursue my graduate degree there. I think it would have ruined it for me. But I do miss the atmosphere, the feeling that big ideas were infinitely important.
I miss being a dopey romantic too. I think part of the reason my fanfiction has petered off is that my infatuation with the moment of falling in love has fallen off too. So much of my fic was generated by that moment. I see my work becoming deeper, but I'm not deep enough yet to match it.
I don't want to write science fiction any more. It was my dream for such a long time, but I think my interests have started to shift. Fiction with fantastical aspects is much more appealing. Perhaps I should liberate Saul from hell and let him be who he can be on earth.
Without the tattered wings, he's just an angry young man who's done and seen more then he'd like and escapes into books and writing. Not that that doesn't sound familiar and they do say write what you know...
Then again, I've discovered a talent for truly horrific imagery. Maybe I should just write a serial killer novel.
I want to start fencing again soon. There's something cathartic about poking people with metal sticks.
This has gone on long enough I think. /end ramble.
So recently, I've been having those deep thoughts again. It's been a while, I don't know why. I used to spend a lot of hours just musing on my bellybutton, but the past year has just been a blur.
Taking stock has it's ups and downs. Partly it's depressing because I'm not who I want to be, but also uplifting because who the hell want to be finished already? I'm a work in progress since 1984.
I'm still an anxious, talkative, intrusive, effusive, ridiculous little person. But I love that person a little more and care a little less about others.
This time last year I was: virginal, tired, twenty pounds heavier, completely unsure of the future. So vast improvement there.
And now? I don't know. I wish this year hadn't gone by so fast. I wish I'd thought more. Now it's near the end of the semester and I feel all sorts of muddled. Like my year was an impressionist painting.
Actually, strike that. Thinking more has never really helped. And I've had so much...happiness. I can't thank the girls of Penny, Val, Adam, Matt, Kate, Kelley, Anne and Bob enough for that. I don't think I've ever been so rich in my friends.
As ever my only complaint is that hole in my life for that person I haven't met yet. But that's ignorable because hey, it'll happen when it happens. I had a date tonight that went all right.
I guess that's why I started thinking about all these things. Old me would have never ever just gone out with someone she barely knew. Let alone contemplate going out on a second date even though there wasn't much to the first one.
But you have to try new things. How else do we thrive? Grow? Change?
Maybe that is what it was about this year. I didn't need to sit around and pick at my head because I was actually changing instead of just thinking about changing.
I wrote this year. None of it fanfiction. It felt good, though the words still aren't coming together and my characters are nebulous sad things. My novel is yet growing in my head. It's too Gaiman right now. I need to find my own voice. But I promise that Saul will have his day if only because right now it's the closest thing to progeny I have.
Appropriate thing, Billy Boyd is singing off my speakers:
Home is behind,
the world ahead,
and there are many paths to tread.
This must be the longest post I've made in years. I've had this livejournal since 2001 when my sweet J invited me. You still had to have an invitation then. Five years and most of it is spent rambling about things that I wince to remember.
Why is it that it is only in these wee morning hours that I feel truly peaceful? Maybe I should really become nocturnal. I miss philosophy and hanging out with a flock of people who genuinely care about the nature of time and reality and human nature while smoking a pack of cigarettes and drinking their weight in coffee. I'm not sorry anymore that I didn't pursue my graduate degree there. I think it would have ruined it for me. But I do miss the atmosphere, the feeling that big ideas were infinitely important.
I miss being a dopey romantic too. I think part of the reason my fanfiction has petered off is that my infatuation with the moment of falling in love has fallen off too. So much of my fic was generated by that moment. I see my work becoming deeper, but I'm not deep enough yet to match it.
I don't want to write science fiction any more. It was my dream for such a long time, but I think my interests have started to shift. Fiction with fantastical aspects is much more appealing. Perhaps I should liberate Saul from hell and let him be who he can be on earth.
Without the tattered wings, he's just an angry young man who's done and seen more then he'd like and escapes into books and writing. Not that that doesn't sound familiar and they do say write what you know...
Then again, I've discovered a talent for truly horrific imagery. Maybe I should just write a serial killer novel.
I want to start fencing again soon. There's something cathartic about poking people with metal sticks.
This has gone on long enough I think. /end ramble.
