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ladyoflorien) wrote2005-08-13 11:16 pm
ladyoflorien) wrote2005-08-13 11:16 pm
Today's Theme For The Day:
I'm restless. And heart-sick. I have such uncontrollable heartache it's driving me mad. I've been like this for months now, but it's only been this bad since I got home from NY and Spamalot. I don't think I was ready to come back, and my body is punishing me for it. But I can't handle this burning, swelling, consuming heartache. It hurts so bad. I can't think, I can't talk straight, I can't even move or act or do anything. All I feel is this burn---not even burn, it's more at absence of burn---and it is making me crazy. I don't know what to do with myself.
And reading Card isn't helping. The man is twisted in such a horrifyingly entrancing way, and it's not exactly healthy reading for me. I'm only reading his short fiction, and while I liked Ender's Game, I'm not quite sure what to make of him as an author yet. Perhaps because he writes just like me, and every time I pick my way through a story it's like looking at something I wrote two, five, six years ago. And you know how writers can get when forced to look at their own work; so unsatisfied, so self-deprecating, so far below the impossibly high bar we set for ourselves. So reading fiction that's like looking in a mirror image of myself and my craft, written about such terrifyingly familiar things, so magnificently cruel and ugly, is like playing around inside my head. Something I force myself not to do anymore. And it's repellent, but I can't turn away. I need to see how it ends. I'm sucked in, floundering and frigid. But if there's one thing I cannot stand, it's being forced to look at myself for any extended period of time. Card forces me to do that. It makes me sick thinking of how similar we are.
Oh, god, I can not STAND this aching. I need to sleep. I can't sleep. I haven't slept. Not in days. All I can do is open up word and type and type, and when I'm not doing that I'm watching Firefly because I want so badly to see Spamalot again that I'm hanging on to every memory of the thing; watching Alan Tudyk as Wash helps me to do that. And besides - brilliant script anyway. Only a month now until the movie comes out.
My Backstreet Boys concert is tomorrow night. I'm not excited. Just burning. Aching. Sick. And I'm dreading the drive there, with all those Massachusetts mass-holes on the road. Why did RoniSue have to back out on me? She will have no idea how excited I was for months, the thought of just the two of us, and how crushed I ended up being when Alicia told me she was coming in her stead. I love Alicia to bits, but I see her nearly every week. I miss RoniSue. In a way I need her. And I wanted to share this with her, and now I never will.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. My insides hurt so bad. I feel like I've been ripped apart, like the bowels of a great spaceship, and my wires are spilling to the floor grotesquely and snaking along walls and hanging exposed from the ceiling, red and orange and green, towards other naked wires across the room. A great mess of my innards pulled out, twisted, and rearranged for the world to see.
Thus, my Theme for the Day (and more-so because I can't get Firefly quotes out of my head):
Capt. Mal Reynolds: And Kaylee, what the hell's going on in the engine room? Were there monkeys. Some terrifying Space Monkeys maybe got loose?
And reading Card isn't helping. The man is twisted in such a horrifyingly entrancing way, and it's not exactly healthy reading for me. I'm only reading his short fiction, and while I liked Ender's Game, I'm not quite sure what to make of him as an author yet. Perhaps because he writes just like me, and every time I pick my way through a story it's like looking at something I wrote two, five, six years ago. And you know how writers can get when forced to look at their own work; so unsatisfied, so self-deprecating, so far below the impossibly high bar we set for ourselves. So reading fiction that's like looking in a mirror image of myself and my craft, written about such terrifyingly familiar things, so magnificently cruel and ugly, is like playing around inside my head. Something I force myself not to do anymore. And it's repellent, but I can't turn away. I need to see how it ends. I'm sucked in, floundering and frigid. But if there's one thing I cannot stand, it's being forced to look at myself for any extended period of time. Card forces me to do that. It makes me sick thinking of how similar we are.
Oh, god, I can not STAND this aching. I need to sleep. I can't sleep. I haven't slept. Not in days. All I can do is open up word and type and type, and when I'm not doing that I'm watching Firefly because I want so badly to see Spamalot again that I'm hanging on to every memory of the thing; watching Alan Tudyk as Wash helps me to do that. And besides - brilliant script anyway. Only a month now until the movie comes out.
My Backstreet Boys concert is tomorrow night. I'm not excited. Just burning. Aching. Sick. And I'm dreading the drive there, with all those Massachusetts mass-holes on the road. Why did RoniSue have to back out on me? She will have no idea how excited I was for months, the thought of just the two of us, and how crushed I ended up being when Alicia told me she was coming in her stead. I love Alicia to bits, but I see her nearly every week. I miss RoniSue. In a way I need her. And I wanted to share this with her, and now I never will.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. My insides hurt so bad. I feel like I've been ripped apart, like the bowels of a great spaceship, and my wires are spilling to the floor grotesquely and snaking along walls and hanging exposed from the ceiling, red and orange and green, towards other naked wires across the room. A great mess of my innards pulled out, twisted, and rearranged for the world to see.
Thus, my Theme for the Day (and more-so because I can't get Firefly quotes out of my head):
Capt. Mal Reynolds: And Kaylee, what the hell's going on in the engine room? Were there monkeys. Some terrifying Space Monkeys maybe got loose?
no subject
And DO try to have fun at our boys concert.... Once it starts, I'm sure you'll feel better. You know how they can work their magic on us girls.... And if they don't... well.. I'll just have to have a lil talk with them....
no subject
*hugs back* I still ache. I probably will for a loooong time yet. But thanks anyway. :)