Things I think about during the Midnight Hour.

It's late, and I'm waiting for the parents I'm babysitting for to come home. The kids were in bed two hours ago. I've read a few pages of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, cleaned up the house as much as I could, checked most of my Internet hang-outs, and typed a little bit to clear my head.

Then I sat in front of the computer feeling like the most bored individual on earth.

The computer screen laughed at my bland face and shone onto my hand.

Startled, I stared at the hand.

It looked leathery, highlighted in all the creases by the screen-glow, the middle finger ring glinting like old dwarvish gold. Hey, I think, that's unearthly.

Look at how photographic the hand looks--like an old sepia album thing...except they didn't have computers back in the old days. The pinky finger is severed by a shadow. When it curves into a hook, it looks almost zombie-like. Better not look out the open window.

Weird, really weird, what happens to your mind when its working on eight-hour-old caffeine and greasy pizza. Dog tired. Cat in the basement. Bird at home, my home.

Aw, home.

I really miss my bed, and I saw it only half a day ago. Poor thing's probably wondering where I am. I think about this alot, what I want my room--my room--to be like someday. Not just the colors and decorations and layout, but the honest-to-goodness feel of the room.

A lush, purple feel, I think one hour.
And another adjective/color the next.

(This is another rambling, semi-stream-of-consciousness post. I rather like them.)

Do you know what? I am going to be the semi-adult that I am. Why keep up the serious/adult pretense when this is, after all, an anonymous blog (kind of)?

This is what I want for Christmas:

~Julia Child's cookbooks.
~Julie and Julia: book and movie.
~Shoes. I'm on a shoe kick (the puns are always intended).
~A mini-robot.
~Real paint brushes and canvases.
~Art classes.
~A-grade ink pens. The good stuff, sir.
~Silver hair. Wig form or no.
~New curtains for my room.
~Coldplay CDs.
~BITE ME comic and all accessories.
~A magnifying glass.
~A boycott for the new Sherlock Holmes movie/blasphemy.

FIN.

The Good Things

Greatest Inventions of the World:

- the radio
- ice cream
- faux fur
- jeans
- iPods
- paper
- ballpoint pens
- Christmas lights
- embroidery
- Middle Earth

It's Too Bad.

In everything that's happened today, I have one question:
Why do we feel compelled to say something in the face of tragedy?

One of our pastors died today from thyroid cancer. My family didn't find out until just now, and my mom seems to want to talk until the funeral; Facebook is flooded with R.I.P.'s and everything from people who I can guarantee never said more than two sentences to her.

Maybe I judge too quickly and strongly (something I seem to be doing a lot lately) but people are so awkward and sometimes I wish everyone would just stop talking. Does it ever help? I tried it, talking to people about the bad things in my life, or even the good things (in the hopes that they would last, somehow, attached to my life by the fragile thread of words), but the bad things continue and the good things fade.

It occurs to me that I am a person as much as everyone else--my first impulse was to sit down and write. Or yell.

Music seems inappropriate in the face of my mother's grief (she truly knew and loved her) but I feel that it is one of the balms that life lends us.

I have no right to speak. I learned once, when someone I loved but little knew left and I stood up to speak and felt shunned. Ever since then I really don't feel like speaking or doing anything without thinking it through very thoroughly. It's wise, and every time I don't think it through, I end up on long guilt-trips and in embarrassing situations.

Time has lost all meaning to me. Yesterday seems as far away as three years ago; tomorrow is as long as eternity.

Oh, crap. The irony just hit me--my aunt went into labor today, nearly two weeks overdue. Sometimes I think that God has a sick sense of humor; but I remember the moments when I was awash in His love (Saturday night) and repent.

Jesus! Why pray when You obviously already know the outcome? Why encourage our hopes with prayer services and then snatch her away within five days? Questions, questions. Even when I have my answers, I still have questions.

Good night.

Horoom Mah Hmm

Four books in three days. Not bad, I say!
Went to the library on Tuesday, checked out If I Stay, by Gayle Forman, Wintergirls and Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton, and The Hobbit by Tolkien.

Finished Tolkien first, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Started The Book of Ruth and hated it. One chapter in and I was disgusted. If I Stay was gorgeous, as were both of Anderson's books.

Now I am reading Of Rice and Men, the book my brother checked out. Lots of reading this week, not as much writing as I wanted to do (so what's new?). Lots of sad moments this week, but good moments, too. It's been a week--that's what I can say.

So. I am thinking of being secretive and starting a private e-mail account for an anonymous blog, because I can't stand to delete this one. We'll see.

Tomorrow I am playing flag football (maybe. If my team needs a player) and, with the memory of my cringing stomach muscles after doing ten quick push-ups on Wednesday, I am not too happy about the possibility. BUT. I am almost looking forward to it, too. Who knows? Whichever way the wind blows.

I realized that this NaNoWriMo holds no chains for me creatively. Why follow the plotline? Indeed, why even bother to write one cohesive story? Isn't the point of NaNo just to write? Why not just write, then, without worries about 'does this fit with the proposed plotline' and whatnot. Who knows--maybe it will take a curve and turn into one story, after all.

So right now I'm writing about Death, who's actual name is Absalom.
I'm leaning toward a love story.

http://www.johnnywander.com/comics/100

Because every writer needs inspiration!

Pictures. Yay.

Ian McKellan. Secretly masquerading as Gandalf.

Cate Blanchett might as well be Galadriel.

I can guarantee that Liv Tyler has less cause for concern than Arwen.

Hugo Weaving, when Erestor isn't looking, because he'd never recognize him as Elrond, anyway.

Poor Frodo.