Thursday, February 17, 2011
No, I'm not back. Merely burning the midnight oil for the sake of burning the midnight oil. A nicotine relapse combined with a sleep-schedule almost normalized gone to complete shit and I find myself jotting down words about nothing at all and everything in particular. Funny how that works, eh?
No, I'm not drunk. Haven't had a drop of alcohol since before last Thanksgiving. Who knew? Well... that's not accurate. Everyone knew. Rather, everyone who would know knew. I'm not making much sense, am I? Don't know. Don't care.
At any rate, a few days ago I finished my submission for the 2nd Annual River of Mnemosyne Challenge. Another science fiction story borne of many years of being bored. How many years? Hmm... all of them, I think. Don't know. Don't care. But, I will say this... as far as prose goes, it's the longest story I've ever completed. 30k+ words for the submission, plus another 30k words or so left out of the submission. And all in two weeks, give or take.
I'm not being very exact, am I? Don't know. Don't care.
The other entries, so far, are pretty good. Intriguing, at the very least. I'm reading them as they finish and, even though it's safe to claim that mine is the longest, a few of the others are pretty long, themselves.
In about six weeks, I hop on a plane for Australia, where I will spend nearly four weeks blowing off steam in a place almost as far away as I can get from here. Can't wait.
Against my better judgement, I turned down a job analyzing comic books. I know, I know. I must have taken ill. Talk about a dream job. Ah, well... I'm sure the opportunity will come around again. I've got other fish to fry, other birds to kill, other (insert fauna) to (insert heinous act).
Set some arbitrary self-imposed deadlines and restrictions for myself this year. We'll see if anything pans out.
Can't sleep. But I feel oddly good. One of my cats is eying some flowers a friend of mine gave me. They're on top of the bookshelf. I should probably move them somewhere safer. Not that they'll live very long (the flowers, not the cats).
Escape is a state of mind. Except when it's a state opposite of incarceration. Just thought I'd point that out.
I've been a shit friend as of late. To pretty much everyone. Even my dog, Starbuck. He's a champ, though. He misses the other dogs, but he makes do. I need to be more like him. Except for the neutered part.
House, despite the addition of the "super-genius" kid character (okay, not quite a kid, but awfully young to be on a diagnostic staff), is still one of the best shows on television. Chuck still has its charm, but isn't as good as it was before all the cancellation drama a while back. Which means it'll probably be canceled. Southland still rocks. Sure, the gradual elimination of its ensemble cast is painfully noticeable and has fundamentally changed the show, but it still rocks.
There's a backlog of prepared posts here. I'm considering re-scheduling them just to get them out of the way. This doesn't mean I'm back.
Where was I? Don't know. Don't care. Where am I? Guess what the answer to that one is.
A shitload of cat hair just went flying around the living room. Cats sure are entertaining.
I think I might have another cigarette. I know it'd go well with coffee. I've recently fallen in love with Earl Grey tea. I wonder how well cigarettes go with that. Perhaps I shouldn't find out.