So I finally got a Dreamwidth account. DreamWidth? Anyway, I have caved! And so here we are!
My life has been ridiculous, and so I haven't been posting lately. Or writing. For about two months in fact, I wasn't doing anything that wasn't either a) work, or b) essential to continued existence (ie, eating, sleeping, occasionally showering, buying said food to eat, getting from one place to another). It was madness, which is something I quite enjoy (in controlled doses, I wouldn't have survived if I hadn't known there was an definite end to the schedule of insanity). It wasn't just 55+ hours, 7 days a week. It was also getting up at 4:30 on most of said days, which means going to sleep at around 8 (9 if you want to be tired) the night before. MADNESS.
Anyway, I am contemplating my own existence right now. (My existential ponderings are consistently self-involved.) You know, friends and relationships and the tenuous ideas society holds as 'normal'. Only in my head it is less words and more fragmented thoughts (my thoughts, disregarding my internal monologue and the occasional internal dialogue with my fictitious internalization of the people who surround my life, are never formed purely with words, which is why I find most authors grasp of "telepathy", or whatever synonym for mind reading they have chosen to use, so irritating and, my I be blunt, badly done. Very few people seem to acknowledge that the human mind is not just an internal voice that mirrors the vocal one. Thoughts are complex and colored and often of a medium beyond the four usual elements of art; text, music, visuals and motion. Rather, thought is often an experimental performance art piece that no one will pay to see, much less put on, preformed in alternating venues; somedays a dark unventilated basement, and others a grand hallway of polished marble).
And now that I have satisfied my internal English major by using more large words than were strictly necessary, we move to other topics.
- Sherlock ♥♥♥
- Shoebox ♥♥♥
- Coffee Prince
Yesterday I tried to make Potato Cheddar soup. The consistency was atrocious (note to self: leave the veggies to stew longer, so it will not be as soupy, and they will be more mushy), but it tasted good. I had to go to Chinatown to get a bigger pot, because I made a lot of it.
Shoebox has been present since I started rereading it. Chapter 26 brings me great joy, if I ignore all the bits with Peter. Remus and Sirius are so ridicuous. I don't know if any story will ever mean as much to me as Shoebox. I doubt it, given that it coincided with my teenage years in such a way as to make it a permanant fixture for nostalgia. And given it's lasting power, and the fact that it is an extension of the Harry Potter universe, and given that that universe is ever expansive (it is as infinite as the damn universe, I kid you not), it always seems to be something I can turn to, where ever I am in my life.
Basically, I ♥ Shoebox.
Speaking of ♥'s, OH MY GOD SHERLOCK. I am practically salivating for the new episodes, which, you know, aren't due for another 11 months. God, it is just so good. I want to make everyone I know watch it.
More thoughts to come later. I'm finishing up Coffee Prince, which I love dearly. Off to episode 14!