All the Horrible Girliness

I don't know what I'm doing, here. I know I'm going to die - this reality hits me every once in awhile, usually in the dark, that I, yes even I! will die someday - and so I have to do something now. I've made another in my image, which is a good start. At least my lips and ears will prevail, and something of my attitude, at least the part that is a grumpy bitch when I first wake up.

But dammit, people keep bringing up the writing. The writing, the writing! I laugh, always, and I mumble something. I hate talking about the writing. For a few years I think I didn't talk about anything else. Now I don't want to talk about writing, or what I'm thinking of writing, or if I've given up writing, or if I'm planning on taking writing classes. But Ariana brought it up today, on the phone.

I'm not the type of girl who gets on the phone just to chat, and none of my good friends are, either, so I threw Ariana a bit today when I called. She kept trying to figure out why I had called, and I kept lobbing over these sounds like, "Eh" and saying, "I don't know. I'm just bored." So she asked about people, made sure me and Mr. Aran and The Bug were okay, then asked when I was going to write. Maybe she just wanted me off the phone, at that point.

Ended up telling her that it's what I'll do, what I'll always do, but at the moment I'm just doing Bug things and working out. But what I won't admit out loud is, things are a-germinating. And when I start to work again, it'll be really fucking serious. It'll be six a.m. type stuff, when nobody is allowed to be anywhere near me for an hour or two, and shit will get done. Good shit. And I won't talk about it this time.

posted by Samus @ 9:42 PM