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Just a little lovin'.
I know I'm not really saying anything new or original here, but goddamned, Dusty in Memphis is a fucking amazing album. It's one of the top five albums I listed once that could be given as a gift to anyone, and if they had a lick of musical interest (not even knowledge or taste) they would enjoy it. I can't remember what else was in that top 5 list though. Oh, Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. (Did I do that apostrophe correctly, AP darlings?) What else?
Now to echo my protagonist: I want a cigarette like a motherfucker. I have none in the house. I would go across the street and possibly indulge myself, but I have no cash. I could walk a block to get money, then get cigarettes. But that's three steps, so it qualifies as work (the first step is leaving the house). I get cravings so rarely for tobacco that I feel compelled to indulge it. Strange, I know. I'm thankful that I don't seem prone to nicotine addiction, don't get me wrong.
I passed the 30,000 word mark. I'm almost done with this. I don't mean that in the triumphant "I passed the halfway mark and I'm almost done!" way. I mean, I'm almost tired. I'm tired of their shit not being resolved quickly enough for me. Maybe it's because I'm not exactly sure the best way to resolve it -- or more accurately, when the things I want to happen should happen. My protagonist is turning out to be less delusional than I originally planned. It's fucking things up. But I think even if I wrapped the plot up quickly it will still push me over the 40,000 mark. Then I can just go back and add some details and maybe a 3,000 word dream sequence.
Now to echo my protagonist: I want a cigarette like a motherfucker. I have none in the house. I would go across the street and possibly indulge myself, but I have no cash. I could walk a block to get money, then get cigarettes. But that's three steps, so it qualifies as work (the first step is leaving the house). I get cravings so rarely for tobacco that I feel compelled to indulge it. Strange, I know. I'm thankful that I don't seem prone to nicotine addiction, don't get me wrong.
I passed the 30,000 word mark. I'm almost done with this. I don't mean that in the triumphant "I passed the halfway mark and I'm almost done!" way. I mean, I'm almost tired. I'm tired of their shit not being resolved quickly enough for me. Maybe it's because I'm not exactly sure the best way to resolve it -- or more accurately, when the things I want to happen should happen. My protagonist is turning out to be less delusional than I originally planned. It's fucking things up. But I think even if I wrapped the plot up quickly it will still push me over the 40,000 mark. Then I can just go back and add some details and maybe a 3,000 word dream sequence.
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want to have sex withlike your user iconno subject
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Current music: Windmills of my Mind (get it?!?!??!)
uh uh. don't get that. but i'm sure it's funny. ;)
dusty dusty dusty. i listen to memphis and her duet with the pet shop boys and i say "dusty dusty dusty" i don't even use commas. it's out of control.
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the word 'quixotic' comes from Don Quixote, who did battle with imaginary demons in the form of windmills. like, he thought the windmills were dragons or whatever and attempted to take them down. so yeah. quixotic. windmills of my mind.
and yeah. dusty. i want to read her biography but fear i will cry and not be able to listen to her music without crying, which is sort of hard already.
if you move to san fran, i'll be there after xmas this year, and i'll also be there next summer for two weeks. and then in 2004 i might be moving out there, so we could be roommates and our girlfriends can be roommates too, and it'll be like this sitcom. except actually funny and fun.
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awww raybear, i was engaging in dangerous acts of irony, and i failed.
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she should use
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