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If there's a cure for this, I don't want it.
Except maybe sometimes I do when it's real bad.
Man, I've seen the end of Buffy Season Five, like three times now, almost all in the past few months, or so it feels. And it still gets me when she throws herself off the platform, no matter how cheesy the special effects are when she's writhing around in the energy pit or how sentimental her final words are. They still get me. But I didn't get beyond misty-eyed, probably because I was watching it with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
limenal. Usually I'm less likely to cry if someone's around, even unintentionally.
Today turned from breezy and sunny to icy drizzle on empty streets and big panels of cardboard getting blown around in alleys, scaring us like the boogeyman as I try to rush a dog who has ADD and can hardly focus on any one thing for more than half a second before moving on. Except for when she's waiting to fetch. She'll sit immobile for fifteen minutes. That's a long time. I've tried. I try at least once a week, more if I'm lucky, which reminds me that the book on writing from the 1930s claimed to reveal to me, the up and coming writer, what exactly is writer's magic. Guess what it was? I won't make you read the whole book, though I would certainly recommend it. It's meditating. Not in so many words, but in practice, in concept, in theory, in all those other "in's", it's meditating. I put down the book last night when I got the end and laughed and laughed and then suddenly panicked about my ability to meditate. And I remember channeling. I'm supposed to be channeling in my writing.
I took a melatonin to I can sleep long and hard and I'm waiting for it to kick in, hence me showing up at the computer. Liesl is bugging me for a fix (got any grass? got any grass?) and I will relent and give her the catnip so I can type in peace. Sophie is off pouting somewhere or perhaps chewing her bone contently and forgetting temporarily that the house is partially empty again. I suspect she'll sleep on the chair tonight and not on the bed with me. At dinner she sat at my feet with the ring, focused on me, wanting my attention. I gave her only small bits.
I haven't re-read this whole entry, but it feels different writing it, closer to the feeling of writing first thing in the morning which makes me think my herbal sleep remedy has taken effect sooner than I thought. I will tuck myself in now.
Man, I've seen the end of Buffy Season Five, like three times now, almost all in the past few months, or so it feels. And it still gets me when she throws herself off the platform, no matter how cheesy the special effects are when she's writhing around in the energy pit or how sentimental her final words are. They still get me. But I didn't get beyond misty-eyed, probably because I was watching it with
limenal. Usually I'm less likely to cry if someone's around, even unintentionally.Today turned from breezy and sunny to icy drizzle on empty streets and big panels of cardboard getting blown around in alleys, scaring us like the boogeyman as I try to rush a dog who has ADD and can hardly focus on any one thing for more than half a second before moving on. Except for when she's waiting to fetch. She'll sit immobile for fifteen minutes. That's a long time. I've tried. I try at least once a week, more if I'm lucky, which reminds me that the book on writing from the 1930s claimed to reveal to me, the up and coming writer, what exactly is writer's magic. Guess what it was? I won't make you read the whole book, though I would certainly recommend it. It's meditating. Not in so many words, but in practice, in concept, in theory, in all those other "in's", it's meditating. I put down the book last night when I got the end and laughed and laughed and then suddenly panicked about my ability to meditate. And I remember channeling. I'm supposed to be channeling in my writing.
I took a melatonin to I can sleep long and hard and I'm waiting for it to kick in, hence me showing up at the computer. Liesl is bugging me for a fix (got any grass? got any grass?) and I will relent and give her the catnip so I can type in peace. Sophie is off pouting somewhere or perhaps chewing her bone contently and forgetting temporarily that the house is partially empty again. I suspect she'll sleep on the chair tonight and not on the bed with me. At dinner she sat at my feet with the ring, focused on me, wanting my attention. I gave her only small bits.
I haven't re-read this whole entry, but it feels different writing it, closer to the feeling of writing first thing in the morning which makes me think my herbal sleep remedy has taken effect sooner than I thought. I will tuck myself in now.