where have i even been?

[dragonlady7]

I am so disoriented this morning.
Life is a series of good things and bad things, utterly without context. I don't know: I just can't ... place anything, at the moment.

a good thing: I got to see Fiona. did we do anything? we went out for coffee, then came home and were in bed by 12.
another good thing: I put flannel sheets on my bed for Fiona to sleep there. So last night when I came home and my world was pain, when I got to my bed it was ALL SNUGGY. Which rules. And i don't want to get out of it now.
another good thing: i don't seem to be in that much pain. Except I sat up and as I'm waking up things are starting to ... not hurt, so much as not feel right. We'll have to see how this goes.

But I sort of feel like... I don't know what I feel like.

Fiona left me a Mary Kay catalog. Now, I know I need makeup products. I own like... sampler packs from Lancome, and random crap like that. But I really don't know a thing. Before we went out for coffee she taught me how to properly apply eyeshadow, which was fun. I should learn how to Put My Face On, as this is a feminine ritual the thought of which highly intrigues me. But, I probably won't get around to it. Does the thought count?

The photography of the makeup products in this catalog is really appetizing, I must say. I sort of want to eat the nail enamel. That shit must've been entertaining to photograph. I am increasingly curious about commercial photography and deeply regret never getting around to taking any classes at RIT, which has an excellent photography programme. (Why wasn't I a photographer? Durr, I was too insecure to go to "art school".) Oh well.

See? Is any of this relevant? Where is my head? Off somewhere. I've no idea. I can't collect myself. It's very frustrating, but it's sort of my life, of late.

On another note, by simply keeping the document open and pecking at it every time I sit down, I have managed to up my wordcount to ... six words shy of 26,000. And something has actually happened in the book. However, I doubt this particular book will ever be more than a collection of interesting fragments which at some point in the future I will probably mine for ideas. Which is too bad. But I don't know-- I just don't seem to have it in me to write a whole coherent novel that is actually interesting. I just can't focus without also becoming really uninteresting.

But on a more depressing note, the quality of my writing is way down and I don't think I'm using language as effectively as I was... well, when? I don't know. i feel that there have been times when i have been happy with my writing, but i don't know when. I do think things were going well for me by the end of last winter. i like things I wrote at that time. but of course, none of them were finished.
sigh.

Comments

[spacellama.livejournal.com]

I've noticed that the quality of my writing -- or at least my perception of it -- ebbs and flows. I frequently get nostalgic when re-reading an older piece and think, "Why can't I write like this now?!" But then at other times I re-read old stuff and want to curl up and disappear... I made other people read that crap! Eek!

I believe that liking your own writing is cyclical. You'll grow to love it again. I know this because, well, you're good.

[kkatowll.livejournal.com]

I think this is why everyone acknowledges that it's really hard to write while holding down a FT job. It's not the time, it's that the writing you have time for sucks. But many authors have found a way around this at least long enough to get publlished and start writing fulltime, so maybe you will too. :)