there

I wrote something.
So it's only 100 words; it's a start. First composition in over a month, and the first time I've written these characters in over a year I think.

Sigh, rather a modest start. But, something, after all.
( that's her name, btw )

In other news, post-midnight accumulated thoughts:
Sleep has cured headache best. Am largely pain-free at the moment. Scotch helped, but a good thorough zonk in the dark with my fearless Z not far away seems to have been the cure. Also, perhaps, thirty ounces of water helped, although it's not like i didn't spend most of the day drinking water.

didn't wash my face before bed. Expensive Lancome mascara (acquired as a 'gift' with their crack-samples that lure you in) is still on eyelashes, not on face. Astounding.

also didn't remove earrings-- amazing how being really tired and cranky and in pain can convince one to sleep even with giant dangly earrings on, but they're surprisingly comfortable. Am too worried about losing the backs in the dark to remove them now.

the dimmer thingy on this computer doesn't go dim enough, but sunglasses help. Yes, I am wearing sunglasses and nothing else to use my laptop in bed with the lights out at -- is it 3 am yet? Yes. This is why I must be a writer-- I am just so glamorous and dedicated. I think my first author photo should be me naked in bed in sunglasses in the dark crouched over my laptop like some demented sort of Gollum creature. (I suppose it depends on what genre I'm published in. The Lancome mascara just adds to the glamor, I think. And oh yes-- the dangly earrings.)

hmm

Head still doesn't hurt. Had a moment this morning, when I thought it was going to start again, and i was mad, but then it passed, and I feel OK. Good: I have things to do.

Firstly, though, I was looking for a photo of myself to put as my iChat icon on this computer, and settled on a photo of myself at 15 in Greece wearing Branwen's sunglasses. This photo reminded me that I'd had a dream that I'd finally heard from Branwen-- I ran into her randomly on the 6 line (Lexington Ave) of the NYC subway, and she told me her email address was her name @ hotmail, and I emailed her several times at that address but she never answered. It's been three years now and I don't think that was the right email address.
So i finally just Googled her name, and discovered that she writes for Gothamist, but that's sort of all I discovered about her, and I'm torn-- should i leave a totally off-topic comment on one of the entries on that site, or should I just move on? Most of the other staff have email addresses associated with them, but she doesn't, so I'm out of luck there.
Not like I have anything to say to her, I just sort of have a nagging suspicion that I've dreamed about this whole issue more than once. (And no, she doesn't show up anywhere else in Google.) Oddly enough in my dream I found her by Googling her with her first, middle, and last name, but now that I'm awake I'm not sure I ever knew her middle name. (Lee?)

In other news I really need to get off my ass and do some work already today.

(no subject)

Yeah, my previous entry today didn't make much sense, now that I look back. (I blog in my head a lot, so I often have to check my most recent posts to determine what I actually said and what I didn't.) What I meant was that in real life, about 3 years ago, I ran into a high school friend on the subway in NY and she gave me her email address but I must've heard her wrong, so I haven't been in contact with her; last night I dreamed, I suspect not for the first time, that I had somehow contacted her. It was an odd dream, and I think it's been recurring but I never remember dreams.
I haven't really anything to say to her, but I feel like if I keep dreaming of talking to her I should try to actually do so, perhaps. Only I'm at a dead end because the website she writes for doesn't list her email in her profile. Eh well. We were quite close from about 1993-1996 and then she abruptly became very intimidating and was really tight with a whole lot of really intimidating people who were far too cool (and abrasive) for me and I sort of moved on to hang out with kkatowll etc. more exclusively. I'm sure we'd have things to say to one another, it's just that I haven't much in particular.

Anyhow.

I just ran a bunch of errands, and am a bit proud of myself-- it's hard for me to make myself leave the house, much less do so in a coordinated fashion wherein I visit multiple shops at once and actually manage to buy what I set out for, so I'm rather proud of that. ( she goes on a bit about paranoia and grocery shopping and headaches )

I don't know what it is, but I know that with the slightest provocation I will become the crazy shut-in old lady who never leaves the house.

Bzuh, am sleepy now and haven't done any more writing. I am in the middle of three days off in a row! this is dumb. I should be a fountain of words, not a headachey pile of paranoia. Eh well-- I am invited over to Z's mom's for dinner and so will be well-fed and boozed later, and perhaps upon return home I shall be once again inspired. I give me some credit: I am upon the rack of a choice about genre, and can't discuss it with my primary conversation partner as he will only ridicule me (it is his way; I wouldn't change him, she says bravely but perhaps less than honestly). And old friends, as far as WIPs go, are not always comforting and welcoming. Old friends in general are not always comforting and welcoming. Old friends can be a source of anxiety, as one remembers precisely why they are old friends and not simply friends. There is more complexity in most of these things than we care to admit.

And I, I am rambling, and must blame the heat and the fact that I am terribly sleepy but must leave the house again (horrors!) in less than half an hour.

In other news, I need more icons.