Once upon a time, somebody told me I should participate in NaNoWriMo. I declined.Then, another person told me the same thing. I declined. Again. Again. The month of November eventually passed, sans novice novel. A year followed. People again began to ask about my planned writing activities in November.
LOOK. I was thinking about just taking all of my blog entries and such at the end of the month and adding them up to see if they made 50,000 words. But then I realized that if I expect that to work, I am going to have to update my facebook status a lot more often, and maybe get a twitter account. I really, really don't want a twitter account. Perhaps I could include my email correspondences--but still, I think I am going to fall far short of the roughly 1700 words per day average (that's assuming I wrote that many for the past four days, which I didn't) needed to meet the 50,000 word requirement. SO, I might be writing a lot of boring, meaningless, maybe not really connected stuff here in the coming days and weeks. Then again, I might not.
I am listening to Colbie Caillat. I like her. Also, her name sounds French, which is awesome in my book, and at the moment is reminding me of the delicious cassoulet which I had the pleasure of consuming at Ellwood Thompson's the last time I was there, meeting David for dinner.
I have been thinking of him lately. Ruminating, I guess. I think ruminating is a good word for it, conjuring up images for me of cows chewing their cud--redigesting food that's already been swallowed at least once. Chewing through it again, breaking it down further, tasting it once more and making it more digestible. Yes. Ruminating. On the way over here tonight I was flipping through radio stations and paused, as I sometimes do, for Delilah on Lite 98. (Other times I start yelling about how terrible and obnoxious and maddeningly omnipresent she seems to be.) She read a cloyingly sweet dedication in her honey/molasses-sweet voice and played Ediwn McCain's "Could Not Ask For More." I of course seem to have as many "we are perfect for each other and will someday be together" moments as I do "oh, I see--we are not quite right for each other" moments. This was one of the latter, as I "realized" while listening to the song that it didn't apply to us. That being said, I'm pretty sure there were times while we were together when I felt (or would have, if I remembered that this song existed) that it did apply. So that's productive. I wasn't terribly emotional about it though, and haven't been lately, and that is and was and has been nice.
My mom woke up sick this morning, and spent a lot of the day in bed. While I was home between house sitting and tutoring commitments, we watched several episodes of Burn Notice together. I couldn't say why exactly, but I love that show. And I couldn't say why exactly, but I also love Michael whatshisname, the main character guy. His girlfriend/ex-girlfriend though is sort of annoying. She isn't the best actress ever (in my opinion) and is mostly there to look hot (I guess?) in short dresses and such. I suppose you can't have everything.
I have stopped telling people, when they ask how I am and what I've been up to, that I am "kicking around, looking for work." I am now officially "doing odd jobs," because the other assertion was getting into my head and greatly increasing my levels of angst and dissatisfaction with my life, and that isn't a particularly helpful thing to do. Also, let's be honest here: I want a job, mostly, but I'm not really looking for one. Mainly this is because as I believe I may have mentioned once or twice, I don't know what I want to do. Also I don't particularly love job hunting and interviewing, and I'm a little fed up at the moment. Fed up enough to do odd jobs for a while and listen to audiobooks while I paint. Currently it's Home: A Memoir Of My Early Years, by Julie Andrews, read by the author. Next up is A Year In Provence, which I read sometime in college and loved. I do enjoy travel books. A lot.
I have been working a little bit on a mental Christmas list, which is about to become less mental:
Some book plates from http://www.bookcrossing.com/.
Colored tights zomg.
Itunes gift card.
That's all I can remember. I did just remember though that I still need to locate and use the massage gift certificate that David bought for me for Christmas last year, and delivered after we broke up. We're sweet at presents like that. Anyway, I know where it is in that I know it's in my last spiral notebook, and I know that that notebook is in my room. Beyond that, I'm pretty much screwed. My room is worse than it's been in a long time. And if that thing is expired when I find it, so help me, I will strangle myself.
I am only at 872 words so far, not counting this sentence or any of the other stuff I've written today. Luckily for both of us, I am going to bed anyway.