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Thursday, March 12th, 2009

    Time Event
    1:49a
    Siiick
    It's 1:45 and I haven't written anything major today. I did make a truly kick-ass dinner that I'm really proud of, but I haven't produced any writing longer than a paragraph or two. Part of it is mood - I'm not very aroused or geeky feeling - and part of it is sickness. I keep having these full-body sneezing fits and the like, which is very much bad for your Feelin' Creative.

    Still, I can take comfort in that for all I've been a sputtering, suffering wreck of a man today, I have still nonetheless achieved things. I've done a lot of washing up, I've taken care of Fox and I've contacted my mother to wish her a happy birthday.

    My nephew-or-niece, is, at this point... well, late. S/he was supposed to be born four days ago, but the little rascal is insisting on taking his/her time coming out. I'm not sure what to interpret that to mean, and how best to make off-colour jokes about it. My sister will have until Monday, when they'll induce her, and then I'll have to spend weeks at a time hearing about how bored she is and how much she detests the little weasel.

    She won't say it, but I'll know it to be true.
    10:13p
    So what was today's writing?
    Behold, Snowblasted. These Virtueverse pages are a pleasant relief, something I can sink my teeth into with a pre-existant direction.

    Right now I'm finding myself stymied for that feeling, the desire to write something interesting and creative with a direction behind it. I really am surprised how used I became to the pedestal that the SCG community gave me, a place from which to stand and speak, knowing that it would be regarded and read. On a forum, you produce something that long, and people will just snark up with tl;dr. There's no feeling of authority, or at least credence that my writing took some time and effort to create.

    Anyway, much of a muchness. Snowblasted's page is up.

    I've found of late that I really have been phrasing a lot of my internal dialogue like I'm a presenter on QI. It's especially amusing because that kind of informationally-excessive dialogue is pretty much exactly how I wish I could talk, going on and on and on and on and having everyone follow and not mind that I just spent twenty minutes saying 'Yes, I would like a green salad.' Maybe it's just latent lust for Stephen Fry, I don't know.

    I've been flicking through more blogs of late too, trying to make damn sure that I read more than just my normal little circle of Pharyngula and Crooks and Liars. Part of this expansion has added Bad Science, Bad Astronomy, The Society for the Advancement of Dave, and Skepchick to my list of readings. Also with that I've been more inclined to follow random news stories - though I also am trying to avoid excessive reading of Fark, since as it handily reminds me, it's not really news or information, it's just unmitigated snark and funniness. Sometimes that's awesome, but I'm trying to read things that inspire me to write, rather than to just read more.

    A curious story element that struck me today at the doctor's office: A lone person who arrives at the surgery every morning and acts like they're waiting for the doctor, talking - but not overly enthusiastically - to all the other patients, even asking them to mind his/her seat while they nip out for lunch or a drink or a bathroom break. In reality, this person has no friends and no home, and lives in this way for the human contact it brings. Subversion: The person in question is homeless, but is actually something of a vagrant superhero, a person with the ability to make perfect and absolute medical analysis of anyone at a glance, serving to filter information to the doctors and discouraging hypochondriacs and other time-wasters.

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