She is close

So winter has officially begun. I’m glad that I’ve managed to spend a few wonderful autumn days in the parks – lonely, but refreshing. Soul and heart are back from the laundry. I guess I am ready, but I doubt I will have fun waiting. I went to see the fireworks with my flat mates last night. Who the hell came up with the idea of inventing fireworks with 3D effects? It was terrifying, but that’s because I’ve never watched a movie in 3D at the cinema. Not sure if I am interested either. I guess I should at least try it out. However, I wouldn’t go watch a movie in 3D on a date, because I’m almost certain that I will puke on his lap. Overall I have no idea what the purpose of 3D is; they are just as bad as nightmares – I already have enough of those.

Reading the rat’s horoscope is gradually beginning to infuriate me. A few days ago I was warned about allergies and I thought it was ridiculous this time of the year, but today I just have no idea where the rashes came from. Today’s horoscope primarily focuses on positive aspects of my love life. Excuse me, what love life? Crushing and despairing – that’s my love life.

Why do I hate small talk with people? When I tell them some good news I see fake smiles indicating “Nice but whatever!” When I tell them something bad has occurred (here comes the worst) they would say “Ah I’m so sorry to hear that.” Shit you are. And people wonder why I’m quiet. I’d rather be laughed at. There is at least something more sincere in mischievousness than when people thoughtlessly use the word SORRY. Dammit, why do I keep finding things to get annoyed about? It can’t be that difficult to just accept little things the way they are. But on the other hand, I have been doing this all my life and I just can’t take it anymore. Regarding my lack of social skills, I guess I won’t ever be able to genuinely laugh with everyone at the same time about the same thing.

I still find laughter and conversations in crowds dreadful. It always feels like those voices, especially the high pitched laughter, are taking your brain apart. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes under your nostrils and on your clothes isn’t even the worst about socializing in the pub. It’s the disorientation. That’s what I get for not drinking. I wish I loved the taste of alcohol and I wish alcohol wouldn’t be that bad for my body. Unfortunately it’s not easy to get hold of drugs, because I wouldn’t mind drugs instead.
God, I sound like Bill Hicks.

I’m almost through with “Master and Margarita”. It is funny, no doubt, but that book changed my mind about using Satan’s appearance in my latest short story. If I have to elaborate, then I’d rather eradicate Satan completely. The last thing I want is to give people the impression that I am into fantasy and horror writing, which I am definitely not. Nonetheless I like version 1 of my story better without the answers. Now that I’ve mentioned Graham’s weak points, he has entirely lost the evil part of him. But that’s what the readers want apparently. For some reason, to me, it feels like a creative writer is not supposed to write like Pynchon or Kafka. We learn nothing about Tristero and we learn absolutely nothing about what crime K. has committed.

Something very cold inside my body always spreads out whenever I write. It’s this sense of detachment that I’ve been familiar with since I was a little girl. When I was young, I always felt like I had a lot of love to give away. And I expressed all my love in handwritten novels. Love, love, love. Up to this day no one had ever really sincerely accepted it or respected it, so it doesn’t feel that special anymore to me. Love, love, love. Alternatively, there have been people asking for it, good people who surely deserved it, but I don’t know how to deal with people with natural sincerity. There’s something so virginal about natural sincerity and I don’t want to taint it. Nonetheless I think I’m very much in need of someone to carefully watch over me so I won’t lose my mind, but I also want to watch over him and witness how he deals with conflicts. Too much to ask – as usual.

Why wouldn’t I want to write 30 novels a year like Philip? I was too shy to point that out last week. What is left for someone who lacks of social skills? It takes something like 2 years to get to know me; I don’t know if anyone’s even interested or have the patience…
I can’t even keep up with time nowadays. Five weeks have passed and I still haven’t taken the chance to talk properly to those people. Where is your charisma? Damn! Attract me! Attract me!  Shit. Fuck my brains out. Yell at me! Yell at me for patronizing each of you. I think you have no idea what boredom really is. Why would I talk to a robin voluntarily? Why would I pretend that Thoreau was a secret rebel? Just why…

Lately I noticed that I tend to write stories in third person. I’m sick of all the “I”s in my blog entries. I guess that’s self-explanatory.  But even as third person, I seem to be on a huge ego trip, sharing parts and bits, especially my interest in unusual, secretive blokes. I attempt to penetrate their heads in order to find out what they want or what bothers them. I’m not sure how well I did with my beautiful protagonist Graham. I mean how many men would trust a girl right away during their first conversation together? After all Graham is desperate. Good thing my mind is as dirty as a man’s.

I’m surprised my guest tutor likes the opening of my novel. Ironically she likes my style the best, even though I suck at style. Maybe it’s a good thing that she is a woman, because I’m writing about a woman. Another thing that surprised me was that she didn’t pick up on the misogynistic views which my novel reflects. Well, probably because Ellen, my protagonist, is a woman herself. There are so much contradictions going on. My guest tutor says I need to highlight Ellen’s desires and goals and in order to focus on them, I need to become Ellen. Wait a second I’m not a mentally deranged doctor who take blood samples of people before I sleep with them! Oh God, it’s all too heavy.

How will I get this all done in a year? Someone hold me tonight and say no word, just keep my back warm.

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