and then...moth

I do love cookies. I thought about speaking of ineptitude a bit, like why should I have to suffer for yours? But why would I waste energy writing about the waste of energy that is ineptitude?

So it's chocolate chip cookies what I love. So delicious. Perfection.

I finally rewatched Whale Rider. I love everything about that film. The writing is perfection. It's beautiful what's inspired by others what are inspired, like I have faith in your faith. So I tried to make cinematic notes but made other notes instead, like from tears and a doodle and philiosophy, lit. 

Speaking of that lit, it's looking like I'm commissioned to make a cover for that Elementia. Hopefully that will pan out. I suspect they've gotten another grant. And the writing's going well like nothing else. Wasn't going to meet any academic requirements, and so was told by an academic that I'd done more than enough writing and would be getting my credit for it...well, the academic credit, at least. I've yet to see about that respect I deserve, overall. But we'll know how that goes when it goes. And as long as we're saying we, we hope you know that we mean we. There is an I, but there's an us, too. I couldn't write elsewise...at least I don't think so. I don't have a choice, anyway, about being a we. 

Moths, pretty moths. Oh, nobody likes us, we're just ugly butterflies. Ah, our plight. It's okay moths I love you! You're fluffy. 

I haven't journaled enough of late. Busy writing about my lovelylovely assitant, Beta muse Alan Cope. Love you, love! I don't know what it is with the real boys, with me loving them and them being personal to me, and me not being at all personal to them. It's like, what, they 

cut me off for the girl he's having sex with

cut me off for the girl he's having sex with

well it's nothing personal it's just that I'm not the girl who they're having sex with. gee, thanks. I wish it was personal, really. there's some diginity in that, for them. Just gotta get away form guys my age. Gotta get away to love them. 

and then...pi

circlecircles cyclical! Numbers DO make shapes. Conch shells so have a golden ratio. I am so conch shell, and I want one. And I want to give it to a boyfriend and tell him to turn it blue and hold it at the level of his ear, hear hear! hoo-ray. Blue conch shells and men's ratios. 

So I saw LIFE OF PI and I'm sad I haven't read it yet but I WILL and anyway, it was pretty! So pretty, and it's the first person place or thing what hasn't disappointed me for a longlong time; oh noez! I've done it! Now everybody knows that I get disappointed and that I have standards! OH NO NO ONE WILL EVER WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME

absolutely nothing has changed. I did errandserrandserrands and now I have to get back to the novel I don't even have time to journal and I'm quite behind with the what'sitcalled school stuff.

and then...chronic

So I was wrong about Sundays. I didn't have time Sunday and I don't have the time today but here I am. And it's a different computer, too. Nice big monitor. :D

Tuesdays, then? That's okay? Okay. This blog now updates on Tuesdays instead of Mondays.  I ordered a special bookshelf which is designed to make my books look like they are floating. I need a great deal of shelf space. Will probably buy a lot for a little at the local walmart, once I schlup some furniture around and have a little moar space. Then I will get rid of things and maybe purchase other things. 

I've had chronic depression, then chronic anxiety, now chronic joy lonely. But that word CHRONIC is what gets me.  It's illness in itself, the way it sounds. And it makes so much of anything: chronic boy, he's chronic. How are you? Chronic. Where did you get that? Chronic and the chronic, chronic. 

My film professor this semester is one of those who grades you by a more difficult standard if you are especially thorough. That was a sentence messy. And speaking of that, my film textbook is written awful! Verb confusion all over the place. And the commas? Forget about it. 

I spent quite a lot on journals this year, with shipping and everything. I'm excited about saving that money next year, when I switch to the cheaper stuff. I want to paint things again. At least I brought crayons. I like pretty things. You know what I don't like? Complaints. Everyone Bonds with Bitching. I'm utter sick of it. I sit alone in corners everywhere because I don't want to participate in this Bonding with Bitching ritual that everyone around me uses. That's how they make people to hang out with, I suppose, and I'd like that, but I'm utter ill of it. Here I was happy and you push me to compare my conflict to yours, which, by the way, is nothing compared to mine. And then it's all stupid relative thinking and negative energy all over again. I have literally spent hundreds of hours listening to these dumbos and I don't even know them! But I can sure tell you all about their problems about stepdaddy money lacking pill taking etc. You're alive. We're in class at University. It's not relevant now. I don't know your name. Shut up.

But then, they are trying to share themselves. It's just that they're entirely defined by their problems instead of how they deal with them or the grand things, like honeybees. 

I went from sixteen personas to thirty-two in the last four years! I need to crack down on this or it's going to be up in the hundreds when I'm middle aged. Of course, there are stagnant periods. They develop out of trauma or periods of intense joy. Mostly trauma, but I have to add the "joy" thing (as I'm not technically diagnosed with DID and I'd like to keep it that way for now. Much harder to UNdiagnose, I imagine. And I don't get the blackouts). I mean, I got seven boys from chronic depression. But hey, even those Dopplegangers do a lot for me in the Palace Nouvelle. 

Hooray for copy writing! Perhaps I shall do more of it in the new year. I'll add it to my big happy list. Thanks for reading, fellas. Have fun in the sun, I happen to know that you've got one :O As Alan says, "Sun made morning this morning!"