Wednesday, April 15, 2009

On Graveyards and Kittens and Whiskey and Store Brand Allergy Medications

My computer insists that whisky is spelled with an "e." I am not convinced. I am convinced that allergy meds before bed is better than in the morning, but I am also convinced that the combination of miss-spelled liquor and medication is ill-advised, as well as the over-use of hyphens. Or en dashes, or whatever.

I am convinced that an evening of drawing in the style of Junko Mizuno while listening to the grave works of Neil Gaiman is going to lead to rather strange dreams. Though the whisky and medication may help. I'm also convinced, now, that my kittens are chasing the ghosts of former hotel occupants around this room.

When I was six or seven, I would read a book about monsters before bed every night, because if I read it, I would dream. I liked dreaming, and I really liked that I had hit on a way to make sure it happened. I can't remember what book it was, but I remember the dreams.

I dreamed about flying, and tornadoes, but not as often as I do now. I dreamed about having adventures with other kids my age, in a world where the parents were gone and it was just us against the adults. These were scary dreams, but not too scary. I don't think I ever had a proper nightmare, growing up. I'm not entirely sure I've had one now. Even the ones about tornadoes- those are the nicest, actually, when I wake up. Like I'm a reset button that's been freshly pressed.

Graveyards are like that, too. I feel as if I should be spooked, but usually I just feel warm. I met a graveyard the otherday that was rather straight-laced, and I was disappointed, but hardly spooked. I haven't met enough dead to say, but so far, I like them.

I've left the novel be, for a bit. I think I'll give it until the end of the week. I can't push it any further; it's too big now, too much inside of me. I want it out, out into the world. I want the monster sated for a little while. Drawing doesn't feed it; no, the art is simply fattening up an entirely new monster to muse for me.

My boss asked me why I do archaeology. I do it because I hated law school, because it pays (though not enough), because I get to be outside and daydream, but I also do it because it puts me in hotel rooms with nothing to do but write and write and write and draw and think. I think when I am rich and famous I will still do it, when I can, on vacations and such- but it does not call to me, and I am ok with that. I like to have my grand passions, and my casual affairs.

I think I have so many words in me each day; if I do write them in a novel, then they will come pouring out here. Bless you, any and all who listen anyway.


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