March 7th, 2005

not my job - slod

Two scenes.


Quiet morning, and Nifra makes her way to the kitchen. Her eyes, barely open. Her hands, accustomed to the act of pouring the cup of coffee she set up before going to bed. She hits the on button and then languishes on the couch, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the linguistic origins of curse words and the possibilities of acquiring nail polish remover without moving more than ten paces from her room.

A noise from the kitchen: low growl, and spitter hush of water hitting a hot surface.

Nifra sits up, and blinks at the kitchen.

Which is now engulfed in coffee, and the small tiny granules of coffee grounds which were meant to create coffee, and not escape onto the linoleum.

Nifra lies back down on the couch and tries to gather the emotional resources to deal with her kitchen.


Mid-morning. Nifra's been awake for a while, bopping happily around her room. Sunlight streams through her window and she is playing music loudly. She wears knee socks and pajama shorts and a cowboy hat, to channel her inner absurdity.

She feels that perhaps her coffee maker will feel that toying with her emotions today just isn't worth it. She remembers well the heartbreak of yesterday, but hopes - perhaps against hope - that it was a fluke.

And so into the kitchen she goes. And so the coffee maker she turns on. And so catastrophe ensues. Again.

The delicious nectar which was once meant to energize the once chipper Nifra has, instead, stained the countertop. The irresistable smell of the coffee wafts into her room, but for what?

Nifra, dejected, opens livejournal.
  • Current Music
    Perfect - Doria Roberts
get yr RIFT ON! - slod

Oh, frustration.

I am, as they say, blocked. Blocked like you can't even imagine. I -- I try to write, and all that comes out are things that read as more academic than even my papers. I literally just wrote a paragraph that included the phrases "love object" and "vis a vis" and "furthermore".

I have lost my mojo.

This is highly problematic. Perhaps fortunate, given the fact that despite my all-consuming desire to write fiction I have to do ridiculous amounts of school work before I can even begin to contemplate fic in good conscience, but honestly? Has that ever stopped me before?

No. It hasn't. The only thing stopping me now is that I -- can't write. Anymore. Mojo? Lost. Muse? On vacation. Sentence structure? So very un-okay I can't even talk about it.

It seems like I've used up all my words. All I've got left are 'pale' 'white' and 'silver'. Possibly also 'shell'. That does not even a sentence make.

I want to write something nuanced and emotional and beautiful and meaningful and all I've got seems to be nothing. This does not bode well. For, you know, anything.
  • Current Music
    Streets of Philadelphia - Bruce Springsteen