May 23rd, 2005

open sky - crazy perfume

"you have everything you need to build the body you crave"

The television tells me that I can build the body I crave. This makes me wonder if 1) they're talking, like, lego sets because I dig on legos but maybe not 'crave' them or 2) this body is in some way supposed to be edible, and not in a weird gross cannibal kind of a way, but in a 'this is a person built with chocolate/butter/yams/mashed potatoes/corned beef and I love to eath those things' kind of a way.

So I have everything I need to build the body I crave, apparently, and that's nice. But the question is: do I have everything I build the challenge fic I need? The answer to that right now looks like a 40 percent chance of existential writerly freak out, with top winds clocking around "OMG WHY DID I EVER THINK I COULD WRITE!?"

Several words I find amusing: clink, weasel, moist.
  • Current Mood
    apathetic apathetic
my news is better than yours - foxlet

Dear Sweet Christ.

I -- okay. I suppose that when I watch television I find myself posting all the time because it's such a novel thing for me, but may I just say: eHarmony has *got* to go.

I've got a thing about proposals, and having been proposed to twice (albeit by complete strangers) I feel that it's fine for me to have this thing about it. There are only very certain types of proposals that I find acceptable, and I suppose that's really just in the abstract because if I was in love yadda yadda yadda, but really, I feel very strongly that 1) proposing in public is not a good idea, 2) proposing around one's family is a hostage situation, 3) televised proposals are simply cruel.

That having been said? The new eHarmony commercial wherein one of the couples gets engaged DURING THE COMMERCIAL sets off all of my internal proposal-alarms. I mean, what would you do if you proposal was something complete strangers could watch doing GOD KNOWS WHAT for months? Like, what if you happened to be in an accident and the guy who rear-ended you was just that morning sitting naked in his living room eating a fruitsical and lancing his boils, watching you get engaged? You'd never know! You'd live in a constant state of vague anxiety wondering if this person knew who you were and that you were engaged!

And God help you if the engagement goes sour, or if you get married and things don't go well, because then people might stop you in the supermarket and ask, "So when's the wedding?" and you'll have to say to COMPLETE STRANGERS "Oh, we broke up" and won't *that* be a painful situation?

Or, and this certainly isn't worse, but is maybe equally as bad, what if the engagement turns out to be frustratingly long and you want to just get married and get it over with but he's stringing you along, and having just given you the ring to keep you, and your commercial is still playing and while he's out with the boys on a Saturday night, you're home alone crying into your Schlitz as you watch yourself get proposed to, your past-self filled with hopes and starry eyed dreams of a June wedding when in reality all you got was a ring and a commercial?!

Clearly it's just a terrible idea, and I'll have you all know that if any of you should ever propose to me in a commercial, I'll run out of the room and possibly avoid you for the rest of my life. Just be aware.
  • Current Music
    young frankenstein
smoking marmoset

This is a total emergency.

I have broken my ability to write. I don't know how. I don't know when. All I know is that you say to me, "Nifra, write me something!"

And I'll write: "It was dark." and then spend hours staring at that sentence and trying very hard not to follow it with "And stormy. A dark night filled with stormy darkness. And people. There were people in the stormy darkness."

Then I'll get filled with a very intense hatred for the written word, and pout, and go read things I love, and become despondent.

I am one with the despond. I have hatred and despond. I am swimming through a lake of hatred and despond. This lake is called my writing and I have no floaties to help me swim through it.

Total. Emergency.

It seems like all I want to do lately is write autobiographical essays about the insane things that happen in my life, but that's not what I really *want* want, it's just all I can do.

What do you do when in such a quandry, gentle readers? And why do I feel the need to use the phrase 'gentle reader' incessantly these days? Riddle me that, gentle readers, riddle. me. that.
  • Current Music
    harry and the potters - the foil (malfoy)