greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

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oh, and blah, blah, blah (a footnote)

Somehow, yesterday turned out to be a halfway decent writing day, despite my expectations. I think it helped that I managed to poop out a chunk of the frustration and morosity (new word) in the "tearing myself a new one" entry. The alcohol and caffeine helped, too, and the little yellow pills, and Spooky, and I wrote 903 words on "Bainbridge." I reworked part IV of the story ("The Soldier and the Angel") and made significant progress on part V ("Pensacola Beach [December 1982]") — the story occurs in ten sections. I'd only expected to read through what I'd written on Friday, call it quits, and go see a matinee of Memoirs of a Geisha. But I sat here and wrote, instead. The words started coming. I'm half tempted to write today, but we have plans with friends.

On Xmas Eve ten years ago I was sitting alone in the carriage house in Athens, trying to write the most unpleasant scene in Silk (Spyder, her maniac father, and the jar of black widows). That was the same year as Elizabeth's suicide. About 10:30 p.m., I realised I was just being a masochist (and not in the good way), writing stuff like that while the whole silly Santa-loving world did all their silly Xmas crap. So I went to the movies alone. I saw Heat and Jumanji, back to back. It didn't really matter what I was watching, it was just better to be in the theatre than alone in the carriage house. By comparison, last night was superb. Though I tend to forget it, things were a lot worse in 1995.

I'll spare you the details of the ridiculous Odyssey that was mine and Spooky's frantic search for supper last night (during a thunderstorm, thank you very much). I swear, every decent frelling restaurant in this quadrant of Atlanta had closed its doors by 5:30 p.m. (6:30 Caitlín Standard Time). After striking out with about ten of our favourite places, we ended up in the parking lot of Whole Foods on Ponce, which was bless'dly open. We were slightly drunk and more than slightly grumpy, and I think Spooky was so hungry she was getting ready to break into the Majestic and dine on the leftover grease from the deep-fat friers. Isn't it obvious that all this Xmas malarkey is just an excuse for people to slack off? Good thing we made it to the liquor store at L5P before it closed, as I needed to lay in supplies for a long winter's day of cosmopolitans. Because there will be no Georgia Aquarium for me today, thanks to some silliness about reservations. What kind of @!%!#@! aquarium requires @!%!#@! reservations, I ask you?

Anyway, we watched The Royal Tenenbaums last night, because I adore Wes Andersen, and Spooky hadn't seen it, which I found most peculiar. Fortunately, Videodrome was open. Those guys know better than to let some damned commercialised patrifocal Judeo-Xtian holiday (no commas, please) come between a movie geek and her unspeakable need for a Dalmatian mouse fix. You bet'cha. Er...okay, now I'm definitely rambling.

I'm not so good at this sort of thing, being such a damned doofus and all, but I need to say thanks to lots and lots of kind people who commented encouragingly in the LJ yesterday or e-mailed me. I wasn't fishing for encouragement, just trying to be a little more honest. Still, thanks. setsuled even made me cry, in a good way, and I'm woman enough to admit it. And a special thank you to Aimee Mann. She knows why (I think).

Oh, and another thank you to tjcrowley, for pointing me towards still more Cephalopodmas lyrics.
Tags: dalmatian mice, dancy, wes andersen
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