greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

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This will have to do.

I didn't want a foul black mood today, but it came upon me last night, and it's still here this morning, and I think it means to hang around a while.

Sometimes the words won't come because the words won't come. There's no knowing why. Sometimes the words simply will not come. And other times, the words won't come and I know the reason why. Yesterday was a day of the latter sort. I meant to finish the new vignette, "pas-en-arrière, " and I knew that I was probably only a few paragraphs from the conclusion. But my mood was beginning to darken, because of the frelling weather, the weather that's not even here yet, just the weather that's coming, and I realised that I didn't trust myself. I want the ending of this one to be so right. I don't want to settle because I don't feel up to spending however much time and effort is required to get it that way. It all rests on those last few paragraphs. If they fail, they pull the whole thing down.

I received the Alabaster ARCs yesterday. I guess that means I can't put off the proofreading very much longer.

I believe that I'm already growing disenchanted with my MySpace. Mostly I just don't see the point. I have LJ and Blogger and so many damned e-mail addys I've lost count, so why do I need MySpace and their ugly, flashing ads? It just seems awfully redundant. What is it that MySpace does any better than Blogger or LJ? Anything?

I have to find the road leading out of this vile mood. I have to do that first. Perhaps I need to do some magickal work, getting ready for Ostara, spending more time with the Ogham and our altar and the trees. Maybe I need to write a few Wikipedia entries. I haven't done one in several days. Maybe I need to get drunk and not think about any of it.

It is St. Patrick's Day, the only thing even remotely resembling an Xtian holiday that I'll observe, and I'd prefer it were called Eire Pride Day or something. Will I wear green today? Maybe I'll make a garland or crown of clover and that will be my green. Tá an aimsir go h-álainn inniú. I shouldn't waste my life thinking about weather that isn't here yet. Amárach beidh ceathach. I can moan about it all then. Ugh. My Irish's no better than it was last March.

Please have a look at the eBay auctions, if you've a mind to do such a thing. There's only four days and twenty-three hours remaining on the "choose-your-own-letter" Frog Toes and Tentacles auction. And the Apple Store won't take fairie gold. I've tried.
Tags: gaelic, st. patrick's day, weather, writing
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