Thursday, February 17, 2005
The Write Mood
Getting back to my room is like a nice warm hug before the rest of the day starts. College means being a creature of the night, it seems, and tonight this creature delves into the Southern Renascence (not misspelled). I just got done listening to that poor Victorian recluse gasping for breath between the restrictions of being a 19th century woman. Oh, the pain of Dickinson.
Walking back from class I saw a tall man standing on a rock by the Curris Center. He wore all black, like he always does, and his pale skin and shock of red hair made him look like a buzzard waiting for carrion. I suppose I pondered the way the wind was ripping at his trenchcoat for just a little too long, I got a hazel-red glare that creeped me out more effectively than an hour of Dickinson's post-life musings.
A guy from my class was walking in front of me. He carries himself with what I consider the geeky-goth airs. His black jacket, worn out t-shirts with not-quiet-funny wisecracks on them, extra-large pants with more pockets and chains than a cargo boat, and shoulder-bag full of books clashed painfully with the aviators he slaps on with pride. I try not to be noticed.
The redheaded buzzard sneered.
Los keeps the room warm. It's probably 75 degrees in here now. Maybe hotter. He's gotten it past 80 before. Right now there's not an inch of free space anywhere. I've taken over the desk with a pile of metal that will become my mask project for theatre. He's taken over the totes around his bed, which serve as a type of table, and his "desk" has spread out around the floor. I'm typing now from the corner beside the desk, sitting on a beanbag with my back against the heater. There's a pile of papers around me: the Accolade newsletter, USA Today, Los's Plate Tectonics review sheet, and several others. Part of the ceiling fell in yesterday for no apparent reason, I hope the paintchips by Los's closet aren't too lead-filled.
I've been itching to write. I don't care what. As you can see, I'm perfectly content describing my room to the best of my abilities. Its blue carpet is 20 years old and has so many stains we're not sure what the original color was. Besides the white powder from the ceiling there's also flecks of red from an afternoon dorito snack, bits of brown from the last of my move-in peanuts, and whatever else escaped our last vacuum attempt 2 weeks ago.
This weekend Los and I go to war with this room.
We're not sure we're going to make it out alive.
Goku, Vegeta, Link, Spawn, Gambit, Megaman, R2D2, Robin, Yoda, Spiderman, Gwatto, Darth Maul, the Shining Gundam, 5 Nazgul, 3 legomen, and a Tonberry are all watching from various outposts to time their attacks just right. Last time we tried to clean Ian and Spiderman got into a tustle that resulted in Spidy's webbing falling from it's mounting point on the fire-spicket's pipe to gambit and the DBZ crew's heads. He tried to fix it 5 times before we got him to stop.
This time, my money's on the Gundam.
Or maybe the rest of the ceiling will fall.
Getting in the "write mood" (haha) always happens to me during classes. If I'm lucky, I have time afterwards to dash back and do something about it. I've gotten two story-starters done that way. Great. Now I have 2 more stories to add to the "someday-never-did-I-write-that?" pile.
Nintendo's gotten too much of my spare time. Tonight, at 11 when I'm done with all my reading and homework and classes and such, I'm diving back in. Even if I don't make it, at least I'll be able to say I tried. My new years resolution to write a little every day has been dead since I started college, but that doesn't mean I can't resurrect it. It just requires a little priority.
And today feels like a good day for it. ¶ 0 comments
Walking back from class I saw a tall man standing on a rock by the Curris Center. He wore all black, like he always does, and his pale skin and shock of red hair made him look like a buzzard waiting for carrion. I suppose I pondered the way the wind was ripping at his trenchcoat for just a little too long, I got a hazel-red glare that creeped me out more effectively than an hour of Dickinson's post-life musings.
A guy from my class was walking in front of me. He carries himself with what I consider the geeky-goth airs. His black jacket, worn out t-shirts with not-quiet-funny wisecracks on them, extra-large pants with more pockets and chains than a cargo boat, and shoulder-bag full of books clashed painfully with the aviators he slaps on with pride. I try not to be noticed.
The redheaded buzzard sneered.
Los keeps the room warm. It's probably 75 degrees in here now. Maybe hotter. He's gotten it past 80 before. Right now there's not an inch of free space anywhere. I've taken over the desk with a pile of metal that will become my mask project for theatre. He's taken over the totes around his bed, which serve as a type of table, and his "desk" has spread out around the floor. I'm typing now from the corner beside the desk, sitting on a beanbag with my back against the heater. There's a pile of papers around me: the Accolade newsletter, USA Today, Los's Plate Tectonics review sheet, and several others. Part of the ceiling fell in yesterday for no apparent reason, I hope the paintchips by Los's closet aren't too lead-filled.
I've been itching to write. I don't care what. As you can see, I'm perfectly content describing my room to the best of my abilities. Its blue carpet is 20 years old and has so many stains we're not sure what the original color was. Besides the white powder from the ceiling there's also flecks of red from an afternoon dorito snack, bits of brown from the last of my move-in peanuts, and whatever else escaped our last vacuum attempt 2 weeks ago.
This weekend Los and I go to war with this room.
We're not sure we're going to make it out alive.
Goku, Vegeta, Link, Spawn, Gambit, Megaman, R2D2, Robin, Yoda, Spiderman, Gwatto, Darth Maul, the Shining Gundam, 5 Nazgul, 3 legomen, and a Tonberry are all watching from various outposts to time their attacks just right. Last time we tried to clean Ian and Spiderman got into a tustle that resulted in Spidy's webbing falling from it's mounting point on the fire-spicket's pipe to gambit and the DBZ crew's heads. He tried to fix it 5 times before we got him to stop.
This time, my money's on the Gundam.
Or maybe the rest of the ceiling will fall.
Getting in the "write mood" (haha) always happens to me during classes. If I'm lucky, I have time afterwards to dash back and do something about it. I've gotten two story-starters done that way. Great. Now I have 2 more stories to add to the "someday-never-did-I-write-that?" pile.
Nintendo's gotten too much of my spare time. Tonight, at 11 when I'm done with all my reading and homework and classes and such, I'm diving back in. Even if I don't make it, at least I'll be able to say I tried. My new years resolution to write a little every day has been dead since I started college, but that doesn't mean I can't resurrect it. It just requires a little priority.
And today feels like a good day for it. ¶ 0 comments
