Cleolinda Jones (cleolinda) wrote,
Cleolinda Jones
cleolinda

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I have a weird pain in my neck--it doesn't really feel like it's in the muscles or the bones, but rather... something else. Whatever you've got in there. Originally it was a weird (painless) fluttery throbbing on the left side; now it's a dull ache that curves down into my shoulder. I don't know.

So tired. Sort of that hot/cold feeling that I associate with fever. I admitted yesterday to my mother that I sat downstairs, fully dressed, for about ten minutes contemplating whether I should just stay home from class. (Which I can't afford to do--I've already missed two.) I managed to drag myself off--the class is only an hour and fifteen minutes, which has become my mantra--but it was close. I told her how the election and the bad-news doctor's visit on one day were almost more than I could really take, and I was feeling really depressed, and she got upset and told me that I was "overreacting." Naturally this pissed me off, and I was mentally gathering a good head of political steam when she added, "I mean, really, you don't have cancer." And that was just hilarious to me--Oh, the election? Yeah, we're totally screwed.

Of course then I got to go off on her about how I wasn't even worried about cancer per se--I was worried about what the total diagnosis was going to be, and how much thyroid/diabetes crap was going to be in there, because I have a paralyzing fear of needles and if I were told that I had to regularly give myself insulin shots? Yeah. We would throw down in the doctor's office. "You're going to have to find something else to be wrong with me, because NO." Never mind that you can have enough trouble having children with PCOS without cancer even entering into the picture. And you know, since I apparently do have PCOS and very likely a thyroid and/or diabetes problem (Thyroid is iffy. Diabetes is rampant on my mother's side of the family), maybe that's why I feel like shit all the time. You think? Not to mention that I've been dealing with clinical depression pretty much all of my life, plus its associated medications for nearly seven years now. Sigh. She thinks of it as "overreacting"; to me, all of this, including the depression, is as much a reaction to anything as, say, a hard rain. It's not raining because I had a bad day. It's just there.

God, I have so much to do this weekend. First of all, I have a five-page paper due Tuesday, which... ick. And I want to put up at least one more scene from Black Ribbon just to keep it going. And at the same time, I really want to work on the book--doing that meme yesterday made me go through what little I've written, and I was really surprised by how decent it was. I think writing the Lost recaps has really helped, actually--the worst failing of the earlier 15Ms that would just go on and on and on was that I felt like I had to transcribe everything out in some sort of dialogue, and I couldn't just say, "And then stabnation until everyone is dead." Which is dumb, because I was doing that in the Van Helsing and Hannibal parodies, so I don't know why I just suddenly forgot how to do that somewhere around "Troy in Fifteen Minutes." My point is, the book is going to be a mix of the two styles--paragraph narration and script dialogue--and realizing I need to do that has really broken down some of the psychological "I can't do this!" block that I'd built up.

Speaking of stabnation, that is seriously the hardest thing to come up with: how to summarize fights for ten movies when they all boil down to STAB PUNCH BIFF BOOM! I mean, I eventually figured out a way to approach it, to give each movie an individual theme (and this is where I have to put in the disclaimer that if you leave me suggestions, I mean, thanks for the helpful impulse, but I can't use them. This has to be all me), but a lot of the gaps in the drafts are labeled "fight scene here."

Anyway. So much to do, and so tired. You wanna know another reason I'm so tired? Sister Girl went out and saw... well, Saw last night. Sister Girl is a moron and should not be allowed to leave the house ever again, by the way. She calls the house from the road and says, "YOU NEED TO WAIT AT THE FRONT DOOR FOR ME." So I get put on door duty with the dogses, and I wait for fifteen frickin' minutes, and finally she pulls up in the driveway, doesn't even drive all the way down to the end, and races to the door and locks it behind her.

"Uh, dude? I think you left your lights on."

"I KNOW SHUT UP."

"Uh, dude...?"

So Mom goes out there and parks her car properly (Mom: *eyeroll*), and Sister Girl sits on the hall stairs and tells me all about it. Now, I had already read the spoiler, but apparently it glosses over the scariest scenes in the movie with "We flashback to very creepy scenes showing how Lawrence and Adam were captured by Jigsaw." I still don't really know what happened, except that it involves "OH MY GOD A MAN IN, LIKE, A CAPE AND A PIGWOLF MASK AND OMG IT WAS SO FRIGGIN' CREEPY AND HE LIKE OPENS THE BACK DOOR REALLY SLOWLY AND CRAWLS OUT AND THEN HE SHUTS THE DOOR OR MAYBE HE LEAVES IT OPEN YEAH I THINK HE LEAVES IT OPEN AND HE CRAWLS ON ALL FOURS OVER TO DR. WESTLEY AND THEN THERE WAS THIS CLOWN AND YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT CLOWNS!"

I managed to resist the impulse to tell her that story from Snopes about the babysitter who finds the "clown statue" in the bedroom, because if I had told her about that I would never get another full night's sleep for the rest of my life. As it was, she made me go into her room first and do, like, some kind of SWAT reconnaissance where I had to kick open the bathroom and closet doors and check all the cabinets and the shower and under the bed and turn all the lights on for her. And she has a walk-in closet, so I had to frisk all the clothes hanging on the lower bar, in case the pigwolfman was hiding there (which apparently he does in the movie). My sister? Will be nineteen next month. I'm just saying. Although it was kinda fun to do the Charlie's Angels finger-guns every time I kicked something open.

So I managed to convince her not to sleep in my bed, which was what happened that time she saw either Signs or The Ring in the theater (probably The Ring, although Signs did freak her out really, really bad. I was actually glad that The Village turned out the way it did, because at least she wasn't COMPLETELY TERRIFIED BY IT, JESUS) and I ended up sleeping on my floor and then the couch downstairs because we both flail in our sleep and there's not been a bed built that's big enough for the two of us to sleep in and not kill each other, and I wasn't sleeping in her bed, man--her bed had food wrappers in it, for God's sake. But she still kept on all the lights upstairs--every single light except the one in my room, not that it did me any good. And I lay awake all night wondering what was in the attic, which you reach through a door in the bathroom, a door that looks like it shouldn't be there, which is just too Dionaea House anyway. Because I poked my head in the attic and sort of did a cursory look-around with the Charlie's Angels fingers, but... I didn't look behind the boxes. I didn't look in the dark nooks under the eaves. I don't know where the pigwolf is.

Maybe I will sleep with my light on tonight.




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