July 21st, 2004

galadriel

(no subject)


Oh my God, I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

So, after ascertaining that Luis Guzmán is nowhere near, I slip downstairs for another slice of the Pizza of Dreams and discover Sister Girl studying for her sauce exam. (I go to get some tea and the refrigerator is full of red wine and Gruyère. It's like France exploded in our fridge.) She's just transmogrified espagnole into demi-glace, and Mom is helping her get the béchamel started, and I get the hell out of there.

I go to bed early. Suileabháin's diagnosis is consumption, and he may not be far wrong.

Sister Girl drives off to Cullman to meet Boyfriend halfway from Huntsville, blah blah still don't like him blah. Mom wakes me up to tell me that she's going to call me when she turns around to come home, because I'm the one who will... be up... late...?

One o'clock: She calls me. Great. Zzzzzz.

One-forty: OMG OMG OMG could I PLEASE come outside to the car and help her bring stuff inside because Boyfriend and his friends just called her and said that they had just seen a UFO, and it was making jet sounds, and people in UFO stories report seeing six white lights AND GUESS WHAT IT HAD OMG SIX WHITE LIGHTS WTF!!

Cleo: "Are you sure it wasn't... just... a jet with six white lights?"

Sister Girl: *cries*

I was going to argue that, if it was in fact an alien spaceship, it was totally headed in the opposite direction and would get Boyfriend, not her, but decided that this was counterproductive logic AT TWO IN THE MORNING.

Three-forty: I wake up choking and hacking on some sort of hot bile in my throat (I'm sure the aliens put it there after they were done with their fly-by probe). I medicate that with a cherry-pineapple Fusion Lifesaver, because those things are good.

Nine-fifteen: ...Except when you wake up six hours later and the residue left in your mouth is foul.

So now I'm trying to eat breakfast (Leggo my Eggo, Luis Guzmán!), and I feel like hell on a stick. I was going to say something else, but I think I'm going back to bed now. I'm horribly behind on my email, if you've written and haven't gotten a reply back, so I'm going to try to work on that later today.

galadriel helpful

(no subject)

Whoa. I basically spent the whole afternoon sleeping off that summer cold I was worrying about--crap in my throat, all-over aching, traveling on Friday! AHHH!--and I had some freaky tweaked-out dreams, lemme tell you what. Like, dreams with characters and plots and fantasy settings and shit. Some kind of weird Pompeii-type setting with multiple generations and battles and islands on fire and characters dying and being reincarnated and marrying and having heirs and dying again and all kinds of weird-ass shit. Like, type-this-up-and-sell-it-to-a-publisher weird-ass shit. Damn.

Urg. I hurt.

I just now finally wrote the email to my publisher about which ten movies we want to do. I'm still stuck on number 10--we have way too many options--but I'll let y'all know when we have it finalized. On the understanding, of course, that 1) I can't look at anyone else's parodies of those movies, to protect both me (from accusations of playgerizm OMG) and other writers (from having their work actually, accidentally seep into my subconscious) and 2) once the book manuscript is on for real, I have about two months to write it. And at least one of those months I will be back in class. And it looks like that class will be on Milton. If nothing new gets posted in m15m for a while, you're just going to have to understand and be patient.

(Yes, Lord of the Rings. Yes, a Harry Potter of some kind. Yes, Titanic. You do realize that if these go in the book, I can't post them online, right? Yeah. You're starting to reconsider which movies you want in the book, aren't you?)

Trying to think of snacks to take on train, as will be on train for about eight hours, and train food itself will probably be overpriced, as it will be the only game in town at that point.

Horoscope: "Something you've only dared to dream about will resurface -- and you'll need to decide whether or not you're game to give it another shot. Bet you are."

("I SAID GET OUT OF MY HOUUUUUSE, LUIS GUZMÁÁÁÁÁN!")

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