The Dreamer of a Thousand Names for Starlight

I need ties. They don't have to be new ties -- in fact, they shouldn't be new, since ties are expensive -- but I need ties. Guys, have any old ties that you don't wear anymore? Gals, do you or your fathers/husbands/boyfriends/sons have any ties you/they don't want anymore? Send them my way!

Alternatively, I want socks. Cute, plain or stripey knee-high or over-the-knee socks. Yay, socks!

I am determined to finally see Neon Genesis Evangelion. I feel all left out when we watch those vids of Eva stuff and I have no clue what is going on. So! We should have an all-day Eva-watching party. Yeah! Or... something. Actually, I just kinda feel like sitting around with my friends for hours watching anime and talking and hanging out and doing nothing in particular, maybe play with dolls a bit (yeah, I'm an adult, really, heh) or break out the Tarot cards or the LotR TCG for a bit, order pizza, make tea and hot chocolate and eat ice cream sundaes and yeah. So, who's with me!?!? What day do you people have free!?! Probably a Saturday, right? Well, if we plan ahead, I can request a Saturday off. Alternatively, I can just call in sick. We don't even have to watch anime (torrye, I know you hate it, but everyone else likes it... oh, and hey, ohani, when are you back in the neighborhood again?), we could watch other things. C'mon, people, you know you wanna!!!

(I have a headache right now, boo!)

I have basically abandoned my NaNoWriMo novel. It is... eh. And long. I don't seem to have the attention span necessary to write a novel at this time. However! I have not abandoned NaNoWriMo. I will write 50,000 words before the end of the month -- they will just not be a novel.

See, I was talking to silensy the other day and bemoaning the fact that I don't seem to have PLOTS in my head (I am allergic to bunnies, so I guess I am also allergic to plotbunnies...? I need a "here, bunny bunny bunny, heeeeeere plotbunny!" icon), I just have SCENES in my head. In fact, most of the stories I have ever written came to me as a single scene first, which I wrote the rest of the story around. So. Scenes! I will write. A collection of short short stories. Daydreams drabbled onto paper (paper because I can't seem to write on the computer, I have to write in a notebook).

I have also decided to reward myself for writing, on the premis that it will motivate me. I haven't decided on a rewards system yet, but I'll come up with something.

And now, something from Eunoia, by Christian Bok, to motivate me:
Writing is inhibiting. Sighing, I sit, scribbling in ink this pidgin script. I sing with nihilistic witticism, disciplining signs with trifling gimmicks—impish hijinks which highlight stick sigils. Isn't it glib? Isn't it chic? I fit childish insights within rigid limits, writing schtick which might instill priggish misgivings in critics blind with hindsight. I dismiss nit-picking criticism which flirts with philistinism. I bitch; I kibitz—griping while criticizing dimwits, sniping while indicting nitwits, dismissing simplistic thinking, in which philippic wit is still illicit.

(Still have a headache. Fucking devil winds.)