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gone in 15 minutes
Feb. 25th, 2003 11:52 am(in which i only talk about me)
So, Miss Marks, Ms. Atwood, what will it be for you, for us, this time? Mirror images and narrative structures or borders, spaces and identities? What will it be, what will it be? Always such a high, this starting part of the research, when it's still all possibilities and excitement, before everything goes to hell, like it invariably does - lucky me, though, this time I have precisely, only, three weeks now to turn in a first draft, so maybe the pain will be more intense and less. Like pulling out a tooth. Pulling off a bandaid. But play nice with me, Miss Marks, Ms. Atwood, and I'll do my Master's thesis on you one of these days, see if I won't. Bandaid ladies.
And thusly I don't spend my time on the work but staying up half the night and finally reading the rest of The Goblet of Fire. Now I understand some things better, still excluding the ones I have yet to connect with the original concepts, having now caved in and done the Finnish translation, and so much for the Hungarian version, because, honestly. How was I supposed to know that 'Denem' is 'Riddle'? I'm not that clever, and I smoke bad crack, too. De and nem, but and not, but man it sounded so unassumingly British to me... when I was on crack. And then I wrote some Ginny/OFC Nothing Ever Happens futurefic, with a side-order of Ginny/Riddle.
And thusly. I'm two or three or five weeks behind on all mail, email, reading, LJ, life, universe, and everything, but I cannot possibly catch up before the laptop returns, before the laptop returns, I'm afraid cannot possibly manage a single coherent email... ("or coherent LJ entry", she almost said, but fell off the chair prematurely laughing at the idea).
On the fashion front, the fabrics of my childhood appear to be making a come-back. I was such a hip 5-year-old. Also, I sometimes think one of those "I was into 'NSync when they were underground" t-shirts would be remarkably appropriate for me, mainly as a commentary on my relationship with musical snobbery. Which is, I appreciate it, because I'm for snobbery in general, but it's something I never get to participate in, with my regimen of Bach, Beatles, andMozart Timberlake, and so I get bitter and mock in my head. Bitter like a salty prickly lemon.
Also, LJ friendslist makes me happy, because it's probably the coolest thing I get to read these days. Don't worry, though. The purple otters love you still.
So, Miss Marks, Ms. Atwood, what will it be for you, for us, this time? Mirror images and narrative structures or borders, spaces and identities? What will it be, what will it be? Always such a high, this starting part of the research, when it's still all possibilities and excitement, before everything goes to hell, like it invariably does - lucky me, though, this time I have precisely, only, three weeks now to turn in a first draft, so maybe the pain will be more intense and less. Like pulling out a tooth. Pulling off a bandaid. But play nice with me, Miss Marks, Ms. Atwood, and I'll do my Master's thesis on you one of these days, see if I won't. Bandaid ladies.
And thusly I don't spend my time on the work but staying up half the night and finally reading the rest of The Goblet of Fire. Now I understand some things better, still excluding the ones I have yet to connect with the original concepts, having now caved in and done the Finnish translation, and so much for the Hungarian version, because, honestly. How was I supposed to know that 'Denem' is 'Riddle'? I'm not that clever, and I smoke bad crack, too. De and nem, but and not, but man it sounded so unassumingly British to me... when I was on crack. And then I wrote some Ginny/OFC Nothing Ever Happens futurefic, with a side-order of Ginny/Riddle.
And thusly. I'm two or three or five weeks behind on all mail, email, reading, LJ, life, universe, and everything, but I cannot possibly catch up before the laptop returns, before the laptop returns, I'm afraid cannot possibly manage a single coherent email... ("or coherent LJ entry", she almost said, but fell off the chair prematurely laughing at the idea).
On the fashion front, the fabrics of my childhood appear to be making a come-back. I was such a hip 5-year-old. Also, I sometimes think one of those "I was into 'NSync when they were underground" t-shirts would be remarkably appropriate for me, mainly as a commentary on my relationship with musical snobbery. Which is, I appreciate it, because I'm for snobbery in general, but it's something I never get to participate in, with my regimen of Bach, Beatles, and
Also, LJ friendslist makes me happy, because it's probably the coolest thing I get to read these days. Don't worry, though. The purple otters love you still.
