February 29th, 2004

children of dune - leto 1

(no subject)

The entire social thing I have freaks me out in vague ways, because I really, *really* don't want to go until I'm, well, there. Then about halfway through, I'm dragging Vannezsa onto a platform to dance and tying up my shirt because it's too hot. There's something frighteningly addictive about dancing in public once I relax--I know I can't dance, and I just stop caring. Vodka helps. As long as no one is injured, and anyone who dances with me lets me lead, we're all good to go. It makes sense--I love performing, and I was high from watching a performance earlier in the night. There's no bad there. It just always feels different afterward, when I wake up and think about how very much it's me if I were another person. Like I need to adjust back to being me again. And that doesn't even make *sense*.

Of course, it helps to have your imaginary, packing, well-dressed assassin vampires from Underworld wandering around behind you to stare daggers at anyone who makes fun of you. Because I see no reason not to drag a few neuroses in with me at all times.

Still, it's fun. *grins*

Fannish Flittering

I have my QaF 3 DVDs and can't watch them until I get some time without Child hovering around. It's frustrating. I keep having to skip everyone's cut-tags and seethe, because damn. My QaFUK tapes that the marvelous jcalanthe sent me are half-watched, as Child is insanely curious and keeps coming in to see what I'm watching. Gah. On the other hand, this just makes me tenser, watching in fifteen minute intervals, then rewinding to watch what I just watched when I get another few minutes completely alone. It's like a huge, endless tease.

Oddly, the writing is continuing at a strange clip. And I mean, strange. It's been too damn long since I wrote without an AIM audience (thete1 thank you *so much* for conditioning me into this kind of addiction), so I keep--it reminds me of mintwitch and navigating by clouds--really, really bizarre things start making tons and tons of sense, and then I just keep going off on that tangent until I stop, look back, and try to figure out *when* everything became so freaking odd. And I realize that it started in the first line.

Plausibility is highly, highly overrated, I think.
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