Deadness of the Brain; Petrifaction, Calcification; The Frozen Leaf.

Snow. I’d like some snow now.

I’d like to feel cold beneath layers of clothing and working on a computer that will inevitably freeze up, and I will proclaim that work and assignments and the entirety of it useless, pointless, and go sledding at the nearby hill. And then I’ll chuck snowballs at random people. And then I’d return home, cold and wet, and I’d drink hot chocolate and make myself a fire and go to sleep.

I’d like some rain, at least. To make the night a cold one.

Funny thing is, it rained today. Once in the afternoon and all the way till 4, where it stopped for a bit and then continued until 8+, after I bought dinner. It had rained and it was hot, and stuffy, and even under the drizzle it felt like going through a line of hot water shower. Somewhere I started wondering if my car’s air-conditioner stopped working; it had seemed compelled to give me more of warm circulated air.

I had thought I was having a fever. I was not, of course. I figure I was only being delirious.

This heat is getting on my nerves.

Tell the truth
Sing the story
Write the words
Wish the glory.

NaNoWriMo on imminent failure; I’ve clocked 37K but I haven’t been properly updating for days now. The story had pretty much walked out of my hands and dived down somewhere among the muck and convulsing concoction of horrendousness that some stories turned into. In another word, it’s starting to mutate into something I don’t ever remember making up. It pretty much woke up and started strangling me. Now feel like I should rouse the villagers, arm them with photon cannons, and take them on a hunt to kill the creature I created. But I might not. It’s my creation after all.

Somewhere along the lines I started thinking about making it a wife. As in, writing a sequel. Holy nuts. Maybe they’d start having kids.

At the rate of work and assignments, I probably have to spend the best of 3 days writing 13000 words. I won’t finish the novel, but I intend to finish the race. And one fine afternoon I’ll start thinking of rewriting it down. Maybe. Possibly.

The room,
And burning coal.

The smoke, smog
Steam
Dryness and wetness and all round constriction

Deadness of the Brain
Petrifaction of the Mind
Is the Calcification of Thought.

The Falling Leaf
Frozen in the Air.