tonight at artiste i was sitting at one of the booths, alternately writing my anne bradstreet paper and reading dracula. it’s quite amusing, at least for a professorly english major, to write a paper on a stalwart puritan woman’s view of god and salvation, only to abandon it in favor of a book about homoerotic bloodsucking. sinners and saints night, i like to call it.
thomas came and sat with me, and we discussed (while intermittently staring off into space, confused) the fact that today both of us felt dazed and out of it. i compared the feeling in my head to a plate of sharp cheddar cheese nachos that had been left sitting on the counter for a couple of hours (rendering the chips soggy and the cheese congealed and greasy), and then squished into a ball and stuffed between my ears. thomas, on the other hand, said his brain was velveeta. which is probably made of snot and yellow #5, anyway.
it occurs to me recently (recently being pretty late in the game, as i’ve been doing this for a year now) that this writing of short pieces on the web is honing my writing technique but is doing virtually nothing for my narrative- or character-constructing skills (unless you consider me a character (which some do)). ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished, though, so i will get on that shit soon.
(also, who knew that shaun and i are writing the same paper on the same topic for the same class at the same time? not you, i bet. but he’s chronicling his entire experience (or at least he was (until an hour (well, seventy-two minutes) ago)).)