I've spent the last 27 hours awake, which amuses me mostly because I'll be 27 on the 14th. Which means I'll be old enough to die like a musician! (Nobody laughs at that joke, for some reason).
As I mentioned in my previous post, I've had a touch of insomnia. It got better for a while, then resurfaced, and has been sort of hemming and hawing on my pillow ever since.
Ew. I just reread that, and...ew. Can you blame me for struggling to sleep?
Sheep counting aside, I have spent a lot of time thinking. Making plans,
[Full disclosure II: the authoress totally fell asleep right there. Like, passed right out, woke up with keymarks on her face. This continuation occurs several days and several hours of sleep later.]
editing SIREN, busting out my mad scanning skills at my Nightjob, and taking loads of stuff off of
|Note: The List is written is various messy inks. The typed page next to it is the SIREN manuscript.|
I'm not sure whether or not I've mentioned The List.
As a result of my, shall we say, unique heritage, I skipped many traditional experiences. Chicanery and movies and weekend shenanigan tales that 'everyone' has in common, I simply don't have. The List features all of the movies and tv shows my more cultured friends have insisted that I catch up on.
The List, in its original form, suffered a little during the move. But I managed to get it across 3,000 miles and around a lot of paper-hungry damage devils, and I've cleared off about half of the original titles. The main benefit to this is that the inside jokes don't fly aaaaaaall the way over the top of my head when anyone or thing references the classics.
Today, I watched Beowulf.
I've been 'eh' and 'urrrrh' about watching that one ever since it came out, because I hold a special grudge against work that claims to present the 'true' story, dismissing the source material as anything else. It's weird how much that bugs me. Like, clenched jaw, grumbled swears, one violent eye roll and a snort puff of derision. That is how I respond to such claims on book jackets.
Beowulf, as the rest of the world already knows, is a grunting, thrusting, sweaty meatloaf of a film. They took a bold swing at artistic and made a really gross looking project that would have been impressive but confusing twenty years ago...and it is not twenty years old. Everyone knows that the movie drags on and on like and struggles to drag the ancient tale into the modern story telling platform, and fumbles pretty lustily with that goal the whole way.
Now, I know all of these things, too. I have scratched one more item off of the list of barriers between me and the rest of the world.