kenyon

THE WRAPUP

ok, so i finished the second draft of my short novel earlier than my birthday-deadline. yay me.

my boyfriend's the only person reading it. he's got a good critical eye, and is not a writer, both pluses as i see it.

i'll probably take his suggestions into account, edit some more, and then let it gestate a while before going for the third (and probably not final) edit. at that point i'll get some real people to read it.

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i played spades last night for the first time in my life. i'm hooked. i was pleased when, after the first few rounds, people finally stopped calling fucking up and throwing down the wrong card "pulling a kenyon."

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feeling antsy. need to drive to the art store today to buy some canvas and linseed oil. to make those paintings i was talking about. i need to keep the supplies around me for a bit until i get sick of them staring at me and finally feel bullied into making something. o the games we play.

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got an odd job editing "erotica" for this guy. $25/hr, which is low, but i don't have a lot of this type of work on my resume. which leads me to: been wracking my brain for column ideas for that local paper i mentioned. i'm thinking i might chronicle all the odd jobs i've done, one per column. just thinking . . . i've done some pretty fucking odd jobs. and quite a few; one here, one there, also hence "odd." i bounced it off my fellow spades-players and they were fairly unmoved, but i still think it's a decent idea. anyone?

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i'm worried about my grandmother. she hasn't been wanting dinner the past week, so we just leave an egg salad sandwich in the fridge, which she sometimes eats super late at night. she's still pounding down chocolate, though! probably self-medicating for depression. it must run in the family.

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i believe i just may take up digital photography. i don't know what this means yet, as i know nothing about photography. this would be as much an excercise in conquering my extreme technophobia as it would be an artistic endeavor. feel a need to build up that flacid techno muscle in my brain. i'm still an idiot with computers, and i think the breaking point was when i couldn't convert an ad for House from the fox.com site to JPG format to post in my journal. (if you look in my pics folder you'll notice that the one Hugh Laurie photo in there is is actually a PHOTOGRAPH I TOOK OF MY COMPUTER SCREEN .) sad but true.

i felt the kind of frustration i used to feel as a little girl, the kind that almost brings those stinging tears. my illness affects cortical perfusion (bloodflow to the brain), which doesn't help matters a bit. my frontal and temporal lobes are especially affected, according to a nuclear SPECT scan. incidentally, this is also my excuse for my total lack of social filter. it's a poor excuse, since i never really had one.

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most importantly, i need to write (and send out) poems, as that's supposedly, at the end of the day, what i do. i don't allow myself to consider it a hobby. i feel like a fucking idiot defining it as a vocation right here in my suicidegirls journal, especially since it sounds so pansy and irrelevant and frivolous, but that truly is how i've thought of it since i was about 14. the other stuff falls under "hobby" or "distraction."

thank god we all die at the end, you know? i'm just saying. otherwise, this would be some endless shit.

<3, k

there was a TOTAL SHUTDOWN with some people's message-receiving capabilities and other functions on the site yesterday. so nope, if you sent something, i didn't delete it.