V: Very much not according to design

Writing is a difficult profession; and of course in this I speak of fiction. If you push yourself too hard, you'll likely write shit. If you don't push hard enough, you might not write anything at all. It's a difficult line to tread.

I feel like writing tonight, but I also do not physically feel well. Everybody in the house, seemingly, feels miserable lately. Maybe just me and Eric, but Eric is vocal enough to account for an entire faction of people. For my part, I tend to suffer in silence. I suspect my recent neck-related woes (why won't it just go away??) appears to have re-awakened my long-dormant back problem. Hurm.

Actually, it could be any number of things, let alone combinations thereof, including but not limited to my excessive caffeine consumption, recent exploits in Guitar Hero, developing patterns of self-abuse, regular ole discomfort, heat, personal anxiety... the list goes on.

I never finished Melancholy Catatonia. I actually have come very close, having closed in on 60,000 words and a near ending (which I could very well have dragged on as long as I pleased,) but I did not finish it because a huge chunk of it I was dissatisfied with and already yearned to do-over. But going back to the point I made to open this entry, while I pushed myself and got substandard work, I can't seem to get a good motivation going.

Collection of Curiosities has been put off a lot lately, too. I'm pleased with the amount of work I've done on it so far, and yet I have so much yet to do and have hardly glanced at it all summer. I think that will be my project for later tonight. I have two other short stories in mind, which may or may not figure into that project. The first is about a pregnancy test, and the second is about a blind date.

As I mentioned, Eric has been complaining of an "injured knee" in addition to feeling, I don't know, fluish.

Two nights ago, I was deep asleep, but jostled awake shortly after 5 AM by a very real crash and bang. In my unconscious state, I judged it to be a gunshot. I've never heard a gunshot for certain, only seen them in movies or more realistically on TV documentaries. I don't think anything could prepare you for hearing a gunshot in your house while you're asleep. This sound, I had never heard before and was certainly not prepared for. Stupidly (in the event that it was a gunshot,) I poked my head out the door. Tim and mom had gotten home at a weirdly early hour (once agian, it was 5 AM) and mom had somehow managed to drop a bottle of wine on the floor, blasting it open and spilling wine everywhere. And I mean everywhere as it seeped through the floor and pooled on the floor in the basement.

So don't worry kids... those aren't gunshots, they're just dropping wine bottles.

Too tired to continue. More leftover stuff tomorrow.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott