"(It is necessary for an artist to choose) whatever subject makes a natural appeal to his imagination. Any refusal of this instinct, whether for commercial or political objects, is a betrayal of his soul." - Mary Renault

♥
[I think/fear that some part of me will always believe in this, even when inspiration clashes with moral principles, even under the pressure of some hardly attainable higher ideal. Maybe some things can never be truly tamed.

That doesn't mean I won't try to reconcile the two, though. Because idealism's that way.

Now, I absolutely have to write a story about S&H struggling with their higher ideal.]

#
Traditional Chinese medicine is the foulest thing I've ever tasted. Also about a billion times more effective than my useless bottle of cough syrup. I AM THE HEALTHIEST PERSON IN THE WORLD, LA LA LA.

Holding on by the fingertips.

Flu. Aaaaaaaargh.

That and a minefield of pimples seems to have sprung up on my face & I think I really should start studying in earnest but don't know where to begin and don't want to anyway & I'm going blind & great distress that I cannot roll my R's & I need more formal clothes & Savonn, really, did you have to wait until draft six to tell me you and Hiraen were telepathic?!

i'll pull the stars down from the heavens
to fill your empty skies; i'm yours tonight

Amazing how life grinds to an almost complete halt when I get the slightest sore throat. No going out, no studying, no eating, hardly any coherent writing; I suppose that means I have a pathetic pain threshold. Or maybe, it's just my bodily systems yelling STOP in the only way they know how.

[Kind of inconvenient, actually.]

And so it was that I spent an entire weekend reading Jodi Picoult & random snippets of dubious fanfiction, struggling with S&H's latest fit of theatrics, and thinking about the newest walk-on character in Seffë's neverending modern-day soap opera thing and how I can heap 18 years' worth of emotional baggage on him. Also, I have two tests and a quiz next week. I spend my time so wisely.

♥, thewaterbuffalo.

#
[COOPERATE ALREADY BEFORE I BURN OFF HIS OTHER ARM, THY LOWLY MORTALS.] Never mind. I LOVE YOU HIRAEN

#
"Sing for me, my little songbird."

The most dangerous thing about sitting in your room and doing nothing is, of course, that your mind begins to wander, and think of all sorts of ridiculous things that it shouldn't. Leaving your mind blank for the terrors to break in is like leaving your house unlocked for the thieves.

Thinking of so many things, like how most people are your friends in practice but not in theory and some are your friends in theory but not in practice and how it is SO FREAKING IMPOSSIBLE to find people who will be both, just for you, all the time. And how hope is a glutton for punishment that keeps getting up even though it KNOWS it will just get stamped down again.

Disillusionment ensues.

[Strange outburst; I had much more to say, but that was hours ago before the terrors calmed again and the words fled. I must be channelling Savonn or someone today.

...who is, le gasp, actually condescending to give me two pages a day now. I'm getting a little optimistic about elegyversionsix.]

#
Hungry.
I am in one of those phases when I eat four meals a day and finish 400-page books in under 48 hours and am thirsty all the time. [Speaking of books, I finished My Sister's Keeper last Friday and didn't feel remotely sad at all. Interesting.] Maybe, you know, I'm about to have a growth spurt.

Now that's optimism.

#
Calm now.
Really.