No, not a quickie as in sex. I wish. It's getting to be almost six months, people. If I knew the proper emoticon for college student with Puritan undertones who needs to fall in love and get some post haste, well, just imagine a row or two of ugly yellow circular faces here. But that's not why I'm posting. I'm posting to let everyone know I survived the trip back home, and have almost finished unpacking my things.
Ugh. I'd forgotten how much I hate living at home.
Case in point:
I do not have a bed. I have a mattress, no frame, on the floor of what used to be our attic. There's still old desks, boxes of stuff, and other crap right next to my bed. I don't even have a door--I have a sheet handing in the doorway held up with push pins. There are layers of dust over everything, and I don't remember anyone ever vaccumming that room. There is no central air or anything in that room; even the windows don't open. I am très not pleased.
</whine>
Anyway, I hate to complain in the blog because it's boring to everyone else, so that's enough of that. I'm just writing because I'm slightly excited about something that really, in the long run, means absolutely nothing. Remember how a few days ago, I posted something about how my home-town newspaper wants more pro-Bush letters to the editor? Well, I submitted it to the Democratic Underground, and my suggestion made the list of the Top Ten Conservative Idiots. I don't know if I'm the only one who submitted this, but I'm taking credit, damnit!
Anyway, it's not all bad at home. I spent the afternoon watching far too many Sex in the City episodes that I checked out from the library. By far too many, I mean the entire fifth season on DVD. I also found David Leavitt's new book, which makes me orgasmically happy, and I started reading The First Time I Met Frank O'Hara, which I'm enjoying immensely.
That book, in fact, is starting to inspire me a bit. It reads like a selection of essays, or rather, a series of blog posts about his favorite gay authors. Using blogger's handy new profile thing, I've written over 58,000 words, which seems to me to be about one novel, or maybe a novella. And that's only for my blogs under blogger. I tend to be pretty damn fickle with my choice of blogs, and usually switch after a few months. What with the three blogger sites, the xanga, diaryland, and the livejournal, there's got to be a coherent story line in there somewhere that adds up to a thick stack of tree carcasses. I'll have to work up more of a starting base, and then come November, I'll whip up something and blow the publishing world away!
Ha. I totally will forget all about NaNoWriMo by then. Plus my life is pretty damn boring, and I'll have to quit the poetry and move on to the fiction if I ever want to make the NYTimes Best Seller list. Oh well.
