I had this brilliant post I was going to make, only I thought of it last night as I was lying in bed, and I didn’t want to jot it down because I was really really warm and really really comfy and His Nibs was making that soft little noise he makes when he’s actually asleep, and I really didn’t want to bug him, so I said, “you’ll remember this, cenobyte. It’s GOLD.”
Now I don’t know if it was the altered stated of consciousness or the universe conspiring against me (I kind of think both, but I’m’a go with the latter because because I’m in a conspiracy theory sort of mood), but would you believe I COMPLETELY FORGOT WHAT IT WAS I WAS GOING TO POST?
It was lovely, and may have had something to do with shadows or maybe it was just night-time. Or it could have been that post about that thing that’s going on in the world that’s really dumb. On the other hand, it might have been a comment about my cat’s puckered arsehole, so maybe you should consider yourself lucky.
A word, though, about the long and rambly thing I said yesterday. It really wasn’t a criticism of you. It was a criticism of me. I didn’t mean it as another “you suck and I don’t want to be friends with you anymore” post. I had enough of those this summer. I meant it as an “I need to get the fuck over it” post.
I am sitting in a hotel room in the Bridge City, shivering because I have the window open because the room stinks (seriously, if you are at all involved in the hospitality industry, STOP USING SCENTED CLEANING PRODUCTS. Actually, if you do any cleaning at all, stop using scented cleaning products. They all stink. All of them. Things smell “clean” when they have no smell. Please learn that.) and I’m looking out the window across the riverbank at the houses of people who probably have more money than sense and yes, I’m a little jealous of those people who have big, beautiful houses on the crescent that overlooks the river. But then I think about how the river tends to, you know, eat away at its own banks, and I think about how in another ten years, some of those houses are going to be floating toward Hudson Bay, and I think, ‘gee, I’m glad I don’t live there.’ I’m listening to the traffic noise, which isn’t full of honking and jerkoffitude like it is in some cities, and I realise that the Bridge City isn’t a very big city, no matter how big it likes to think it is, and that’s kind of nice. Not having those sounds of people being dicksicles to one another (yeah, I’m totally using that word in every blog post for a long time).
I want to tell you something about shadows, though. Something I’ve been thinking about for a while. Shadows are where our unacknowledged thoughts go. It’s where we put the things we don’t want to think about. That’s why we don’t like peering into shadows; because then we might have to face those bad things.
I’m pretty sure that’s what my National Novel Writing Month novel is about. In a nutshell.