Winter.

I'm in a very winter-y mood. I woke up (at 2 pm) and stumbled out to the living room, where a ton of my crap was scattered about ("I really have to clean this room up," I thought), and looked out through the blinds. The sun was bright, hot, gross. I could feel it through the glass. Wasn't today supposed to be in the low 70's? I thought so. But I think they lied to me, and me specifically. They just know I'm waiting, praying for, anticipating cool temperatures, so they say, "Hey, Mel! It's going to be in the low 70's, really nice, good weather for... you know, stuff!" and I say, "Yay!" and believe them and then they laugh at me when I turn the channel because they were just bullshitting me, and then they do the actual forecast. "Low 90's, we meant, bitch."

"They" being the meteorologists on my local stations.

Blah. That is how I feel right now. Blah. I was considering making a gross comparison to a pair of sweaty testicles, but I'll jump right past that and move forward.

There is something absolutely magical about falling snow on a winter night. Especially when I was younger. Watching it from inside, my brother and I praying for enough to fall overnight that school would be cancelled. Rarely did that happen, but on the days that it did, my father would stay home from work with us and we'd play outside the entire day. We had a tradition: every year, near the garage, we would build a huge fort. My brother and my father would take care of that, while I got the snowball stash ready. After a day of hard (I use that term very loosely) work, we would all huddle up in our fort and make plans to make an attack on Canada. My father would give us different positions and make up different signals for us to follow, and we had a time set for our attack.

"Canada" was actually just across the street from us. Our neighbor, Danny, had a garage that faced ours, so that was our battleground for many years, simply because it was closest. I don't remember if Danny ever actually took part in any of our wars. If he did, he got buried in snow because my brother and I were snowball-launching machines. We attacked like Canada had bombed us. It was always so much fun!

That is just one of my many memories of winters with my family. I suppose that is what makes it magical to me, but going back to the point. The first snow of the season, watching it fall against a black, starless sky and dust the cars underneath and begin to stick to the ground and make some child's wish come true for that night.

Though I do love the idea of this, and the sight of this, it wouldn't be my wish. Last December, there was a terrible ice storm at the beginning of December, and that was enough to scar me for life. When snow is peaceful, beautiful, and fun... I can handle it. When snow (and ice, obviously) are coming down in sheets, coating our trees and pulling down our powerlines and leaving the entire state in a blackout for seven days, I'm not as excited or awestruck. Awe-struck? Is that hyphenated? Or one word? Anyway, whatever.

Oh, what a sucky period in Oklahoma history. And they say this winter is supposed to be worse. The only place that had power (that my mother and I knew of) was my cousin's apartment complex. We stayed with her for the week, sleeping on the floor and in chairs (no couch? WHO DOESN'T HAVE A COUCH? Well, she does now...), travelling back and forth from her apartment to our house to make sure no one had broken in or anything, and to get various items and drop others off. Long, pointless story short, but still pointless, we moved from that house in April, lived with my brother for two months, and then moved into the same apartments we stayed in during the ice storm. Just a few buildings down. Not because we have faith that, if we have another horrible ice storm, this place will keep power, but because... I don't know, actually. Because we needed a place to live, couldn't afford a house, wanted to be closer to my cousin and her daughter, and this seemed like a good option. Plus we have a balcony. Oh, how I love my balcony!

The sun upon the roof in winter
Will draw you out like a flower.


Onto a non-winter-y subject. It's 3 pm, and my mother isn't home. My ass is numb. My back hurts. My hair is a mess. I have about 20 million things I need to do, but do not want to do. One of those things is write, ahaha. I added everything up, and I have 20,758 words. Or something like that. The last two digits, I can't remember. But it's something like that. Anyway, so I probably won't write tonight. I have plenty of other things to catch up on. Things that I've been neglecting in order to sleep all day, write all afternoon, and watch television all night. Lame.

Someone should tell me to get a life. Well, no, because if anyone told me to get a life, I'd shank them with my fingernails and scream, "I HAVE A LIFE, DON'T TELL ME OTHERWISE!" and never speak to them again. On my dramatic days, at least. On the days I agree, like today, I would tell you, "Maybe someday."

And now, for random thoughts that don't necessarily fit anywhere in this post:
I need to buy pencils.
I am so tempted to listen to my NaNoWriMo playlist but I'm trying not to unless I'm writing.
Why do my earlobes itch sometimes?
I would like to go back to sleep now.
Why the hell isn't my mom here yet?
I'm craving soda, oh so badly. :(
I'M SICK OF WATER. I DON'T WANT TO DRINK WATER ALL THE TIME ANYMORE.
I'm also craving popcorn.
And I'm out of pickles.

Time to walk to the store. For soda, popcorn, and pickles. Oh, scratch the popcorn. I don't have a microwave and don't like the stove kind. :'(

(Just kidding. I'm not actually walking to the store. I can't leave my apartment because I lost the spare keys, and my mom has the main set. So, I will just call and bother her. "Mom, where are you? Are you on your way home? Will you stop and pick up some Pepsi and pickles for me? No? WELL, WHY NOT?!? I know you just bought that other bottle of pickles a few days ago, but were you aware of how long it had been since I've had pickles? Yes, they're gone! I'm sorry, that's all I've bothered eating for breakfasts and lunches. Not that I've been awake to have either, hmm.... Okay, midnight snacks. Don't call me a fatty. You're a fatty. Hahahaha, I know, we're both fatties. Now let's buy some pickles. FINE, DON'T BUY ME ANY PICKLES. Okay, just Pepsi is fine. Can we go to the store later? For pickles, obviously, I can't believe you even had to ask. Fine, if you won't go just for pickles, then we can get some Raviolis, too. And about 400 cans of green beans. And popcorn! For whenever we get a microwave! Okay, I'll see you in a few. Right? Okay. I love you. Bye." *hangs up telephone* "PIIIIIIICKLES!" *drool*)

Fast food sucks.

I've been eating fast food for the past two weeks, AT LEAST. Seriously. My mom hasn't felt like going grocery shopping, and when I offer to go for her, she says, "No, we'll get something out, it's fine." After about three days, everything began tasting the same and I was ready to begin a hunger strike for as long as needed, but I like food too much to do that, so I tried to put some variety in what I got when we went out. I'm a picky eater, so variety isn't an easy thing to come by on my plate. But anyway, FINALLY, on Sunday, we went grocery shopping, and for the past three days, we've been cooking at home, and everything has been so incredibly DELICIOUS.

At first, I thought that maybe my sense of taste had heightened, but then, I realized that I had just become so used to the always-stale taste of french fries and overcooked hamburgers that these meals were just completely orgasmic to my mouth. Yum.

I'm stuffed. Full of lemon-y (something about lemons?) chicken. And potatoes. And green beans.

Yes, I felt the need to write about my meal. It was good. And now my mom is making cake.

I managed to start writing when I ended my last post. I turned on the Temptation Blocker and it was really helpful, except for when I wanted to use the dictionary. Since I couldn't use the one online, and didn't feel like going to get the one in my bedroom, I just pretended that I knew what the word meant. Like the little engine that could, you know? "I think I know, I think I know, I think I know... I hope I spelled that right." Anyway, within an hour, I got 2,475 words. Woohoo! I don't think I've ever gotten it done that quickly. It was an exciting part; there was a lot to say.

You know what makes it easy for me? Making the box I'm typing in, WordPad or MS Word, really small, so that I don't have to watch the page fill up slowly. I just watch the small square fill up and after awhile, maximize and check out the damage. Typically, I've written a huge amount by then, and I'm giddy, and I bounce around for a moment and squeal, and then I get back to work. It helps me.

My fingernails are dirty. Gross. I think I'll go take a shower and work on some other projects. Oh, I need to clean my paintbrushes so they don't get all stiff. Assuming they're not all stiff yet. I think I put them in water earlier. Hm, I'll get on that eventually. I need to buy new brushes anyway...

Ta ta for now (Tigger moment? I haven't watched Winnie The Pooh in years...)!

Why is it still September?

Today, I downloaded this nifty little program called Temptation Blocker. I selected Internet Explorer, MSN Messenger, and all games to be blocked. Sadly, I'm not actually... blocking them now. >.> I should be. I'm supposed to be writing, but I'm tired and cranky and making excuses while I can (until November). I have to get it out now, while I still have time.

Maybe I should read. Or maybe I should go book shopping! Or maybe I shouldn't. I have a stack of books in my bedroom that is nearly as tall as I am (5'3) that I've had for months and still haven't read, yet I keep buying more. Addiction? I think so. Is rehab in my future? No, but saving up is, so I won't be able to blow $200 in a 20-minute period for a long time.

*sigh* I guess I ought to get to work. I need to set a goal for today. I keep trying to tell myself, 1,000 words, that's all I need... But I get deadset on making it to at least 2,000. And in doing this, in the past 7 days, I've written 18,000 words on a story that I pulled out of my ass, that I most likely won't continue after November. This is just to get in the habit of forcing myself to work every single day. Even though I actually haven't. I'm trying not to force myself to do too much. I don't want to be really sick of it.

I've spent an hour already browsing websites and typing here and eating pickles, so I seriously have to get to work now. But pickles will still be eaten in the process.