Monday, August 30, 2010

Monday Afternoon, 3:53 PM. Thoughts.

The water is cool and trickling over my fingertips, my wrist, and I hold the icy metal Sigg bottle still against the lip of the fountain. Tremors in my right hand make the push of the button unsteady--the water rises and falls in a graceful, dipping arc and I find myself doing a little dance with the bottle to catch it all.

The vessel is filled; I want to linger in the lobby. It's hot today, 91.3 degrees outside, and this foyer is the only spot in my building with AC. The tiles are cold beneath my bare feet, a blessing. I walk on my heels right now because I blistered my soles, walking without shoes on burning sidewalks under the sun. I shuffle like a bear to the doorway, and wave my card-carrying wallet before the sensor to gain access to the hall.

My dorm, right there. The roommate's gone, it's just me and there is quiet. Lights are off, shadowy the way I like it, and that is good. Fans running, also good. I'll get used to life here, somehow. I did it last year.

I sit here typing and I hear the blare of a TV from the next room. My roommate likes the TV running, too. I've never seen her watch it, it's just a background noise that fills the air with the subtle sounds of drama or cartoons that wiggle on plastic-bright backgrounds while I work.

I finished Saga of the Volsungs, at least, as far as I need to read it. It's full of brutal people doing dumb things. Why do people in stories always do dumb things? Violence and incest and revenge and beating each other to death... McTeague was full of that, too. When I write my books, I at least want them to be less incest-y.

Little McCoy figure is standing guard next to my fan, his plastic medical PADD held at the ready. I like that. He's keeping an eye on my health, you know. Mono can't stand up to Space Doctors.

Empty fishtank on the other side. I intend to fill it soon. If the fish is red, the name shall be Rasputin (everybody sing! Ra ra...). Purple, he'll go by Donald McGillavry. I don't look for color though. I alway choose the angriest one I see. The one with the most life in them. Those are the ones that live. That's what Leo was. A fighter to the end.

I want to write something. I'm not sure what. Aside from rambling (boring) blog posts, does anyone have a prompt for me? I'm taking requests.


  1. Not the least bit boring. :) The note about McCoy made me smile, at least he's following my orders to keep you healthy while I'm away.
    Hmm... perhaps a piece on a character we haven't seen much of in a while?
    Also, I need to find out a way to print out your short story (the one you wrote and won the contest for)... I want to put it up in my dorm room. Perhaps you would send it with a letter? Perhaps I should send you the letter I wrote you a week and a half ago... that would be good. :)

  2. To piggyback on what Lauren said, how about you write something on Linx or Matthias?

  3. Thanks guys--I've just finished up a father/daughter relationship piece on Hal and Anastasia.

    Lauren: Yes, McCoy is very good at that. He's glaring at me now... I'm so tickled that the makers of the model included his perpetually cocked eyebrow! And I'll mail you that piece, sure thing. :)

    Mom: Oooh, good idea. I haven't played with Mattie in a while. And when I stop being scared of Linx, well...