It's not like I'm out of ideas or that my novel is at a point where I'm stuck. . .I actually just stopped typing mid-dialogue. I hope my characters don't sense my disinterest for the moment. I'm just tired of thinking so much about them, so I want to think of myself. Me. Moi.
I participated in a self defense class this morning and my hand hurts. We were locating "control points" and I may have pressed too hard on the one in my hand. You know, that meaty part between the pointer finger and the thumb. My hand hurts. Ma main me fait mal.
I parted my hair on the unusual side yesterday and today. I don't particularly like it. Nobody noticed. But I wouldn't expect them to. Personne n'a remarqué.
I found a bunch of heart-shaped leaves after my morning run and thought I should collect some and sprinkle them upon someone I love. So I did. I put them on his car with a note that said "I (heart leaf) Devin" on it under the windshield wiper. It made me happy. Ça m'a rendu heureuse.
I find it interesting that like and love get mixed up in meaning. I love my guy friends but I can't love one guy friend in particular until I've liked him long enough to know him enough to love him. For example, I can say "I love Kevin," because he's just a friend. But I can't say, "I love Ken," because I like him...more than a friend. I can only say stuff like "Ken is a great guy," because if I said "I love Ken," then I'd feel weird, because I like him. Does it make sense? Est-ce que ça a de sense?
I will not watch the Twilight movie. Je ne regarderai pas le film Twilight.
I don't have a boyfriend anymore. We broke up October 1st. It sucked at first and sometimes I got reeeeally bored and lonely. And now I'm fine, but I still get really bored. I become slightly curious when weekend after empty weekend comes and goes. I'm afraid I put off a "don't touch me" sort of vibe somehow. Well, I'm not an extremely touchy person myself (until I am dating someone) so maybe that is interpreted as me being someone that doesn't want to be touched. But really I'm just a devoted kind of gal, so I don't go prostituting back scratches etc. for just anyone. Maybe-- no, no maybe. I suck at flirting, that's for sure. c'est sûr.
And I'm tall. I'm pretty convinced some guys are stunned by that. Every time they're near enough to size themselves up, their minds blank and they just sort of walk away. Not my fault how tall I am. Besides, I love it. I guess it just weeds out the insecure. So if I were to answer the question that's actually been posed many times recently, "Why aren't you out on some hot date?" I really don't know. Je ne sais vraiment pas.
My nose has the hiccups. It twitches as though it itches to make me join a brood of witches. And it seems fitting since I'm transmitting a story about witches for my novel. And see, it comes again to the novel that I'm neglecting. I'm bored. Je m'ennuie.
(This post contains 555 words, not including this line, that will not go into my novel.)
3 comments:
Emily, I have no doubt that your novel will be just as delightful to read as this post, if not more.
Its great to have a a monument of genius like a novel, but these gems are a treasure all their own.
I don't understand french (which sucks).
Well the French is just the last lines repeated. If writing a novel was as easy as writing about myself, these novel would be so done. Maybe you've got something there....I'll do a cameo in my own novel! ;)
None of your whining adds to your word count, which only puts you further away from free Papa John's. Slacker.
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