Thinking terribly philisophical thoughts, but won't pester you with them. Also thinking that I should have learned in high school that when I'm less than fifty pages from the end of a book, I shouldn't start reading it in bed, because I won't go to sleep until it's done. I finished the book at three-fifty-nine. Went on a compulsive hunt for new reading material (having already devoured everything I got for Christmas, most recently Oathbreakers) and ended up re-organizing my library. I think I need new shelves. Or shelf. I don't really have room left on my walls for the plural. Lots of dust floating in the air now, though. Maybe I should open a window.
Maybe I should write. But that will make me sleepy.
Hope I can get a ride to school. I have absolutely no desire to be anywhere near public transit at six o'clock in the morning. Seven is bad enough, generally.
Okay, I've just realized that I've been skipping prepositions. This is usually a sign that I've been seized by plotbunny compulsions (and am saving more complicated grammar for prose). I will *not* give in. I will... will... um. Something. Something equally distracting. Um...
...um. Then again, maybe the plotbunnies will serve to keep me awake all day today. Ten hours. Ye gods.
Oh, damn. I suppose I should have thought this out more beforehand - the not-sleeping, I mean. I was supposed to take Ki with me today... or get her there... somehow. We're using her in our film. And now... well, I certainly can't drive, now. Hmm.
Er. I'll take my confused stream-of-consciousness elsewhere, shall I? ;)
It's the second of January, 2003. I'll be messing up dates 'til March. o.O