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I am *not* a drug addict, damnit...

Tonight, I can't sleep. So I tried to Write.

That didn't work out - I remembered that I'd handed Ian (guy here, friend here) a hard-copy of the currentest version of Concrete Versus Empyreal to beta for me - I figured I'd leave that one alone for tonight until he got back to me. I tried to work on other stuff, and after other stuff didn't really work and turned out stuck too, I turned to somewhat-lighter stuff. Like Harry Potter fic. (shut up. ;) And Digimon fic. And that So Weird fic I was working on. And thinking about the fact that someone wants me to do a sequel to that Roswell fic I posted (damned Fanfiction.net). I made attempts at this for four hours. Around eleven, my brain shut down and stopped even giving me plot urges, let alone plot ideas. (Tris, it should be noted, is nowhere to be seen. >.<)

I turned on the TV, tried watching a shitty sci-fi movie that reeked of the eighties. Fifteen minutes in, my cultural tastebuds having been burned off, I decided I needed a drink. Not a *drink*. Not that the entire floor hasn't been *offering*, but... I'm still underage, and anyway, drinking into numbness out of boredom has never been my style. So... I ate dinner.

I picked up a Mercedes Lackey book I've read twice already. I actually found myself almost enjoying it. Then I got all distracted by shiny things (read: ICQ going "bleep" at me and it being Nadia and Jen, neither of whom I'd spoken to in a month.)

After that, it was about one. My brain turned itself back on, but not in a useful way, and I tried scrolling through some uncooperative song lyrics for a while. I even tried singing them, at least until my roommate and a half-dozen others stumbled drunkenly into the room and started playing Dixie Chicks really loud on really bad, tiny midi speakers. I competed by putting on headphones and picking up my book again.

They eventually left. I got an email from Damien, read it, and spent a half-hour replying. It made me think about heavy stuff (not his fault - mine). My brain kicked itself back into high gear. I was still story-stuck, and when I next looked at the clock it was two. And I still couldn't even think about sleep, and I wanted to *do* something. So I resorted to one of those horrible things you've got to know means I'm upset or deranged.

I cleaned.

I spent almost an hour tidying, generally cleaning and sort-of unpacking to make my side of the room look like... well, my side of the room. I think I brought too much stuff.

*sighs* I'm out of stuff to clean. And my roommate is next door, crashed on someone's floor. They made strawberry daquiris (the kind out of the frozen-concentrate cans) in the laundry room. *shakes head* She broke up with her boyfriend today so she could date the RA. And that's totally unrelated... ;)

It's a quarter to three now. Why can't I sleep? I think I don't want to have nightmares. I've been having them for a while now . I can't see them going away any time soon.

And I think my roommate stole my kettle, so I can't even make tea. *facepalm*

Agh. What's wrong with me?

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reeciebastion
chandri
Chandri MacLeod
Fantasi.net

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