Chandri MacLeod (chandri) wrote,
Chandri MacLeod

My Day (And Other Things Capitalised)

First, okay, we joke about how it's a disease, but it's now crossed the line into truly frightening. The apex of my terror, I will not share with you, because that kind of knowledge, you can never un-know. *shudder*

The other thing, though? The Fantastically Cracky Thing that smacked me right in the face the night before last? I have actually started writing it. I will write no more for some time, for tomorrow I must finish up the Happyfest story, but oh god, oh god.

artemisiabrisol? How does "Sophie" sound?

Tomorrow evening, we journey to North Skeena St (Ave? Rd? Meh.) to take on a costume warehouse that is selling off their inventory. With luck, we will emerge triumphant and unharmed and laden with goodies. With extra good luck, the judicious use of elbows in securing said victory (an unfortunate necessary evil of second-hand-anything shopping) will not result in bloody noses, ours or other people's. (Aside: in my defense, that happened only the once, it wasn't actually me, and it was absolutely an accident.)

Saturday is Parade of the Lost Souls. Time to test out the Rebel in dusk-to-dark conditions!

At some point also this weekend, I must, haha, write one complete essay and one draft essay - not because they are due next week, but because if I don't do them now, I won't have time to do them before they're due. Remaining I have: one presentation, one group performance, one 10-page paper, one 15-page paper, three 3-page critical responses, 32 blog entries, one 5-page paper, one Inquiry (I'll get back to you when I have any idea whatsoever what this entails), and one creative project, format unknown. Ohgod this semester sucks.

Finally: my day. Well, not my entire day, which was by turns zombie-dull (the zombie was me, with the wandering and the aimlessness and the complete inability to rouse myself to full wakefulness even at two-thirty in the afternoon) and horrific (when I realised at the last minute that I had not, in fact, turned my incredibly ridiculous notes on the directorial choices of the Weird Australian Hamlet In The Ganglands Of Melbourne film into an actual critical review, and had to write it all in twenty-six minutes).

No. My Day, as it will be represented here, ended with One Of Those Moments.

You know the kind I mean. The kind where you're talking to a normal person, somebody nice, and clever, and insightful, just happens to actually be normal by some trick of fate - and you slip. You use words like "beta" or "fic" or "convention" in casual conversation, completely without intention, and they ask you what that means. And to explain it properly, you must give context. And then before you know it you've told them you maybe-sometimes-kind-of-sort-of-write-stories-about-TV-shows-about-people-who-fly-around-in-space-ships-controlled-with-their-minds.

Which, okay, it wasn't quite that bad, but that was basically the thought-process, such as it was. I get alarmingly Rodney-like when I babble, even when I babble in my head, but I don't think I sounded quite that crazy. Anyway I'm of the opinion that the person I was talking to is latently geeky and has simply not had the proper exposure - she was, in fact, the first to voice the observation that that was more or less what we had just spent an entire Shakespeare class doing, and I always find it funny that most people have no trouble with the watching of the mind-controlled-spaceship-show, but the writing-about-it and talking-about-it aspect is the step-too-far that raises eyebrows. It was certainly not the worst I've ever cracked in the company of a normal person, dear god no. Fortunately I have been, more or less since birth, so deeply steeped in geekery that this sort of thing doesn't really inspire shame, as such, but sometimes you take a step back from a moment and you think, "Huh. Okay. Probably shouldn't have said that out loud."

I don't know. Like I said, it's not the worst I've ever managed. Most people don't even know what fanfiction is; it's hard to feel specifically persecuted when nobody's even heard of your lifestyle choice weird hobby and you have to spend ten minutes explaining what it actually is before they can even give you the you-are-a-crazy-person look (which, I hasten to add, I didn't get - she's teetering on the edge, in my opinion). There are no freaky urban legends about ficcers. Give it ten years, though. There'll be stories about our strange rituals and horrifically inaccurate stereotypes and politically-incorrect jokes on Saturday Night Live and then we, too, can have a Movement and badly-constructed websites and be denounced by the American Right as responsible for crumbling moral standards. Just like the guy who wrote the Bunny Suicides book, and the children's author who got banned from several libraries for using the word "scrotum."

One day, my brethren. One day.
Tags: city, fic, general geek, irl folk, my people, school, seasons, sga

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