I want to write, but, you know. And this pre-writing whiny-ass nuisance phase is pretty necessary to the whole process, so I can't even bypass it. I hate my subconscious so much. What good is it, I ask you? A person works hard all her life to forget her schooling and smooth her brain out as shallow as the day is long, she doesn't need anything chugging along underneath, making her dream about JC's knees and wake up wondering Why, Lord? Stupid subconscious. I just want to write some porn. Must it be so hard?
Hanging around today, trawling for smut recs and playing with my hair, and the guys downstairs hooked up the old karaoke mic. My first thought was "Holy Shit! This is gonna suck so bad!" So of course I was filled with glee. But they were really, really good! Did a folksy cover of that "I'm like a bird" thing from Nelly Furtado, which to me is JC's song, I don't know, and the one guy has a nice voice for it and the other guy sang backup, I think, unless that was the machine. Cool! Theater majors. Gotta love 'em.
Eh. Maybe I'll go stuff my face. That's always enjoyable. Or I could meditate. smooooooooooooooooth