dumb luck and destiny

Tonight, my ma gave me her wedding ring, because she hasn't worn it for years and she doesn't need it any more. I've got it on a gold chain around my neck, along with a gold Celtic cross that my sister gave me a few years ago. Ma's always looking to the future, what's going on next and where we'll end up.

This afternoon, my dad was showing me pictures of the school he went to in India when he was a little boy - where his dormitory was, his classrooms, all of the things that he was worried he'd forget but are still important to him. Dad's always so worried that the past will be forgotten.

This seems a terribly appropriate time to note that I'll be 21 tomorrow. A symbolic age more than anything, I guess, since I don't have a juvie record to be wiped clean, or anything. It just all seemed satisfactorily significant. One parent looking backwards, the other looking onwards, Conor and me in the middle - Conor about to go off travelling, and it my birthday tomorrow.

Funny old world.

So far today I've managed around 2500 words on my Nanowrimo. This is good, because I want to get as much done this week as I can, and I also wrote a few hundred words of my Robin Hood essay and planned out a few things.

The plans were all to do with wordcounts, though, which was interesting - I've never really considered a story in such purely mechanistic terms before, but now I'm conscious of how many words I've spent on each thing.

I already know things that I'm going to cut from this draft of Passion - a couple of the current scenes are pretty much just exercises in character-building because I couldn't particularly think of anything plot-relevant to write. But that's the point of Nanowrimo, right? Just to write and write and write with wordy abandon, and not worry about quality.

I am worrying about quality, of course, but I'm making notes on what I'm going to do later rather than thinking about what I need to do now, which is probably the most useful thing I've got out of Nanowrimo so far. To just get it out, even if I don't particularly like it, even if I think it's useless, is an achievement in itself. Dough to be shaped rather than flour left on the shelf.

Anyway, I'm quite tired, and I haven't got particularly much more to say than a ramble about Nanowrimo. Today's been pretty quiet. Marc came over and cooked us an utterly amazing meal: prawn tangiers (prawns, tomatoes, spinach and onions cooked with lemon juice and cumin), with butternut squash roasted with thyme, and cous cous. It was so delicious that I nearly cried. And Lisa made amazing muffin-sized chocolatey things that were also amazing. I have had such an amazing culinary week. I'm jealous of two-hours-ago self who was just starting that meal, om nom nom.

But now I am going to debate with myself whether to do the washing-up now or in the morning, and possibly curl up with a book. Or maybe Stronghold 2.

Last night’s dream was strange. There was a bike ride (and I think I fell off... again) and that the actors and the cast of Merlin were there (this probably because I sent myself to sleep by wandering around Merlin-land where all drama is not mine).

There was something to do with secrets on a research base in Antarctica. The man in charge of it, and the narrator of my dream, recognised each other, but I don’t know from where. For some reason Merlin and I had to infiltrate the place, in disguise. This make marginally more sense than the cast of Merlin on a Moulton bicycle ride. (The ride was much larger than ones I’m used to, and Bradford was deep in snow. Oh, yes, and then a giant panda erupted out of the snow and catapulted me into Merlin-land, rather than the rest of the cast of Merlin into me-land.

There was also something very, very strange to do with escaping a castle that was in a river or a lake, but the sunset behind it and two clouds of smoke made it look like some horrible face was glaring at us over it, and the face kept expanding, because of the pattern of the smoke and the shape of the clouds, like it was oozing out of the castle and getting nearer. That was grim.

I’m trying to remember other stuff, too, but it’s not really flowing.

I think I married Merlin (for Plot Device reasons... yeah my dreams have plot devices) while on the base in Antarctica. Because otherwise he was going to be mind-wiped for knowing too much about whatever was going on down there in Antarctica. (Still, marrying Merlin. Not a bad plan, brain.)

Oh, and then I had to dress up in Business Clothes and kick the executive asses of a load of conservative old company men. That was fun. And then we had to go rescue Arthur.

There was also something to do with three women – one in purple, one in red and one in orange, elaborate shimmering dresses, and wearing masks – riding through the countryside asking people odd questions to do with love and loss. But they only did it to certain people, and they did ask me. Which was strange, because that bit was (random of randoms) in my home village.

There were a few other random bits and pieces, like someone commenting on Arthur dressing up in a curtain as a child, and something to do with candles, and then I flew somewhere. But y’know. Dreams. Who can say?

Watching Due South with shanaqui and Jamie. They like to put the leading man in either red clothes, or leather ones. I am not complaining.

I really ought to post to DW more. I pondered whether I should post synaesthesic rambles here, I've been thinking of recording them for a while.

Oh Lord, there's some form of trope-subverting anti-James-Bond-esque sledge-and-huskies chase going on on-screen. Good times.

So shanaqui soundly berated me for not having updated either my Dreamwidth account or the Dreamwidth
readheightetc . In my defense, I have been very busy.

So, hi hon, I'm getting on it now. Though I don't exactly have much to say :P 
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