Apartment 5015

I was in my new apartment in Manchester when he called. I had just got out of the shower when the buzzer on my intercom rang. He wanted to go over the script, find out what I expected out of the character.

"Fifth floor, number 5015." I told him.

I looked around my apartment. It was modern art deco. All my furniture was red, the walls were white with silver accents, my coffee table was silver and glass and sat atop a very large white sheepskin rug. There was a loft above. The silver and glass staircase curved up to it. Everything was tidy, too tidy.

There was a knock at my door. My door had frosted glass on the sides, so although you could see in and out, you couldn't make out any details. I looked through my peep hole and saw him standing there, a little wet from the rain outside; his dark brown hair now black from being wet. I wrapped my white robe around me, my hair still dripping and opened the door.

He smiled at me and then paused.

"Is this a bad time?" Noticing my present state.

I rolled my eyes and turned, walking towards my little dining table, conveniently only ten steps from the door.

"No. This is the best time actually. I have meetings and all sorts of things to do the next few days."

He walked in and shut the door behind him. I looked back at him.

"Have a seat!" I threw him a towel I had begun to used for my hair.

He walked to the table, pulled a chair out and sat down; drying himself off.

"Really nice place you have here. Like it?"

"Oh, I love it!" I lied.

He saw through me.

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, its nice, but its cold. A nice place to stay, but not live."

We both agreed that a house in the country would be more suitable, but inconvenient at the moment.

I rounded the corner to where the kitchen entrance was. There were light switches there and it was dark in the apartment. There were round dimmer switches and regular ones. I tried them all. I turned the dimmer switches this way and that, no light. I flicked a switch and a red light outside my door flashed. Oops, emergency signal. I turned it off, tried other switches. I managed to turn a light on but it was more of a night light, hardly useful for reading.
He came over to try and help, to no avail.

"New place, I haven't worked out all the gadgets yet."

I was frustrated, no, infuriated, and embarrassed. I couldn't work the lights in my own apartment!

"Its all right!" he laughed. I looked at him and he had a broad smile. Even in the dark I could see his eyes shining with laughter.

I sighed. My attention was caught by a black man standing on the stairwell outside my door. The window above my door was not frosted and had a small view of the stairwell leading up to the sixth floor. The black man was holding a clip board and had an ear piece.

"All secure at this level." he said.

I flicked a bunch of switches again and he peered into my apartment. I felt embarrassed again and, along with my male guest, smiled and waved to the black man. The black man left and I realized too late that I could've asked him how to turn on the lights!

"Really, we don't need any light to discuss the script." he insisted.

I shrugged. "Alright then. I'll be right back, gong to make myself more presentable."

I headed up the curved stairs to the loft area where my bed was. The only disorderly place in my house was my computer desk next to my bed. The rest of the place was kept in immaculate condition. I had a dressing screen so that I could change without prying eyes. I threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I came back down stairs and sensed relief from my guest.

"I'm glad you're not one of those people who think they need to dress to the nines when they have a visitor over."

I looked at him and blushed. He laughed. He was dressed in a black jacket, green t-shirt, black jeans and brown sandals. I went to my windows, opposite of my kitchen and opened the curtains. Hopefully there would be light from outside to brighten up the place. The windows were massive, from floor to ceiling, from one wall to another. The street lights offered little help through the pouring rain. Water cascaded down the windows, distorting everything outside. Lightning flashed, illuminating my apartment for a brief moment. I sat down on the big red couch against the window, my legs curled under me and gazed out; feeling and hearing the rumble of the thunder that followed.

"I love thunderstorms." I said, lying my head casually on my arm, which rested on the back of the couch.

"They're magnificent." he said, sitting down on the couch, gazing out the window with me.

"There's always something calming about them."

"Exactly." I whispered, hypnotized as the water on the window made the street lights outside seem to waver.

The storm raged on and we both sat in silence, enjoying it.

The End Of The Woad (UPDATED)

And Now for Something Completely Different
In other news: I finally got access to an old Woad site. Eleven years and I was just now able to access it. I deleted everything there but saved most of the text to a note on facebook. Great responses from "those in the know". I was aiming to just remove pics of "You-Know-Who" Then I stared at the pages, read what was on them and realized, this wild ride is over. And so with Woad, the pages went quietly into the night.

I look upon my days in Clan Woad with much fondness. Yet I revel in seeing just how far some of us have come since then. We've all done a lot of growing up. Most of us settled in our lives. Some of us successfully so! Many of us still too geeky to leave those MMOs to the younger generation (because they're still too fucking fun!). We all left on separate paths and some of those paths have converged again, in parallel, with reconnections being made a decade later. The feeling is akin to a high school reunion, not that I've ever been to one, I'm "goth" remember and that's just too mainstream for me! ;) But I imagine it is. Clan Woad was awesome, the first step we took toward social media, to participating in the first MMORPG by Origin Systems, to making some lifelong (and dare I say, even familial!) connections to people hundreds - thousands - of miles away from us. Something that's so "normal" these days that one doesn't even blink when you mention talking to a friend in Finland.

I'd say "I'd like to have those days back", but the truth is, I wouldn't. It doesn't make any sense to live in the past. Memory - that's the best place for the past. Although its great to reminisce, the real adventure is here and now. Dream of the future, remember the past, but live in the present. I love making new memories and if those new memories include people from Woad, well, its the icing on the cake really!

UPDATE: Many of the old members of Clan Woad have found each other on Facebook. We've resurrected the Clan on World of Warcraft. The new website is http://clanwoad.enjin.com but you'll find us on BeyondIRC in our old channel!

Seriously? And The Party

Let me get something straight here. I'm an NOT a partyer. On occasion, I don't mind a good party or night out at a club. But going every week, is tedious, don't like it. I prefer staying home and watching tv or playing a good computer game. Alcohol, even at home, is a rarity. I used to drink more often than not, but it got old and I grew out of it, so its another thing I don't do much. Getting stupid with friends is fun, getting stupid alone, is just pathetic.

I HATE talking on the phone all day. I don't make many phone calls. In fact, I haven't called anyone in the past three weeks. Text me, Tweet me, Email me... don't call me, unless you're in my top 5 (or its an emergency) and don't expect me to call you just to shoot the shit. Catching up, fine, to be a rejected Seinfeld episode, no.

I'm not goth. And I know by making that statement it makes me "Oh so goth!" but seriously, whatever. I like the aesthetic, the art, the architecture and I used to like what the subculture stood for, but the scene has since been over run by cheerleaders wearing black and sniveling little brats who think the world revolves around them. No thanks. Keep your cliques and self-pity to yourselves, it goes against everything us post-punk era mainstream rejects believed in.

Onward.

THE PARTY

So I had this dream, seems I've been having a lot of weird dreams lately, about a singer I know and his fiance. They were in London for a reunion tour with his old band and had planned to get married there in the UK, for his mother's sake as she's too old to make the trip to the US. I'm there, along with one of my friends. There's this lavish party at said singer's friend's house, the singer's friend happens to be the father of someone I know. We're all having a good time. Things go great, especially for the soon to be married couple. Until my friend embarrasses the fuck out of me by being an attention whore. Thankfully, the "someone I know", helps me escape the nonsense for some peaceful, quiet, laid back time. Typical dream about some real life issues, until I tell someone about it and was given some striking info.

1) I did not know said singer was friends with my friend's dad.
2) I did not know there was going to be a reunion with the band.
3) I did not know singer's mother was too old to make the trip to the US.

Odd.

Never Sleeping Again

And its not because of Freddy Krueger. Those dreams. Well some of them are coming true. I've talked to no one, especially those in the dreams, about said dreams and now I'm seeing stuff in those dream "conversations" coming true. Its really weirding me out. Its not just the conversations either. I dreamt last night that my dog would get loose, and it happened when someone failed to mention the back door to the basement was open. Which has been the focus of my furor today. Just shows what one person may think is unimportant information, can turn into a life or death situation for another. Yes, dramatic, how would you feel if your 4 year old disappeared from the yard with his/her power wheel and headed into big rig traffic? Lots of 18 wheelers in my area since there's a heavy industrial presence here. Not a nice thought. Then there's the "Oh he'll come back." bit. On his own or carried in someone's arms because he was squashed by a trucker who doesn't believe in speed limits? Thankfully, it was a trucker who scared the shit out of him long enough for my son to grab dog. Seriously, when I rounded the corner in the car, there was a big rig parked in the middle of the road just idling where my son and dog were and another man (my dog is deathly afraid of men he doesn't know) blocking the only escape route. My son said my dog then went behind a bush to take a shit, pausing long enough for him to grab him. Judos to trucker and dude, but the trucker was on a residential road he wasn't supposed to be on. Nah, they don't break laws, not around here. Never. Stupid fucks.

Sleepless in The 'Burgh, or close to it

Be careful what you wish for.

I asked the Sandman to help me escape from the pain of brain exploding migraines by putting me to sleep. Sleep I did, whilst he heartily laughed at my request.

"'Sleep', you said, not rest."

Dealing with the pain of a thousand daggers piercing the 3 lbs of wiggling gray matter in my skull was enough to drive me to self drilling a hole in my head. Not a pain free moment from Saturday to Tuesday, and just when I thought I was in the clear, the daggers came again. Never have I been brutalized in such a way. A migraine here or there, maybe two, but several days worth?

To top it off, I dreamt odd dreams. Eat your heart out Kurosawa! They almost seemed "Dreamscape" like. I felt at times that I was in control of the dreams and at others that someone else was pulling the strings -- a battle of wills -- so to speak. These dreams didn't even feel like dreams, I felt like I was actually living them, somehow. The people in them, genuinely surprised to see me there or expecting my arrival. I did nothing but talk to them. I knew who these people were, a couple of them didn't know me, but it was as if we all knew each other quite well. Seemed everyone was content on laying in bed to talk. Completely plutonic, it was just talk afterall, but laying on their beds -- whether it be their own or a bed used whilst traveling -- seemed to be the thing to do.

Every dream the same, since Saturday, them laying in bed, I, next to them, talking. I would try to move the conversation elsewhere, which would work for a while but the bed always ended up being the main area of conversation. They would fall asleep as -- toward the end -- it would turn into a particularly emotional conversation and I would watch them for a time, wiping tear drenched faces and brushing damp hair out of their face, savoring the peaceful, slow, monotony of their breathing as they slept. But I took on the pain, anguish and insecurities, from those who openly admitted to feeling it and from those who tried hard to hide it deep within. I'd leave them at the crack of dawn, knowing that when the sun came up, it would be a bright new day for them. I would smile, knowing the raw, emotional wounds would scar over and become a distant memory. In reality, I don't particularly like seeing people so vulnerable, it breaks my heart. I'm always at a loss for words and never say the "right thing". I most often commiserate, which I did a lot of in these dreams. Seemed like what they wanted, was someone to just vent to, knowing I'd keep it in complete confidence.

One in particular really got me thinking. I dreamt of him on June 1st. I'd never seen his house, much less his bedroom, before and when I did -- today -- I was a little more than shocked. It was the same room and bed I had seen in my dream. I don't know what to make of it. I haven't brought it up to him, just seems extraordinarily weird and I feel weird enough!

The point I'm trying to get here is that after waking up, I felt like I hadn't slept at all! Like it all happened in the blink of an eye. I woke up achey, stressed, exhausted and could feel the trickle of pain edging into my skull to signal another migraine on the attack.

Only one migraine today and I slept it off. Sort of...

Dark. Restless.

I'm staring at the screen, feeling as if something must be done. Something....

My room is dark, lit only by the illumination of my computer monitor. A hint of music emanating from the speakers. I should turn it up. But as it stands, I'm being disturbed more than I'd like. A certain older female figure in this house has interrupted my thoughts all evening with her excessive inquiries into matters that are of no concern to her. Turning up the music would only pique her curiosity further. To make matters worse, she ignores my perspicuous growls. I need a lock for my door.

I'm brooding. About what? I haven't a clue. I want to brood. I feel like it's the right thing to do. I haven't eaten all day. I don't feel like eating. Maybe that's why I'm in the mood I'm in. I feel like someone close to me has died. There's a sense of foreboding, as if I'm going to hear some distressing news at any moment.

I've been restless all day. I went for a drive. It didn't do much good. I went for a walk. This also did nothing for me. I sat and wrote down nine pages worth of one my fondest memories. This did nothing but intensify my agitated state. So I deleted the entire thing, disgusted.

Can we talk about pain? Seems I have pain everywhere now. It's like I'm in a constant state of having the flu. I don't know what's going on. Seems each week something new hurts and doesn't stop hurting.

I don't know. I wish I were tired, then I could end this day. I think I'll go stare at the stars for a few moments. Try to clear my head.

Break

Taking a break from the internets.

Saw "Watchmen" at a drive in theatre (they're everywhere here), it was awesome! Saw Dr Manhattan and the first thing I thought was "Throw a kilt on him, he's done (Dun)!" I guess only I would get that joke.

Heading out to Cali on Thurs, hopefully be back a week later. Flying in, driving out. Driving the 'Rents here to their new home.

One majorly delightful part of this trip will be that I'm going to meet my little sister for the first time! (Technically the 2nd but I don't think 30 mins as babies really counts!) YAY!

And I'm thoroughly enraptured with Twitter! I may just get rid of my MySpace.

Voltaire Interview

It was such a joy to interview Voltaire! It airs this afternoon and tonight on WCUC.

Letting the chips fall

Medication, or the lack thereof, can either be the most helpful thing to a person, or the worst. Granted, there's a lot of misdiagnosing going on, children needlessly being poisoned because their parents are too busy to deal with their behavioral issues. Want less hassle? Zombify the kids. Every lackluster parents' answer to their child's incessant curiosity and boundless energy, "My kid has ADHD!" or some other label to explain away their child's lack of manners, social ettiquette, lack of respect for authority, question everything nature... start in the home to find soultions to those "problems" before looking to get that "magic pill". Some kids need the help, most don't, they're just being kids.

Then you have the adults, ones who've been on medication all their lives for a single problem, like ADD, and the older they get, the more medication they're handed to cope with whatever is ailing them; insomnia, heart problems, arthritis, liver damage, muscle soreness, I'm sure they have a pill that makes you like brussel sprouts too, isn't there one for every "ailment" known to mankind?

But when does taking these medications and feeling the way one does, become habit? It takes approximately 21 days to form a new habit.... what about 21 years? Being originally diagnosed when they're a kid, how many actually go and get re-evaluated. The problem with the psychiatrists and psychologist, is that as long as you have a history of having a certain problem, they won't bother to re-evaluate you unless: 1) they care more for the patient than the money and kick backs, 2) you ask for a re-evaluation and fight to get one done (which may or may not lead to being put on more medication for being aggressive and non-compliant) or 3) They ignore the original problem altogether to label you for new ones.

Furthermore, you're never put on just one medication, eventually your medicine cabinet will resemble that of a small pharmaceutical quality control room, with one medication to counteract the side effects of another and another to counteract the side effects of the one used to counteract side effects of the first little poison pill you're given, so on and so forth. See where I'm going with this? Its the snow ball effect. Soon you're taking so many pills that your stomach actually fills up and thinks you're eating food, culling your appetite even futher but then reeling back in horror at the fact there are no vitamins or proteins to distribute to the body. Solution: more pills, of the supplement variety.

You leave one downward spiral for another and get caught in the proverbial catch-22. If you stop taking your pills, your body goes into shock, your brain tries to compensate for an endocrine system that's been suppressed for years, if not decades, neurotransmitters go haywire, like ants with a caved in tunnel, flooding the body with monoamines racing full throttle through the twisted nether of the circulatory system, trying in vane to stabilize everything, which, in short, makes you go temporarily neurotic. Depression, paranoia, anger...

The only way to stop the madness is to fuck it all, wean yourself off, learn some self control... impossible when your future hangs in the balance and depends on everything you have on the table at this very moment. There are no breaks, no way to seclude yourself, no chance of delaying projects and commitments, no time to make health a number one priority in this dog eat dog industry.

Ultimate solution, move to France.

Those of us who witness the ups and downs in our beloved friends are sometimes left with a spirit so shredded and mangled you might as well add milk and eat it for breakfast. Wanting to help, but not wanting to exacerbate the problem by encouraging more pill popping. Listening to the tirades, the outburst of anger, the loathing of self-pity and doubt. Sometimes we sit in a dark corner with our friend, holding on to their huddled, sobbing mass as tightly as we can, lest the winds of agony carry them off to drown in a sea of despair and failed dreams, rocking them back and forth in an attempt to throw them a life preserver of comfort and hope; to shine a light into the darkness encompassing their soul.

The worst of it is not being able to be there, in person. You can't slap a face, hide the bullets, dull the knives, stop traffic or make duct tape as useful as ever. Wrecked with worry, fear, heartache, anger; helpless to do anything except leave messages when the phone isn't answered or the login id is not signed in... frantically dialing every number you can think of to try and get a small army to the rendezvous point and start the search for a lost soul wandering the streets of Santa Monica and lending moral support and a comforting voice to the nerve wrecked pregnant wife sitting at home wondering what the hell went wrong ("Well you see hon, back in high school..."), keep her occupied, keep her mind off it. All the while keeping it on the down low so the drama starved press won't have a field day playing hacky sack with the feelings of a tormented celebrity. Faith, trying to put faith in that the universe will do what needs to be done and hoping that includes bringing him home safe, sane and alive, is getting harder to keep a grip on the longer this takes.

All's quiet on the txting front... no news is supposed to be good news... not in this case.

Edit: So as soon as I posted this, I got good news. Everything's okay, he decided to sit on a hillside to watch the sunrise and was making his way back home. So, he's somewhat good. Thank you universe!

The Updates

Anyway, after running the gauntlet of the economically impaired real estate market and viewing the house today to make sure things were repaired in proper order, all the while driving through a seriously intense snow storm (sent by Bob the Bray, fucker!) in which drivers of the less intelligent persuasion were skidding and sliding off the road as they passed us; I can safely say, the house is OURS! Monday we sign closing papers and get our keys. But get this, I must've done some pretty good shit in the eyes of the cosmic wonder and am reaping the rewards, we're actually getting money BACK, that's right folks, nearly $800 back from our $2k earnest money deposit. So instead of sending hubby down with a check for closing, they'll be handing us one. Maybe it was the harrowing ordeal of having to grit my teeth and not complain as the VA stuck a proverbial knife into my gut and twisted it around with all their frustratingly sweet apologies for the delays.

So here's the house:


We plan on moving in next week, although there's no guarantee on when internet will be hooked up, just yet; we still need to get two stoves and one fridge.

Also, I found this online while skipping merrily oblivious down the sewage drain of memory lane. Hil-fucking-larious and too damn close for comfort.

Somewhere, somehow they all got chewed up and spit back out. They don't taste like living anymore. Don't you see what's it's like living in this deranged, weary blender of a world? Every day is an agonizing ordeal, like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt. Ah, you never forget your senior prom. You think I'm sick? Well the only disease I've got is modern life, a shnug-busting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of letdowns, putdown, trickledowns, shutouts, freezeouts, sellouts, numbnuts, nickenputz and nimrods! All making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Pontiac with your tongue! And even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like say if some nimphomaniac telephone operator with the muscle control of Romanian matslappers agree to a little strip air-hockey, it will be over before it starts, cuz some foul lacking, fedder reeking cab-jockey slams his checker up your hatchback and the cab is owned by some pinata spanker from a Santaria culpa a culpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big that all it needs is Michael Jordan's autograph to make it complete! And even with all this, with all this! I still drag my sorry butt off the sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day! Knowing when it's time to flash the cosmic card key at those pearly gates, I won't be in the coffin anyways, because some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas and other assorted good and plenty to that same Santaria cult! So does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging onto sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails, while life dirty dances on their digits, and is it really any wonder THAT I SEEM DERANGED? - Duckman

I forgot how much we loved that show and now I'm seriously missing Cornfed!

Tooodles, lovlies!

Elathan's Muse

His jet black hair glistened in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the open window. He layed there on the floor, his head in my lap, peacefully, completely relaxed; the cares of the past and future washed away by the light, soothing breaths of the present. I gazed into his hazel eyes, they seemed black in the ambient light, with sparks of gold fire glimmering from within. I reached down and aimlessly ran my fingers through his soft, tousled hair, playing with the stray tendrils. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment. A smile crept across his face as he slowly closed his eyes. I too smiled. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him and I knew he felt the same way about me.

"If we keep this up, people will say we're up to something." he whipered, amused.

"Fuck 'em." I blatanly replied, laughter within my words.

He chuckled then breathed deep, letting loose a contented sigh.

It wouldn't be the first time we were accused of being less than platonic. It came with the job of being best friends with the opposite sex. The argument had become old and not worth more than a few facetious comments for acknowledgment.

There was nothing sexual about our relationship. A fact I treasured more than anything. What we had was perfect, anything more would destroy everything we had built together in the last 20 years. He, the brother I never had; I, the sister he never had, yet so similar you could swear we were true siblings. That's not to say we didn't have our fights, disagreements and declared all out psychological warfare on each other as kids. As adults, those events are a few and far between.

It's these quiet moments, when the world slips away, when we can just be ourselves, when nothing seems to matter but being in each others presence, that I lived for. These moments were the world's saving grace.

"Time to go, crackhead." I gently reminded.

He groaned and rolled on his stomach, propping himself on all fours and stared at me.

"Have to?" he asked, the glimmering gold in his eyes fading as they grew dark with dismay.

I sighed, "Yeah. You have to get up early, Mr. Hollywood."

He dropped his head, he hair falling over his ears to his chin.

"Yes mother." He gibed.

I playfully smacked him across the top of his head.

He stood, several distinct cracks emanating from his back as he stretched. He reached for me and helped me up, giving me a long, tight hug.

"I'll see you soon." he softly said, with a tinge of guilt, knowing "soon" was relative.

I simply replied, "I know." swallowing the lump in my throat. It could be next week, it could be next year, it could be longer.

He grabbed his black jean jacket, pulling out his Blackberry to turn it back on. He walked to the couch where my husband had fallen asleep and kicked his legs, attempting to wake him up.

"I'm off, Sandman." He said, using the nickname he'd given my husband for his time in the Iraqi desert.

My husband blinked, mumbled and rolled over on the couch; we laughed.

I walked him to the door and he turned to me.

"If you need anything..." he started.

I interrupted him with a shake of my head. I knew what he was going to say. But I didn't need his charity.

Although defeated, he smiled. Parting was always awkward, we never had enough time anymore. Not like we did back in high school, when we had the woods between Glendale Cemetery and the golf course; discussing the fine art of torture in gruesome detail.

"I love you, sis."

"Hang 'em high, bro." I said with a grin.

He snorted in amusement.

I opened the door and he walked out, never looking back. And I didn't stay to watch him leave.

I am his ever present shadow, his creative companion, his shoulder to cry on, his outlet for venting, his ghostly secret... his dark... little... muse.

Moon!

Pride is too weak a description for what I feel right now! Hopefully we'll reconnect at some point.

MOON

Sci-Fi Thriller from Liberty Films (picked up by Sony), starring Sam Rockwell coming May 25th 2009! This will be Duncan Jones' directorial debut!

In Moon, Sam Bell is a contract miner who's been sent to the moon Selene for 3 years to harvest an important gas that will end Earth's energy problems. Bell is a troubled man with a short temper, but the last 3 years have taught him how to control his emotions. At the end of his time Bell is excited to return home and see his wife and daughter. But towards towards the end of his stay he starts seeing and hearing things. Bell discovers that the company he's working for, Lunar, plans on replacing him in its own fashion, and it sounds like cloning or time travel is afoot.

****
"I'm finally directing my first feature film, a grown up piece of science fiction starring the incredibly lovely and talented Sam Rockwell. I would very much like to use your tentacle-like reach to get this bit of news out to the world at large.

We have just finished the first week of production in London and the film is already looking pretty damn special. Think "some sci-fi classic from the 70s that somehow was over-looked and has only now been unearthed."

I'll try and stop by every week or two and give you another tidbit, if you like, but in return, if you could get the rumor-mill going, through the Internets, the IMMDBs, the Aint-It-Cools, the gossip sites and to your mates in general... to any place you think would help get tongues wagging, I would be most appreciative! More than that... I would love you long time. Hope you're all well!

Yours, covered in film stock and very 70’s beard, Duncan Jones." (Taken from www.bebo.com/themoviecalledmoon)

Pass it on folks!
www.liberty-films.co.uk/

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

No, I'm not stuttering, I have that damn David Bowie song stuck in my head.

I'm really not sure where to start. Reminiscing about last year maybe? I'm trying to avoid writing work. I'm just not in the mood. Lack of sleep, stress over the house, recovering from the NYC/Queens Trip, getting some educational stuff in for the kids.

So, 1994, teen angst, teen alcoholism, depression.... time travel. Okay, it'll work somehow. I picked a city to base it in, researched the geography and local hangouts. Yeah, now I gotta remember all the crap that happened in High School so I can relay that into my characters.

Next, part 2 of a previous project, in 3 episodes. Estranged daughter, secrets of life, alien technology... yeah, that'll eventually work itself out too... at 4am in the morning, waking me from a dead sleep and prompting an 18 hour marathon of writing, deleting, editing, writing, editing, re-writing! Ugh. Why can't I live near a Coffee Bean?

Then--there's always a last bit that makes things seem over the top--I have a script to write about a mass grave, psychotic cults and the search for blood relations, where "blood" plays a significant part. Gruesome, thrilling, twisted and right up my alley.

The worst of it, being someplace I'm not 100% comfortable writing in. Can't get my groove going. Its not like I can wake up at that 4am calling and come out here to write in a t-shirt and underwear. I'm hoping to be in my house in two weeks, tops. Crossing fingers, toes, eyes, arms, legs and anything else that can be crossed, except my mother!

I finally set up WinAmp, a requirement for writing, because I hate Windows Media Player.

Highlight of the weekend: Met John Ford and Ian Lloyd. I don't really know who they are, but I met them at the Cutting Room. Oh, I also met some more of my biological family and made plans for the NY Comicon and the I-Con.

And I just got the call I was expecting about ANOTHER writing project... not committing yet.

Calgon......