Weeks ending

Grey today, and melancholy, although I've solved my Thanksgiving dilemma, and it didn't involve telling anyone to frell off or attempt obscene things with their body parts, so yeah for me. (Although it did provoke some melodrama in my farscapefriday drabble. I had visions of writing D'Argo, or Chiana, or Aeryn. Maybe later).

cretkid's organizing a writeathon this weekend. She seems to think I'll be writing smut:) Amazingly enough, she's probably wrong, as I really do want to finish Blue Eyes. I do, occasionally, write things that don't involve sex. No, really, I do! Anyway, lots of great writers are participating and ck will be linking to them on her LJ, so go check 'em out (or sign up!!). This is a way to encourage each other to write, to plot and think and reason along with color commentary and hopefully a lot of encouragement from each other.

I will probably not be logging in until Sunday because of rehearsal and concert going. Whoo hoo. Damien Rice, and Beck and Gary Jules and Liz Phair!! Haven't been to a concert in ages and ages, and am beyond excited. I so love KCRW.

Awhile ago, someone ( I think it was jeviltwin, but I'm not sure) mentioned a catalogue where one could purchase chickens and pigs and things to be donated to people in need. If anyone knows anything about this, or any other organization that does this kind of thing, I'd love to know more about it.

Every year I want to give donations instead of Christmas gifts and this sounds like the perfect opportunity. I know The Heifer Project is also something I need to investigate. I have too much stuff, the people in my life have too much stuff, and there are too many people out there who not only don't have too much stuff, they're barely surviving. That is far more important than the giving of shiny new DVD's and scented lotion to various material heavy relatives. The only one getting a tangible present this year is the munchkin. Because she's one and a half, and has red curly hair like her auntie, and is beyond adorable and deserves prezzies!

And GIP (from reblog. Excellent use of Bob:)

Burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail

ETA because I got tired of my own whining and decided to go for productive instead. I am going to work on Blue Eyes this weekend. But if anyone has fic challenges, or fic requests, I'd be happy to try and tackle those too.

Hour and half, and then still not home, but to a student's. 12 years old, privileged, lazy and I've no patience. So tired that I can count my ribs, wrapping under bunched muscles, scraping and tightening.

Work too much for too little and today it all catches up in the hovering greyness outside, which normally makes me feel safe and cocooned, but today just makes me think of the tinny taste of snow in the air, and the impossibility of such a thing. I miss home. Miss family, friends. Not unusual, but I'm bitter with it today, for some reason.

Writing feels off, like I'm putting down the words and leaving them hollow, nothing behind them. I hated the first thing I wrote today, the first drabble, and yet I can still touch lines that I love in it. I hate doing things badly, hate being wrong, and doing things poorly makes me wrong. I want to stand up on my desk and say, look,look, it's better. I can do better. I did better. So I'm fitful and childish, and want firm hands on my back, making things right. I want to cry and rub my eyes, and it's so foolish. I can be so foolish.

I want a night of quiet, I think. Or loud. Maybe I need loud. I want to bite and kick yesterday. Felt my own restraint bleed off a little. Felt vicious and spiteful, and am glad today that I was kindish, and sharp, but not mean.

crankygrrl feared that she wouldn't have this song at home, so here it is dear.Shelter from the Storm

Blood on the Tracks for me was all about grad school. My own rebellion against myself, and this album, and Nick Cave's Murder Ballads, caught between crying and fear the whole time, between frustration and sex and what I'd been supposed to want for all of my life, and I wanted expensive boots so much more than my Ph.D, and maybe still haven't forgiven myself for that. Whole album is absolutely perfect, and Tangled Up in Blue, which I played ever morning that we lived in that miserable, dilapidated house on Snelling, waiting for it to crash down around our ears, and it made S. crazy, but she never took it out of the CD player because I was hanging on by a thread, and some mornings that thread was that song.

The rest of the CD, redemption, and Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts. Simple Twist of Fate, and it's being home again with my mom, listening as a kid, grown ups and saying goodbye, and finally as a grownup, Idiot Wind and the real, incredibly unromantic reality of saying goodbye. Dylan's voice is clearer on this album, clean and angry, few rasps, but none of his mid career falsetto sweetness, just putting it down on paper, pure and simple, not snarling, not repentent, but down, there for all of us to see, notes and words leached out of him.