"Well, We Aren't as Good as You, You See, So We Don't Use Christian Names."

There's been quite a bit of ups and downs these past few days.  All for good, growing reasons.  I may have grown past the spitting of venom when faced with my own disappointments at some point in my life, but that doesn't guarantee that I won't destroy in other, not-as-vile, departments.

Where is the outlet and smear of paint when someone loves as if he/she/ze/they were watching television?  Not in the grandiose sense, but rather, in the sense that they stay where they are and click helplessly away at an imagined remote control that doesn't seem to change the outcome of their current situation? 

click click click

I imagine a stream of urine running down their leg.

Inaction truly is a shame.

But what is left to do for the self-imposed helpless than to simply look away?

[I don't mind their urine.  I simply re-route it to nourish the plants that flourish in the gardens I care to tend to. Those that bear sustenance as opposed to pretty, but bitter, fruit.]

(pause)

In other news, today has been day one of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  I will be writing a novel of 50,000 words by the end of November.

I am excited.

I am nervous.

I am having a lot of fun.

I have, officially, reached (and past!) the target goal of 1667 words per day.

For day one.

To be continued.




And for now, I am off.

Love and rigorous reading (and writing) to you,

k.

(title is a translation by Gwynne Edwards from the original "Debe ser, entonces, que entre nosotros, que no somos iguales, nos llamamos con nombres no cristianos", from the play Flores de papel by Egon Wolff)
(Obviously, "Christian names" is a farcical concept. Unless someone, themselves, decides that they are not.)