bullet points! which sum up my mood neatly

* I cannot believe I managed to screw up a basic dishcloth pattern -- not even the lacy things I've been knitting these past couple of days, but a square dischloth.

* I also cannot believe that I'm going to go down in fannish history as the writer who knocked up Peter Pevensie (well, Peta Pevensie, but same thing). Not that I'm writing this, obviously. Because this is all a hallucination.

* Work proceeds apace on "Old Timber to New Fires", the Caspian-in-the-Golden-Age story. I'll post the outtakes at some point once I'm sure I'm not going to reuse too much of the dialogue; I'm rewriting it in present tense rather than past and getting rid of a lot of the levity. Not that there isn't still levity ("Little etching on the back that says, ‘To Peter Breakneck, go to hell, Love and Kisses, Drystan Kadreddin,’ in Old Resan?” “It does not say that,” Peter hisses at him. “Exactly.”), but it was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

* Thanks to everyone who chimed in on my college questions post. I'm still taking advice! (Hey, if anyone wants to give me advice on what to bring, I'm packing now, so I'm more than happy to take it. Books? DVDs? Yarn?)

ETA: This whole not-writing thing is a whole lot funnier when I occasionally mess up the pronouns. Sometimes I'm writing het! Sometimes I'm writing slash! Sometimes I'm writing femmeslash! (It is, by the way, supposed to be het. Mostly.) Not that I'm writing anything, again. Obviously.

every journey begins with a single step exactly 22-and-a-half inches long, left foot first

EHS marching band starts today.

I'm not marching -- I can't. My band director has let graduates march with the band in the past -- super seniors -- but I'm leaving on Saturday, two weeks before the Rodeo Parade. (That's right, y'all, my high school marches in a rodeo parade. How's that for country?) I didn't know that marching band was starting today until I checked the band website on a whim, wondering when the barbecue was and if I should drop by and say hi to everyone. And I graduated high school three months ago, but I was in the EHS marching band a full year before I was a freshman at EHS; I marched as an eighth grader, a freshman, a sophomore, a junior, and a senior. I marched flute and I marched bari. Except for my senior year, I gave more to the band program at EHS than I've ever given to anything else. I was the very epitome of a band geek, and I loved marching band more than anything else. And knowing that band starts today, I'm on edge, I keep glancing at the clock as if I answer to the beat of that drum again.

I could, if I wanted to, and maybe I will. I should go say hi. But it's not my band any more. It won't be my band ever again. My fight song isn't my fight song any more; my instrument was never mine.

It hurts, a little bit. It's lonely.

I miss it.

Who knew?

(no subject)

If my mother had her way, I would have been completely packed for Tulane two months ago. But seeing as I need to, oh, let me think about it, wear my clothes, I will not be packed until, uh, Friday. Which happens to be the day before I'm leaving.

Okay, if I had my way, I'd be packing at midnight on Friday with Narnia playing on my laptop, the way I packed to leave Brown last year. Except it was Star Wars then, not Narnia.

I am not packed, by the way. Because I am leaving on Saturday and it is Monday now.

fic prompts: hit me

I am still kindly telling myself that I'm not writing Peta Pevensie (you're not writing it unless it's in a Word document! All wise people know this is true, unless of course you prefer a word processing program other than Word), and Caspian-in-the-Golden-Age is kicking my butt, and I don't want to look at any of my other WIPs or my unbegun apocalyptothon story, and my tools of procrastination right now are knitting and solitaire, and after a thousand games of solitaire, well...sanity? Going. It will be back in a bit when I take my computer down to go watch the Olympics, because I feel bad doing anything other than writing on the computer when I'm watching TV (in this case, comment fics actually do count as writing, but I'm not actually writing them -- look, this distinction makes sense in my head), but at the moment? Sanity? Gone.

So! Give me fic prompts (Narnia, please), and I don't promise anything, but maybe then we will get somewhere. (And God, yes, all right, Peta counts.)