Gettin' High... Apparently

“Don’t take too much of that cough mixture I got you the other day. My boss told me that there is some kind of drug in that so you shouldn’t take too much.”

I’ve managed to get out of the apartment and down to my boyfriend’s old job to have dinner with my boyfriend and my parents. My mother is sitting across the table, neatly folding her napkin to the side. She works in a hospital so her boss is an M.D which inclines me to take her serious.

“Define too much,” I say.

The other night my boyfriend looked at me through a haze of exhaustion while I searched for my lungs somewhere on the floor next to the bed. In lack of a measurement cup I had taken a glass and felt that I already taken more than the bottle required just before I went to bed. Now it felt like it had been less.

“Sweety, I love you but if don’t stop coughing there will be consequences,” my boyfriend informs me and sits up.

I nod like there is a silent agreement that the consequences would mean that under these circumstances it would be OK for him to suffocate me with a pillow. I would understand. I can’t stand this myself. So I go out to the kitchen and have another go at my medicine. Better fill it up this time...

The last thing I remember is the feeling of my head against the pillow. I can’t move, my head is stuck to the pillow. The good news is that I no longer feel the need to cough but I am sure that if I fall asleep it will be the last thing I ever do. I accept these facts and think that if I’m gonna fall in to a coma I better think of something nice just in case I get stuck with my thoughts too. So I think of something nice and then I pass out.

In retrospect, I think I’ve already defined too much.

A Time for Soup and Tea

I have a cold and I feel pathetic.

There is a lot to write about. For one there is my weekend up at my summer place with my boyfriend and our friends. Very successfull voyage. Then there was the election here in Sweden that leaves a lot to be said about.

Unfortunately I can not hold a thought long enough to keep myself interested. I haven't even been able to write my own stuff since before this weekend. So I'm just gonna focus on getting well first.

Too Late for Thoughts

It's 3:30 in the middle of the night and I am suffering from insomnia. I tried writing but I couldn't get to the point. Just mindless conversation about nothing.

Plot? We don't need no stinking plot. Right?

We should make an effort though. PWP becomes a little trite after a while. A little redundant and meaningless when you're trying to develop and grow.

Ha! Who are we kidding? This is just a drug. And we know the timeline will be revised... again. And again.

I have actually been pushing for an idea for about five years. I finally broke her down and got my way. Poking some rather big holes in the timeline. Now she is stuck in that mode along with me and we can't seem to get out. She has seen the light, that's all I have to say about that. That and Hallelulja!

After all, this is us playing God....

Here We Go Again

what day is it

and in what month

this clock never seemed so alive

In the middle of the night when the power of suggestions is triggerd by the slightest thing and stronger than ever you just have to fall a little in love. So we do.

Cleaning The Keyboard Instead

Sometimes you just sit in front of the computer trying to force yourself to be creative. You write one line. You erase it. You write a new line. You’re not happy about it but you continue writing, hoping that it will come to you. It usually doesn’t. And then when you read what you managed to create you see how the stitches just falls apart. There is too much focus on how or even why someone went from sitting in the couch to standing in the kitchen. It’s structured. You have no sence of scent or emotion and your characters are stumping out cigarettes on the balcony rail just to fill out the space in between. In between nothing.

And then somtimes when you’re doing the dishes or standing in line somewhere it just strikes down on you. That intense feeling that starts with a goofy unintelligent smile and ends with an urgent need to get to a computer, a piece of paper, anything, before the emotion of it all is gone. And even then it’s hard to capture it like you intended. This is the greatest feeling ever but it usually keeps you overwhelmed with the images in your mind and you can’t make heads or tale of it all. So in most cases you end up with a blank sheet at best. Attempting to write at all in such a state usually ends in disaster.

There is some balance there in between that allows for you to actually be creative. Right now I feel stuck between the two in a place where ideas linger but won’t exsist outside my head.

Writing is like therapy for me. Comfort food. I crave it. This is very frustrating.

Keeping it Real

We created almost all our characters almost ten years ago and they still keep getting more and more complex. However, writing a character for almost ten years has its drawbacks. Sometimes we take the concept of getting in to character a little bit too far....


“So the thing I sent you. Any thoughts.”

“I loved it.”

Which is always the case.

“Cause I was thinking that he would do that.”

“Of course he would. That’s how he is.”

Silence.

“If he was a real person.”

Silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s a character. We’re just making this up. You are aware of that right?”

Silence

“Right?”

“Yeah...” Long dissapointing pause.



This is still under heavy debate.

Strange

Look at that, it's back! Whaddayaknow.

Warped Signifigance

Puners be coming left and right.

And for some reason the function that allows for people to comment on the blog has vanished without a trace. I can't seem to figure out why. This does not fit in to my own megalomaniacal cosmology.

Stuck in the quagmire.