Eep.

So, I am Le Bored. There are certain people who, when bored, tend to do strange things. Rather than painting projects, I decided to try (emphasis on "try") actually finishing a writing project for once. (Gasp.)

To put this in perspective:

1. I am a godawful creative writer.

I know that. Ask me if I care. This is never leaving the happy sanctuary of my head hard drive.

2. Attention span of a goldfish on spee...ooh, a shiny!

Options: Ritalin (no prescription), more neurons (that's my Christmas present), or lotsandlotsandlotsof coffeecoffeecoffeeEEEEEeeeEEEEEeeeeEEEEEE!! (*explodes into cloud of psychedelic espresso beans performing Bollywood hits*)

Seriously, though, the Works in Progress are numerous and, with about 10 exceptions, less than a page long. There is a reason for that. (Well, two: they mostly suck, and I have no drive to finish them.)

3. I cannt tipe gud.

I really should learn to touch-type one of these days. If you haven't seen me type, just picture a bespectacled, grumpy T-Rex trying to use a keyboard. Then, amputate 3 of its fingers. (I do a 3-fingered hunt-and-peck routine. It's speedier than it has any right to be, but still.)

It hindereth my progress, and keepeth me as a yeoman writer.

All that aside, I've decided to put my pain, suffering, and mental anguish move to NJ and unemployment in perspective by using similar ideas as some of the major points in the story. Partially, this is catharctic, but, mostly, it's because I live in the perfect horror movie house. If you count Milo (evil cockatiel from the 9th circle) as a demonic spirit, we've got the works.

In addition, while I'm not seeing spirits crawling around in the wallpaper (yet), the solitude (especially when Alex isn't home in the evening due to work or Wargaming stuff) and boredom are definitely getting to me. For example, I have started talking to inanimate objects (coffeepot, toaster, TV, video game characters, lamps) far more frequently and without realizing it until later. (They have not started replying, which gives me hope, but still.) Adding insomnia and a creepy, noisy house into that mix makes for a very twitchy me. So I've got a number of very vivid ways a house can seem to be out to get someone. (Let's start with the furnace. Has anyone in the audience read The Shining? If so, you know how my week is going, then.)

So, between my somewhat The Haunting of Hill House-esque residence, and my (still far off, but much closer than I'd like) The Yellow Wallpaper-esque mindset, I've got a decent story, character build, and setting. I also would like to stop talking to the coffeepot, and think that a concrete project, with a clear objective, might help me re-establish a schedule and deal with boredom.

...Maybe I'll read the first draft to the microwave. If it has editing suggestions, I'll know the project's objective was not met. And then I will move back to DC and check myself into St. Elizabeth's. (Good measure of success.)