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It's still November.
Nov. 18th, 2009 01:38 pm*checks watch*
Isn't November over yet? Feh. I always wonder if what's going on in my head leaks out in public, no matter how much I try to put a good face on it. November brings out a fight-or-flight instinct in me, and I'm always aware of this tightly-strung energy humming around me, as though the edges of my personal fabric are fraying and unraveling just a little bit faster than I can knit them back up again. What's difficult to tell is whether I'm projecting my own neuroses on others, or whether they're actually reacting to all the frantic energy I'm always putting into holding myself together until all this passes, only to come back the next year.
Okay, onto more light-hearted stuff.
I have a massive bruise on my hip, from where I fell last night. Did I mention that I fell on a (thankfully empty) coffee cup? Yeah. Insult to injury. Or injury to injury, in this case. That'll teach me to leave my mug on the floor by the sofa.
There has been a WEIRD conjunction in the fiction in my life, in which I suddenly keep running into fictional characters named Daphne. It's a little jarring, since it's usually a pretty rare name. Has it known a resurgence in popularity lately?
It's weird. I love my name, always have, have always been, to the point of being kind of obsessively protective of it (I hate it when people misspell my name or shorten it out of laziness), and it feels WEIRD when the characters are people I wouldn't approve of in life. I mean, how DARE they sully our good name? And yes, I know, they're fictional. Eesh.
I have no explanation.
Isn't November over yet? Feh. I always wonder if what's going on in my head leaks out in public, no matter how much I try to put a good face on it. November brings out a fight-or-flight instinct in me, and I'm always aware of this tightly-strung energy humming around me, as though the edges of my personal fabric are fraying and unraveling just a little bit faster than I can knit them back up again. What's difficult to tell is whether I'm projecting my own neuroses on others, or whether they're actually reacting to all the frantic energy I'm always putting into holding myself together until all this passes, only to come back the next year.
Okay, onto more light-hearted stuff.
I have a massive bruise on my hip, from where I fell last night. Did I mention that I fell on a (thankfully empty) coffee cup? Yeah. Insult to injury. Or injury to injury, in this case. That'll teach me to leave my mug on the floor by the sofa.
There has been a WEIRD conjunction in the fiction in my life, in which I suddenly keep running into fictional characters named Daphne. It's a little jarring, since it's usually a pretty rare name. Has it known a resurgence in popularity lately?
It's weird. I love my name, always have, have always been, to the point of being kind of obsessively protective of it (I hate it when people misspell my name or shorten it out of laziness), and it feels WEIRD when the characters are people I wouldn't approve of in life. I mean, how DARE they sully our good name? And yes, I know, they're fictional. Eesh.
I have no explanation.
