Of Desires and Old Receipts

Writers are power-hungry.
They control their own world. They control the lives of countless characters. The control the emotions and inspire the actions of people they don't even know.
Writers have more power than the U.S. President, and it's all in their head.
I want to be one. I want to be able to make people laugh, cry, and dream. I want to be able to make people fall in love. I want to inspire them. I want to give them something to live through when they have nothing else. And all without knowing them.
It's amazing.
What could be better?
Aside from that, I just want to be that entity, the mysterious one who's imagination is a thing you can pick up and sink into. I want to be an entity from my house, sitting on a pillow in my pajamas, ignoring the telephone with a laptop on my lap, and typing madly to finish a chapter before my deadline. I want my editor to knock on the door, but I won't hear, because I'll be too absorbed in what I'm writing. She will have to pick the lock with the bobby pin hidden deep in her purse underneath all the manuscripts and old receipts. When she bursts through the door, she will stand in front of me until I look up, and I will jump five feet back on my cushion. My editor will laugh, and then she will be all business.
I want to dream about my characters, and wake up inspired.
I want to see a published copy of my book.
I want to stand around the set, insisting on what has to be while they make a movie out of my book. I want to see the actors, talk to them, and transform them into my characters in my head. I want to sign books, see all the people, and realized how many lives I have touched.
More than anything, I want to write something that I would like to read.

Eagerly,
Rosie L.

Of Breaking Dawn and Nothing Else

I am being driven nearly mad by excitement at the release of Breaking Dawn. I know it's not the most tasteful book to be driven mad by, but I can't help it: from the moment C loaned me Twilight, I was engrossed. Obsessed. For a while, I was dangerously close from actually falling in love with Edward Cullen. I dreamed about the characters. I thought about the characters. I read constantly.
Even now, I can't help myself picking up the books when I see them (almost every day, as they are on my bookshelf). They are my go-to distraction when I'm stressed or upset or worried, or even just bored. You could say I couldn't live without them. They amount of truth I would allow this statement would depend on the day.
Today, it would probably be pretty true.
Now that I've started on the Twilight Series, I might as well finish. I am severely disappointed by the movie. Robert Pattinson, the same actor who played Cedric Diggory in the fourth Harry Potter movie (shudder). You really should know, I did not like Cedric Diggory. He was not hot, which is the entire point of him, really, isn't it? In any case, it kind of ruined the movie Edward for me. The book Edward remains (thankfully) untainted.
Also, they made Laurent African-American. I believe he's described in the book as being white, but I can't be sure. They probably did it for political correctness. Actually, when I think about it, what happens with black vampires? One of the things that is supposed to happen when you become a vampire is that you become really pale, because all of your blood is gone. So I guess, if you were black, you wouldn't get really pale, because only your blood is gone, not your pigment. You would probably just look very devoid of color and sort of gaunt.
In any case, I must go anticipate Breaking Dawn. (I haven't gotten it yet, or I would not be blogging right now. I would be reading, for sure. But I reserved it at the Borders near my house, and they agreed to hold it until the twelfth, when I can pick it up. They better have agreed to hold it for me, after playing bad college rock in my ear for twenty minutes while I was on hold.)

Waiting,
Rosie L.

Of Electricity and Horrid Mature Answers

Power Outages...
I probably don't hate 'em as much as I should. It's only when they leave me without a light to read by before I go to bed that I start to feel the inconvenience. Or if I reallllly need to use the computer. Being without light can be a little disconcerting, though, especially in your grandma's house in rural North Carolina where there aren't even streetlights. Imagine not having streetlights. It seems very, very wrong, although it must save quite a lot of electricity.
As to the rest of my life, I had my first locking-my-self-out-of-the-house episode today. I went outside to spray paint one of Granny's many garden statues for her. She was out taking Jordan to be groomed (Now he looks like a freaking rat-- I hate it. When I look at him I don't see Jordan anymore.), and I didn't realize that the door was set so that it locked when you closed it. I was just wondering what I was going to do outside without my book, when my grandma pulled up, thank goodness. I suppose I could have just asked one of the neighbors for a key, but I hadn't quite gotten there yet.
After this episode, and when the power came back on, I checked my email and found a reply from S to my rejection. It was very mature, which made me feel worse. I wish he would have yelled at me, as much as you can yell over email.
Instead he said, "Yeah, sure, let's just be friends. When I said all that I didn't think I would get the answer I wanted, anyway."
It was the "When I said all that I didn't think I would get the answer I wanted, anyway" bit that really got me. I had to apologize again.
My last and final point is that I am just beginning to realize how wrong I feel without my laptop. I'm used to opening it before I go to bed and dashing out a few paragraphs on all my stories. I keep finding myself thinking about them, but I can't remember where I left off. I guess I could write entirely separate scenes, farther along in the story than I really am. The trouble is that I'm not really sure where most of them are going. I know that's not the best way to write, but I'm much better at going with the flow than trying to force a storyline out. Oh well.

Resignedly,
Rosie L.

Of Unreasonable Temperatures and Unrequited Love

I was out walking Jordan today in the hot, hot sun (it really shouldn't be anywhere near eighty degrees at six o'clock in the evening, should it?) when I saw Skateboard Boy again. He was standing in his driveway, in front of a house on a street I usually go down. I think I have quite a chance, although I also think I may be being a bit stalkerish. I certainly hope not, but it is quite a possibility. Stalkerish or not, I wonder how I can talk to Skateboard Boy. It would be too weird to just go up to him and introduce myself, but what else can I do?
On a darker note, S told me he liked me today in an email. I most definitely do not come anywhere close to liking him as more than a friend. I love him as a friend, but I can't ever see it being anything more. I had to reject him, something I've never done before. It felt simply horrible. I hope I never have to do it again, although I'm not too sure how I'm going to manage that. I hope he doesn't mind too very much. Oh, I need to go read and get my mind off of this.

Painfully,
Rosie L.

Of Halfhearted Waves and Reassuring Whispers

I have managed to dig up a young person in this blurred haze of the elderly! I saw him yesterday while I was walking Jordan. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a brown-haired, clearly male, clearly young figure skateboarding down the street I was just about to turn on to. Normally, my heart would not skip a beat at something so trivial. I mean, I see kids skateboarding all the time. It's not exactly a rarity. But here, where 85 percent of the population is over the age of fifty, seeing someone like that is a big deal. And, really, it was everything I had been hoping for. Isn't that why I had toiled down the streets every day, towing a poodle in the sun, sweltering even at five in the evening? Isn't that why I had taken care to make my hair turn in just right, even though I am only visiting my grandma?
But I showed no outward signs of my surprise, and continued walking as if I were completely unphased. When I walked by, I turned to look at him. Because, while I didn't want to appear too keen, it would have been weird to pretend as if I didn't notice him. So I just turned and glanced over at him, nonchalant and brief. A glance that can best be described by the words, "What's that-- oh," and turn away.
To my astonishment, he acknowledged me. Normally it seems to be a code between people my age that you do not wave to someone when you see them unless you know them. It simply isn't done. Nonetheless, he inclined his head and raised two or three fingers in a sort of half-hearted wave. I guess it was the Southern Hospitality thing.
Not that I've been thinking about it too much or anything.
On an equally bright note, I had the most wonderful dream last night. The beginning started out horribly-- I was at theater camp, when I was whisked away to help with the filming of Juno. There must have been something wonky, though, because Juno had already come out, and was already one of my favorite movies. Not to mention I already had a massive crush on Paulie Bleeker. When I got to the set, I found that Ellen Paige hated me and Michael Cera ignored me. Not so good. On my first vacation, I came back to my old school. I was standing by N's old house venting to her and Na, when Michael Cera came up. I went up to feebly apologize to him (for what I'm not sure-- it seemed valid at the time). Then he did something completely unexpected. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulled me close, and started whispering in my ear. He whispered about how he was sorry for ignoring me, and how I shouldn't let other people's opinions of my affect how I see myself, and all the other things I can't recall now. He whispered about everything. When he finally let me go, I woke up in a joyous haze. It was the best dream I have ever had.
On top of it all, I am counting the days until Breaking Dawn comes out.

Of Sitcoms and Communication

Now don't get my wrong, I love my grandparents, but they are honestly like characters on a TV sitcom for the elderly. At dinner tonight, my grandpa looked out the window and said, "Look, Martha, Den and Dennis are standing outside. What do you think they're doing?"
My grandma said, "I don't know, Gil. I can't see them. What are they looking toward?"
And they had this whole conversation about what Den and Dennis (those are really their names), the across-the-street neighbors, could be doing standing outside. They came to several possible conclusions: looking at something in the sky, commenting on the weather (rainy, unusual for North Carolina), trying to figure out the best way to trim the hedge. I had to work hard to keep from giggling. I just kept my mouth shut, because otherwise I probably would have said something sarcastic.
Later that night, when I was doing the dishes, my great-aunt called and told my grandma all about how this tree had fallen in her yard from the rainstorm. Then my grandma handed the phone to my grandpa and my great-aunt related the whole story to him, too.
Little do they know that I am watching their soap opera with eager fascination.

On a completely different note, I have just emailed my ex and told him exactly why it was I broke up with him. He was quite eager to know at first, but then I didn't know. Eventually he stopped asking. When I was in the shower this morning, though, I figured it out.
These were my reasons: the whole asking-weird-questions-on-the-phone-thing was part of it, and the other part was that I could never dress up for him. If I ever tried to make myself as pretty as I could to go out with him, he would reprimand me for caring too much about my appearance. I'm glad he liked me for more than my looks and liked me the way I was and all, but I wish I had been able to spend hours dressing up for my date, and then have him appreciate it. It seems like a petty, trivial reason, but I guess it mattered enough.
Anyway, emailing your ex and telling him why you broke up with him seems like kind of a... weird is the only word I can think of right now... thing to do, and I wasn't going to at first, but then I found this horoscope:

Hopefully you've noticed over the past few weeks that it's been a lot easier to talk to other people - perhaps one Very Important Person more so than anyone else. This has been thanks to the passage of the communications planet Mercury through your House of Other People. He's about to leave now, but before he does, he's giving you a few last opportunities to say what you need to, to that Significant Other Person (past, present or potential) in your life. So what are you waiting for? Communication is the key to pretty much everything in relationships, non?

It was scary how related it was.

Kind of Emotionlessly,
Rosie L.

Of Fantasy Worlds and Antisocial Wedding Attendees

Good day, all! I am currently in merry old North Carolina visiting my family again. It's very... hot here. There really is no other way to describe it. I practically had a heat stroke just watering the flowers this morning. My mother is now a happily married woman (once again). The wedding was just a few days ago, and it was lovely. I could hardly keep from bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet when they were saying the I Do's. I was looking forward to seeing an old friend there, but he was rather antisocial. I tried a few times to strike up a conversation with him, but several one-syllable answers later I decided that he either didn't want to talk to me, or didn't want to talk to anyone. I don't know why he bothered coming, really. In any case, now that I'm in North Carolina again, I'm back to doing mindless chores for my grandmother (Most of which I really don't mind. I've always had a fondness for busywork) and wandering the streets every evening, walking the dog and looking for My Prince. I don't really expect to find him, but it's a pleasant fantasy world to live in. Plus, it gives me something to try for. A new and exciting adventure every time I walk the dog and so on.
You know, I've been wondering about fantasy worlds. I tend to live in one more often than not. Is that really healthy? I mean, it definately makes life more fun when it's getting monotonous, but will it give me an unrealistic view of the world. I certaintly hope not. I get disappointed enough as it is. Actually, possibly more than the average person. Maybe I already have an unrealistic view of the world. Maybe I build things up in my mind to be more exciting than they are. Actually, if I'm reading a really good book, I tend to get so engrossed in it that I'm really living for the book. I think about the characters almost all of the time. Dream about them, even. When I do this, though, I really start to get a bit depressed when I finish the book. I miss the characters. Sad, I know, but when you are deprived of social interaction with people your own age for a month or so, what else is there to do?
I would make an attempt to look at the world more realistically, but I can't be bothered. I like living in a fantasy world.

Dreamily,
Rosie L.