I Get Why She Kept a Diary

It is currently 10:54. I have been sitting here since roughly 7pm. In that span of time, I read the third Princess Diaries book. All of it. When I was packing for Louisville, I decided to check out a couple of books to read in my hotel. Something fun and easy and light, where I didn't have to think too much about anything after a semester of thoroughly analyzing everything I've read. So I picked up the first three books of The Princess Diaries. Easy, quick reads filled with humor and the reminder that, as females, we are mostly all filled with the same amount of craziness. And, even though I had no intention to, I'm analyzing the book. Not for form or anything technical, but for plot. I probably shouldn't term that as "analyzing", especially after having a forms of fiction, where I constantly got marked down for analyzing content instead of form. Which I had hated, because who cares about a story if it doesn't have, well, a good story?

Anyway, I'm also envious of Meg Cabot's sense of humor. I can't write humor. Well, I wrote humor once, but I would never share it, because it was in the form of fanfiction. My deep, dark secret. I was a fanfiction junkie for at least a solid year while I was at SIU. I posted on one of the popular sites dealing with it, and I was addicted to it--to getting readers and reviews and always trying to one-up the most popular-seeming fics. I would go more into this, but I don't want to reveal just how horribly dorky of a nerd I am. I'll just stick with saying that I got close to 1,000 reviews on this one (and only) semi-successful piece of humor fic I wrote. But I'll never be able to brag about it, because there's no way I'd ever let anyone I know read it. Okay, I have like one friend that's read it, but that's it. Only because I know she doesn't laugh at me when it comes to writing. And also because, unlike E.L. James, I have a sense of dignity that I don't want to destroy.

Steering back to the topic at hand, I like The Princess Diaries for what they are, but, yet again, I've finished a book, and so I have to deal with the weird emotional process I go through after all books, if they're worth even the slightest consideration. It's usually a pretty decent time for me to write when I get into these weird grooves, but I don't think it's happening tonight. I finally got contacts that you can wear for a month without taking out, but I have a killer headache now from reading, which is what I was worried about with these contacts. I could never read or use the computer with my old ones, because they would just get blurry and make my eyes and head hurt. I'm going to hope that this is just because I read an entire book in one sitting and it's late, though.

Still, it's hard to write poetry with a headache, so I don't want to try. Instead, I'm making a blog post and talking about all sorts of random things that I'm not entirely sure fit together. I'm also waiting for my laundry to dry so that I can finish packing my bag for Disney World. It seems like I had other things to blog about, but I'm so tired now, I just can't recall or care to recall what those were. Oh well, at least, on Saturday, I'll be in Disney World. 

I have to get some sleep so that I can get up, clean the house, and finish packing in the morning.

P.S. I got another rejection letter today, but this one particularly stung. All of the other rejections have come after at least a month of the poem being listed as "in review". This one was opened and rejected all in the same day. No, that's okay [insert editor's name here], I have no feelings to injure or ego to deflate. I guess, in their defense, I didn't really expect them to accept Labyrinth. Maybe I really do need to take Bowie out of it. But the movie is a big part of the poem, and, if I take it out, then I'm just left with the metaphor of a labyrinth, and that just doesn't feel like enough to me. That's not the whole story, and I care about the story. As I've mentioned above.

"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."

-Oscar Wilde

 

You got that right, Oscar. 

P.S.S. The "p" key on my keyboard has been sticking for the last several days. I am particularly distraught about this, because it's wearing out my pinky to jam down so hard on the "p". Also, I write everything on my computer, and I don't want to have to worry about whether or not all of my P's are in place. If the P key stops working, I'll clearly have to get a new computer, or I'll never be sane again. Everything needs to function properly when it comes to being able to write. I'm also overly aware of how many P's were in this paragraph, because I feel like I'm breaking my pinky off.

I can't wait to be in Disney World, where my main concern will be what ride to ride next.