RaverMadness
Bluelighter
That's the word count on the first draft of my novel, if anyone's wondering. I finished 1,587 words between the hours of 1 a.m. and 3. Not my best, but I'm chipping away at this thing.
This doesn't include a short story I finished between midnight and one, a little extracirrucular activity to get my fingers moving and all those creative juices pouring like ichor out of my brain.
My heart feels like it's going to explode from caffeine and cigarettes. It's not a good thing.
Keeping with this little binge, I have to do something else aside from the novel - I don't want to work on it any more tonight, not without sleep. My sentences stop parsing correctly, and I get those little green lines popping up on Word as I plod along. It's not a good thing,
I also tend to repeat myself.
So, if anyone cares, and I suspect no one does, I'll tell you a little story. It's a true story, and I hope the traffic division of the Reno Police Department isn't reading this.
This takes place back in October or November, I can't remember. Nikki was on the outs with Matt, and she turned her attention to Nick, who I pretty much hated at the time. I still kinda do, but it's more because of his drunken woe-is-me pity crap he tries to pull.
Anyway, I'm over at Isaac's, and there's a little party. Read: excuse to crawl inside a whiskey bottle.
Nick and Nikki are flirting, and this upsets me, since I kind of had a thing for her at the time. Back in the spring, when she lived in a motel room with her animals, we fooled around, and got close to sex. We'd been up for days, spent the day dumpster diving, then followed by some pretty intense fucking around, but all of this was interrupted by her homeless ex-boyfriend complaining about how blistered and smelly his feet were after walking the ten miles across town.
We were dumpster diving the apartment complexes across from the power company, and I yelled at him after he threw a perfectly good backpack back in the dumpster. Like a total fucking pussy, he walks off, leaving us to spend the day alone together drinking coffee at Denny's, watching taped episodes of MST3K, and yeah, the doomed romance thing.
It was so beautiful.
I wouldn't really call what I did after that stalking, but it's close enough. If I couldn't have her, and she was dead set on sleeping with this guy who was so thin and beautiful with his blue blue eyes, I'd become her best friend, her shoulder to cry on, and she'd give in and fuck me.
Yes, it's a low point in my life.
That never happened. I'm there, not really drunk, but I've got enough alcohol in me to set me off. I'm usually pretty quiet and restrained, but my suspected personality disorder usually gets the better of me when I drink.
At least I realize I have a problem. My father is the classic narcissist, but true to narcissim, he'll say you're full of shit if you mention anything about it.
So yeah, I'm there, it's two in the morning, everyone's passed out except for Rodney, who's doing his thing, Donielle, who's doing her thing, which isn't pretty considering she's in an apartment full of knives and broken glass.
Always the one to push the envelope, I take my cigarette, and hold it against my wrist. I let it burn for a good minute before I take it away - it stops hurting too badly when most of the nerves are gone.
Fuck subtlety, let's have some blatant, cry-for-help self mutilation.
Call the fucking Lifetime network; let's.
I actually feel a lot better after that. It's funny. Donielle looks at me 10 minutes later with her cut-up hands and says that's nothing. The set of kitchen knives and the blender were housewarming presents from her parents. Not the smartest choice, considering.
True to form, this fuck who's been extra special nice to Nikki, driving her to work for almost six months every night, well, I give her and Nick a ride home. Noelle, too, even though she lives about 15 or so miles out of town. Fuck, take all of me.
I just take off, ignoring every red light. Noelle's riding shotgun, and she's never seen me drive, especially while temporarily insane. She's a bit put off by it, but hey, at least I'm not drunk, right?
It's not like I do this all the time - I only run red lights when I get crazy, or too impatient. I always, always stop first, unless I'm out in the industrial section of town late at night.
We get to Nikki's house, Nick goes inside. Outside of the car, I say, yeah, I have a thing for you, and I'm really pissed off about this.
She says, yeah, I know.
And then I drive the 15 miles outside of town to where Noelle lives. She talks about her job in a daycare center. She talks about how much it's going to cost to put a new engine in her car. She tells me she hates this town, and is going to leave, the first chance she gets.
For the record, six months later and she's still here.
Noelle and I have been around since the beginning, I remember walking out of my room in my old apartment and seeing her and her boyfriend fucking on my couch. If that's not a bonding experience, I don't know what is.
Noelle gives me ten bucks for my trouble, and I drive home, completely out of my mind, but actually obeying traffic laws.
This doesn't include a short story I finished between midnight and one, a little extracirrucular activity to get my fingers moving and all those creative juices pouring like ichor out of my brain.
My heart feels like it's going to explode from caffeine and cigarettes. It's not a good thing.
Keeping with this little binge, I have to do something else aside from the novel - I don't want to work on it any more tonight, not without sleep. My sentences stop parsing correctly, and I get those little green lines popping up on Word as I plod along. It's not a good thing,
I also tend to repeat myself.
So, if anyone cares, and I suspect no one does, I'll tell you a little story. It's a true story, and I hope the traffic division of the Reno Police Department isn't reading this.
This takes place back in October or November, I can't remember. Nikki was on the outs with Matt, and she turned her attention to Nick, who I pretty much hated at the time. I still kinda do, but it's more because of his drunken woe-is-me pity crap he tries to pull.
Anyway, I'm over at Isaac's, and there's a little party. Read: excuse to crawl inside a whiskey bottle.
Nick and Nikki are flirting, and this upsets me, since I kind of had a thing for her at the time. Back in the spring, when she lived in a motel room with her animals, we fooled around, and got close to sex. We'd been up for days, spent the day dumpster diving, then followed by some pretty intense fucking around, but all of this was interrupted by her homeless ex-boyfriend complaining about how blistered and smelly his feet were after walking the ten miles across town.
We were dumpster diving the apartment complexes across from the power company, and I yelled at him after he threw a perfectly good backpack back in the dumpster. Like a total fucking pussy, he walks off, leaving us to spend the day alone together drinking coffee at Denny's, watching taped episodes of MST3K, and yeah, the doomed romance thing.
It was so beautiful.
I wouldn't really call what I did after that stalking, but it's close enough. If I couldn't have her, and she was dead set on sleeping with this guy who was so thin and beautiful with his blue blue eyes, I'd become her best friend, her shoulder to cry on, and she'd give in and fuck me.
Yes, it's a low point in my life.
That never happened. I'm there, not really drunk, but I've got enough alcohol in me to set me off. I'm usually pretty quiet and restrained, but my suspected personality disorder usually gets the better of me when I drink.
At least I realize I have a problem. My father is the classic narcissist, but true to narcissim, he'll say you're full of shit if you mention anything about it.
So yeah, I'm there, it's two in the morning, everyone's passed out except for Rodney, who's doing his thing, Donielle, who's doing her thing, which isn't pretty considering she's in an apartment full of knives and broken glass.
Always the one to push the envelope, I take my cigarette, and hold it against my wrist. I let it burn for a good minute before I take it away - it stops hurting too badly when most of the nerves are gone.
Fuck subtlety, let's have some blatant, cry-for-help self mutilation.
Call the fucking Lifetime network; let's.
I actually feel a lot better after that. It's funny. Donielle looks at me 10 minutes later with her cut-up hands and says that's nothing. The set of kitchen knives and the blender were housewarming presents from her parents. Not the smartest choice, considering.
True to form, this fuck who's been extra special nice to Nikki, driving her to work for almost six months every night, well, I give her and Nick a ride home. Noelle, too, even though she lives about 15 or so miles out of town. Fuck, take all of me.
I just take off, ignoring every red light. Noelle's riding shotgun, and she's never seen me drive, especially while temporarily insane. She's a bit put off by it, but hey, at least I'm not drunk, right?
It's not like I do this all the time - I only run red lights when I get crazy, or too impatient. I always, always stop first, unless I'm out in the industrial section of town late at night.
We get to Nikki's house, Nick goes inside. Outside of the car, I say, yeah, I have a thing for you, and I'm really pissed off about this.
She says, yeah, I know.
And then I drive the 15 miles outside of town to where Noelle lives. She talks about her job in a daycare center. She talks about how much it's going to cost to put a new engine in her car. She tells me she hates this town, and is going to leave, the first chance she gets.
For the record, six months later and she's still here.
Noelle and I have been around since the beginning, I remember walking out of my room in my old apartment and seeing her and her boyfriend fucking on my couch. If that's not a bonding experience, I don't know what is.
Noelle gives me ten bucks for my trouble, and I drive home, completely out of my mind, but actually obeying traffic laws.
