(no subject)

I find myself unable to write without music now, when I used to be unable to write with it. Inspiration? No. Rather, it gives me the supernatural ability to pretend there is no one in the house that might call me to dinner, maybe, or to get that suitcase down from the attic above the garage, or take the dog out just in case--because quiet moments always have to be filled with tasks, and if my mom thinks of something for me to do, calls me, and doesn't get an answer because I don't hear it, then she will forget about it and all of its lack of necessity. Underhanded, yes, but I'm not guiltily turning an ear inside out all the time to foresee something she might want me to do.

Because I'm filled with a chilly terror that, if I sit down and start writing, I will be called away and my thoughts will evaporate before I can catch them. Like now. I had it, wrote three juicy paragraphs, and ran to eat dinner with my parents before my mom could yell at me. Now my thread is gone, and returning to that page feels icky. Not that I can't do it, but sometimes writing is fun and sometimes it isn't, and lost momentum gives my brain cramps.

Of course, darling Jack Torrance, there are better ways to handle your difficulties writing than trying to murder your family. But sometimes... I think I empathize with you just a little eensy tiny bit. The keyboard! The tapping! Do they not understand that the weather report is not really important just now? Bah. His barely contained rage isn't real here, but only too easy to imagine.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?"

Nope, not even fun to type out. Now... I just feel a bit overly-creeped. I don't like scary movies.