tangled woods

I just signed up for nanowrimo. It starts tomorrow. I have no idea why I've done this, except that it is fall, and this is just what I do in the fall. Write 50,000 words of a novel between November 1 and November 30. I'm currently overwhelmed--at work and in life, have 500 travel days planned for November (which is an incredible feat for a month with only 30 days), and at least 3 other "self-improvement projects" in the stalls. Oh, P. What are you doing, dear?

Today is the first day of my "structured free time" time budget. I have already regressed, which is hard to do when you haven't actually progressed yet.

Breakfast? Yes.
Clean? No.
Gym? No.

Lunch is on the schedule for 12. I guess I could catch up then.

I have no idea what I'm writing about. I have a vision of an upscale cul-de-sac of houses cut into peaceful woods and neighbors full of weird stories. But I don't know who the neighbors are or what their stories are. And I have "Tanglewood" because when we lived in North Carolina, I remember a big park and swimming at the Tanglewood pool.

I started nano last year and didn't finish. I'm not sure I ever even made it to 20,000 words. I don't remember what I was writing about, either. what was last year? Did last year happen? Hm. This is going to bug me.

2007 = Apples for Alessandra
2008 = The Chili King
and…
2009 =

Poop.

2009 = Sideways Study of a Brown Bag.

I just had to hunt for it. You know what's crazy? I have absolutely no recollection of writing this! None. I think that's the goofy thing about writing--that it really feels like it comes from somewhere else. Like I get possessed and I just become some kind of lame, weak, typing body bag. Creepy. Writing is creepy. I have no idea why I want to do it at all.

Other things that are creepy: chickens. Last night I put on a chicken suit and went to a halloween party and then to Chrispy's band's halloween gig. By the time I got to the gig, I was really tired, and my guts hurt because I've been eating toxic waste for days. I made it to about midnight, and then was just kind of full of the noise and the peacock pageantry of it all, so I took my leave. Sometimes I feel kind of bad for C, like he got stuck with a crappy spouse. Poor C and his lame chicken suit wife.

It's 11:10. Maybe I can squeeze in a nap before lunch.