Setsuled's Journal

Okay! I've decided that to-night, I shall go to bed earlier! Earlier--as in soon!

Wrote something like six and a half pages to-day before I was interrupted. I plan to make it up to my self by writing twice as many pages to-morrow.

I know, I know. Yes, there is that little voice inside me saying, You've already failed, Sets. This is not gonna work.

To this voice I say . . . I say . . . "Oh, walk away you silly thing,"

A big part of keeping your inner daemons and/or ghostly functionaries of practicality under control, in my opinion, is a good, commanding tone with harsh, uncompromising words. Yah.

I was cut short to-day simply because life does not approve of any particularly tight plans I make. I had planned to awaken at 3pm or so, go to my mother's house for "dinner" (read "breakfast"), go to Starbucks or someplace else serving good coffee, write, and then meet up with Magious to go to an electronics store called Fry's (a place I used to like a lot more back when its massive, warehouse interior was but sparsely lit by a smattering of little white bulbs, turning the aisles of bright boxed software and the mysterious tiny complicated and dusty textures of hardware into a crazy dream-like labyrinth, hiding somewhere in its depths a little cafeteria selling forty year-old doughnuts and smoothies like something Harold Ramis would want Bill Murray to get a sample of. The place was great back then, but oh no. Average computer consumer apparently needs things well lit).

Instead, although I thought I was gonna be late because my grandmother stopped me to eat a pumpkin bagel, I managed to get to my mother's early, and I got the above mentioned six and a half pages finished before being summoned to the dinner table.

From there, I did go to Starbucks where I did fully intend to write some more. I would have, only I inadvertently wandered into the Wandering Realm of Hyper Friendliness and I got spooked.

First, the girl behind the register greeted me by name, turning the name into an exclamation. Then the guy behind the register chatted with me happily and incoherently as he rung me up and I nodded and smiled where I thought it was probably appropriate.

As I was going out the door, a teenage-looking boy with his arm in a sling stopped me and said, "Hey, where'd you get that fedora?"

I always have my automated-reply-to-questions-about-my-hat ready, so I said, "At a place in Horton Plaza that closed down, but I believe it actually moved to--"

"The Village Hat Shop?" he interrupted.

I blinked, "Y-yeah!"

"I collect fedoras," he explained as we were walking away from each other, "Yours is beautiful, like Cagney or something,"

"Well, thanks," I said, flattered to the tips of my ears.

I know. It's prolly not normal to be intimidated by eerily friendly people. But I just didn't feel like I was gonna be able to concentrate.

So I left.

You know . . . I don't suppose there's really any reason not get some writing done now. It's not like I really meant to go to sleep so early . . .