I can become inspired by virtually anything- a random thought, a song, a picture, while dipping dilly bars at Dairy Queen, in the middle of a boring class, at my bank job, in church, etc... I feel very fortunate that I have this ability. Some people seem to lack this creative gene, but as I seem to lack the complicated math gene, it all seems to work out in the end. Once, I had a really cool (at least I thought it was cool) idea for a musical that was spawned while I was loading the dishwasher. I was coming up with lyrics and tunes but as I can't write music (can't read it, either, or at least, I read music very ill, very ill indeed), the idea went to the wayside, although it is still floating around in there. Most of my ideas do. They form, evolve and stay in there until I write them down, at least begin them. Whether or not they ever get finished, well, I seriously have about twenty novels started. I have completed 2. And I haven't done anything with the two finished works because I am a coward. I admit it. But, I think for those that actually read most of my posts, that fact shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone! My latest project, which I just started yesterday has been inspired by a few things, and many, many thoughts. I was inspired by Pride and Prejudice, the book and the five hour miniseries I watched on V- Day; Briget Jones' Diary, the book and the movie and the fact that they are modernized versions of P&P, but I feel they have a failing; and by Elmwoodstrip itself, which I feel is actually rather sublime considering that we are a community of persons who seem to genuinely like each other for the most part and many of us haven't even met! For those that I have met, I actually consider my friends. Yes, I feel that that is very sublime. And so, I have begun another project which I find perfect for the pretty journal that I received as a gift (Something I feel which is worthy to put in the pages of that beautiful book!), and it was very much inspired by Us! Elmwoodstrip, you have become a very large part of my constantly flowing inspiration!

Every morning, he watched her walk past his domicile. She was this pretty little thing, always seemed to be going somewhere with a purpose. She always walked past between ten and twenty minutes after eight in the morning and he lived for those moments. Fridays he hated because he never saw her on Fridays. He always wondered what was different about Fridays, but he long ago learned that on Fridays there was no point to even getting out of bed because he would not see her, his Angel.
He imagined what her life was like. He hoped that she was lonely, like him. And he imagined what their life would be like together. He could picture it so clearly, so very clearly. Her smiling up at him, being with him, dependent upon him. Yes! She would be so dependent upon him and only he would matter to her, just as only she mattered to him.
Looking at his clock, he saw that it was nearly time, time for his angel to walk past his, no Their, place. He had just enough time to get his cup of coffee and get to the window to wait for her.
As he stood there, awaiting her presence, his heart started to race. The anticipation was killing him! Where was she? Where was his angel? When he thought that his heart would beat out of his chest, he saw her little red hat bob into sight, and he relaxed. There she was! Red hat, long red scarf, red gloves and that long, long charcoal coat. Her hair was down today. He smiled in pleasure. He loved it when her hair was down. When it snowed, the snow caught in it and it sparkled. When it was sunny, the sunlight caught the golden highlights and shimmered. He loved her hair. At night, he had visions of seeing her hair spread out on the pillow next to him. How he loved her hair!
Suddenly, he was snapped out of his relvery as he spied a blue truck slow down and come to a stop next to her. What the hell was going on? They were directly in front of his apartment and he had a perfect view as he saw her smile at the man driving the truck. The next thing he knew, to his perfect horror, he watched his angel open the door and get inside the truck and then they were gone, driving up the street away from him. Rage bellowed up inside of him and before he knew it, a primal, angry bellow escaped from the screaming in his head. How could she? How could she do that to him? That man could have been a maniac! The man in the blue truck could be a stalker! How could she be so trusting? How could she do that to him?

Last week, I ordered a new back pack. Finally! I had been wanting to get one for quite some time, but as I had a perfectly good back pack it seemed like a waste. Well, last week, my old back pack died. And I decided to order one via the internet for two reasons- 1. No tax and free shipping, 2. I just adore getting things in the mail! Also, it wasn't that big of a deal for me to have it RIGHT NOW! so I was patient and bided my time and got what I wanted. What I wanted was a pink Jansport Back Pack. Don't ask me why. Lately, for some mysterious reason, I love deep berry reds and almost all shades of pink. I'm drawn to them. Frankly, it scares me just a little as I used to loathe pink. But I digress... So, anyway, my new back pack, which is just fabulous and it's nice to know that when I go to England in three months (Woo Hoo!) I'll be styling! And it'll be matching with my pink Chuck Taylors. (so very important, you know!) It seems rather sad to be writing a post about my new back pack, but hell, I'm just not that interesting and that is the most depressing thought of all! Hopefully, I'll write something either interesting or creative later. Hmmmm.... I'll get to thinking about that. Later, Peeps.

Happy Valentine's Day, Everyone! ;)

I said I would and I certainly did watch all five hours of A&E's Pride and Prejudice yesterday evening and it was my idea of heaven! Five hours of Miss Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Fitzwilliam! Don't you just love that name! I so want to name my first born son that! Anyway... it was how I battled the commercial monster that is Valentine's Day, by watching possibly the greatest love story of all time! And it helps of course that the cast is absolutely gorgeous. *Sigh* Oh happy day! Even though I didn't go to bed until after 11:30 last night, and I will be a dragging girl today, it was so definitely worth it! :)

I just discovered the "Your messages" feature on this lovely little site. Why I didn't know about it before, I'll never know, but I strongly suspect that it's because I'm technologically incompetent! And you know, I've some pretty cool responses to things I've written. Thanks, Guys! And to who ever wrote to me that I should just "Go half way", thanks! I'm really an all or nothing person. I'm not too good at the "Half way" mark.

I have a favourite word and it is "lovely". It isn't so much the sound of it and it's not like it's a particularly "fun" word to say. But, in me, it evokes a feeling of indescribableness. I like how I feel when I say the word, lovely. And it works in so many different situations and what not. This week, I actually found myself to saying to my customers, "Have a lovely day!" and I meant it. It's more than "Nice", not quite "blessed" as some of my customers wish me (and that always makes me feel good. A total stranger wishes you "a Blesssed Day", that really touches someplace deep. But that is not what I am talking about right now.), but lovely evokes a feeling and I wish that feeling had a word but it does not. Something warm and fuzzy and blossoming, but not one word truly somes up all of that. That's very frustrating for a writer, to not have the words. But, perhaps, sometimes it's better to not have words? What's left when there are no words? Tears- joy or sadness? touches? kisses? Kisses. I miss those. And if done right, they certainly are lovely. Lovely. It reminds me of a song, a song I sing often. I hear Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong's voices in my head, "Isn't this a Lovely Day to be caught in the rain? You were going on your way, now you've got to remain. Just as you were going, leaving me on that scene, the clouds broke, they broke and oh, what a break for me..." I apologize if you don't know the tune. Nothing can put me in a wistful relaxed place quite like that song. I'll have to sing it for you sometime I suppose.

I am about to commit to the most adult thing I have ever done in my entire life- I am about to buy life insurance and quite a bit of it too! Not because I need it now, but because I Will need it the future. (I always have been a "look toward the future" kind of person.) Hmmmm....not really sure how I feel about this whole, "Acting like an adult thing." It seems rather daunting. But seemingly necessary. I'm doing the right thing, right? Wait, of course I am! I'm being rather silly. Here more forceful, not wishy-washy- I'm doing the right thing! There! That's much better!

Sickness, as we all know, has been raging around Western New York, and now, I think, it's my turn. I woke up with a headache, took two advil and it's not touching it. yay. My stomach is feeling queasy. And all I can think of is I'm singing on Sunday at the Basilica, on the altar, no less, and I'm starting to feel like crud! And, there's the wedding in 8 days! 8 DAYS! I'd better start feeling better really soon! ARGH! Damn sick people spreading their germs to the healthy!

I have this irritating little habit of falling in love with men who are unavailable, either emotionally, or physically, or both. The Boy, who does have a name, it's Troy, lives in Boston, so that would be the physical part. He lives in a whole different state and he doesn't come home very often. And he has no idea how I feel, so as much as I bitch about him, he doesn't know, which is my fault, but it feels inappropriate to tell someone, "Hey! Guess What? I'm in love with you! And I have been for ages!" via e-mail. Am I wrong in thinking that it would be much better to spring that on someone in person? So my frustration with him, is my own fault. Trisha would counter, and has countered, that he should know what he's got and appreciate it without me having to say anything. But I know how I am when someone is interested in me, unless they hit me over the head, and flat out say, "Hey, I like you!" I have no clue. And according to my sources, most men are like that, as well. My assumption (and I know what they say about people who assume!) is that he's like that.

I love him so much, it hurts. He sends me from the highest joys to the lowest doldrums and I think part of me lives for that. It's like some sick, twisted form of self-torture. But there is safety in it. I know it. I'm actually quite comfortable there. And once I tell him, then that safety net is gone and all that is left is the truth and a very vulnerable me, feeling naked and horribly exposed by it. I've done this once before and it didn't turn out very well, but that's because I was toyed with once the truth was in the open. (Some people might debate the facts of that last statement, but that is my perception of the situation.) And so I'm pretty damned terrified to say to this man those three little words that pack such a wallop. And once all is said there is no going back. But I want to tell him, have wanted to tell him for such a very long time. So, do you think it's time for me to step into the light? Or, do I hide and cower in my comfortable darkness? Frankly, I feel he must be told. It seems like the honourable thing to do. The next question becomes when. I shall sift through it, feel my way, but I know what must be done. We both deserve the Truth.