Somehow becoming the art.

When I think of a story that I might be writing, especially one that is so radically different from reality, I wonder how much of myself I tend to imagine into the story.  I am sure there is probably some sort of detachment psychology that could describe my methods as I often see myself very separate from what is actually going on around me, and that I am somehow living out this disconnection I often feel in my methods for story writing.  It might even partially fulfill my dissociation through the mere imagination of such stories.  Yet, regardless of any personal implications, I think I often imagine myself in the shoes of whatever character I might be writing at the time.  Is there any other way to do it?

Perhaps this is how I can attempt to draw a human connection to things which may not ostensibly be of a human heritage.  This may be the only true link to any observer of the story in the first place.  If a reader can not find a link between themselves and any characters in the story I am sure it would be largely uninteresting as a whole.  Certainly the setting of life, in a world of some type or other, might be an adequate basis for generating that connection but I wonder if it can give enough grounding beyond the superficial?

Soon... I need to return to my writing endeavors.  I need to explore the space which has partially unfolded to my mind's eye.

The legendarily lengthy day.

Not that today totally fit that recipe for what one would dub "legendary" in fully unequivocating tones.  It merely had the consistency of time and purpose, which in itself holds its own regard of preeminence.  An eight-hour work shift immediately followed by a five-hour class.  I guess the math is pretty clear.

Beyond all that I have a great deal of work coming up in the next several days due to it being finals week and all.  If I am on task I can rise above it like a champ.  If I falter a little I can still survive it but the pains I would endure do not suit me one bit.  Time to hit the sack in preparation.

Not for lack of something.

But sometimes merely out of commitment.  And even though I have allotted myself very little time to actually write something here I am glad to be doing it at all.

Consistency is important.

The marriage of logic and creativity.

I wonder how much people naturally lean one direction or the other.  I tend to find myself riding right down the middle of both sides, dipping my limbs into both camps frequently and sometimes feverishly.  It seems like it will likely be a valuable quality as I continue to express it as I do.  Maybe not just for the broad range of experience but for the seemingly unique understand it can sometimes afford me.

It was noted by one of my professor's today that the programmer/coder type of people often have little in the way of visual creativity and artistry.  He complimented my work stating that I might be a valued addition to that side of the industry when he also complimented my own programmer/coding inclinations. This does not mean that I am actually good at that sort of thing but I tend to think it means that I very well could be if I decided to focus on it for a while... and that it might be good for my future employment opportunities.  Needless to say I very much look forward to the next interactive media class I get to take sometime in the future.

One century.

I think the numer 100 is still one of the cooler numbers around.  I actually remember as a young child that it seemed like a milestone for one's counting capabilities.  It seemed so big and cool... the first triple-digit number... the first one with two 0s, too.(whoah... 100 and too are quite visibly similar... never noticed that before)  100 also had it's own name: Century.  And even though the intricacies of the latin naming conventions took years to unfold many of their delicious mysteries unto my mind I have always been happy with Century. A cent is 1/100th part of a dollar, also likely a short form of percent. A centurion was the leader of 100 men. It gains its bigness in the typical reference to 100 years of time.  Which is a ripe old age that I myself would like to see in the flesh(robot, cryo-freezing, seance-induced, twinkie-saturation excluded.)  I would not mind even being named 100.  Sure, why not?  It is certainly easy to remember and spell!

Diminishing struggle.

Which is generally the preferable course of progression.  I am so unfamiliar with physical illness that I suppose I should probably be taking more notes about it than complaining that it isn't gone yet.  So... what have I learned from this so far?

1. Despite my immense displeasure for vomiting I do recognize its place in the healing process.  I have also come to realize there actually IS something about vomiting that I do like: you ALWAYS know that you will be vomiting soon.  At least the very few times that I can remember doing it I have always known.  If I am sleeping I wake up knowing it so I can go to the proper receptacle, even(whether or not I always get there in time is a different story.)

2. Sleeping all day, while very non-productive, is sometimes a very pleasant way to forget life a little.  I generally don't really consider it an option(which is likely why I feel so stressed out much of the time I am awake) but realizing my emphatically declined capability for actually doing anything important I settle into my blankets with a fairly clear conscience.  A most excellent feeling.

3. Being sick does not always mean I will be in pain the whole time.  I never felt very much pain before or after vomiting other than my abs-of-steel exercise feeling because of the actual vomiting itself.  Beyond that the only things I have actually felt are dizziness, exhaustion, and a degree of nausea.  They have been unfriendly to me all on their own but none has caused me much pain to speak of.  I certainly won't complain about that.

4. People are very friendly to sick people.

I am sure there are many people who get sick on a more regular basis that probably already know all of this stuff but it is basically new to me so I thought I'd share my personal revelations on the topic anyway.  Now... I must be off to get my healing sleep again.

Quivering vomitous mass.

It is such a rare occurrence for me but I generally detest it so intensely that I can not let it pass without a spiteful remark.  Super ugh!  My body is, of course, reeling from the effects but it has made a mess of my head as well.  I am sure my writing congruency is somewhat lacking.

I know there is much to be learned through the course of physical afflictions.  It is certainly a good reminder of one's humanity and general fragility.  It is an excellent reminder of the many blessings I enjoy otherwise.  My health may not typically be stellar but it certainly does get me around quite well.  I am also reminded of my friends concern for my well-being.  This is so easily forgotten in the mundane motions of life.