my heart is a glorious machine;

I had some really fascinating storypeople in the store today: a middle-aged woman with a shock of purple hair; a comfortable Indian couple who found the American tradition of pinching people not wearing green on St Patrick's Day wondrously hilarious; a shy, pretty young woman looking for something new to read. She told me she'd loved Twilight (I inwardly facepalmed), so I rattled off some recommendations, and she ended up leaving with a Sookie Stackhouse book (I haven't read them yet, though it seems I ought to) and recommendations for Sunshine and War for the Oaks written on a slip of paper. (In retrospect, I am kicking myself for not recommending The Historian, as she also mentioned she'd enjoyed Dan Brown. Historical suspense and vampires! ...I don't know, it made me really happy.)

Of course to balance out all of the nice things, I had another eager eleven-year-old girl snatching up Twilight... It doesn't bother me so much when teens and adults read it; okay, it's rubbish (but I wouldn't be more than mildly irritated with it, if I remembered it at all, if it hadn't got so hideously popular!), but... I don't know, when I was eleven I was reading things like The Witch of Blackbird Pond and Little Women and L.M. Montgomery and historical adventure novels and things, not unrealistic romance drivel with a dishcloth of a "heroine" whose entire existence revolves around one gorram boy. If I were a parent, I wouldn't exactly be thrilled to find my daughter -- especially my very young daughter -- reading about a girl who completely stops caring about her family in favour of a boy she barely knows, because she happened to fall madly and irresponsibly in love with him. (Also I kind of don't want my theoretical eleven-year-old to be reading about pillow-biting and Death Babies that have to be gnawed out of the womb and mothers with poor child-naming skills and Biologically Enforced Werewolf Love. I mean, really. Note: everything I know about Twilight sequels I learnt from cleolinda.)

Business was slow, though -- it was Tuesday and evening and March: not an equation for masses of customers. I get to work Friday and Saturday next, though, hurrah! I like being busy, especially busy interacting with customers, which is my favourite part of the job. Shelving endless books gets a bit monotonous after two or three hours. But -- the bicycle ride to and from work was glorious. The sun finally came out late this afternoon, an hour or so before I left, and I was so happy. Oh, sunlight, and little warm joyful breezes, I have missed you!


I spent yesterday cleaning out my closets. (Yes, closets. I have four. My bedroom is sort of odd; we think it was originally a dressing room, albeit a really massive one.) This was not exactly intentional, but the clutter of them has been extremely depressing and claustrophobia-inducing all winter, and I keep thinking, when I have time, I'll clean them. Which, since I have a fair amount of time, is really just a way of subtle procrastination. To be sure, this cleaning involved empyting out two of the closets -- the ones with clothes (though one only has a few coats and my long sweaters and dressing gowns in -- I am not so decadent as to warrant two full clothing closets!) onto the bed and the floor, and then sorting through these ridiculously tangled piles and throwing things away and tucking other things into a box to be got rid of and putting a few things in the laundry hamper and then folding and hanging the rest neatly. And now my closet is so cheerful and I can find things and everything is on hangers instead of tangled in a terrible heap on the floor so that the door wouldn't close properly. The bedroom feels a bit as though it can breathe properly again. (Also the window is open.)

The other closet is my favourite, because it is filled with books. It's built right over the staircase, so it's got some odd and fascinating slanty bits, and it's full of shelves, and large enough to sit in even with the door closed, and since I haven't space for a bookshelf at the moment, the closet because a book sanctuary and reading nook. Only I've been dumping things in it the last several months, so it really wasn't. Now it's all neat and there are more books inside of it, and the ones that were are organised, and it's full of candles, and I have paper flowers and a quill pen and a fountain pen all stuck together in a makeshift vase which is actually an inkwell shaped like George Washington's head... (I don't even know, you guys.) And nestled against it are jars of Manic Panic, in Hot Hot Pink and Vampire Red. This incongruity amuses me vastly.

So today, to commemorate St Patrick's Day, I shut myself in the closet, lit a lot of candles, and read W.B. Yeats for a while, while Lisa Hannigan soothed from the stereo. The flickering candlelight on bookpaper! And now the closet smells, not only of paper and ink and wood and old paint, but of wax and candlesmoke, and I love it terribly.

Sigh. I planned to clean the bedroom and sleep today (and possibly hang out / play music with Jonathan), but Jim, my manager, called this morning to ask if I could come in. Which is a good, really, because this is the second time now that someone hasn't been able to make their shift and they called me to fill in, and since I have done it both times, it means a) a larger paycheck next month, and b) that I am showing how much I actually want the job. But still -- I don't actually remember very much about today, especially near the end of my shift; I was starting to feel wobbly and odd. (Ergo I wrote it into my NaNo. Heh. You know, my NaNo begins in early November -- quite by accident, really! -- and is currently near Christmastime. When I started it was raining all the time, so that's reflected, and now it has been snowing nearly every day, so there is a great deal about snow and ice and being very cold now. There's not a lot of write-what-you-know available in this novel, but I sure do cram in what I can!) 

This is what going mad feels like: when you actually start arguing with the Edward Cullen poster that won't stop staring at you. I actually can't remember what I told him, even, because the argument was soon banished by the horrifying revelation that FYE sells lunchboxes with Edward Cullen's face on them. I looked like an emoticon, I was so weirded out. LUNCHBOXES. The food would all get his venom poisoning their system VAMPIRE FRUIT AGAIN OMG. Also it would be neatly organised and, like, colour-coded and stuff. (I then proceeded to, um. Well. I wrote, like, a page and a half of crazy, crazy Growing Up Cullen rambling when I should have been NaNoing. ...I'll post it later.)

At least I am caught up -- at last, now that the very last week is upon us -- and so do not have to wrench at least two thousand words out of myself every day. Also, the fact that this story is barely even begun is sort of terrifying. I will have to make some sort of goal for me to write by when November is finished -- just now I can't even think that far ahead, in terms of writing, or my brains will explode messily out of my eye sockets -- because, hey. I have over a hundred novel-sized pages written in a month. The last time I wrote this much of one story, especially in order? I think I may have been twelve?

But I have all of these other projects that I want to work on next month -- I can think of four short stories, offhand (three are fanfiction), that have been sitting around ninety-percent finished for months, and as I type, others are springing into my head and waving their hands about desperate for attention, poor things. Also I had a Very Splendid Idea for a short story that I want terribly to have a go at...

I sang a lot at work today, because I was trying not to fall asleep at my station, and because I had no customers, and hey, if I can't read or listen to music or write, why not sing? It occasionally even lures customers. Only I realised that every single song I was singing was -- kind of macabre? "The Prickly Bush", "The House Carpenter", "What Does the Deep Sea Say?" (okay, not macabre, but tragic), "Henry Lee" -- well, there was "Saucy Sailor", and that's all catchy and whatnot and only has jilting in, not any death. I tried to sing "Tam-Lin" but I haven't memorised all of the words yet, for some reason. (FOR SHAME.) (Hey, what, Led Zeppelin did a cover of "The Prickly Bush"? Crazy. I...kind of want every version ever recorded of this song, though, for sentimental reasons: Steeleye Span, especially this song and "All Around My Hat", are the soundtrack for my early childhood. I -- was not a very usual child. This is my parents' fault really.) It amuses me that most of the songs that I know all of the words to are traditional folk songs. I mean, look, they were made to be sung! The melodies just beckon to you, all right? (Anyway, for the record, I can sing most of "My Body Is A Cage", and, um -- some traditional American spirituals. *facepalm*) 

Today at the dinner table I got to expound upon reasons it is rarely good to marry a vampire. I...don't even know, guys. Speaking of which, you have no idea how much I need this t-shirt. We belong together! (Although the gun-with-silver-bullets irks me. THOSE DO NOT WORK ON VAMPIRES. Silver is alchemically connected to the moon, which is why it works on werewolves. Vampires have absolutely nothing to do with the lunar cycle. There is no good reason for silver bullets to harm them. I do, however, believe that vampires are harmed by cold iron.) 

...And before dinner I completed the final stage of my hair-dyeing, and about half my hair is a sort of blood-red now. It looks very striking, and is also quite cheering. There will be pictures when the remainder of the dye comes off my face.

Busy days, gorblimey. The rest of the week ought to slow down a bit, I think -- I need to catch up on NaNo rather terrifically (the bit I wrote on my shift today? seems to have stopped just short of the Plot Point at last), and also sleep. Which, um, I could have been doing lately, but -- well, it's more difficult when one has Things to do. Sunday: work. Monday: work! Tuesday: fun with Jonathan, Sarah, and Hannah (their brother Eli came along for the ride). Today: work! I'm not scheduled to work anymore this week, which is a relief in terms of laziness and kind of sad in terms of money, but, you know. SLEEP. (AND NANO. AND THEN SLEEP SOME MORE, AND MAYBE BAKE COOKIES. ...FOR NANOAGE.)

Today at work: apparently I am late unless I arrive about ten minutes early. *facepalm*. Fortunately this was told to me by one of the managers I really like and I barely had to deal with Shannon, who makes me edgy, at all today. My customers -- all four of them -- came in funny patches, though: a girl around my age with fantastic hair (short, black and blonde, and quite classy looking for a punk hair-do) came in looking for anime calendars, was (rightfully) scornful when all we had were a couple of very very mainstream ones, and then we ended up talking about Death Note for, like, ten minutes. It was awesome. Now I have this silly urge to eat a lot of candy and hold things funny. While I was talking to her and processing her purchase, another woman showed up behind her with a calendar, and I managed to process her purchase without a hitch while talking, and not being rude to either of them, and not giving anybody the wrong change. I was very pleased with myself. My next -- and alas, last -- set of customers also came in a pair. This was slightly less fun because the first customer gave me a check, and...no-one has actually taught me how to process checks. I gave it my best, though, and only gave up on it after I'd held him up for several minutes, and now I know what I need to ask People Above Me. He had cash, thankfully, and was extremely friendly and patient with me and even tried to help, so that made me feel considerably less of a failure than I might have otherwise.

Also, this elderly gentleman walked past clad in a long black leather duster. I gaped in awe and admiration. I have also decided that he was clearly up to supernatural shenanigans. Which reminds me of the other bloke in the long coat I saw my first day -- he was pale and very -- his face was very sculpted? -- and he had long dark hair, and was dressed sort of -- unusually, but not in the sort of way that immediately draws one's attention. I think he had on a waistcoat and tie, along with the LONG BLACK COAT WHICH FLOWED OUT BEHIND HIM. I sort of wished that I had fallen head over heels in love with him as he passed, or at least had a tiny flutter of fancying, because that would make for such a better story, but alas, I am far too sensible for that, and mainly admired his coat and made a note to put him in a story later. He was so very unusual-looking, though. What on earth was he doing in my mall and was he entirely human? One does wonder...

Sarah stopped by my kiosk and we had a splendid chat and inched away from the Edward Cullen poster, which has ONCE AGAIN been moved so that it makes eye contact with me all throughout my shift. NEXT THING YOU KNOW I AM GOING TO WAKE UP AND HE IS GOING TO BE IN A ROCKING CHAIR IN THE CORNER OF MY BEDROOM. ROMANCE FAIL, EDWARD CULLEN, YOU CREEP. ROMANCE FAIL.

Annnnnd I managed to count out my drawer and close up for my shift ninety percent without assistance, which was -- terrifying, really, but encouraging. AUGH SO MUCH MATH THOUGH. CALCULATORS ARE MY FAVOURITE. Fortunately again, the woman who usually has the shift after me, Liz, is really sweet and helpful and motherly and always makes me feel as though I am doing a fabulous job and never makes me feel stupid for needing help or taking too long. This can be kind of relaxing.

Yesterday there was a Game Afternoon at chez Jonathan, which was full of fun and not having to be bothered about anything (except for candles which melted flat) and enjoying the company of friends and silly games with words in them. Also Jonathan put a candle in an empty sparkling cider bottle; it was fantastic. We really ought to have Told Spooky Stories around it or played Mafia or something. It provided excellent ambience.

I need to NaNo. And sleep. These are things I have not mentioned I am sure.

THEY MOVED EDWARD. 

Now he is absolutely making extremely grouchy eye contact with me throughout my entire shift. I look over and there he is, glaring at me, clearly suffering from some kind of supernaturally awful sinus infection. (Also his hair grows straight up and he is bloody stupid.) 

Also, we sell Twilight calendars. (...Drat.) So he's there, everywhere I turn, and I SWEAR THOSE CALENDARS KEEP MOVING THEMSELVES IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS. So: Edward Cullen is stalking me?

I mean, not that that's unusual behaviour on his part, but -- Edward, I am an intelligent, compassionate, fiercely independent young woman who likes having her windows squeak. I'm really not your type.