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Its terrible that writer's block manifests itself in my voracious reading. Books like "Crooked Little Vein" by Warren Ellis speed the renewal of my inspiration reserves, but not being able to see the neighbours free, unsecured, wireless internet from my room is more of a handicap than I can deal with. At least it means that I can't write with my good keyboard and have access to the internet from my room. In a pinch I suppose I could set up my mother's desktop to provide net access to the whole house via powerline over ethernet but that would only be a modem and when the neighbours are giving anyone with dual-dipole range extended wifi cards broadband internet for free, what exactly is the point?
I guess I need to find my dvorak keyless keyboard and put it on my laptop and deal with rewiring my brain for typing that layout again, and give in to using my father's leather chair in the loungeroom for the internet. That way I have the freedom to intellectually indulge myself on wikipedia.org while having a nice method of typing which doesn't annoy the heck out of me when trying to get my thoughts down on digital paperless documents. Creating lovely documents full of wordsmithing is one of the joys left to me at the moment.
My enthusiasm for projects I have set for myself this year is waning fast. I was going to either set up a bookshop, go back to uni to begin a rejoinder of my university courses in biotechnology, seclude myself on an island in the northern pacific to write a novel, or learn to pilot a helicopter in an attempt to hasten my eventual violent death. Now I'm really lacklustre on any of these ideas and have settled into maybe learning how to knit or tat, or how to sew more complicated patters, or learning fundamentals of journalism so that I can justify travel to foreign climes in the northern hemisphere. I don't even have a passport, despite being a citizen of two countries.
I say hooray for living in a colony! I also say hooray for being Americanised, even though I refuse to use 'z' in my spelling or pronounce the letter "zee". I forgot where this was going, but I'm sure it had something to do with watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show last night, which was, as always, awesome. Groundbreaking theatre hasn't chnaged in a couple of hundred years, and I'd still like to see Pygmalion some day, even though its been adapted in things I have seen and read.
I guess I need to find my dvorak keyless keyboard and put it on my laptop and deal with rewiring my brain for typing that layout again, and give in to using my father's leather chair in the loungeroom for the internet. That way I have the freedom to intellectually indulge myself on wikipedia.org while having a nice method of typing which doesn't annoy the heck out of me when trying to get my thoughts down on digital paperless documents. Creating lovely documents full of wordsmithing is one of the joys left to me at the moment.
My enthusiasm for projects I have set for myself this year is waning fast. I was going to either set up a bookshop, go back to uni to begin a rejoinder of my university courses in biotechnology, seclude myself on an island in the northern pacific to write a novel, or learn to pilot a helicopter in an attempt to hasten my eventual violent death. Now I'm really lacklustre on any of these ideas and have settled into maybe learning how to knit or tat, or how to sew more complicated patters, or learning fundamentals of journalism so that I can justify travel to foreign climes in the northern hemisphere. I don't even have a passport, despite being a citizen of two countries.
I say hooray for living in a colony! I also say hooray for being Americanised, even though I refuse to use 'z' in my spelling or pronounce the letter "zee". I forgot where this was going, but I'm sure it had something to do with watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show last night, which was, as always, awesome. Groundbreaking theatre hasn't chnaged in a couple of hundred years, and I'd still like to see Pygmalion some day, even though its been adapted in things I have seen and read.
