Subconscious Theater: Halloween edition

Went to bed late. Couldn't sleep. Got up to investigate strange noises in the house. Clicks. scrapes. A radio that was on but I couln't find it. Grey light everywhere. The slow and certain realization that something was in the apartment. Trying to get out of bed to find it. Feeling that slow compression of time, where your muscles are paralyzed. Watchin spectral shapes fade in and out of my vision, holding something, pointing it at me. Realizing that i'm dreaming and I have to get up and I will myself to get up and I do but discover that IM STILL DREAMING AND THE SHAPES ARE STILL HERE.

Then I get to really wake up. And I really DO hear voices in the apartment. My roommate's radio alarm is blaring. I walk through the house, flipping light along the way. I hit the snooze, and figure out how to turn off the alarm. I walk back down the hall, darkening the lights behind me.

Bad sleep cycle = horrible mood until at least noon.

Speaking of cycles, one hit me today. I pull out of my drive way and am approaching the light to turn onto Rt. 16. I see a blue scooter in my rearview mirror. I stop the car, and hear a THUMP. Glancing back I see people staring at the ground behind my car. Panic. Lawsuits. Injury. The short end to the story was that they rider slipped in some leaves and wiped out into the back of my car. He was going slow, no damage on either side, and no one was hurt.

1% there

Oh man, this writing challenge is going to be painful. Day after day of throwing words at the screen. Quantity over quality, and believe me that is the case. I suppose I could take the easy way out and chronicle one of the games I've run or been in, but there's too much to explain, and well it would feel like cheating. Or just be lame Oh, this is where my Ventrue goes and does something cool! Blah.

Do you write in the first person or third? First person is the hipper way to write, but the comparisons between the writer and the character are inevitable. Wish fulfillment, vicarious living, changing history.

And every word I write here is time not working on my Opus. Well, I have a rough idea for a story. I don't know if it will sustain or not. I'd have to have to start over from the beginning half way through the month. Some days the desire to press that delete will intoxicate me. I'll hallucinate and my keyboard will turn into one big red shiny candy like button with delete etched into it. It will mock me. It will whistle innocently and present itself to me shamelessly.

Time to throw some more words around.