Derry, Northern Ireland

Derry, Northern Ireland
A book I'm working on is set in this town.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Despair, Depression, Ennui

I feel like a modern male version of Gloria Swanson, and if you don't know who she was, IMDb it...or check out "Sunset Boulevard."

I made my own veggie soup. It's good, but it is not sufficient for a meal...not even with cornbread (I bought some en route home, this evening, and cooked it up. And got ravenous an hour later. I didn't know I'd made Chinese.

Zyrtek kills creativity. I cannot sit at a computer and function; I fall asleep. Hence my lateness in posting. But it's that or sneeze myself into a stroke and sniffle and snort for hours on end. I'm beginning to see the logic in Sheldon's attitudes about health, i.e. -- don't touch me.

I watched more of Season 4 of "The Big Bang Theory" rather than try to write crap on IF, and in one episode, Amy Foster-Fowler has an unusually typical female reaction to a good-looking man's butt. It was funny watching this very logical, detached woman letting out whimpers of sexual frustration at first seeing this jock named Zack and finally touching him. What gave it punch, however, was this moment at the end, when she took Sheldon's hand "as an experiment" and revealed she feels nothing in the way of human attraction for him. All to his complete unawareness. Broke my heart.

I identify with Sheldon. Outsider. Socially inept. Clueless about life. Lack of self-awareness. I root for him to find some kind of happiness that's not based on statistics, analysis, observation, or condescension...not to mention fear of germs. Or "Star Trek"...tho' that one's not such a big deal.

And yes, I know I'm talking about fictional characters. Now leave me alone with my Jake and Antony and Eric and Daniel and Van...but not Brendan. He's pissed at me.

Zoning, again. Good night, Irene, good night, Irene, I'll see you in my dreams. Not. I'm gay. Make it Irving or Ian and then we'll talk.

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