The Inmates Run the Asylum

I've caught myself doing a tiny regression back to my preteen Bop days.

It started so innocently. I needed someone to keep my ass on track writing-wise, to stare me into productivity when I felt like slacking. Well, it just so happened that about this time that Jeffrey Donovan posted a picture of Bruce Campbell doing the Sam Axe stare on his Twitter.

Light bulbs, bells, and whistles go off in my head. It's perfect! Just what I need to correct my slacking ways. So I swipe it, print it out, and mat it with a shortened version of my favorite SGA quote ("I cannot keep sitting here waiting for you to have an epiphany. I am losing the will to live."~Radek Zelenka. It's the marquee screensaver for both of my computers. I just used the first sentence for the Bruce picture). I framed it and set it up on my DVD shelf so it stares at me while I work. It's a pretty effective reminder.

Fast forward to November and NaNoWriMo. Early on in the month, TV Guide graced us with a gorgeous picture of Nathan Fillion, which Carrie tore out of the magazine and gave to me on the condition that if he became too distracting, she'd take him away. Well, it turns out that Nathan is a bit of good luck because I hit 50,000 words today. Now, I just have to finish the rest of the novel before the end of the month.

I'm pretty tired at the moment. You wouldn't think that writing can wear you out, but it does me, especially when I'm busting my ass on the word counts. I realized that I'm in dangerous territory and that with my 50K in the bag, I might be tempted to slack.

Cue the bells and whistles!

I go digging through my drawer and find a picture of Chris O'Donnell and LL Cool J that Carrie got from an EW, I think. It's now hanging up above Nathan, my inspiration to get me through the rest of November and the rest of my novel.

Come December, though, I think I'll be putting the pictures away (well, all except Bruce; he's my daily writing inspiration). I don't want to go back to wallpapering my room in people's faces.

My dad still hasn't forgiven me for all of the thumbtack holes from the first time.

Happy 4th of July to my American friends. Happy Saturday to everyone else.

Due to inconvenient weather being inconvenient, our plans to hang out in a parking lot and drink redneck cocktails while possibly blowing stuff up have been pushed back to tomorrow.

And since it is a day that usually involves someone, somewhere, grievously injuring themselves (and since I haven't done it in awhile), how about a father/daughter conversation on hospital trips.

*Dad sharpens a knife then immediately cuts his finger on it*
Me: Hey, just because our plans for the day got postponed doesn't mean I want to spend the afternoon with you in the ER.
Dad: Like you'd go.
Me: Hey, last time you tried cutting a finger off it was Christmas Eve.
Dad: You wouldn't go to the hospital with me if it was August 13th.
Me: I would if you were dying and I was in the will.
Dad: I'll put your sister in the will. Leave it all to her.
Me: *snorts* Good move. She'd have it all spent before you drew your last breath.
Dad: I'll just leave her the old Jeep. "To Mimzie, I bequeath the old Jeep. You wrecked it, you got it." She'd be thrilled.
Me: Yeah, she would.

For the record, Dad didn't cut himself badly enough to go for stitches.

This makes the third holiday I know of for sure that he's cut himself.

Dad's hardcore like that.