So, I was thinking, and, you see, my thoughts went a little like this: You know, I have not done any free writing in such a long time. Perchance I could free-write again. And so that’s where this post came from. Me thinking. You know, I certainly do do that a lot. Think, I mean. I think. You think. We all think. What would happen if wedidn’t think? Something bad, I presume.
Anyway, I’m hungry. And I want tea. I always want tea, though…I have a feeling I may have more than a minor addiction to said beverage. Perpahs I should get a therapist and talk to her/him about my tea addiction. That might make me feel better. Then again, it’s just tea. It’s not like addicted to heroin or LSD or some hard drug like that. Besides, tea has beneficial effects. For instance, it has all those antioxidants and keeps you relatively awke, so long as you drink black tea. Herbal tea, on the other hand, will knock you out in ten seconds.
I haven’t had any white tea in a long while. We use to get this really good white tea that was raspberry. Rasperry white tea. Great stuff, but terrible with milk.
Note to readers: Do not drink white tea wih milk. I tried once, and I wish I hadn’t.
Currant tea, on the other hand, is delicious with milk. The berry flavouring and the creaminess of the milk kinda react and mix together to create an uber beverage of sorts.
Whoa. When I’m typing a hundred words a minute, I sure do make a bunch of spelling mistakes. I wonder if I should edit then out, if or it would be better for my stylistic mistakes to just leave them, to show that I’m just as human as everyone else…What do you think?
Never matter. I’ll edit them out. I can’t stand improper grammar. Just looking at the words that are not spelled correctly on the page so far are angering me. I wish to stab them with a pencil.
Really, I should work on character development more. My plots, as I’ve states before, are incredibly complex, but my characters…? Not very deep. Well, sure, every once in a while, blokes like Diiv or that one guy from The Winter…Oh, god, what was his name? Deszo? No, that wasn’t it. The assassin. The one who killed Lord Algernon. He was really cool and was incredibly developed. My most developed character, like, ever. So developed that he made a roll of film look like something out of a Stephanie Meyer novel.
That wasn’t very punny. Maybe I should have said: “Made a Karamazov Brother look like something out of a Meyer novel”? Would that have worked?
I man love Dostoevsky. White Nights made me cry. Almost. I have trouble crying completely. It just doesn’t work that way. I’ll get teary, and pensive, and I’ll kinda just sit quietly and think for a while, my brain being mindf@@$#, but there have only been two times I’ve cried in the last twelve months—once over a girl, something I’ve never confided to anyone, and once while watching Harry Potter and the Death Hallows Part I. Man, that scene where Hermione erases her parent’s memories…And then my family made fun of me for it. I hated them for some that. Men have emotions, too. They can laugh, they can cry, they can dance in the rain. They can be moody. We even have hormonal cycles, except, for you know, they aren’t so painful as women’s, as our hormonal cycles don’t have include periods.
My sister gets really pissed off when she has her period. For that one week a month, pracically the other thing we can do that won’t piss her off is to worship the ground she walks on.
And…Not my arm is cramped. I need to let it rest before I can type more. That’s about that, then.
See ya later, alligator!
P.S. The assassin’s name is Auberon! I knew that. Maybe.