I'll just sit here and bleed at you

I woke up early early this morning and shifted through texts I couldn't be bothered reading last night. I always like waking up to something to read. Although probably not great to start the day beating yourself up over the fact that someone is using an extended metaphor of addiction in an attempt to see you again. I'm better than heroin, guys! Fuck I guess I just can't help being so goshdarn amazing, now can I.

Anyway I woke up early early and decided to publish stories in my head. Plan out interviews and signings and reading and most importantly the dedications. Spend advances so far in advance you won't even have to think when you get the cheque. This destroyed an hour. Then I got up and sighed at my fringe for several minutes. I went back to bed with a pen but only doodled screaming attacks on my own personality.

Oh fuck what did they do to Sharleen Spiteri?

I'm poring over maps instead, calculating costs and packing bags full of books. I'm sitting in the red Mustang my uncle owned when he was my age, cheaper than an airplane because other people's memories don't cost me a thing. There's printouts and annotations and scraps of plans of ideas. Go here and here and here. Part of me was resigned to the fact that I wasn't going to get it out, thinks there's no point I'm never going to get there, never going to do anything. But fuck it, I have to try. So there's guidebooks and maps and printouts and my tights have a line trailing up the back of my legs because you have to wear a skirt to write this. Do my hair even though there's nobody to do it for. I'm doing it for my notebook, impressing my own characters, and I'm thinking ahead of advances and long trips and walks round buildings I love. I'm thinking dedications and piles of paper with a finished quality to them. My dad wrote two books, one he was commissioned to do so it doesn't count as much I guess. Still two books means my name is in two dedications. My mum told me the other day that some college course used his first as a textbook for a while which meant a bunch of students read my name.

This is what I did to pass the time before I made it down the stairs.