rambling, again

Just talking to talk, I suppose. :) I'll try to keep it low-key, I promise!

The days at Dancehaven are very good -- long, in the slowness, but very good. I have cleaned the store enough times, and am now on to the neighboring store, Get Wet, which should take me a while longer... *grins* we'll see. But it is lovely...such a world unto itself! I walk in the doors, and immediately I am the mistress of a pretty little realm of definite grace. Perhaps the Cookie spoiled my head -- it's so nice to have a store of one's own, free from the mall-walkers! I am thoroughly enjoying Dancehaven.

The schedule is so nice, too...I'll have Monday and Tuesdays off nearly every week, which is decisive luxury, and rarely have to come in before ten. That's a significant amount of sleep right there...I am beginning to lose my insomniac superpowers anyhow, so it's a very good thing.

-- I feel like I'm not writing coherently at all. Bother. It has been a long day...not bad at all; once again, people are quite nice to me, even if the shoes are expensive, as long as I'm patient with them and fetch the twelfth pair cheerfully. People just make me tired. And sitting up all night writing gives me energy. Isn't that silly?

Oooh, but this is pointless. I need to either decide upon a subject, or go and do something Productive.

I can't flesh it out now, I'm not coherent enough, but I have been turning a problem about in my head over the past week...when my brain is caught on writing, and I analyze everything grammatically, my first reaction to many things is to want to write on them. Oh, and there is so much needing it in this world, putrid, gangrenous stuff that makes me crackling and angry. I sit quiet and white for a moment, and then I throw the magazine down and fly out of the room, and I will snap inside unless I do something about it. I scream to write it out -- words are my sharpest weapon by far; I turn to them first -- to ignite a hundred thousand eyes and brains against it, for surely they must not know; why else has it not been ground out? I could, too, I could...but then here is the wall, and my question, and if anyone would like to help me with it, I'd be grateful...it's something I must learn.

But how -- how does one present, draw attention to, illuminate something so evil? -- there is nothing less than what would be too graphic. Journalism can get by with certain things, but fiction -- no. Much less in a form that christian contemporary culture, which is rich, and increased with goods, and has need of nothing, carefully laundering its white gloves in the tears of ages past, would condescend to read! And yet without making it a Peretti thriller... (Remind me again why they sell Frank Peretti at the Vineyard? Argh...but that is another rant. :)) I've read one book that was close, Rivers' Atonement Child, but that was an easier subject...not a closed one, by any means, but less messy...

And what do I know, anyhow? How could I assume to write about something my life has been so far removed from? Will I ever know? -- could I stomach it? Oh, God...

Why did I have to get stuck on the hardest thing, eh? Silly Katharine...I should've gotten angry at the clumsy capitalist oil liners who spill yucky stuff all over the poor little penguins and make them cold. Highlights would buy my dear little stories, and I could have many pairs of white gloves. Oh, yes...silly Katharine.

*sigh* It's a different sort of melancholy, tonight. I hope it's alright...