My brain and I are having a hard time these days. Trust me, I’ve made my efforts: I conceded, I clearly expressed my feelings, I gave it lots of chocolate… Nothing will do. My brain refuses to meet me halfway and I am sick of arguing.
I am filing for divorce.
I mean, look at my week!
I wrote this insane fable about a summoning chicken. It whirled in my brain until I found time to type it out of my life. I couldn’t write anything else before it was done.
I recorded half of Tiffany’s song (I’m trying to get it done by Saturday). Getting the melody right was the easy part. Now my brain can’t seem to be satisfied by anything less than a vocal brainstorm until I find something to go alongside the melody. “*records a few bars* Aheïla likes it. Her brain doesn’t. *starts over*” Wash, rinse, repeat. It keeps returning to it all day long. It causes me to hum all the time. Like that makes me look any saner!
I’m working on a wedding themed game that is scheduled to come out this summer and my brain needs a few kicks to do its job. But it will play wedding music in my dreams at night. How can it do that to me? It’s not as bad as the time when I was working on Transformers, that wedding game and a game for a new line of doll; I dreamt about dolls jumping from buildings to buildings and spreading destruction on the beat of the Bridal Chorus. Yes, my brain is that execrable.
The steampunk pirates are back. Here’s the latest scene between Tatiana and her French pirate:
“Steamy?” He bellowed as he entered the engine room. I wedged myself out from under the motor and unfolded to stand upright.
“Only my brother gets to call me that.” I snarled. He leaned against the main water duct.
“I always wondered why that is. I trust he hasn’t sampled your… bedside manners.”
Peeved, I cocked my hip and rested my oily fist on it. I tapped the wrench I held in my other hand against my thigh. I trusted the steam sent my hair curling every which way, as usual.
“Why don’t you attempt to use your upstairs brain and take a wild guess?”
As if that wasn’t enough, my brain came up with a new idea for a story. You might see it pop on here because I doubt I’ll be able to keep it in for long. I’m not saying anything more except that it is called “Killing Time OST”.
You’ve read right: the damned thing has a title and it isn’t even written yet! Meanwhile, my brain refuses to come up with a title for Cassidy’s story. Come on! How am I supposed to live with that?
And what about Lily? Can’t she get a little attention?
This is the last straw! I’m divorcing my brain. Or better yet, I’ll take all the flowers off my lawn and let the zombies have it!
On this fantabulous note, I am going to relax to Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major before I head for work.