I've done a terrible job with everything lately. I can't kick sloth away when I actually have the time and freedom to do as I wish. Instead what happens is that time ticks away and night approaches with little to nothing actually accomplished other than consuming too many juice.
The only useful thing I've done throughout these past few days is thinking of weird one-liners that have chances at sounding funny or could be expressed through short vignettes.
BUT!
Now I'm setting my mind on two things for sure:
1. Finishing an overdue story from MONTHS ago
&
2. Starting a Pokemon related story
The latter may seem pointless, but it will motivate me to write, I think. And due to events in real life, I need some relaxing time. A nice relaxing yet taking-seriously Pokemon fic might just do wonders.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Imperative Persistance
The second dream in its likeness.
My body pulls itself up and, arching, stretches over the foot of the bed. I grab the laptop and set it on the bed. After repositioning myself so that I lay on my stomach, facing the foot of the bed, I pull the laptop's monitor up and balance its unstable top accordingly. The power button, stripped of its protective cover and revealing the green and black components of its makeup, reflects the light abnormally well for noontime, the room's window facing its back. I take a breath and press the button.
My dream tempted me.
The screen glows and loads up normally, and my eyes grow larger along with my smile. The screen goes black with the white words "the memory has been changed" appearing with two commands underneath it. I strike the F8 key and immediately lead the highlighter to "safe mode."
Lines and lines of file locations scroll down the screen until they stop, with the still highlighted "safe mode" at the very top. Moments pass, and I sigh quietly. "Come on," I murmur, holding down the power button. As the lights die, I press the power button again.
My dream promised me.
I repeat the same actions, but this time, the lines of code continue to run until the command "press ENTER to continue" peeks out from the bottom. By the time my eyes run over it, the computer freezes again--the fans grow quiet when the laptop halts commands. My teeth bite my lip as I restart the laptop once again.
My dream encouraged me.
Now the lines of code obliterate the blackness with white, and words streak across the top of the screen. In the bottom corners, "safe mode" plants itself for me, and I feel reassured. Icons load normally, and my eyes linger on Photoshop and Windows Media Player. "Goodbye," I murmur, clicking on the start menu.
I realize I have no idea where I must go though an idea teeters in my mind. Naturally I click on "Help and Support," which never failed me before. Minutes pass and I understand where I must go. Help and Support. Performance and Maintenance. Using System Restore to undo changes. Run the System Restore Wizard.
Once the Wizard opens up, I hop the calender back to November 1, 2010.
When I first took the computer from my brother. When I first gave National Novel Writing Month a try. When I first told myself I would have freedom.
Freedom stripped away, though the dream whispered revolts in my ear.
The laptop shuts down and lets the System Restore start its job. The blue bar stretches further and further across the digital trench--
The damned blue screen pops up.
The same devil that crashed my writing parties in November. The same devil that threatened me in December. The same devil that brought down my laptop into a virtual coma in January.
Breath escapes me as I automatically shut down the laptop. I stare at the black screen. "Please work," I murmur, turning on the junk again.
Nothing but a black screen and a blinking underscore.
Power off, I push the laptop to the side. Back to square one.
For three months I struggled with the deconstructing laptop, failing to stay afloat with blue screens, overheated parts, and decreasing hard drive efficiency on its shoulders. Time, money, hope--all involved.
Why I believe that System Restore is the answer makes no sense, not with the memory of the previous failed theory in mind. The past proves that all hope should be gone.
But those dreams will not stop unless something is done.
I cannot give up.
My body pulls itself up and, arching, stretches over the foot of the bed. I grab the laptop and set it on the bed. After repositioning myself so that I lay on my stomach, facing the foot of the bed, I pull the laptop's monitor up and balance its unstable top accordingly. The power button, stripped of its protective cover and revealing the green and black components of its makeup, reflects the light abnormally well for noontime, the room's window facing its back. I take a breath and press the button.
My dream tempted me.
The screen glows and loads up normally, and my eyes grow larger along with my smile. The screen goes black with the white words "the memory has been changed" appearing with two commands underneath it. I strike the F8 key and immediately lead the highlighter to "safe mode."
Lines and lines of file locations scroll down the screen until they stop, with the still highlighted "safe mode" at the very top. Moments pass, and I sigh quietly. "Come on," I murmur, holding down the power button. As the lights die, I press the power button again.
My dream promised me.
I repeat the same actions, but this time, the lines of code continue to run until the command "press ENTER to continue" peeks out from the bottom. By the time my eyes run over it, the computer freezes again--the fans grow quiet when the laptop halts commands. My teeth bite my lip as I restart the laptop once again.
My dream encouraged me.
Now the lines of code obliterate the blackness with white, and words streak across the top of the screen. In the bottom corners, "safe mode" plants itself for me, and I feel reassured. Icons load normally, and my eyes linger on Photoshop and Windows Media Player. "Goodbye," I murmur, clicking on the start menu.
I realize I have no idea where I must go though an idea teeters in my mind. Naturally I click on "Help and Support," which never failed me before. Minutes pass and I understand where I must go. Help and Support. Performance and Maintenance. Using System Restore to undo changes. Run the System Restore Wizard.
Once the Wizard opens up, I hop the calender back to November 1, 2010.
When I first took the computer from my brother. When I first gave National Novel Writing Month a try. When I first told myself I would have freedom.
Freedom stripped away, though the dream whispered revolts in my ear.
The laptop shuts down and lets the System Restore start its job. The blue bar stretches further and further across the digital trench--
The damned blue screen pops up.
The same devil that crashed my writing parties in November. The same devil that threatened me in December. The same devil that brought down my laptop into a virtual coma in January.
Breath escapes me as I automatically shut down the laptop. I stare at the black screen. "Please work," I murmur, turning on the junk again.
Nothing but a black screen and a blinking underscore.
Power off, I push the laptop to the side. Back to square one.
For three months I struggled with the deconstructing laptop, failing to stay afloat with blue screens, overheated parts, and decreasing hard drive efficiency on its shoulders. Time, money, hope--all involved.
Why I believe that System Restore is the answer makes no sense, not with the memory of the previous failed theory in mind. The past proves that all hope should be gone.
But those dreams will not stop unless something is done.
I cannot give up.
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