The Violent Ecstasy of the End Point

Posted on 28/03/2013 by


I am going through the end of the book so fast it’s a little disturbing. Partly because holding it all my head is starting to make me feel like I’ve got a zoetrope in there, but also because I’m so focused on it I’m not really connecting properly with the real world.

Like, okay — I invented a new character last week. I mean, not new, I knew she was coming, but I gave her a name and she spoke and suddenly she was a lot more real. And right now I have a clearer idea of her emotional status than I do of the people I live with.

Me: I suddenly realised I can’t remember yesterday.
Rick: I gave you hugs. I remember
Me: Ohh. I was doing crime. Phew. For a second there I was really worried. I was like, “WTF did I do yesterday? There’s nothing in my records.”
Rick: What if it didn’t happen!
Me: Well, yeah.

The fact that I was prepared to entertain this thought is a little… something. I’m pretty sure the fact that I didn’t write that day wasn’t really a direct line to, It didn’t happen!

And then yesterday was, How insulting can one afford to be to the secret police? and What’s the life expectancy of a rattlesnake? And how do you process things when you’re concussed?

Me: So apparently being concussed makes you think in poetry. Or at least that’s how it’s coming out right now.
Rick: No experiments.
Me: 😛 I don’t remember being that poetical personally I think it’s just the slightly abstract shape of Gray’s thoughts. Makes it sound…

And then my housemate fed me this sort of juice/schnapps toddy because apparently he wants to see if getting me tipsy affects my ability to type. Or he’s just delighted that he’s finally found a hot drink I’ll let him feed me. Or he wants to see if adding alcohol to my sleep-deprived, so close to finished I can taste it mania will be what finally makes me snap…