Class 2 Zombie Outbreak

I'm terrible at this. This "update" thing. See, if I was in school, I might possibly have something to post. At least I could complain about which classes were keeping me from sleeping. As it stands, any update I could write, when boiled down to its essence, sounds something like this:

"Hi. Still wasting my time and not doing anything. I suck. Rock on."

Thrilling, ne?

I'm back on the Café now. (BOC42: "I know this already!" Emmett: "He was off the Café?" Or, alternatively, Emmett: "What café?")

Something to look out for when communicating with other people: "No, I can't say that. Everyone else in the frickin' room has already said something to the effect that they liked it. If I say anything, I have to say, you know, something. Well, I got nothing. I just won't say anything." It's the easiest thing in the world to say nothing because I think I have nothing to say. This leads to prolonged silences.

I'm still working on the fanfiction referenced in my last post, some months ago. For your viewing pleasure, I shall post a segment from the rough rough rough first draft.

"Despite his usual tendency to get up early—highly encouraged by Chip using all of his considerable influence over Dale, physical and otherwise—fatigue from traveling and doing considerable emergency repair work caught up with Dale and caused him to wake up sometime well into the morning approaching noon. The fact that Chip was not looming over him, of course, had no impact in this decision. This, anyway, was what Dale reminded that faint nagging guilt at the back of his head, and peace of mind was restored. He cast one bleary eye around the room—its mate apparently not agreeing that opening was worth the effort—and noticed two things. First, there was a great deal of unwelcome light in the room. Dale made a note to himself—talk Chip into blocking the windows. Second, Chip himself was not in bed. He had apparently lost his sanity and gotten out of bed early. As usual. This was perfectly fine, so long as he didn’t drag Dale out of bed as well. Dale let his lone venturesome eye close, and he snuggled deeper into the fresh grass of his bed.

Bam.

Yep, entirely content in a warm bed.

Bam bam bam.

Not having any trouble getting back to sleep at all. None.

BAM BAM BAM. "

And no, I'm not going to tell you what the bamming was. Not now, at least. And here's another one, also for kicks and giggles!

"Crystal notes filled the small room where Clarice was practicing. It was a simple room, devoid of the comfort and frills that inevitably followed Clarice whenever an audience was around. The only adornment was a piano and bench. Clarice herself stood in the center of the room, eyes closed, standing straight and breathing deeply from the stomach. She climbed her way through a scale, slowing as she neared the top. She practiced her high vibrato, her voice swaying gently around the notes. She held the highest note of the scale for a full twenty seconds, then let herself slide—slowly, controlled—back down the scale. When she reached the bottom, she raised the note half a step and began the new scale, caressing each note as she passed it.

A huge ka-SLAM behind her shattered all her mustered concentration and sent her jumping into the air; she landed, twisted around with her fists up, and met two furry bodies colliding with her. All three of them went tumbling to the ground; one of the two went spinning to the side, the other landed firmly on top of Clarice. She automatically brought her knee up in a fierce jab and thrust her fist into his side; she heard a rewarding rush of expelled breath and shoved her assailant off."

Hmm... yup, that looks like a good place to stop.

In other news, I like cooking brownies! :)

~Paul