(no subject)

My novel is alive. I mean, I always knew it was alive, but now I've discovered that it has self-awareness and an instinct for self-preservation. I thought the end was in sight. Really, I did. I was expecting just a couple more quick scenes establishing some form of resolution and then I could write "The End," take 3 days off, and start the rewrite.

Then something highly significant happened to one of the few remaining major characters. (No, they didn't all die. I only killed off one. The rest just kind of disappeared because I forgot about them.) The thing is trying to make itself longer. It has actually become such an intense part of my life that it has taken on some sort of malevolent intelligence.

Or, perhaps I am losing my mind.

Anyway. I have about 8 hours of homework left to do this weekend, and about 4 hours of available time left in which to do it.

By the way, last week at rehearsal the Philharmonia conductor (whom I hate, argh argh, evil man) shouted out loud to the cello section, "Vibrate it! Give me love!" I just kind of... wanted to share that.

Must... do... homework. I really don't want to. I want to write and I want to screw around on the computer. Homework does not at all fit into my vision of the Ideal Universe. Especially now that I have to do actual work in 1st and 2nd periods (1st because I'm taking an IB exam in that class and have to impress the teacher, 2nd because somehow I'm suddenly 3 weeks behind) and have to get all my homework actually done at night. So anyway. I'm off to go try and do some. Urgh...