Out On The Moonlit Floor...

Mood: Dreamy

Mmm..

Dance like you're home alone, dance like no one's watching.

Have you ever heard a song or saw a scene that made you just close your eyes and wish? Or close your eyes and let yourself be transported somewhere in your dreams?

The song "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None The Richer does that to me. It makes me want to close my eyes and twirl and imagine myself in a moonlit courtyard dancing and spinning alone with someone, just the two of us. He's a shadow, not someone I know, but then it doesn't really matter who it is, does it? Because that guy doesn't truly exist. Maybe once upon a time, but not anymore.

Still, that doesn't keep us from dreaming.

In case you don't know the song I'm talking about, let me just paste the lyrics. It is the lyrics I listen to, not just the girl's wistful voice.

Kiss me, out of the bearded barley

Lightly, beside the green, green grass

Swing, swing, swing the spinning step

You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress



Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies

Dance silver moon’s sparkling, so kiss me



Kiss me down by the broken tree house

Swing me upon its hanging tire

Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat

We’ll take the trail marked on your father’s map



Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies

Dance silver moon’s sparkling, so kiss me



Kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies

Dance silver moon’s sparkling...

So kiss me...

Don't stare at me like that. I do have estrogen running through my body. I am allowed to like an ultra feminine song every once in a while. And every once in a while, I'm allowed to put on my prettiest top and my peasant skirt, dim the lights, crank up the volume and just close my eyes and pretend. Pretend and dream.That is what this world is made of, truly. Dreams. Without dreams, there'd be no hope. And without hope, there'd be no joy. And that's when the world would really come to an end.

It's... Over...

Christmas is over. Excuse me while I bawl my eyes out.

Okay, I'm done. After all, there's only 361 days til next Christmas!

Lately, I've been taking full advantage of my holidays to relax. And do absolute, glorious, nothing! This is why there have been no updates: there's been nothiing to update about. Christmas was nice, life has been good. My blessed iRiver, the only thing I really truly wanted for Christmas, has not come in yet thanks to the closure of all government offices including mail until tomorrow. I live in hope! Eternal hope!

Yesterday was quite interesting. I woke up at 1 15, due to my 5 am bedtime the night (morning?) before, to the dinging of my AIM. I rolled over and looked at it to find that Ryan had been IMing me for the past couple of hours. He informed me that I was going shopping, and I as going shopping with him at 3 30. Who was I to refuse? Especially since he was willing to tag along with me to both Chapters and Winners. How many straight guys do you know that would go with you to Winners? Not many, I'll bet you.

We never actually made it to Winners, but we went to Chapters for a long time, Superstore (to pick up the Nintendo DS that was the purpose for his shopping), Zellers (where several of his friends--and the cica he's afraid of, Sheila--work), and HMV. And we had a great time. I forgave him for his mother (who we met at Chapters and drove us to his house later where I got picked up) and he forgave me for dragging him through Chapters for at least an hour. I also bought him a CD, but I did that because there was a 2/30 deal and I figured that if the CD would make him happy, he deserved it. And it did, so I have no regrets on spending my xmas money on him. Besides, I got the Nightmare Before Christmas special edition DVD. The best movie ever, incidentally.

And now, for the Overlarge Pillow of Ecstacy. Something Ryan got for Christmas and I immediately fell in love with. It's an overlarge pillow. It reminds me of one of Leroy's dog beds. except a little bigger. And softer. Much softer. One side is entirely covered with black furry stuff. And it's soft. Ultra soft. And so big that you can literally curl into it. It's Heaven. In a pillow.

Okay, time to be absolutely unproductive once more and paint my nails.

MistWeaver

A PICTURE!!!

You saw it, folks. A PICTURE!!! I have finally found a photo hosting site. And since I am now clean and bored, I shall experiment a little with it.




Yay!! Thumbnail!!

MistWeaver

Aha!!

Well, I did nothing today, so I don't really have anything to post. Okay, that's a lie. I did do something. I wrapped gifts all day and played Majesty, a game I'm addicted to on the computer.

The reason I'm bothering to post is that I remembered what made me laugh so hard in National Treasure.

See, there's the main charcter chick, the main character guy, and the foil/secondary main character/comic relief, who's always trying to get in a piece of history info that the two others didn't know.

So they're wandering around this huge sophisticated underground catacombs type thing that this group of secret masons built. The girl looks around and says in a hushed voice:

"Whoa, how did they build all this?"

The secondary hero dude looks and her and smiles triumphantly.

"The same way they built the pyramids and the other wonders," he replies.

She looks at him questioningly. His smile widens.

"The aliens helped them, of course!"

~

Hee hee, I guess you had to have been there. Hell, you probably had to have an Aya-esque misty sense of humor, too.


^.^

MistWeaver

Happiness is a warm kitty.

Who loves Ferrero Rochers? I DO!! Yell if you love em too! Yeah, you know it. Can't pronounce it, but can sure as hell eat it. We stopped at the drugstore, Micheline Ryan Kai and I, on the way back from the movie. I picked up chocolate. And Brian's Xmas gift. And gummy bears. And all I had on me was loonies and I wasn't sure if I had enough. Sure enough, I didn't. But Ryan paid for what I was missing, which was really sweet, especially since I'm not sure I would have had enough on my bank card left to cover it (xmas shopping kinda destroyed my savings).

Anyways.

I'm just back from my second movie night in a row. Amazing, I know. With Ryan, even.

You see, yesterday when we went to the theatre, we went to see Meet the Fockers. Unfortunately, when we got to the ticket booth, it turned out that it didn't open until the next day... aka today. So we went and saw National Treasure instead. And it was funny. And interesting. And I all around liked it. There was one line that really cracked me up, but I can't remember it. Which is why it is not in the title. Damn that messed up memory of mine. Oh, well.

So innyhoo. Later that night, after the movie, when we were waiting for my father to pick us up, he called his mother to let her know that he was still alive and she said that she'd take him to MtF the next night (tonight). He told me in case somebody wanted to accidentally show up. Actually, knowing Micheline, she probably invited me, but that's how he put it. And that's also how I ended up at the movies again tonight.

That's only the beginning of this tale, however. Buckle up, this is a long one.

First of all, my Headphone Earmuffs. That Ryan made. I kid you not. He freaking made them. IS THAT AWESOME OR WHAT? The name says it all. They're earmuffs. That are headphones. And WARM. Very warm. And they work well, too. Better than my old headphones. He sells them for 15 bucks apiece, folks! Buy a pair! They're really worth it!

I got mine for cheaper, because he made me a deal that I buy his movie ticket and he gives me the earphones free. Great deal, I think. Movies are only 10$. Kai bought a pair too, but he paid full price. No special deals for him... sucker.

Second of all, my TOTALLY AWESOME WICKED AYA COOKIE BOX. He told me when I got back from Bec's that he was working on an art project, and that I'd get to see it if I went to the movies. It turns out that the special art project was a tin, like the one I use to hold my famous cookies whenever I bring them places for people, except painted red with sunflowers on it with 'Aya Cookies' written on it. IS THAT NOT THE COOLEST THING YOU'VE EVER HEARD? And the sweetest, too. I mean, how many people do you know, guys especially, that would do something like that? I was--am--so utterly happy at this gift that I could barely speak. Even now, it still blows my mind. I'm sorry, but I never ever get cool handmade stuff, never mind cool handmade stuff that had thought put into it.

Okay, enough with the Ryan ranting. I'm sure all of you have concluded (rightly) that he's the awesomest dude in the world. I mean, everyone knows that 90% of all guys are stupid, but he's (as he puts it) in the other 20%. Hee hee.

Third of all. The title, the coolest thing today... the cat. The beautiful amazing adorable cat. That unfortunately belongs to Becs. You should all know that I've wanted a cat more than anything else in the world for the past two or three years. Of course, it's Becs that got one. Over the summer, actually. And if Papa didn't think all cats are inferior (though everyone else, even the allergic Brian, loves them), then we'd probably have one too. But that's not the point.

Bec's cat, Zues (yes, that's how she spells it), is huge, even though he's technically still a kitten. He's black, and insane. He claws, bites, and attacks everything that moves. And a habit I have is rubbing my feet in circles around each other. So this morning, while Becs slept like the dead, I was half asleep and automatically doing that when guess who! attacked my feet. I giggled, woke up more, and started moving them for him to attack. Eventually he got bored of the game and walked up me to my head, where he started nuzzling my hair. Then started purring. Loudly. Like a motor. And then (since it's so springy and curly and knotted and wool-y) he started gnawing at it and yanking it and clawing it. I, without looking, giggled again (me! giggling! can you imagine?) and reached up my hand to play with him. He attacked it, and then as I started petting and scratching him, started licking my forehead. He nuzzled a little more then walked to the other side of my head and lay down. No biting or scratching. He just lay down, purring all the while.

Eventually he curled up in to a little ball and lay there, purring while I scratched him all over. He moved once, rolling his head closer to his body. The purring was suddenly a lot louder. You see, I still hadn't moved the covers or even looked, so I couldn't know where he was or what he was doing, except by touch and sound.

I don't know how long we lay there, alone and silent, just me scratching and petting and him purring and eventually falling asleep. It felt like hours, but was probably only about 45 minutes total for the entire thing. All I kept thinking was 'Happiness is a warm cat', a quote from a Charlie Brown comic. That and how much I wanted to share this feeling of complete and utter contentment with someone. Becs was still dead to the world, and there was no one else that could possibly see and appreciate the scene, unless by some random coincidence Ryan or Gill ended up in Bec's house. They were, incidentally, the two people that came immediately to mind when I wanted to share the happy feeling I had.

Eventually I too grew sleepy and dropped my hand as his purring petered out amd he fell deeper into sleep. A few minutes later, he jumped suddenly and frenzied from his position, as if awakened from a bad dream and clawing my cheek in the process. This woke Becs up and that was the end of my yummy adventure into the world of warm cats and happiness.

I guess that I couldn't even really describe to Becs in words how it was for me, especially since she has a cat on her bed every day and I'm much better with the written word than the verbal one. So I guess that you guys, my readers, are the ones that I'm sharing this with. The simple pleasures in life are the yummiest. Some part of your holiday season, be it Hanukkah or Christmas or Kwanzaa, should include a simple joy like a warm cat, or even a hand-painted cookie tin.

Love and Harmony to all of you.

MistWeaver.

To Becca's House We Go!

It's beeen an interesting past few days. Yesterday I did absolutely nothing except sit on my butt (which is why I didn't update) and today was much more productive (sorta).

Dinner a couple of nights... Sunday, was it? ago was fun. Micheline wasn't there (had prior plans), Ken joined the boys for racing cars in the Living Room, and Ryan and I listened to much music. We exchanged gifts. Fun fact: both the gifts we got for each toher, we already had. Except taht he returned the book got me, having managed to figure out that I had it beforehand, and gave me a giftcard instead. My secret attempts to figure out if he had the REM DVD I got him were a little too secret... He mentioned everything he had of REM BUT the DVD. Grrr. Luckily, I got him a Gift Receit, so he could return it. He got a nice ska CD instead.

We also agreed to go see 'Meet the Fockers' together. We agreed to go on Tuesday (aka today). Since he convinced me to get AIM (AOL Instant Messenger), we've been talking for hours and hours straight. Awesome, no? Damned straight it is. His parents are making him work on homework every day of the Xmas holidays (except Sundays) from 9 AM to 3 PM. IS THAT UNFAIR OR WHAT? I'm sorry, but they severely irritate me sometimes. He works harder than anyone I know, especially on homework. But he still somehow finds time to talk to me, either on the phone or online, for hours every day or two. Unlike him.

Oh, and I've decided that he is dead. Mauled by mad beavers. Tragic, really. I'm just sick of how he always ignores me and basically confuses the hell out of me.

Anyways, back to Ryan. So bottom line is that me and Ryan talk a lot these days. And today, we were to meet at the theatre. And after that, to Becca's. Which is where I am now. And I'll expand on all of this later, so that I can spend valuable time with the awesome person that is Becca.

Who just hugged me for saying that. Don't see why. She is, you know. Awesome, I mean. AND DAMMIT EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW IT. And her cat rocks too.

Until later, then.

MistWeaver

Christmas!!!!

Okay. I know there's stilla while to go. It's only the 19th. But I, for one, am thrilled nonetheless. I'm not Christian, nor am I religious in any way. The appeal in Christmas, for me, is (corny as it sounds) the feelings. The feeling of happiness at watching someone's face light up over a gift you gave, hearing everyone unconsciously singing along to the ever-present music, the smells of baking and cooking and... Well, you get the picture. I don't care if you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa (like we do, too), there's still holiday cheer.

Today, Mama and I are baking coconut bread. Coconut bread is a recipe and a tradition passed on from woman to woman in our family. It's our most closely guarded secret and our most widely shared gift. The recipe, on average, makes about 20-25 loaves, and we give one to everybody. On the other hand, it's always the matriarch that bakes it, and no one else. Gramma only gave Mama the recipe when she was near-death, but Mama's being a little more lenient and teaching me it bit-by-bit over the next couple of years. Yum! Anyways, I have a feeling the last loaf is ready, so I'll BRB.

Back. Am I good, or what? The bread was just about to burn, but perfectly cooked. On the other hand, the dishwasher was steaming. I kid you not. It was shooting steam out. Is that healthy? Somehow, I doubt it. Most of the built-in appliances in our kitchen are kaput. The oven? good for show. The stove? don't make me laugh. The dishwasher? should have been buried in the eighties. Not a day goes by where my mother does not lament over the beautiful, professional, fully functional appliances in our old house. That and the beautiful cork-thingie floor. I swear, we have the ugliest kitchen this side of Miami. But it works (to a point), so I guess we can't complain too much.

Ryan and his parents are coming over to dinner tonight. Ryan Logan, in case I've been remiss in my introductions, is a friend of mine whom I met at Becs' clown course graduation last year. We've become fairly close friends, and lately the whole meet-the-parents thing has been happening. Kai, loser that he is, came downstairs this morning crying and saying that he didn't want to cook. A little irritating, since he agreed on Thursday and spent all of last night choosing a meal with me. He's actually a most excellent Chinese Chef, in the style of my grandfather. Too bad his maturity doesn't match his prowess in the kitchen. Luckily, Mama agreed to step in and make dinner in his place.

Oh, yes. I nearly forgot. OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! MY NOVEL! MY NOVEL! IT'S... IT'S...

A BOOK!

I kid you not. My novel is no longer just a novel. It is a book, complete with cover, back cover, about the author, and even back-cover blurb!

I printed it out two-to-a-page, cut them in half, and bound them with keychain rings, laminating the front and back cover. It's... so real. *sniffle* I feel so... proud. I really truly accomplished something. My novel still needs editing, but it's fully readable and comprehensible in the format I made into a book. It's amazing. people are already signing up for copies. All I need is more keychain rings and a lot more paper.

Anyways, that's it for now. possibly I will update more after the Logans' visit. Speaking of which, they'll be here in a couple of hours and I need to finish wrappng all the coconut bread, get cleaned up, and tidy up my room and the hall in case Micheline (Ryan's mother) insists on seeing my room again. Ugh.

MistWeaver

Vive les Ailes Brisées!

Just a quickie note that I have posted my finished novel online!! The link is in the title, and all of you who wish to read it but can't get a copy from me can experience it online! Vive les Broken Wings!

MistWeaver

Stories from the Springbank Slut

Update!: Mama and Brian thought that I looked awesome when they picked me up at 4. Take that!


I would say that my vacation's officially over, but this weekend is going to be a flurry of activity, so I'm probably not going to be able to post anyway. So instead of making a promise I won't keep, I'm going to say that vay-cay's over on Monday, instead.

I suppose that you're wondering what's up with the title. In answer to your question, I'm going to take you back to a time, long long ago... In other words, this morning at 6 30 AM.

I went through my usual routine: swear at the clock, stumble into the shower, swear at the stupid clogged drain that always makes me end up standing in two feet of water, vow to unclog it soon, step out of shower onto towel so as not to ruin the floor any more than necessary, swear at the small towel that I've been using for the past month, vow to change it soon, stumble into my room, shiver and swear at my lack of clean laundry, vow to do some more soon... You get the picture.

Today is the annual charity hockey game at school, so we're going to be spending most of the day watching hockey in the freezing arena. I figured that a skirt was out of the question if I didn't want to freeze. I searched through the piles of clothes for a while and finally came out looking (in my opinion) pretty good: purple medieval fitted tank top, black pants rolled up to the knee over mock-fishnets (that means that they're full tights but they have the fishnet pattern on them) and my new boots: black, pointy, heeled, with three buckles over the top and totally sexy. So I go downstairs, start going about my daily routine, when my father comes downstairs. Nothing new about that. He comes around the corner, sees me, and stops dead.

"Oh my GOD! Don't you think that's a little much? You look like a *cough*slut*cough*!"

I kid you not. He even did the mock sneeze 'slut' thing. Then he started going on about how I looked like a skank and a hooker (saying the actual words in mock-sneeze-thing, of course), etc. When I just ignored him, concentrating on the doubts now niggling me in my head, he got all offended and said that he should be allowed to get a little upset over what his daughter was leaving the house wearing. Which is true, of course. But there's a little thing called 'tact'. And he's gotten uptight about what I've worn before, but Mama and I can judge what truly looks good on us. This time, not only was he four times as rude as he's ever been, but he was also just being plain mean. I mean, no matter what I'm wearing I will always look much classier than most of the chicks at school. When he suggested that Mama would make me change too, if she was awake, I said nothing but wondered what she would truly have said. He even went so far as to make (not subtle in the least) suggestions to either roll down my pants so the tights didn't show or change my shoes to non slut-shoes.

I had grabbed one of Kai's loose button-up shirts to throw over me and under my coat while I watched the game so as not to freeze, and it was to this and my coat I headed before leaving. He saw what I was picking up and assumed I had listened to reason and was covering myself up. Of course, when he realized it was Kai's shirt he got pissy for an entirely different reason.

I would just like to state right now that I don't look like a slut. I look good, I'm not showing any cleavage or midriff. And you'll see what finally convinced me of this in a minute.

One of the worst parts? He had the nerve to ask me if I`ve edited my novel and offered to lend me his expertise and go over it for me and then get mad when I gave him the evil eye. I have friends who freaking argued from the day I finished over who got to read it first, and he acts like I should be honored he offered. Not to mention the sad fact that I'm a better writer than he is. A much better writer.

I decided that I'd ask my friends at school abotu my clothing, who are thankfully honest with me, and if I really did look like a low-class hooker, I'd button up Kai's loose shirt over my top and just go like that the entire day. When I got to school, I asked a whole bunch of different people without telling them why. Not a single one said that I even looked close to bad. I even got a couple of compliments!

It is with great pleasure that I shed Kai's shirt and walk with pride down the halls of the school.

And now class is over, so until later!

MistWeaver

So much for the break...

It's French class, and like every day lately, we have a sub and a work period. Deprived of things to do (actually work on my project? Perish the thought!), I've decided that my writing vacation can go on break and I can update my blog.

Let's see. What have I done in the past two weeks? Lots! Last week I had something different every day of the week, except Friday. Sometimes more than one thing! On Monday, I was supposed to go home for the second half of the day to wirite, but Brian took off with the car, and Papa was in Montreal and left (as usual) his car at the airport. So I was stuck. So I stayed. After school, I had a meeting with Mr Dearden (English teacher) and Keira (cica in English class) about the 'Evening of Culture'. If you're going to be in Calgary on the 15th of December, come! It will be... uh... culturous. Yeah, that's it. Anyways, that's what this French project is for, incidentally. But I'm also doing a couple of things with Drama club. Which is why I was meeting with Dearden, assistant Drama Club organizer and ex-Drama teacher. And I must say, why on EARTH did he change to English? I mean, he's an excellent English teacher, but watching him work with Keira was awesome. She improved more in that one 15-minute session than in all of last year's Drama and Speech classes combined.

Anyways. That was my Monday. Because I couldn't go home early on Monday (November 29, if you're not keeping track), Mama let me stay home all day Tuesday (November 30!!!!!). I had about 8000 words left. Remember the rest of the month, when I had trouble writing a measly 3000 a day? Well, I woke up at 8 30 AM (setting my alarm, I might add) and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. And wrote some more for good measure. And took one break, for about 15-20 minutes, when Inga came online. Because I hadn't talked to her since the beginning of November. I also took another 10-15 minute break when my mother dragged me downstairs to talk and eat.

While I was downstairs at that time, one of my mother's best friends, Vera, called. They've been friends since the age of sixteen, and I've called her Auntie Booba my entire life. When she wondered why I was home in the middle of the day, I told her that I was writing a 50k word novel this month, it was the last day, and I had 10k left. Do you know what she said to me? "Oh, you'll finish soon. If anyone can do it, you can." Or something like that. But she automatically assumed that I would finish. Not a single doubt in her mind. She hadn't even KNOWN I was writing it, and she had no doubt I'd finish.

Now that kept me going for at least 3 000 more words.

Also as I wrote, I started going writing-crazy. I heard voices. I heard people calling my name. I saw things out of the corner of my eye. And I got seriously freaking creeped out.

When everybody else got home from school and started coming online, I got the update on how Becca was doing. She was exactly where she wanted to be on word count, of course. I cheered when she cruised the 50 000-word mark around 6 30-7 PM. I kept writing while she attempted to get it verified, only to find there was a problem with the server and she couldn't! I kept writing, and just as Becca proclaimed that it had FINALLY worked, when I had only 200 words left...

Dinner was ready.

And Kai had been making Drunken Bang Bang (lmao I love that name) Chicken somewhat in honor of my accomplishment. 200 words! Only 200 left! And I had to go down to dinner.

Giddy much?

Yeah, I was giddy on the fact that I was almost done, the fact that my brother had put on IMA Robot on the stereo, and the fact that I was starving and half-mad from writing. I danced, skipped and laughed my way through my scarfed-down dinner and ran upstairs to finish.

And I finished.

I finished with fifty thousand, four hundred and fifty-three words. At 8 04 PM. And you know what else?

I FINISHED MY NOVEL. I didn't just finish the 50k, like Becca did. I finished my novel, complete with an epilogue. Now it needs a good spell check and a lot of work, of course, but I finished the entire novel.

Do a little dance! Make a little love! Get down tonight!

I had absolutely no trouble verifying it, either. And I got my awesome little banner that proclaims that I am a NaNoNovelist! And I got a certificate! A certificate! I'm going to print it out on good paper soon and fill it out with a calligraphy pen, and then frame it.

But as I browsed through the winners list later, I realised that there was something wrong. There was no 'Kung Fu Fighter', Becca's username, and no 'Alexandera Bluff', Becca's pen name. There wasn't even 'Rebecca Coulson'. Her verifying hadn't wroked after all! She had updated her word count, but she had no 'Winner!' verification.

What to do? It was closing in a few hours, and she most likely wasn't going to be back online to try again. I couldn't just let her go unrecognised...

So I verified mine on her account.

Yeah, I know. It was a bad, bad thing to do. But she had written 51 000 words, and we all knew it. It wasn't her fault that the website hated her. The word counter online only makes sure that you've written more than 50k. You could encode your novel by switching all As and Bs for Hs and Js if you wanted to, and it wouldn't matter. It doesn't count exactly how many, either, so it worked out perfectly. She ended up on the Winners list with averified word count and her own number inputted in, so it wasn't even like it was my word count on her profile. So I'm not a bad person! I just couldn't stand to see a month's work go to waste!

And Tasha (who's birthday it is today!) finished too. In case you're wondering who the heck Tasha is, well she's a friend of ours who was bored at the hospital for seven hours halfway through the month and decided to join, writing 27 000 words in those three days. She finished like three days before we did, too. So HURRAH! for us all. We all deserve hugs. Becca got me a mask, and I got her chocolate. We both gave Tasha birthday gifts and cards today instead of 'Congrats on NaNo!' gifts last week, because she wasn't at school most of last week.

Well, that was the beginning of last week. I printed off my novel and am in the middle of reading it for the first time. I have like 7 other people who are waiting to read it. I'm trying to make it smaller by making it a smaller font, but I've only gotten it down to 58 1/2 pages. Oh, well. It was 98 pages in 11-point Arial Narrow, which takes up about half the space of 12-point Times New Roman. I shrunk it to 8-point and made a few other format changes.

Lunchtime!

MistWeaver

My Writing Break

Okay. So you're all wondering 'What the hell is her excuse this time? NaNoWriMo's OVER!'. Well, you're all right. It IS over. And I'm taking full advantage of the fact that yes, I did finish, and I no longer have to write 24/7. So I'm taking a break from writing. This includes blogging, I've decided. I love all you readers, of course, but I also need a well-deserved break. So I'm most likely not going to add anything new for the next few days, and then I promise that I'll resume posting regularly.

Actually to tell you guys the truth, I was going to give in to temptation and write a nice long post a couple of days ago, but the net messed up and the posting wasn't working. So I didn't completely forget about you all.

And by the way, this is my first post signed as a WINNER OF NANOWRIMO!!!! WOOOOOO!

MistWeaver