| An Eventless Morning |
[Sep. 23rd, 2004|12:09 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | "The William Tell Overture" | ] |
There was a time when I prided myself on the internal clock that allowed me to wake up precisely at six in the morning. This was a time when I also retired to bed not long after the sun, routinely in the vicinity of ten-o-clock at night.
However, adjustments to what Arpy refers to as “modern living” have been somewhat strained. I consider myself in luck if the noise settles down by at least midnight, and rarely do not find enough quiet to sleep until two in the morning.
Add to this mixture Sam, who has of late insisted upon waking up at seven to watch one of his favourite television programs, and the fact that chaos inadvertently follows him. To my misfortune, I am a light sleeper, and it seems that this house does not remain silent for more than five hours at a time, at the most.
Perhaps I should introduce the cast of characters with which I reside, as Arpy has just suggested. It is an odd feeling, knowing that I am writing to more than just myself.
So, to allay confusion:
( Read more... )
That completes the listing, and I do hope I have not bored you. I only feel it is nessecary that you comprehend the situations with which I deal on a regular basis to have any appreciation of this “weblog”.
As I mentioned earlier, Sam woke at seven and turned on the television to watch his program. I attempted to return to slumber, but it was with no avail. By eight-o-clock, everyone was awake (with the exception of Glorfindel, who will not emerge from his room until noon), and creating as much noise as they possibly could. Or so it seemed to my unaccustomed ears.
I resigned myself to wakefulness, and insured that Gregory had started a pot of tea along with the coffee maker. Fin followed me as if he were my shadow, meowing piteously, until I made him a peanut butter sandwich. I abandoned him to it in the kitchen, and have not seen him since.
Deciding it was in my best interest to further adapt to my surroundings, I joined Sam and Arpy in the living room to watch television. I sat with them for ten minutes, caught between feeling like my head would explode and feeling a vague delight akin to purely stupid entertainment. Alarmed at the possibility, I left the room in great haste.
Dan Malone was pacing back and forth in the dining room, a pencil tucked behind his ear, papers and calculator in hand. It took me several minutes of fierce concentration to work up the courage to walk past him, into the kitchen once more.
I was relieved to find that Sam the Sweeper was dressed in his suit, and stirring a cup of coffee. Gregory had the tea ready, and I thankfully consumed a cup of it. The fifteen minutes that the three of us often spend in each other’s company, drinking what Sam the Sweeper calls our “morning fixes”, tend to be filled with intelligent conversation.
However, today we simply stared collectively at Fin, as the kitten walked in circles around the peanut butter sandwich I had made for him, and intermittently pounced upon it. He takes a bite, then resumes the activity. It is incredibly hypnotic, and I am not quite sure why. We did not stop watching until Sam the Sweeper put his coffee cup in the sink, and walked out of the room.
I, again, forced myself to go by Dan Malone, and finding nothing better to do, I ventured downstairs. Agent Groves and Noah were on the floor, laughing hysterically at something. Every few seconds, Noah would gasp something about tattoos and they would start up again. They realized I was standing there, suddenly stopped laughing and simply looked at me. They did not glare, nor did they grin. They just looked. It was unnerving and thoroughly senseless.
In retrospect, I spend an rather great deal of my time retreating from things these days. I escaped to the computer room, and watched the screen saver for an undetermined amount of time before I got hold of myself and began writing.
Now that I think of it, actually, it is nearly lunch time and I have not done anything of any use except my singular act of feeding the cat.
It frightens me to think that I may be starting to become one of them.
Worrisome, indeed.
- James L. Norrington |
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| Property of the Disney Corporation |
[Sep. 22nd, 2004|01:18 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Seven Places (One of Arpy's CDs) | ] |
I was encouraged by various persons, including Arpy, to continue a journal of my current life on this journal. For those of you who may have been "surfing" and stumbled upon this, I am James Norrington, a former Commodore with the British Navy. My account of my earlier life can be found here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2050635/1/ .
I am a muse, and Arpy is the nickname of my author, more formally RRP.
And should the desire strike me, I will be writing and thus introducing other residents of this madness I currently act as one of the occupants of.
As for the present time, I will simply attempt to better acquaint myself with the keyboard.
Only order of business today is to post the replies to the reviewers of "Property of the British Navy", as promised: ( Read more... )
- CJLN |
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