you said you'd be my dream: I could have you every night,
and if by morning I'd forgotten you, well, no big deal, I'd be alright,
'cos you're the re-occuring kind.
You never really leave my mind.

Someone should warn me to stay off the Bright Eyes when I haven't slept properly for several days. It's not good for my emotional condition. ...No, Winamp, that is not your cue to start playing nothing but Low, Interpol and random blues songs about death.

The amount of sleep I get seems to be inversely proportional to my LJ-spamming habits. Or I just have a rather skewed concept of 'LJ-spamming'. You decide! Today's state of blargh can be blamed, however, on this insanely stupid fic idea which popped into my head at about one a.m. - not just an idea, actual sentences which demanded to be wrote down right now posthaste this minute (...did I steal that turn of phrase from someone? It's a good one.) on pain of completely disappearing for at least a fortnight. Soon, I shall have made inroads into that /other/ world of hp-fanfic that is the future-semiAU complete with daft plot, copious drug intake and bad sex! See, I have this theory, and it's that my inclinations to write HP are collationist - the drabbles seem to have passed, the angsty quidditchslash is on hold, the crackpairing is thankfully dormant, the happy'cest may one day return, and I'm on to the Tom Riddle: His Story (with a cast of thousands!) and the insanely long genfic stages now. It's like those Panini football stickerbooks, with the stickers you bought at the newsagent down the road in packs of six and always ended up with too many members of shit teams like Wimbledon which no-one would swop, so you could never finish it. Where the fic is the double-page spread for whichever team, and the stickers have been replaced by WIP lj-posts, and the swopping comes in the form of other people poking you to write. Or something.

Anyway, yeah. I'll have to find whichever pad I comandeered and see if my darkblind handwriting can be read, and then listen to the Libertines on repeat until I have something approaching to a story. Because if "what a divvy, what a fucking div / walking like a moron, talking like a spiv" doesn't just scream "Draco Malfoy", what does?

Relatedly, have I mentioned recently that I hate Jae? Because, you know, I do. She's MEAN. She taunts me with Everwood, when somehow the UK cable&satellite channels have managed to miss out on it in their neverending quest to bring us the best in inane US teensoap telly. My revenge shall be painful and probably involve one of the many incarnations of Shrew!Ginny who seem to live in my head. Bwa, and indeed, ha.