![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Y'know, I'm starting to think there might be a grain of truth at the bottom of the theory that comics make kids dumber. I've read four volumes of The Sandman over the last thirty-six hours and I now find the thought of sitting down to a "real book," even a lighthearted work of fantasy, rather daunting. Hell, I'm almost as unmotivated to pick up a novel as I normally am to pick up a work of nonfiction, and for the same reason. Graphic novels are just so much easier to get sucked into.
Then again, if I really do have ADD, perhaps this is more true for me than it would be for most people. (I won't know if I do for at least another week. Medical wheels are turning slowly.)
It's been a very nice thirty-six hours, at least; besides reading comics, I also received a guided tour of some very spiffy parts of The City, played silly card games, participated in an informal episode of Naked Chef, and spent a lot of time just hanging out, which I was very glad to be able to do someplace other than my house (and in much better company.) That kind of relaxed, casual togetherness is something I've been really missing lately; most of the people I'm dating I don't get the opportunity to just hang out and be near without anything special having to happen, because I just don't see them often enough or for long enough.
...
Ugh. I'd just finished writing that when I heard an odd clattering noise coming from the kitchen. Strange noises in the middle of the night are never what you might call soothing; I was tempted to shut my door firmly, burrow into bed and not come out till morning, but figured it would probably be a better idea to investigate in case it was something that was only gonna get worse in a few hours. I tiptoed out to the kitchen, flashlight in hand, ready to bolt at the first sign of Anything Big and Scary, to discover the noise was apparently coming from an inch-long insect of the jumps-like-it's-on-a-hot-griddle variety, with one o' them rock-hard carapaces to account for the disproportionate amount of noise it was making at each lopsided landing (it didn't seem to be aiming itself anywhere in particular, or having much luck landing on its feet. Injured? Quite likely.)
I was going to leave it alone and hope to find it gone the next day, but when it managed to flop out into the hallway I became afeared that at this rate it might make it all the way to my room, and realistically I couldn't leave the door shut all night, as I was going to have to use the bathroom at some point and with my luck I'd have forgotten about the insect by then and thus would fail to shut the bedroom door behind me and it would no doubt blunder on in, at which point I would no longer be able to ignore it because there's No Way I could sleep with something like that in the room. If the noise didn't succeed in keeping me wide awake, the wondering where in the room it was now and how close it was to leaping on my face would.
So I dropped a large plastic cup over it, and then dithered for a good ten minutes before sliding a piece of cardboard underneath and escorting the poor arthropod outside. That cup-and-cardboard technique always seems so precarious to me, as I always imagine the insect is just waiting to bolt from the cup and scurry up my arm the instant I let the cardboard slip so much as a millimeter (of course it's never stiff enough or my hands steady enough for that not to happen at least once during the trip outside), and when the particular insect in question is the sort to literally batter at the walls of its impromptu cell the entire time--well, to say I find the prospect nerve-racking is an understatement. But I finally girded my loins and did it.
...
And no sooner did I write that last sentence than a chirping noise began to emanate at intervals from what seems to be the direction of the bathroom. I haven't geared myself up to leave my haven once more to investigate, but as it seems to be happening like clockwork every forty-five seconds, I can hope it's merely the smoke alarm needing batteries or some such. I just wish my roommates were awake to fucking deal with this. Once again it's a case of "the one who's bothered by it is the one who has to fix it." This I'd gladly ignore, but I suspect I'll be unable to sleep unless I shut it up, and will have some difficulty figuring out how to do so.
...
For once I got my wish. 'Tis e'en now being fixx0red. Apparently it's gonna take a while, but at least now it's in the hands of someone who has some clue what they're doing. Sheesh, what a night.
Then again, if I really do have ADD, perhaps this is more true for me than it would be for most people. (I won't know if I do for at least another week. Medical wheels are turning slowly.)
It's been a very nice thirty-six hours, at least; besides reading comics, I also received a guided tour of some very spiffy parts of The City, played silly card games, participated in an informal episode of Naked Chef, and spent a lot of time just hanging out, which I was very glad to be able to do someplace other than my house (and in much better company.) That kind of relaxed, casual togetherness is something I've been really missing lately; most of the people I'm dating I don't get the opportunity to just hang out and be near without anything special having to happen, because I just don't see them often enough or for long enough.
...
Ugh. I'd just finished writing that when I heard an odd clattering noise coming from the kitchen. Strange noises in the middle of the night are never what you might call soothing; I was tempted to shut my door firmly, burrow into bed and not come out till morning, but figured it would probably be a better idea to investigate in case it was something that was only gonna get worse in a few hours. I tiptoed out to the kitchen, flashlight in hand, ready to bolt at the first sign of Anything Big and Scary, to discover the noise was apparently coming from an inch-long insect of the jumps-like-it's-on-a-hot-griddle variety, with one o' them rock-hard carapaces to account for the disproportionate amount of noise it was making at each lopsided landing (it didn't seem to be aiming itself anywhere in particular, or having much luck landing on its feet. Injured? Quite likely.)
I was going to leave it alone and hope to find it gone the next day, but when it managed to flop out into the hallway I became afeared that at this rate it might make it all the way to my room, and realistically I couldn't leave the door shut all night, as I was going to have to use the bathroom at some point and with my luck I'd have forgotten about the insect by then and thus would fail to shut the bedroom door behind me and it would no doubt blunder on in, at which point I would no longer be able to ignore it because there's No Way I could sleep with something like that in the room. If the noise didn't succeed in keeping me wide awake, the wondering where in the room it was now and how close it was to leaping on my face would.
So I dropped a large plastic cup over it, and then dithered for a good ten minutes before sliding a piece of cardboard underneath and escorting the poor arthropod outside. That cup-and-cardboard technique always seems so precarious to me, as I always imagine the insect is just waiting to bolt from the cup and scurry up my arm the instant I let the cardboard slip so much as a millimeter (of course it's never stiff enough or my hands steady enough for that not to happen at least once during the trip outside), and when the particular insect in question is the sort to literally batter at the walls of its impromptu cell the entire time--well, to say I find the prospect nerve-racking is an understatement. But I finally girded my loins and did it.
...
And no sooner did I write that last sentence than a chirping noise began to emanate at intervals from what seems to be the direction of the bathroom. I haven't geared myself up to leave my haven once more to investigate, but as it seems to be happening like clockwork every forty-five seconds, I can hope it's merely the smoke alarm needing batteries or some such. I just wish my roommates were awake to fucking deal with this. Once again it's a case of "the one who's bothered by it is the one who has to fix it." This I'd gladly ignore, but I suspect I'll be unable to sleep unless I shut it up, and will have some difficulty figuring out how to do so.
...
For once I got my wish. 'Tis e'en now being fixx0red. Apparently it's gonna take a while, but at least now it's in the hands of someone who has some clue what they're doing. Sheesh, what a night.
