Writing for NaNo is going incredibly well. As in, I'm over 30k. SERIOUSLY! I decided to go with the nonfiction essay idea (something I said I was going to do for years) and am writing an essay a day. Some days have been incredibly long-winded, hence my spectacular word count. It's like I'm Jess or something, who does 50k in a week these days!

I am, however, starting to worry about what happens when I run out of essay ideas. Last year I wrote my autobiography of learning how to drive...and ran out of plot at around 47k, really. This year I certainly have new material to add to that book, in addition to other things. But I want a list of material for when I'm at jury duty and whatnot, so I am going through my old entries here for material. I can't really stomach reading The Relationship Years again, so I started in 2004. 2004 was a fucking insane year around these parts.

I just wanted to call your attention to this entry from 2005:

"I really find it hard to believe that in less than a week I turn twenty-goddamm-seven, and I still don't feel like an adult yet, or like I WANT to be an adult yet. Doesn't it ever come? Isn't it supposed to be like the biological clock? When do I stop acting like a total immature smeghead and start acting like a Real Adult Woman? When do I stop wanting to go backwards? (I swear, Grant and Naylor had the right idea that our world is a cock-up because it runs in the wrong direction.) Why do I still find the idea of growing up and taking on adult responsibilities and popping out a family to be completely abhorrent? Aren't I supposed to be getting over that?

I know I'm too old to feel as young as I do. People are starting to stare at me funny when they find out my age. Nobody BELIEVES my age, including me. But what way am I supposed to go? Can't go backwards, don't particularly want to go forward in the way I'm supposed to."

There's also this entry.

NOTHING HAS CHANGED.

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