Last night contributed to my gloomy outlook, I’m sure. The beginning of the evening was lovely. Emily, Peter and I were all gently “kicked” out so Mom and Dad could have an in-house date. The three of us went to see Secondhand Lions (which I highly recommend) then we went out to Barnes and Noble. There I got myself Patricia McKillip’s The Book of Atrix Wolfe, Robin McKinley’s latest novel Sunshine and a 16 month Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers 2004 calendar. When we got home everything went downhill. I put down The Two Towers which I have been rereading and picked up McKinley’s newest. It’s a vampire story in an alternate modern reality. Something within sci-fi, horror, modern fiction, a twinge of fantasy and written as only McKinley can: in other words, a disturbing page turner. Problematic in its style too as she is forever going off on interior monologues to further the world building. This isn’t normally too much of a setback with McKinley, however she kept interrupting her dialogue and action with these seemingly useless descriptions. I hate to say it, but the only person I felt any compassion for was the vampire. Why? Because he was continuously starving, hunted, confused, and trying to be some sort of good strong guy. The main character, Sunshine, was far too whiny. I was looking for a Belgarath to come along, slap her, and say, “Stop saying, ‘Why me?!’ Alright kid?” In the style of modern novels (and because I think McKinley’s trying to break out of her “I’m a fantasy writer for young adults”) there was totally unnecessary sex and pheromones flying throughout the book. The vampires and Others, as she calls them, were well explained and dealt with in her world. I just wish that the story had been from Constantine’s point of view. Then we could have seen a slew of back history between him and Bo, vampires and humans, the Blaise’s and vampires. But everything was so ambiguous! Why do my favorite authors decide to turn ambiguous in the end?!

There I was from eleven at night until 12:30, reading this indistinct, slightly unsettling, page turning book. I grew tired and switched off the light. Much to my dismay, I tossed and turned until flippin’ two thirty in the morning! I tried making up my own dream world (Laura and Peter will know what I’m talking about), but that didn’t work, so I started making up situations, that didn’t work, I fell back on some of my older “let’s get to sleep” pretending day dreaming stints. NOTHING! I turned on The Essence of Lothlorien and that, too, did not put me to sleep with its familiar tunes. So, with a mind still wide awake from the genetic pool of insomniacs that likes to gallop through the females in my family, I turned on the light at 2:30 a.m. and began reading again. Now, this happened a few nights ago as well, but as soon as I started to read I became tired again. But last night, oh no, that was not for me. I sat up in my bed and read, I lay down and read, finally at 5 I went out to the living room to read. That did the trick. By six a.m. I finally became tired and went to sleep (after leaving a death threat on the table to any who awoke me presuming that I was still planning on attending my class at 9 a.m. with a forty minute commute, yeah right!). Dad woke me up at noon saying that if I slept any longer I wouldn’t get to sleep again tonight. I blearily arose and somehow managed to snarf down some breakfast thing. Nothing really registered between 12-12:30 except a massive headache I was trying to beat back with a mental stick.

Lizzie called at 12:30 and I had a lovely (if incoherent) talk with her. She got her cape and likes it too, huzzah! Lizzie’s phone call was the brightest thing that happened today. I swear it really was even brighter out doors when we talked. Afterwards I went on the decline again. From kitchen table, to couch to bed to couch, to bed, I tried to not fall asleep. I’m even worse after taking a nap because then I feel like my head is stuffed with sand. But when I’m only on sleep-deprivation I have this over-riding feeling of not-all-there or like most anything could happen and I wouldn’t be terribly shocked. If little faces of leprechauns had pressed themselves against the bathroom window, I probably would have given them the peace sign and waved. To keep myself awake I continued reading Sunshine. When one only feels trippy, it’s never a good idea to read a trippy book. I usually stray away from anything like a McKillip (she’s hard enough to follow when sane), McKinley’s Rose Daughter (the pages have a drugged up happy smell and the writing just about fits), and Terry Prachett when I’m sick. About all I can handle is the straightforward Chronicles of Narnia. So with this overcast a new book, a new style of book, a slightly trippy style of book, a gloomily surreal day and my light-headed overtiredness, I have not been a pleasant camper. What with my rampant insomniac tendancies and taking interest in the Other side of McKinley's book maybe it'll turn out it's not the weather or me, it's just that I'm a vampire. ;)