So, NaNoWriMo’ers

It’s November! It’s November! And with the start of November is National Novel Writing Month, a month of exciting 2,500 word word-sprinting and spellcheck-neglecting and writing in coffee shops with wild abandon. Everyone loves NaNoWriMo!

And I, I’m doing NaNo myself, except this year, in order to accommodate my IB schedule, I’m being a cop-out.

So usually, people would actually write novels for NaNoWriMo. I’m doing a social experiment, counting how many words I type in a month, anything from essays to Facebook statuses to blog posts like this one. If I hit fifty thousand words, I’ll know that I spend the majority of my life on the computer, tapping away at my keys, making letters appear out of the millions of pixels on my screen. If I don’t make 50k, it probably just means I started using my phone way more than I should have.

IB wants us to have lives, you say? I’ll make this my CAS project.

….

Actually, looking at all the requirements, it seems like I’d rather not…too much work. Maybe next year when all I have are millions of tests to take in the spring.

To make this post impossibly longer, I’ll just… write… something .. .random, yeah?

The alarm rang shrilly, startling Moira out of her sleep. She slammed her hand against her desk, cursing when she missed and hit the sharp edge instead.

Grumbling, she rubbed her thumb across the red welt, soothing the pain away while the alarm continued to scream. She wriggled herself into a semi-sitting position, leaning against the wall behind her as she tugged her phone out of its charger and turned off the alarm. Making sure that every body part possible was covered by her blanket, she squinted blearily at the clock.

“Fuck,” she cursed when she read the time, springing out of bed only to realize that it was Saturday and that her only task today was to TA at Chinese School.  Sighing in relief, she crawled back into bed, only to spring up once more when she realized that it was her turn to lead Tai Chi for the day.

“Lajidai a-gong,” she cursed in Chinese, using the slang she’d picked up in school. She pulled on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt she’d slung carelessly over the back of her desk chair before grabbing her coat and an elastic hair band and running out of her room.

She skid to a halt when she saw her grandfather sitting calmly at the kitchen table, reading the international news and sipping something out of a mug. “A-gong, zao,” she said automatically, cringing when her vocal chords protested against her raised volume.

“Drink tea before you leave,” her grandfather ordered without preamble, nodding to the travel mug sitting across from him. “I will bring you breakfast later.”

“Nnh.” She tied her hair up into a sloppy bun and grabbed the tea. “Bye-bye!”

On her way out, she typed a quick text to Han. Wake up. You’re doing Tai Chi with me today.

Oh hell no, was his quick reply. fuck off.

What if I promise you that I can get Adelaide to come?

Not good enough. Goodnight.

If I can get Ricky, she asked, foregoing punctuation in favor of starting up her car.

I’m there, Han replied quickly. If he’s not there, then I’m skipping, he threatened a few seconds later, dashing Moira’s plans of never asking.

“Dammit,” she cursed.

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