I Am the Hipster

~43,000 words into NaNo with four more days to go, I've officially morphed into the hipster. It has happened; I am the hipster, they are the hipsters, I am the girl sitting on a couch writing a novel to Belle & Sebastian Radio on Pandora with a bit of French influence and a stuffed owl sitting next to me.

The only bit of non-hipsterness I have clung to is my thorough rejection of most tea. To be fair, I tried very, very hard to like it, simply for the hipster factor (well, more the artsy writer factor), but I have trained my taste buds to despise any flavor besides sweet, so nearby is a steaming cup of hot chocolate provided to me by one of my NaNoSwap partners and Oreo pie from Thanksgiving.

I'm trying to be very chill about the next week, because I am caught up on my word count for now and the endgoal seems almost laughably within reach.

But that would be too easy! Indeed, the world chuckled at the suggestion of an easy finish and instead decided to throw back in the stress of college. For, by next Friday, I need to turn in all of my college applications (I might not turn in Tufts or George Washington until later because I'm not dead set on those colleges and I'll be damned if I let them get in the way of my novel).

Oh, God. Zooey Deschanel has made a wild appearance on this radio, and worse, I recognized her voice before I even saw that it was her. Ready for the kicker? I'M NOT SKIPPING IT. It's calming and cutesy and twee and whatever, okay? I'm writing a novel, don't judge me.

Zooey would never judge me because she is a carefree manic pixie girl with no emotions except love and sparkles.

Jeez, the song just used the word "ephemeral". I don't even care. And now we're into Italian folk music. I highly recommend this station.

Anyway, I'm refusing to get this stress get to me. The only acquiescence (+110 word nerd points for guessing that was a real word) I have allowed myself to make is giving up League for the week, which is really hard because all my friends and I are talking about now is a ranked team. This is the proverbial fork in the road where I choose between pursuing a career in writing or being a professional League player. (Notice how neither requires a college education? WHY AM I GOING TO COLLEGE.)

Aaaand, the buzzer attached to the metal collar around my neck is going off. If I don't get back to writing soon it will fatally electrocute me. That, I swear, is the only other way I've shown weakness. Other than that I am a productivity machine.

Bzzzzzt'dly yours,

Abby