Won't you spare me over til another year?

If I was a character in the GURPS roleplaying game (bear with me*) my character advantages of having Fabulous Hair (it's growing back now) and Pleasing Height would have been paid for with the character flaws Too Much Imagination and Constantly Getting Distracted by Things.

I'm currently really quite distracted because I have three different scripty things that have hit hiatus at the same time and are now drifting languidly in the realm of Waiting For People To Get Back To Me.

Waiting For People To Get Back To Me Thing One is a sitcom based sort of a bit on the blog, which is based sort of a bit on actually me, only with more guns. It has now gone off to the television channel who paid me to write it, so they're having a think about whether they want to make a pilot episode. Because it is based sort of a bit on me, I am quite emotionally involved with the project and consequently a bit distracted.

Waiting For People To Get Back To Me Thing Two is a treatment for a drama series I have come up with, about being a teenager in Cornwall. It has now gone off to another television channel who are having a big think about whether they're going to pay me to write a proper actual script. Because I was a teenager in Cornwall for a significant part of my life I am quite emotionally involved with the project and consequently a bit distracted.

Waiting For People To Get Back To Me Thing Three is a film script about superheroes, which the Film Council liked, and might be paying me to do a redraft, as although the script is mostly brilliant, the end could be more exciting. Because I am a superhero, I am quite emotionally involved with the project and consequently a bit distracted.

So, anyway, I was in Pizza Express, being a bit distracted, and thinking blimey, these are all ideas I've come up with, on my own and everything, when a dark shadow fell over me, and when I looked up, a forkful of tiramisu perfectly equidistant between plate and mouth, it was with no little surprise that I saw Death standing over me, his bony skull visible under a black hooded robe. Blank eye sockets bore into my own, and an empty bucket was thrust just under my face.

Now obviously, it's Halloween, but because I'm not fucking american, and I was, as I may have said, a bit distracted, my internal thought process went like this:

OH FUCK JESUS CHRIST DEATH I'M DEAD WE'RE ALL DEAD ON A MONDAY ALLAH AKBAR JESUS CHRIST ARRGH

Externally however, I vocalised said thoughts like this:

'oooooh.'

A lump of tiramisu slid from my fork and landed, plop, back on my plate.

And then Death rattled his bucket rather impatiently, and I realised it was just someone in a costume, so I told them I didn't have any money. There was another Death on the other side of the room as well, and a smaller Death, robes brushing the floor, but everyone was more or less ignoring them, so in the end they wandered out, although they didn't say a word the whole time, which was quite impressive.

Anyway, the whole thing freaked me out. But I'm okay now. Honestly though, I don't deal with this sort of thing well. Good costumes though.




* There's a bear with me! Argh! Run!