I have just recently had an experience that was most likely the oddest one I have had so far in the past few years. I'm not sure why, but I spazzed out all day and I couldn't keep my mind focused on anything.

Usually, I can focus and do a good job, concentration is almost second nature to me. But for some reason I couldn't focus and I couldn't get my concentration up to make my work worth my while.

It semed as though everything around me was moving at a rather slow pace and I was moving at a normal speed. My friends thought I was acting quite normal (normal for me qualifies as bizzare and strange in the real world).

I had (still have) a lot of new ideas floating around in my head, but I haven't yet figured out how to put them down on paper (or in typeface on a computer).

I've also been stuck in character for a long while now (first time I've ever gotten stuck in character). I'm to completly sure when it first started, but I loath being stuck in this character. I can't figure out how to get rid of this either.

I've only been able to do a few productive things in the past week. I cooked two dinners, have done all of my homework and I have organized the names of all my characters onto a spreadsheet, categorized alphabetically by last name, with sections so I know which plot line they're in, which roleplay (rp) they're in, how old they are, how tall they are and basic histories.

I rode my friend's horse last weekend. The horse is a fleabitten grey American Quarterhorse named Brandy. The friend is affectionatly nicknamed Eclipz. The spelling of her nickname is all due to a typing error I suffered last summer. It stuck.

I talked to five people on the phone at the same time last Friday. It was very odd. You could hear all of the different things going on in the background: Dogs barking, someone talking, people running, someone closing a window, someone brushing their teeth and someone asking for more food. It was quite confusing. Especially as they all began talking at once.

I almost died of laughter.

I have a question I'd like to ask whoever read this blog: Have you ever experienced Deja vu? And have you ever experienced Deja vu while you're cooking with a wok and/or talking to five people on the phone?

The second night fell, raining and dreary. I let myself walk up and down the stairs, aimless, searching for another sign of the warm, dark liquid which had covered my hand the night before. The steady sound of the rain as it pattered against the tall dome was relaxing. I almost felt calm. When I had returned I brought a large flashlight with me, just in case, because the edges of those marble stairs were so difficult to see at night. I didn’t fancy the idea of falling down them in the dark. The red ooze appeared for a second time, and this time I had enough sense not to run away. I encountered it on the second story this time, closer to the ground floor. It ran down the sides of the columns and collected in puddles on the ground.

The second story also held a pair of statues. One was a reproduction of “Winged Victory” and another was a wooden statue of George Washington on his horse, carved over a century ago by an immigrant. The ooze seemed to be coming from them as well. It was very... odd to say the least. You could still look up to the ceiling of the rotunda and see the forty-three painted stars faintly upon the blue of the sky that was their background. I heard the echoing laughter of a small group of people and hurried over to where I thought the source was.

The gold lettering above the door proclaimed the room as the Governor's office, but I went in anyway. There seemed to be some kind of flickering candlelight illuminating the reception desk. The laughter faded away as I entered the room and something flowed past me in the dark. I could smell the lingering scent of mildew and decay. A great shadow was projected on the wall outside of the office nd paused for an instant, as though regarding my presence. Then it hurried off toward the center of the rotunda.

I hurried out to see if I could get a better look, but all I caught was the slithering edge of it’s dark shape flowing down the balcony to the first story. By this time the liquid had disappeared without a trace. I felt uncomfortable though, as if many eyes were pointed at me all at once and I felt the horrible coldness of fear creep down my spine. I hurried away yet a second time, skirting around any statues I saw on the way.

It hadn’t always been like this. The eerie silence that penetrated the big limestone and marble building used to be much quieter, lighter, less depressing. But now it seemed as though the shadows whispered faintly to themselves in their own dark recesses. The great height of the elaborately carved dome, the walls made of marble imported from Vermont. The floors were a mixture of stone from all over the world and from various places around the country. Exotic black marble from Italy, grey marble from Alaska and red marble from Georgia. The outside walls were made of limestone hand cut and shaped from a local quarry by prisoners at the turn of the century.

It is a building that holds a lot of history and has seen a lot of human presence in its day. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it harbors some leftover memories and impressions of all of these minds. The capitol building rose four stories in height, with a middle section tens years older than either of the wings. It didn’t seem to matter much though. The whispering shadows followed one throughout the night, up the stairways and into the galleries above the court rooms of the state house and senate. Once in awhile you would see something out of the corner of your eye, a quick, flitting shadow that was there and gone as you turned to look at it more closely.

I’ll stop rambling on about the appearance of the building though. I don’t mean to, but I find it such a beautiful specimen f historic architecture I find it hard not to go on tangents. There is only one thing I find disturbing about this gorgeous government building. At night the columns weep a dark red substance. It is the consistency of fresh blood, but it vanishes and no sign of it can be found during the bright daytime hours when this place is bustling with press, pages, interns and others. The first time I noticed it was about a year ago, I was just finishing up for the night. Walking past the columns on the fourth story I noticed something odd, dark streaks in the plaster columns, but I paid no heed. They were black and white, so I figured it was just part of the columns themselves.

I walked down to the third story, where art from local artists was being showcased and sold. A variety of colorful watercolors. They included many wildlife scenes, vibrant gardens ablaze with flowers and the odd fly-fisherman or two. I always took a moment to admire the soft focus of silver light that streamed in upon them from the moon. It added a dimension to them, something special that couldn’t be seen in the yellow glow of the sun. Standing back farther I brushed a hand against one of the pillars. I jumped, startled, when my hand was pressed into something slightly warm and wet. I looked down at my hand. It was covered in something dark. Needless to say, I got out of there as quickly as I could.

I'm putting the "Man with No Name" story on hold for a little while, due to the fact that I have another idea that is going through my mind @ the moment.

It's a rather short hrror story.

I haven't been writing on here for awhile, and I'm not going to say it's because i forgot, or I didn't have the drive to write.

The reason I haven't been writing on here much lately is that I've been bogged down w/schoolwork. End of semester stuff at first and then a whole bunch of essays and reports all due at once. So I've been writing a lot, but not much of it is stories at the moment.

I'm in the process of writing a history/biography about one of my characters (a new one). So I may/may not post some of that on here. In the past week or so I've added on about five characters to my huge list. They come to me spotaniously during the day. I have no control over how many I create. And they're all different. Which kind of bugs me.

I'll stop rambling on now and end this post. Mostly because I don't think this will intrest too many people. But I could be wrong. I don't know. Also I've been partially stuck in character for the past few days. It's rather annyoing because I find myself thinking like them sometimes. I hope I get over it soon. It helps when I write.