The Stuff our Nightmares Are Made Off

Sometimes my general bitterness manifests itself in truly disturbing nightmares. Too bad I only remember glimpses afterwards. Otherwise, I could write the stories, sell them, make people shit themselves with fear and become obscenely rich. Which would mean that I could quit my job, have a good life and all the time to write for my own pleasure, instead stealing the time from bothersome RL duties.
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IN other news, there's less than two weeks left from summer break. I haven't gotten done any of the creative work I intended to finish during this time. But at least I managed to order my LJ community archives a bit. Even if they get as ignored as everything else I do. When nothing else, I can prove that I haven't wasted my time completely.

Googled myself today

Just for the heck of it. My real name brought a handful of hits in three categories: as a translator of spiritual literature for the Benedictines, as a once-member of the Hungarian Star Trek Club and as a member of our school's teacher college.

I was surprised that so few people with the same name came up. There are a lot, it's not such a rare name, after all. But the lady potter beat us all in importance. *g*

The funny thing is, when we were kids (she's two years younger than I), we used to live very near to each other. The kid's healthcare centre mixed up our papers all the time, but we never actually met.

Note: I forgot that I was also mentioned as a translator for "Galaktika", a Hungarian sci-fi magazine.