"I think you ought to see a proctologist about brain damage..."

Several fairly unusual things have happened.

I watched the M*A*S*H film last night. It was... well, odd. Darker, more surreal, more Suicide is Painless (it has the version with lyrics) and some frankly disturbing moments - the attempted suicide of the Painless Pole comes to mind, along with the musical accompaniment provided by Hawkeye - and it has no recognisable plot.

Some things are the same, but only just enough to jerk you every so often with the familiarity of it. And some things from the book which made it into the series hadn't made it into the film - stuff like Hawkeye's feigned insanity. The mermaid-hunting and the search for an epileptic whore in Tokyo seem to have stayed in the book and gone nowhere else.
The beginning of the film is typical - less than thirty seconds in, Hawkeye has already stolen a jeep. Consequently, I think it has the best ever closing line:

"Did Hawkeye steal that jeep?"
"No, sir, it's the one he came in."

Because I stayed up watching that, I didn't expect today to be such a fantastic day, but so far it's gone well. Reviews and feedback are always good for the ego, and something else happened that was good for my ego, too. The people dealing with the Bengali book Kajol have been in touch with my mother. They say they think the translation is superb, and that my mother should keep an eye on the translator, as he/she must be a "rising star."
My mother didn't mention she can't tell them who it is, because it's me. I am the translator who will gently disappear and never be heard of again.

I have now revised the long-and-short-term causes of the first world war. And I suppose I ought to go back to it, but I don't want to.
Of course.

Oh, well...

One more quote:

"I think you ought to see a proctologist about brain damage..."

Fanfic writing, and all that kind of thing...

Lalalalaorangepipsandredroseslalalalala....

In other words, I am greatly bored and expect to remain so. I am so bored, I've been looking around ff.net, last resort of the disheartened fanfic writer before she commits suicide...

It's just as bad as ever. Awful, in fact. Beyond awful. Beyond beyond awful. You have to dig deep to find the cubic zirconias. You only ever find a diamond if you know it's there.
And then there's the other problem...
I tend to write very short, simple stories, with a simple plot, usually with a twist, or else I try to capture a moment in time, a brief snapshot. I'd like to have people believe I once made a conscious choice to do this, but the truth is I'm not good with plots. I can't come up with long/complex/good plots. I just like writing - I don't like plots.
And then I go to fanfiction.net and I see these stories with wonderful plots or ideas, really good ones at times, and utterly abysmal writing. I think to myself that I could do better if you'll just give me that plot!
And I try to stop myself from plagiarising, or whatever the word is for re-writing someone else's plot (covering it, perhaps?) and I succeed for a while, but not forever, truth will out and all that.
So yes. I don't know why I go on the site at all.

And then there's yet another problem I seem to have acquired... when I left Stargate fandom, I thought I could now drop all fannish writing for a while, and try to write something original for a change.

And now there's M*A*S*H.
Dammit.
Dammitdammitdammit.

I like fanfic writing, I do. I just don't know why it seems to be a part of my fate.