Hmm so yesterdays omniscient experiment was ok... there was a great sense of distance though. Perhaps including stream of consciousness will help.
So we are looking at something like Virginia Woolf's style?
Shhh we are not writing like a scizophrenic postmodernist today... that was last week.
But the postmodernist fragmentation is so fun... see you are still addicted to your elipses...
NO! We must explore the omniscience, we must insert... La Place's Demon
If you two mention that damn cognitive philosophy once more I will scream
But absolute causal knowledge would be hilarious
I will scream scream scream.
Ok ok no La Place... but only if you promise not to bring in any more quotes from the musical version of Oliver Twist.

(to get joke see [link])

So moving on to omniscience, today as was yesterday I shall write this journal entry in omniscience, and try to decrease the distance felt between reader and character by allowing a more permeable layer between the narrator and characters mind. However like all omniscient narrators (here goes the post modernist again...) I do not advise that anything that they say be trusted. You never know what they may fail to report or conveniently leave out.

So let us begin.

Clare had intended to sleep in today. She had, despite her best effort to get to bed early, been led into temptation and spent the late hours of the night drawing a birthday card for her friend Connor. Everything seemed to be telling her to go to bed, from her tired eyes to the fact that she could not find her favourate art pencils and ended up having to use some second rate ones she had lying around. Never the less, she sat there on her bed in her pajamas, knees folded sketching out the oulines and proportions of a dragon. To her surprise she succeeded in getting it to actually look rather dragonlike, even had given it changing sizes and textures of scales and perhaps a mildly fierce face. With everything well drawn, she finally went to bed, intending to sleep in.

She was woken up to a phone call from her father wanting to know for some lady where she could buy the packages of 10 bus tickets. *I dont want to be bothered right now* she thought. It was only 10:30 am and she wanted to sleep till at least 11:30 if not noon. Her eyes were burning and tearing mildly, it was either a bad allergy day or a bad pollution day or both. Her chest felt mildly like someone was sitting on it, which made her mildly more irritated. Sighing after hanging up the phone she grumbled and contemplated going back to sleep but decided it would be best if she got up ate something and took some allergy medication.

She didnt want breakfast, breakfast was boring, in fact, she thought, breakfast was perhaps the most boring meal of the day, such few choices, especially if you were too grumpy to feel like cooking. She did however settle for a half grapefruit and a vanilla yogurt. She then settled down on the couch in the living room to keep her mom company while she watched the terrible morning telivision programs that aired.

Her mother had had the cast for a week now, she was still complaining about it, sitting there in the chair her leg up on the foot stool. Clare could not help but laugh when her mother asked "is weekday morning television really this awful all the time", the slice channel was indeed relatively corney, airing nothing but makeover shows. Her postmodernist course coming back to haunt her as she witnessed the consumerist experience, watching as a pair of fashionistas helped a woman go through her wardrobe, throwing out over 300 lb worth of clothing.
How sad.

Bored with the television and disinterested with watching the auto show on tv, she sat there in her blue flannel pajamas with the polar bears on them, with her sketch book, doing the finishing touches on the card, cleaning up the dragons outline, detailing the scales and trying her damned hardest to give it dimension. Hand made cards were something she made a point of trying to do for her friends, it was a kind of old world token that was rarely recieved which she tried to keep up. That and most commercial cards these days were corny, as far as she was concerned.

Disrupted by another phone call from her dad informing her one of the guys working on the crew was coming up to get a new camera as his had died, she rushed to throw on some clothes and get outside the appartment door before her german shepard caught wind that someone was coming. Pandora loved visits from the guys on the crew but always barked so loudly whenever anyone came to the door.

This was clearly one of those days where she was not going to get much done. Finishing her drawing she made lunch for her mother and herself, grilled cheese sandwiches. She had just got them on the plates when her father came in, the element went back on and letting the melted cheese on hers begin its process of returning to a solid she made one for him. All the while maintaining two different text message conversations, one where she felt a mild pang of guilt being a couple hours late to answer and not anywhere near the university. And the other with a girl wanting her notes from one of her courses to study over the summer, she felt bad there too for though willing to lend the notes, her writing was terrible and in a few places where she may have drifted momentarily off to sleep... illegible even to her.

Kessel was the first to arrive at the appartment, all boys were coming upstairs for their rides home. He sat in her room which was still in a state of post-exam mess with books strewn around and laundry dumped uncerimoniously in a hamper waiting to be put away. At least it was in a hamper, she thought. Kessel sat there looking at her graphic novel collection and showing her some web comics on her computer, she sent him home with a stack of Fables graphic novels, and introduced him to her Sandman collection. She needed to get the first one back from amber, that would require a visit probably.

Michal and Connor arrived later, and she presented Connor with his card. Later she would kick herself for forgetting to photograph the dragon, one which she was actually rather happy in how it had turned out considering she had little experience in drawing them. On the other hand pencil is hard to photograph, and so it was not surprising she forgot.

Caitlin came later, taking careful effort to insult her clothing, shoes, and as much about her appearance as possible. "Don't wear those shoes, only if you are exercising do you wear those shoes!" "You dress like a homeless person"... the list went on.
yeah, a homeless person wearing a Danier leather coat that cost a couple hundred dollars. So her running shoes were worn and in need of a new pair, they were comfortable. Unlike Caitlin, Clare was a believer in comfortable, serviceable clothing. Pants that did not reveal ones ass crack upon bending over, shoes that did not leave blisters, cuts and descending metatarsals when worn, shirts that did not make her boobs pop out of her top. Maybe it was very casual and even a bit frumpy, but on a day where she had no intention of seeing people and going anywhere really it was an improvement over her pajamas.

As soon as Caitlin and Michal left, she went and had a shower, enjoying the luxury of the hot water, which like some form of cleansing ritual also washed away the stress of the exams which had taken place over the past week. The shower was a place of privacy and creativity, the best ideas always were sparked in the shower. Emerging from it into the cool dry air, her hair wrapped up in a towel atop her head, she checked on her mom before retreating to her bedroom, picked up her pencils and began to draw. At first she knew not what to draw, and so decided to go with the most basic thing... her own hand. It has been far too long since she had drawn anything, and it was enjoyable, even if she was frustrated with her shading job on it. Using a pencil crayon to sketch initial linework as Mike had suggested was helpful however and she finished with a certain level of satisfaction.

Supper was late, with her mother out of commission, between her dad and her there was a larger toss up of groceries to get, dogs to walk, house work to do and dinners to make. Her mom usually did groceries and dinner.

She was late to fencing, as per usual, and thus missed footwork, she had hoped to be there ontime but it just did not work out that way. It was to be her last class before she went up north and she was sorry to have to leave. She really enjoyed the fencing, and put in her all to the fights that day even when she was over thinking and getting frustrated with her own footwork. Alas the summer hours cut it short and they had to leave at 8:30.
It sucked. Waiting for her dad to arrive she showed Mike some pictures from her sketch book. Pandora was in the car and wired as usual.

With each passing day the prospect of starting work in a week away from teh city and her friends seemed bleaker, more lonely, an imposed isolation. Not that she would not feel equally sad to leave the lake and beautiful wooded environment upon her return at the end of the summer. And the gardening, there was nothing quite as satisfying as working with ones hands in the earth. For that matter there was nothing quite as satisfying as working with ones hands period. Perhaps her father would start a project to build something this summer. Clare loved using tools.

Time was ticking though and she had to go to bed, he plans of doing some necissary summer shopping before going away were squashed by the fact that her mothers hospital appt turned out to be the next day. So she would be sitting around waiting while her mother got her cast taken of and quite possibly another one put on. A book and her mp3 player, as well as a writing pad were necessities to keep from going crazy. She didn't like hospitals. Every time she had ever been in one it was to see someone close to her who was very sick. To her, they reeked of unpleasantness in a way that was not physical but psychological. The memories of the cold colours and holding a familiar frail hand with horrid tubes in it still haunted her. Yes a book, and an MP3 as well as a writing pad and maybe even some white paper and a pencil were definately necessary.

Her week was filling up, shopping would still have to be done at some point. Clare was going to see her old friend from highschool who she hadnt seen for three years thursday evening, it should be interesting. She wished she could see everyone before she went north but that might just make it that much harder to go.

It was time for bed, and tomorrow maybe something good would happen. She hoped her mom could get a cast that provided her more mobility. She hoped the wait would not be hours long.

Tomorrow is another day and we shall see what shall come of it.
Thus ends part two of our omniscient narration experiment. I fear my life does not make an exciting story.