Stuff

I am clearly not adult enough to update my own blog more than once every seventeen years.
That's fine, though. I can handle my own lack of maturity. I've been handling that for the better part of my life, after all.

A close friend of mine died last night. It's so weird to SAY that. I've been fighting the fact that he's gone all night, all morning, right up until now. He was never past tense to me, and he still isn't. Perhaps I'll cope with it better after the funeral. Perhaps not. Regardless, he's still an unbelievably important person in my life, and that will never change. I refuse to accept that death is just the end of all things. I don't believe in an afterlife. Death is just the end of the physical being. It can never take away my memories.

I've been so mad at myself for feeling as close to normal as I've felt in years, mad because what right do I have to be ok? One of the best people I've known is gone. How dare I?
He would be so mad at me now if he could see how I've been beating myself up over something this silly again. This has to stop. All this self-torment, all this negative self-talk. It has to end NOW.
And that, right there, is why I'm going to go right on being ok. Whether or not I have the right to be ok at this point in my life is a battle for a different day. I am, for once, in the middle, stable, not in danger of falling off the tracks.

And you know what?
It feels pretty fucking fantastic.



Song of the day:
Beautiful Gas Mask - The Mountain Goats

Important Things

It seems a lot of people don't understand my hatred of Valentine's day.
I was told distressingly often yesterday that I am MARRIED now. I MUST celebrate V-day. I MUST make it special.

Now, I'm not going to be all hipster about it, even though I do agree that it's a holiday made to make people spend money. I'm not going to sit here, insulting everyone who celebrates it.

I hate Valentine's Day because it alienates people. I remember what it's like to be single on V-day, which a lot of people seem to forget the minute they start dating someone. Hell, I haven't spent V-day single since I was SEVENTEEN, but I still remember that it sucked.
Aren't we supposed to celebrate unity and love our fellow humans? Doesn't it seem a little silly to spend a specific DAY lavishing all your love upon a person? If Valentine's Day is the only day you're showing love to your significant other (or your friends), then YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG. Every day is a day to show your love to the people around you. Whether you have an Other or not, V-day should not make you feel like shit. It should not make you desperate. It should not make you lonely.

Yesterday, I celebrated "I don't have VD" day. I actually got some Uni officials interested in it (as well as our Planned Parenthood rep and the Women's Center), and I think next year we're going to have a booth to help spread awareness about STDs and other such things. This year, I just had a few friends wandering around with thrown-together pamphlets and free condoms. 'Twas fun, despite the weird looks we got.

So, what do you celebrate? Are you a fan of Singles Awareness Day? VD Day? Or, are you convinced you have reasons Valentine's is worth celebrating?
Why?

Dear You

Dear You:

You told me this would be ok. You told me we could be friends, that you'd stop waiting for my relationships to fail just so you can rush out of the wings to whisk me off my feet. You're trying. I can see that. I can try to understand, if nothing else, how strange it is to force ten years of these feelings back under the rug. Neither of us was ever really remotely decent at handling them. We're still horrible at it. That's why I blog about them, write you letters you'll never read because I never have the figurative balls to send them, and you keep it all bottled up inside.
It's probably why we never dated. Can you imagine that? It probably would have ended in disaster. I don't think we were ever meant to be more than besties, and it's totally fine with me.
It was fantastic talking to you again, face-to-face, after seven years of just the occasional email, a phone call or two, plans to meet up that were cancelled last-minute. I'm glad we took the time to meet up for coffee, even though I think we were both a bit scared of what we'd talk about, what we'd do, if we'd end up yelling at each other, or if I'd slap you and walk out again, like I did so many years ago. We're nervous, still, about how this will play out. Afraid of what our next move will be, utterly terrified of confronting whatever feelings we may have had for each other, feelings you still have, feelings I tried to ignore for so long that they changed into something else, something desperate and lonely, stuck in the dark, something that just wants a friend back.
We're a lot alike in a lot of ways. I'm not talking about things like our combined undying love of Final Fantasy VIII, or the random YuGiOh card games we had during lunch, the day I beat that boss you'd been stuck on for weeks, or even when you taught me the Pokémon card game just to have me beat you in a tournament mere weeks later. It's more than that. We always seemed like such a perfect match because we understand what it's like to be forgotten, the quiet one, the gamer, the nerd, the outcast, the social leper, ignored by friends and family and teachers.
It's foolish for me to expect you to just drop everything you've felt for ten years because I can't handle it. It's foolish for you to expect me to feel the same way. I haven't exactly treated you well, but you haven't been particularly good, either. We're letting what we didn't have, what we almost had, define how we treat each other, when we should focus on what we DO have, the things we've had this entire time.
Maybe we should start over.

Hi. I'm me. It's nice to meet you, all over again.
I'm cynical, stubborn, and hard to get along with. I'll argue grammar with you and kick your ass in Scrabble any day of the week. I hate admitting defeat, I'll never stop fighting for what I believe is right, and I will defend you to the end of my days. If you need me, I'll drop everything and make sure you're ok, or that you'll be ok.

Who are you?

Letters, and other things

So, I've developed this habit - call it what you will - of writing letters to people I doubt will ever read them. They're usually to past whatevers, exes, friends I've lost contact with, and people I see every day but can't manage to say what I want to say.

It's calming in a lot of ways to get the words written, especially if you're like me and you have a much simpler time writing how you feel than speaking it. I like to think I come off considerably more eloquent on paper. Even if writing is hard for you, it's worth a shot. No one ever has to read it, not unless you thrust it in their faces and say, "HERE! I WROTE THIS!"

Whiiiiich is what I'm going to do now.
I've come pretty far since I started this blog up in June. While I'm still batshit crazy, I've managed to put a few old demons to rest. Writing has always been a way for me to take a step back and see things from a different angle. As a good friend keeps insisting, "It takes courage to step back, because you never know if there will be ground to stand on."

First, the not-so-hard one, from several months back. (May 7 '11, if you must know).

Dear Ex With a Capital E:
I've been over what I'd say to you if you ever made the mistake of coming near me again a million times in my head. Granted, the chance of this happening is slim, considering the restraining order I have on you. I have this tendency to run situations over and over again in my mind, which you would know had you ever actually paid attention to me.
Of all the things I want to say, I have one thing that wants to be said more than anything.
Thank you, you pompous, arrogant asshole, for never being physically abusive. Sure, you were a total jerk. You fucked around with my head more than I'm really ready to admit. I'm not trying to say "Oh, sure, you were an emotionally abusive fucktard but at least you never hit me." I'm trying to say that if you ever HAD, I probably would never have found the courage to stand up to you. So thank you. Thank you for making me realize I'm worth more than you'll ever be, and thank you for making me into a stronger person. Thank you for staying out of the lives of my friends. Thank you for disowning your little brother for being gay, as he's the best friend I have in the world and I wouldn't have him if you hadn't been such an ass to him, too.
Now that I have that out of the way, there are a couple more things I want to say.
Part of me is absurdly proud of the way I handled you trying to break into MY apartment (NOT YOURS). The rest of me would feel bad if you hadn't deserved it so fully. I revoked your right to a name, and it made it that much easier to get over you.
Notice what's going on here? No, of course not. You couldn't pay attention to me unless I was doing something wrong, so why would you notice now? This is me, putting you in the past where you belong. My life is so much better without you fucking around in it, and yet I STILL find myself hoping you'll find a way to be happy with someone. Even though you REALLY fucked me up, I learned a few really important things from you.
So, Ex, I have no more regrets. You were one of the more painful chapters, but what's done is done, and I wouldn't go back and change it if I had the means. A story without heartache and tragedy isn't much of a story. There's more I would like to say, but none of it needs to be said. I won't say it was nice knowing you. It wasn't. There's nothing left to talk about, and I don't want your apologies. If by any chance you ever read this letter, know I'll never look back fondly on any of our memories, but I'm a better person now than I ever was then.

Sincerely,
Me

Now, a not-quite-as-easy, but still pretty easy one. Written just a couple days later (May 9 '11).

You:
I don't have a name for you yet. You didn't really hurt me in the way the others did. You were pretty much my best friend for a really long time, and while we never dated, we both WANTED to. But we never sucked it up and took that step.
I'll admit it. There are days when I DO wonder what life would be like, had I actually had the balls to move past being your best friend. Six years is a long time to think about that, though. There's something you should know, and even though I've told you this all to your face, you seem to have missed the point.
If I'm ever single again, I won't get in touch with you. Not the way you want, at least. Whatever we had together was over years ago. MAYBE we could have been something special, but we were never willing to commit to it. Whatever could have been is NOT. It never happened, and it never will. I miss being your friend. I miss when you were happy for me, regardless of who I was with. I miss when you and I could sit down and talk about anything. Those days are gone, though, because you can't seem to grasp this simple concept.
I am HAPPY now. I'm happier than I've ever been. Fiance makes me happy. He keeps me happy. He has never made me feel awful about myself the way the Others did. He games with me, he tries (and fails) to kick my ass at Scrabble. I would like to be your friend, but that's all I can offer you. I want you to be happy, too. I want you to move on from me because you've wasted the last six years waiting for me to want you, and I never will. Please, if you actually care about me at all, move on. Find someone who makes you as happy as you think I would. I want nothing for you but the best, the brightest, the nerdiest, and I CANNOT BE HER. I'm sorry. I wish I could make you as happy as Fiance has made me.
Please move on. Please find someone who will love you as much as I do, but in the way you're looking for. Please find someone who will treat you as well as you deserve, someone who won't hide like I did, someone who can accept you EXACTLY the way you are and love you all the same. Please, just be happy. You deserve to be happy. You really do, whether or not you believe it. You deserve all the things I can never give you, and someone who will love you as more than just a best friend.
I want my best friend back. I want it more than anything. Until you get over me, though, that can't happen. So, for both our sakes, please find your way to be happy again. Please. I don't ask a lot from you, and maybe this is the biggest thing I've ever wanted, but it's all I want. I want you to be happy.
I won't wait around for you, like you have been for me. I owe it to you to be happy, too. If nothing else, be happy for me. I've found everything you couldn't give me, and I'm not letting it go.

Good luck.
Me

And here's last night's, which made me realize that I am going to be JUST FINE.

Dear Ex With a Capital E:

Y'know, normally, had I literally run into you in the grocery store, I would have backed up and run you over with the cart a second time. Maybe a third. I had all these things I wanted to say to you, and they all flew out the window. You looked so vulnerable.
I never expected you to talk, though. The double-take almost made me laugh, when you finally realized that yes, I'm still me, I just don't weigh as much as I ever did with you. It was nice having an almost civil conversation with you. For the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of you. I didn't try to run away, or bury my feelings under everything I could possibly find.
I'm glad you're in therapy. I'm glad you're trying to make things right with people, especially me and your little brother. Hell, I'm glad he linked you to the one thing I thought you'd never read. I'm glad you read it.
But.
I can understand why you want to be my friend. After all, you always did latch onto people who were stronger than you. Who am I to blame you for wanting to be around your betters? I hold by what I said, though. I would rather shoot myself in the eye than be your friend. I'm not angry anymore, even though a lot of people think it would be perfectly justified. You can want my forgiveness all you want, but you'll never get it. I don't hate you. I almost pity you. You never deserved me, and I never deserved how you treated me.
I was a bit surprised that you weren't angry. I almost expected you to hit me, right there, in the middle of the cereal aisle.
But you didn't. I guess you really are seeking help.
It's been almost four years. Thanks for giving me that last little bit of closure I needed. Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking glad I never have to deal with you again. Good for you, though. Good for you for finally getting yourself the help you've needed for so long.

With kind(er) regards,
Me

The point of all this, you ask?
When you can't understand what's going on in your head, take a break. Breathe. Start at the beginning, the first thing you know, and get it out. Keep picking at it, until the sweater unravels and there's nothing left to say. If it doesn't help you figure out what to do next, it might at least give you some idea of how you feel about where you are.
I'm not so worried about the ground behind me. Even if there's nothing, I know I have friends and family who will catch me when I fall, who will shove me back onto that steady footing. Moving forward has always been harder for me. I'm eternally willing to stagnate, not healing, not regressing, not doing anything. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what's coming, afraid of what I'll do if life bites me in the ass again. I'm afraid of moving forward, and I know there's nothing for me in moving back. The past belongs back there. There's no use in reliving it. The future, though, is anything and everything, whatever I choose to make of it. I don't move forward, step forth into the world, because the sheer terror of messing up keeps me here, butting heads with everything, eternally chasing the king around the chessboard.
Even if you can't take the step back, you have to know when to stop trying to step forward, and you must know when the stalemate needs to be broken. Trust yourself. Know yourself. Believe in yourself.
That's really all you need.

What Bipolar Disorder Is Not

So. It's come to my attention that people who should really know better don't know what is and is not bipolar. Here's a handy little guide for you, then.

BIPOLAR DISORDER IS NOT

• why I'm pissed at you. I'm pissed at you because you do stupid shit, then blame me getting angry on "bipolar disorder". There's a pretty big difference between justifiably angry and "bipolar".
  
• an excuse for mood swings. Mood swings happen for a number of other reasons. You get over them. Mood swings are entirely normal. Just because you were happy ten minutes ago and are sad now does NOT MEAN you have bipolar disorder.
• "just depression".
  
• "kick-ass". It's not kick-ass. It's a mental disorder.

BIPOLAR DISORDER IS

• severe changes in mood, affecting one's ability to perform every day tasks. Get it? SEVERE. Bipolar disorder gets in the way of you functioning as a human being. There are also "mixed state" episodes, but that's a story for a different day.

BIPOLAR DISORDER COMES IN DIFFERENT FORMS

Lifted straight from the National Institute of Mental Health's website, there are different sorts of bipolar disorder.

Bipolar I Disorder is mainly defined by manic or mixed episodes that last at least seven days, or by manic symptoms that are so severe that the person needs immediate hospital care. Usually, the person also has depressive episodes, typically lasting at least two weeks. The symptoms of mania or depression must be a major change from the person's normal behavior.

Bipolar II Disorder is defined by a pattern of depressive episodes shifting back and forth with hypomanic episodes, but no full-blown manic or mixed episodes.

Bipolar Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (BP-NOS) is diagnosed when a person has symptoms of the illness that do not meet diagnostic criteria for either bipolar I or II. The symptoms may not last long enough, or the person may have too few symptoms, to be diagnosed with bipolar I or II. However, the symptoms are clearly out of the person's normal range of behavior.

Cyclothymic Disorder, or Cyclothymia, is a mild form of bipolar disorder. People who have cyclothymia have episodes of hypomania that shift back and forth with mild depression for at least two years. However, the symptoms do not meet the diagnostic requirements for any other type of bipolar disorder.

Now that we've covered that, there are also Rapid Cycle forms, which include what I have. They're irritatingly vague in description. Rapid cycle entails four or more mood episodes per year. This can be anything from an episode every two or three months to multiple episodes per day. Some people will call the extreme rapid cycles (daily/multiple per day) Ultradian Bipolar Disorder. (Ultradian cycles are contained within a 24-hour period - the circadian rhythm.) Interestingly, studies are showing that women are more likely than men to have rapid cycle forms, and those who had their first mood episodes in their teens are more likely to have a rapid cycle than those who didn't have an episode until later in life.

Mood episode? What the fuck does that mean?

Alrighty. This one's simple. It's an episode of an 'unbalanced' feeling, involving depression, mania, hypomania, or any combined elements thereof.

LIES PEOPLE BELIEVE

Bipolar disorder is different from manic-depressive disorder. No. They're the same thing. The latter is simply an older name.

Bipolar disorder is not a mental illness. It is.

Bipolar disorder doesn't exist. Hate to tell you, toots, but it does. I'm not making shit up.

There's only extreme mania and depression, nothing else. Alrighty. Bipolar II covers most of this. There's hypomania, a less severe form of mania, lacking the full-blown grandiosity and psychotic tendencies of mania. Hypomanic people tend to function better, as well. On the other end of the spectrum, we're not all slitting our wrists because we're SO DEPRESSED. Moderate depression is just fine, too.

People with bipolar disorder are abuse victims. JUST NO.

A bipolar person cannot function in a normal job. Not always true. Some people may have genuine trouble functioning. It goes with the territory. With a proper diagnosis and treatment, though, they should be entirely functional.

OTHER SHIT WORTH NOTING

Bipolar disorder tends to run in families. This is particularly fun when your family unit is like mine, and there's mental illness on both sides. This is how my brother ended up with a tendency toward horrible depression and I ended up with the bipolarcoaster.
Certain other 'problems', we shall say, tend to co-exist (or occur) with bipolar disorder. OCD is right up there (co-occurence has been linked to genetics, as well), along with a plethora of anxiety disorders and social phobias, ADHD, and various forms of substance abuse. Those with bipolar disorder tend to be more at risk for other health problems (which can trigger mood episodes), including thyroid problems, diabetes, and migraine headaches.

Not all people with bipolar disorder are medicated. Personally, I'm not. I've been on practically every drug they make that might possibly level me out. The ones that actually do make me feel nothing - no happy, no sad - and that's worse to me than the cycles. There was one that worked wonderfully, did everything it was supposed to... and then I had an allergic reaction and had to stop.
There are other forms of treatment. My doctor prescribed me birth control (I am biologically a woman, for those who are new) in the hopes that regulating my hormones might help keep things manageable. Granted, it doesn't help that I also have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) and don't want babies. Birth control has been a steady part of my life for five years. Most "standard" medications interact poorly with birth control. While I haven't noticed any changes to the crazy, I am less worried about other parts of my life, which helps reduce triggers.
I know several people who are completely unmedicated and rely on good friends/family members to keep them in check when the coaster hits them hard. Some see therapists, others don't. It's a matter of personal preference.

Now you know, and knowing is half the battle! G. I. JOOOOE!

"Resolutions"

As many people are noticing (Husband, mostly), I'm kicking off 2012 with a bang! Not literally, I hope, because my kitchen can't take another accidental fire and/or explosion. Also, spontaneous combustion is out. I don't exactly feel like bursting into flames. So I guess 2012 is starting out with a whimper. Cookies for the reference.
This year has a few things in store for me. First and foremost, I'm converting almost entirely to a scratch kitchen! While I'm perfectly capable of making my own butter and mayonnaise (I've even made them before), it's not practical to make either in the amounts I need in an apartment. I might bust out the mayo recipe if I'm making potato salad, but that's about it.
I started off with some basic bread recipes. My tante gave me a rather excellent recipe book, Artisan Breads in Five Minutes a Day, which is OUTSTANDING. I recommend it, whether you're a seasoned bread baker or just poking your toe into the waters. It's geared toward people who have the time to prepare things in advance, then spend a few minutes (not including resting times, preheating the oven, etc.) day-of. There is nothing quite like homemade bread to kick off a baking spree.
Then, caused by an unholy craving, I reminded myself how to make deviled eggs and taught myself how to hard-boil an egg. I just turned 24, I've worked in kitchens practically my entire life, and I had NO IDEA how to hard-boil an egg. Problem solved, though. They were delicious, if a bit too mustard-y.
If you haven't run into it yet, at the constant request of friends, I also have a recipe blog, which I update less frequently than I should, considering how many recipes are born and vanish shortly after the first bite. The home-made pop tarts were fantastically delicious.
Then I made some onigiri, found a whole series of Japanese and Asian recipes I'm itching to try, and decided while I'm on my scratch food kick, I might as well extend that and make bentos for lunch! A bento is a compact lunch, traditionally Japanese, that is meant to be eaten at room temperature. It's a lesson in preparing things in advance (and building up a stock of things I just have to pull out of the freezer and defrost), "planning" and using leftovers wisely, waking up early enough to pack them, and expanding my repertoire. Have I mentioned that I love onigiri? If you're interested, check out Just Bento and its counterpart, Just Hungry.

On my "to do" list:
I really need to cut back on how much soda I drink. It's hell on my teeth and it's crap for my health. It'll start with tapering back and finding other things to drink (juice, whatever) at the times I ALWAYS have soda.
Couch to 5k. I've been slacking off on running since the surgery, and it's time to suck it up and get back to it.

One of my favourite webcomics, of all things, made me think of things a bit differently. When it comes to resolutions, I won't say things without a plan and a reason. I can't say things like, "lose weight". It has to be something like, "run two miles a day to lose weight". The difference? One is actionable and is a solid place to start. One is vague, and I'll lose sight of it five seconds from now.

The point to all this, you ask? I want to be healthy. I won't set a goal related to weight, because numbers are just numbers. I want to feel good again. That's the only goal I can say I have. It starts with food.
All the exercise I can jam into a day (biking, walking, running, whatever) means nothing if I'm not eating what my body needs. I'll be the first to admit that I did NOT lose most of my weight in a healthy manner. In the course of a year, I lost around 80 pounds. Tag on the other four months, and I dropped from 225 down to 127 at my very, very lightest. It wasn't healthy. My ribs stuck out. A lot of people thought I was anorectic, although no one said a word of it to me until a year later.
I'm highly prone to disordered eating, if not a full-on eating disorder. It cycles from days of starving to days of binging. I'm tired of hating myself for being hungry, starving, then the shame that comes with eating enough food in secret. Even worse are the days when I am genuinely just NOT HUNGRY, and I've been tricked into being ashamed about not eating 'enough'.

So right here, right now, I'm admitting it. It's time to start a healthy relationship with food, for the sake of my health. I've been putting off a lot of this, finding ways around making my food from scratch or finding healthier ways to make things I love, making excuses every step of the way.
No more excuses.

Who's with me?

NaNoWriMo '11, or "How I Learned to Stop Caring and Just Write."

In the interest of explaining just what the hell I was doing for the entire month of November (because it obviously wasn't updating my blog), I was doing NaNoWriMo.
It's a challenge to everyone who claims to be a writer, thinks they ARE a writer, and wants to be one, too.

Me? I wrote more words than a sane person ever should. That's not important now, though. That comes later.

The point of NaNoWriMo is to challenge yourself to finally write that novel. Yeah, it may not be good, but it's written. You can fix it later. I've never gone into NaNo expecting to write something so fantastic that I don't need to edit it. I've been known to send characters off on rants about Finland, or have them all start singing a song they hear on the radio because I have NO IDEA what to do next. It doesn't need to be GOOD writing, you just need to shut up and WRITE it. If you worry about it being the best novel ever written on your first draft, it'll never get it written.

This year, I wrote several different plots. I'm betting when I get around to editing, I'll probably scrap most of them. The ones I don't shove in the vault, never to see the light of day again, will be rewritten. You see, my challenge to myself this year, instead of sticking to the way I'm used to writing, was to write across as many genres as I could. It just happened to tie in beautifully with the idea of writing a million words in November, something I had always wanted to try. I know my own limits better than anyone else. I had to see if it was possible.
For me, it is. I have a fast enough typing speed that I can get away with things like writing 80k in a day (which I really don't recommend, by the way). I had the free time, stamina, tendency toward insomnia, and sheer force of will to sit at my computer for eight to ten hours a day doing nothing but writing. I polished off the month with 1,061,892 words, which left me 4,108 words short of five million for the year.

I don't know if I'll do this again. The million was a blast, I must admit. I guess I'll wait and see how next year unfolds.

To December, and beyond!
I'm working on editing 2008's NaNo, which I utterly failed at completing in November. I did finish it by the time February '09 rolled around, though. When that gets too frustrating, I switch to re-writing the first half of Caillien's story, which took me ten years to get on paper. The problem with taking ten years? I started when I was twelve. It is very, very obvious in the way I used to write. I'm editing with the intent of losing the "one day, I might be satisfied with this, and maybe one day, I'll be published and everyone will love me" attitude. I'm editing for my own good, and yes, I would love to be a published author one day, but that will never happen if I'm not willing to buckle down and do this properly. I can write as much as I want in a month. There hasn't been a day this year that I haven't sat down at my computer and worked on one of my stories. I have to stop thinking in the "one day" mindset. No more "maybe". If this is worth doing at all, it's worth doing right. Now that I've thoroughly contradicted myself and confused everyone, I'll move on.
As of right now, writing is my hobby. It's a hobby I put significant amounts of time in, and I get very little out of it beyond the satisfaction of finishing whatever was in my head. It's time to take this to the next level, and it's time to get things ready for readers.


Somewhere along the path to utter insanity, I remembered a few things I apparently forgot.

To my cheerleaders, thank you. Your support means a lot to me. This includes the overachievers who kept me going, even when all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep.
To my very serious brethren, especially those of you who tried NaNo this year (but mostly Allo, Athy, and Ocie, who are all fantastic ladies), thanks for always being around when I needed a character named, a dare thrown in, and a random Scottish accent no one could understand.
Many thanks to Ho, who was always there when I needed a laugh.
Thanks to Lys, who helped me find Nessie.
To my rival and fellow ridiculous overachiever, it was a BLAST writing with you! Rock on with your bad self.
To the handful of new readers who wandered over here from the NaNo pages, hai! Glad you enjoy my blog.
To my haters, thanks! You gave me the motivation to rub it in your faces. I don't need you and I don't need your pity, so kindly go fuck yourselves.