Originally posted by beren_writes at CISPA is the new SOPA and here we go again....

Bluuuuh.

My body is seriously not digging my new hormone pills. Nausea. Comparable to the morning sickness that made me lose twenty-five pounds in two months nauseaaaa.

Still, though I had to cut my Friday workout shorter than I wanted to, and skipped Saturday entirely because of a.) Saint Paddy's Day and b.) bluuuuuh, I got back on the horse again today.

Bluuuuuuuuuh.

I don't regret the workout because who regrets a workout? And I feel better for having worked out, but still. I believe you have heard me say 'bluh' at least twice now. From that data you can extrapolate just how I feel tonight.

Here, have this:

So, last month, John and I finally got up off our asses and joined the local gym. I've been kind of pestering him about it since we moved and had to give up the last one, but the first few months we were here were kind of a scheduling disaster, between all the trips to the emergency room, the mono and all the appointments for tests and doctor visits to make sure I didn't have cancer. Even after we signed up, there was still a month-long delay in getting there regularly, because I was on a lot of antibiotics and other things that laid me out for several weeks.

(If it's going to knock me out for sixteen hours a day and then gives me cramps that are even more horrible than the regularly debilitating ones I have every day, excercise is not going to happen. I had to tell myself this several times a day because I am stubborn and don't listen to reason. "I know your membership is going to waste, but do you really want to double over in pain on one of the machines, lose your balance and get swallowed by it like it's The Mangler? There are better ignominious ends, self. If you've gotta go, fall into a manhole! See? Funnier!")

Anyway.

I'm finally well enough, so we've been going to the gym.

Little known fact: I'm something of a gym rat. When we went to just scout the place, I wanted to hop on the nearest elliptical and be all like, "Screw you, John! You sign the paperwork! I HAVE PLACES TO BE. WHEEEEE!"

...okay, so maybe I'm less of a gym rat and more of a gym unicorn.



I am worse than this. And yes, I hate my guts too. You don't have to tell me.

Anyway, we've got a tour this summer, and neither of us is in any shape to wander around unfamilar places for any length of time, or perform, or even keep up with a baby who is going to be walking like, any second now.

And bonus, working out is the only thing that's going to keep my knee from eventually just collapsing and taking me with it, because all I have for a right kneecap nowadays is mush, and it also helps manage some of the fucking constant pain from PCOS--and now endometriosis. It never goes away, obviously, but it does help a teeny bit, and it's doctor recommended! Wahoo.

So, I'm dragging John to the gym and kicking his ass. Not quite as hard as I'm kicking my own ass, but pretty damn hard. Not like, dangerous hard, because I'm not fucking stupid, but any activity is going to be difficult after several months of being sofa spuds. I have a system when I'm out of shape, and it involves slowly working myself up to a decent fitness level before the real ass-kicking commences, but I still work myself a little harder than someone else might because I know my limits down to the bloody wire and I am not afraid to push that envelope.

And herein lies a problem. I'm also incredibly competative with myself, to sort of an obnoxious degree. Every workout, I insist on pushing myself harder than I did before; just five more minutes, just a few more calories, just another tenth of a mile.

"I have twenty seconds left on the timer, can I make it to [x] number of calories/[x] mileage before I run out of time? I BET I CAN. LET'S SEE. YES! TAKE THAT, FUTURE ME. BEAT THAT!"

Which inevitably leads to the next day, "You will not defeat me, Past Me. I am going to beat you. HAHA. YES! Thirty more calories than you! Not only did I beat you, I bet I beat Future Me, too!"

Me of the Even Further Future: "...oh no you did not."

It's a really vicious cycle, but probably the best one I could have, considering. So long as none of the bits that I'm working hurt, I'll keep pushing.

And when I'm starting to feel too exhausted to even care about competing with myself, I am not above manipulating myself to keep going, mainly by playing Gonna Fly Now over and over and over again, which is really fucking effective.



"ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO STOP, TECHIE? ARE YOU? I DIDN'T HEAR NO BELL."

All in all, I feel really sorry for John, who gets me for an unofficial personal trainer and doesn't really like working out. At all.

I'm mainly posting about this so I'll feel even more accountable than I would otherwise. Usually, I'd just tack a calendar to the wall and track my progress that way, but wall space is at a premium and I can never find any God damn pens in this house anyway because it keeps eating them.

(We're still trying to solve the mystery of how a bag of new pens found their way into the refrigerator door. Well, okay, we know how they got there, we're just not sure which of us was responsible in our exhausted baby-brain-fog.)

For John, his current goal is to get in shape enough to be jumping around on stage for an hour at high energy levels a few times a week.

My goals are concrete, but also somewhat subjective, since the numbers on a scale are a seriously minor factor in contrast to everything else. Like, "Am I flexible? Can I lean back until I'm bent in half?" and "If I went head-to-head against Ted Grant, would he mop the floor with me in three seconds, or thirty?"

Pretty much my thought processes aren't, "Can I make it to [x] pounds?" so much as they're, "Can I kick your ass?"

So...yeah. That's what we're going to be up to for the next few weeks. I'll probably be updating periodically with things that nobody else cares about just to keep myself on track.

Pity my Boy. PITY HIM.

I miss LJ, I tells ya. I keep meaning to come back with a series of super awesome comics posts with recs and things like that, but life keeps eating me.

But I still have recs! BECAUSE ZOMG.

DC's digital comics app has FINALLY made some of the excellent, awesome Batman: The Animated Series comics available! Last I checked, they had just the first issue up, but now they're up to twelve! And they're just ninety-nine cents an issue! Hopefully the entire run, plus all the subsequent animated comics will become available in time, but for now, have a linky mclinkerson.

What's worth your dollar, if you're going to buy it? I suggest issue #10, a Riddler story with three of my favorite supporting characters in comics: the Perfesser, Mastermind and Mr. Nice.

Second best? I'd go with issue #8, which is a very short, but very sweet, very humanizing Clayface story. (Some later issues do even better with that, but they're not online yet...)

And just to round out a top three, there's issue #5, a surprisingly touching Scarecrow story in which both Cain and Abel from House of Mystery/Swamp Thing/Sandman appear.

Go forth, my minions. Blow three bucks on good comics!

Lost owes me one hundred twenty-one hours of my life back.

Barring that, I will accept payment in chocolates and expensive jewelry. Also comic books.

Boy has forced both Captain and I to sit through Lost. We're coming upon the series finale, and it cannot come fast enough OH MY GOD THIS FUCKING SHOW WAS A HIT WHY WHY WHY?!?!

So, to that end:

Dear writers of Lost,

Women do more than make babies, go crazy and die. No, really, we do.

( I would like to sum up every female character in Lost for you. BEWARE OF *MAJOR* SPOILERS. )

THIS SHOW. OH. MY. GOD. WHY?

I've been on LJ for entirely too long...

Anyway. Comment to be kept. Unless I know you IRL or on facebook, in which case you have nothing to worry about. :)

After two agonizing weeks of waiting, I've got my test results back. Huzzah! Not cancer!

(I...probably should have updated before now but I've been seriously spacey. Sorry.)

Horrible endometriosis and other icky, icky things that may have to be seared out in a couple of months if they don't respond to several rounds of various medications, but still. NOT DYING! ONLY HORRIBLE PAIN! WHEE!

In other news, running an Ask the Riddler tumblr has given me a newfound appreciation for and understanding of how frustrated he becomes with people at large. Every riddle that appears on the tumblr is of my own making and the fact that not even Captain or Boy gets them without assistance is driving me up the bleeding wall. I feel like I'm pretty much gift wrapping the answers and nobody is picking up on them what aaaaargh my genius is wasted on you!

(Okay, maybe genius is a stretch, but still! WHERE IS MY BATMAN?! WHERE IS MY BATMAN???)

In other-other news, answering questions as the Scarecrow is equally fun, and slightly less frustrating. Being a miserable bastard is awesome, you guys!

Anyway. Yeah. It's been a long day. I am going to unwind by answering questions on teh tumblr. I may also have a beer...even though my body doesn't seem to like so much as a drop of alcohol anymore, so I probably won't be able to drink more than half. Apparently, my body took those nine months of complete abstinance as "Oh. We're not doing this anymore? We don't need to know how to hold our liquor? Okay. PURGE THE SYSTEM. REASSIGN THOSE NEURAL PATHWAYS TO...I DON'T KNOW...MATH AND SHIT."

To the unwindery!

Originally posted by box_in_the_box at Internet blackout day: See you all on Thursday

So, hooray, I can't sleep and am trying desperately to distract myself from ANGST because I'm going to the doctor in a few hours for some very nasty tests that will hurt like fuck.

BLAH.

*sigh*

It's...a long story that I've been avoiding talking about because I am not so much with the blogging these days and much prefer to obsessively freak out IRL because apparently that is so much more effective as a means of dealing with shit or...something.

Short version: my body started doing weird painful stuff around the time I got pregnant with baybeh. More weird and more painful than the everyday ouchies that I have to cope with. The few times I did see a doctor, none of them listened to me and dismissed it all as totally normal pregnancy stuff. Waited a couple of months postpartum for everything to normalize, it didn't, got to see someone who actually did take my complaints seriously, had a bunch of ultrasounds and scans and things and am now going in for MORE tests because things are looking kind of questionable in scary ways. So there's THAT which I'm not looking forward to...

And I should also mention that this doctor did a few things that made me totally uncomfortable when I met her. Grilling me about my personal life about things that have nothing to do with my medical history--as in "So, are you still in contact with your stalkery biological mother?"--as though she was trying to catch me in a lie about my childhood abuse while giving me a pelvic exam after grilling me when I was sitting up--"Does your fiance have a job? Why did you move from [place] to [other place]?"--is not high up on my list of things to do again. It felt unprofessional and like a violation. WTFH are you even doing, lady? How is this okay?

Agh.

So yeah. I get to do all that again tomorrow with a NEW doctor in the same office, since unprofessional pelvic exam conversation lady was apparently only a nurse practitioner even though I requested to see a DOCTOR and wouldn't have taken that shit if I had known she wasn't.

-_-;

AND THUS YOU KNOW WHY I PRETTY MUCH DISAPPEARED FROM THE INTERNET AND HAVE BEEN UPDATING WITH SHORT SILLY STUFF RATHER THAN ANYTHING OF SUBSTANCE YAY.

I just...hell, I can't even focus enough to geek out, I am that stressed. I keep pretening I'm not, picking at different stories sentence by sentence, and trying to keep up a good fandomy front, but...yeah. Comics blogging is the furthest thing from my mind right now, to the point that I barely even register that new books have actually come out. "Catwoman is out this week? I am too tired and stressed out to even bother to make with the minor irritation."

Hell, even my relationship is suffering from the strain, and that thing can survive a season's worth of Fringe Festivals, no problem. I've been having awful, vivid nightmares because of the stress, too. There have been a couple that, even now, months later, I still can't shake.

So...um...yeah. Not looking forward to this afternoon. Am procrastinating about going to sleep because sleep means the time for the appointment will come that much faster.

*dread*

Under ordinary circumstances I'd probably say to myself, "Go to sleep and this thing you're dreading will be OVER that much faster!" but I. don't. like. doctors.

Baybeh's awake. I need to go be a responsible adult. Stupid grown-up-ness. I miss being a self absorbed nervous wreck.

JONATHAN CRANE PONY IS NOT AMUSED WITH YOUR SHENANIGANS.

This is what happens when Captain and I sit across the room from each other and try to out-silly one another with the internet. Why make the CATverse characters into My Little Ponies? Isn't it better to ask why not?

BACK TO WORK NOW.

(And by work I mean drifting between writing and playing with the internet because omginternet.)

Do you ever feel like that thing you've been writing and just can't seem to finish isn't actually just a thing that you're writing at all but is instead a parasitic beast slowly sucking your soul out through your fingertips, keeping you at the keyboard, constantly growing beyond your anticipated word count and assuring you with a little whispering voice in the back of your head that No, really, you're three quarters of the way finished, I swear which is nothing but a pretty lie concocted to keep its energy source from walking away until it's grown large enough to survive on its own, at which point it won't need you anymore and will leave your withered, dried up husk in the cool glow of your laptop monitor for your loved ones to find?

...

So it's just me, then. Okay. Just checking.

But seriously, if I don't finish these three stories I've been working on for two years, I am going to come undone in a seriously Ash Williams way.

May your champagne never flatten, may all your New Years Days be filled with Twilight Zone marathons and may all your New Year Eves be protected from supernatural threats by the Ghostbusters.

(And fuck you if you dislike Ghostbusters II. DANCING. TOASTER.)

Know what I do when I'm stressed out beyond all measure?

I make websites. It's relaxing.

I've been getting more and more irritated with fanfiction.net's habit of stealing my line breaks and my formatting and just generally being frustrating. I'm also tired of the ridiculous way the Batman universes are spread around and the character drop down menus that don't contain many of the characters I like to write about.

SO I MADE MY OWN ARCHIVE FOR DCU FIC. SO THERE.

http://www.henchgirls.com

It's fully functional and welcomes all the different universes that Batman characters have appeared in, from Arkham City to Teen Titans to Birds of Prey. It's a centralized hub for all Batfic, all the time.

(It also has four, count them FOUR, spiffy skins!)

Yay!

I have to go eat dinner now. Then I'll be working on uploading my own fics to the archive, one by one. Wheeeee.

Join us. Jooooin ussssss.

From the Hefner family:



And from Teenage!Techie:



BRB, going to have dinner with John's family.

(THIS IS STILL SO WEIRD.)

Well, I WAS going to pop up and wish everyone a Happy Hannukah a couple of days ago, and I was going to wish everyone a Happy Solstice the day before yesterday, but it's been a long week of seeing doctors and having tests and general bleh. So have a Dog Powered Robot.



All the background you really need on this one is that this video features characters from a production at the Orlando Fringe Festival this year, appropriately titled Dog Powered Robot.

I love you, weird, offbeat theatre. You're awesome.

Happy Winter Holidays, everybody!

Okay, girly bits, we need to have a talk.

Stop. With. The. Constant. PAIN. PLZKTHNX.

This is just getting ridiculous. I mean, more ridiculous than usual. I'd like to go ONE night without being curled up in the fetal position because I can't move without feeling like someone is stabbing me over and over again. THAT WOULD BE AWESOME, BODY, REALLY, REALLY, TOTALLY AWESOME.

This is like, month four of this shit off and on, off and on, off and on. I'm starting to lose it.

I have an appointment tomorrow for some diagnostic tests that I'm totally not looking forward to since they're going to take hours but anything is better than more of this right now.

They'll either find SOMETHING REALLY HORRIBLE cancer! tumorstumorstumors! cysts! endometriosis! fibroids! but seriously, cancer! or they'll find ABSOLUTELY NOTHING and then pat me on the head and send me home without so much as a lollipop.

I hate doctors. I hate tests. I hate ovaries. I hate Christmas. I hate doctors doing tests on my ovaries right before Christmas. AGH.

I'm going to bed. To sulk. Also to curl up and try not to die. Let's see how I do.

When I grow up, I want to be Melvin Frohike.

I miss my fingerless gloves. Sigh.

Presented without comment:

Okay, so, I recently bought something that I've literally wanted for the past decade since I first saw it waaaay back in...oh, hell, I don't remember the exact date, but I know I was a teenager while surfing the internet on my supercool-for-its-time WebTV. It's a limited edition, limited to only five one thousand copies, so I figured that, well, I waited ten years, I should probably get on that before I REALLY miss my shot.

So, once upon a time in 2001, there was a television show called The Lone Gunmen. It was a spin-off of The X-Files, a silly show, a show that I think maybe fifteen people total must have watched and I loved it very, very much. I loved it with more ferocity than I have ever loved another television show before or since, and there is a very special place in my heart for it--located somewhere around the right ventricle, I believe.

While it was on the air, I got the internet in my home for the first time, and the world of online fandom was opened. The first internet forum I ever joined was a Lone Gunmen discussion group. The screenname I use now, and have used for the past decade? Derived (indirectly) from them. My interest in all things technological in nature? Inspired by them. Much of my identity is tied to Langly, Frohike and Byers--much, MUCH more than I'll ever admit. Hell, the three shadowy figures in the mist in my current default icon? Them.

Episode 5, Like Water for Octane, SHUT UP DON'T JUDGE ME

It pretty much goes without saying they're more important to me than any other fictional characters in the history of ever.

And then the show got cancelled and I was properly crushed.

One of the stars, Dean Haglund, who played Langly, wrote/drew/inked a comic book about the show's demise, called--appropriately enough--Why the Lone Gunmen were Cancelled:



Anyway, I finally bought it last week because I've been feeling terribly nostalgic, and it came today.

I cracked it open to find...



"He...he signed it? He signed it for me?"



And then I fell down a lot.

EXAGGERATION IN THIS POST: THERE IS NONE

Surprise Dean Haglund Autograph is SO much better than that Surprise Walter Koenig autograph I have!

Uh, right I haven't told that story yet. I should do that.

So um...very quickly: there was this comic series that Koenig wrote called Raver--which was cancelled after three issues--and someone gave me the last issue of it. It was really fun and bizarre so I've been looking for the first two issues in four-for-a-dollar back issue bins and I finally found them in a comic shop in Indianapolis. I didn't even get to really look at them for a couple of months afterward; they just kinda sat in a stack until I had time to file them properly and then I realized BAM, there on the cover of #1 is Walter Keonig's freakin' signature. I squealed and flapped my hands then, too, but I didn't come close to fainting with shock.

I thought that was the fucking coolest thing that had ever happened to me, which I suppose that considering I've been doing stuff like road tripping across the continent for the past few years that lots of people only dream about just goes to show you what kind of geeky, geeky priorities I have, BUT THEN DEAN HAGLUND HAD TO GO AND DO SOMETHING BETTER.

BEST. DAY. EVER.

I have just discovered the idea of Frollo/Maleficent.

(Thanks youtube fan videos!)

I would ship the ever loving hell out of that.

In other news: I am rather bleh and still not feeling very well. I've been pretty much avoiding making much of a splash on the internets as a result. No big deal, I do this every few months. It's just lasting way longer than usual this time because I'm still getting over being sick and serious fatigue has been my constant companion since the mono first hit. So to make up for that, here: have some cool stuff that I'm obsessed with this week.

Barbara Cartland Book Covers: Quite possibly the worst and most prolific romance novelist in the history of the genre, but gosh, I buy her terrible books just for the covers.

Swank Pad: Attack of the Fembots!: Awful sixties fashion? Yes, please!

Illustration Station: Vintage children's book illustrations, ranging from Little Golden Books to Disney to everything in between.

The Retro Housewife's Guide to 50's Slang:...and how sad is it that the majority of this list has been in use in my vocabulary since I was twelve?

Madam Rosmerta's Butterbeer recipe:...which I'm trying to perfect in time for Christmas. This is no small feat, as the original is pretty good, but also kinda has an aftertaste like blood.

And finally:



paperbackswap.com is a really nifty book trading program. Books that you don't want wind up in the hands of people who do want them, and for each book you send, you get a credit to spend at the marketplace to buy one of your own. It's cheaper than amazon.com, or even ebay, you'll be making the day of someone who really wants that book you don't particularly want to hang onto, you get books you want, and all it costs you is postage.

If you click the above link and join paperbackswap, you'll even be doing me a favor: I get credits for referals! w00t and suchlike!

Baybeh is waking up, so I have to go make coffee and start the day now. Argle bargle so so forth.

Just...just...



This is from The Apple, a film from 1980 about--I kid you not--God, the Devil, Adam, Eve and...disco. IT'S A DISCO/GLAM ADAPTATION OF THE FALL OF MAN WITH COSTUMES THAT LADY GAGA DREAMS ABOUT.

Can't...look...away...

Disney Merchandising, may I have a word with you about something?

Specifically I want to talk about Briar Rose/Princess Aurora, from Sleeping Beauty for a minute.

Preamble:

Sleeping Beauty is one of my favorite classic Disney animated features for a few reasons.

1.) It was a wonderful, noble failure. Sleeping Beauty was the dream of an animation team who nearly bankrupted the studio and sent the company into a dark age for more than twenty years just to get it made to their specifications--and it is fucking gorgeous and stunningly stylized in all the ways I like. Further, out of that "Dark Age" came some of my favorite Disney animated features of all time, most notably The Sword in the Stone and Robin Hood.

Rant for a later time: Why am I the only person alive who loves The Sword in the Stone, who? What, what? I mean, I know I love the book and everything and therefore bias but...Archimedes the educated owl! ED! U! CATED! OWL!

2.) The prince isn't made entirely of cardboard. Prince Phillip actually has...you know...a name and a hint of real characterization and rather than being some passive participant in his love life, he fucking FIGHTS for his true love.

3.) The main characters are actually the fairies, who would ordinarily be pushed aside as supporting players. They're GASP, actual characters with distinct personalities and a wonderful interplay with each other that always makes me want to scoop them up and hug them, oh Merriwether, you're my favorite because you're the Al.

4.) The villain is a motherfucking badass of the highest order as far as Disney Villains go. She's nasty, vindictive, powerful, has killer fashion sense and she doesn't randomly fall off a cliff like 99.99999% of animation bad guys; she turns into a dragon and gets fucking slain which, when you're five, is so cool.

And 5.) It's the movie that first awakened a corset fetish in me, but that is neither here nor there, I suppose.



And of course, the movie is not without its massive of-its-era flaws.

Anyway, aside from "I really, really love Sleeping Beauty!" my point is, can we actually look at Aurora for a second?

( It's amazing how much nobody else is going to care about this! )

And now that I have vented my petty, petty spleen, I have to go play Zelda: Ocarina of Time. YES, HAVE TO. IT IS IMPERATIVE.

I'm homesick.



There. That's a little better, but even the Lone Gunmen are kinda depressing me today. That's John's fault, not theirs, though.

The fact that I've been sorting through all our road trip photos from the past couple of years is definitely not helping the homesickness, but I have to do it. I'm working on putting together an actual coffee table road trip photo book as a Christmas present (getting it professionally printed and everything!) so...yeah. Gotta be done.

I'll probably do a post soon, but there are literally thousands of pictures to sort through, so I have no idea when that'll happen. And if I want to try and actually tell the stories behind the photos...well, that could take months! D:

Meh. I have stuff to do, but I'm all blah. *anxious flappy hands* I think I just need dinner. TO THE FREEZER, AWAAAAY!

Okay. So it's the middle of November, about halfway through the CATverse NaNoWriMo project!

How does my wordcount meter look? Let's have a look!



...damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

It looks like I haven't written anything at all, right? You would think that...but Captain and I have put ourselves under the restriction that words only count once they're posted. So, I'm sitting on like, three half finished chapters of different stories over here. Chapter two of Grudge, chapter two of Fork in the Road, chapter five of All Bad Girls Go to Arkham and notes for the first chapter of the as-yet-untitled sequel to Planes, Trains and Automobiles. So my real word count looks more like this:



Which is definitely an improvement but, again, I'm only about half finished with most of those chapters,and none of it counts until it's posted. Aaaaagh.

Meh.

Feh.

Blah.

I NEED THIS. I NEED THIS SO BADLY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I NEED THIS RIGHT NOW. I SPENT LITERAL YEARS LOOKING FOR A SUITABLE SILVER ANKH, BUT MY LIFE WILL NOT BE COMPLETE UNTIL I OWN A HAND CRYSTAL.

...

Sometimes I wonder whether or not anyone gives as much of a shit about Logan's Run as I do, and then I realize if nobody does, that just means...MORE FOR MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

WORK WITH ME, COMICUS, WORK WITH MEEEEE. *shakes Muse wildly* LIVE. LIIIIIIVE.

Okay, so my Muse has apparently died. Yet again. It's very, very inconsiderate of him, don't you think? Le sigh.

Well, anyway. It's been entirely too long since I posted a bunch of random stuff that I find interesting. Personally, that's one of my favorite blog features. SO HERE, HAVE STUFF I LIKE THAT YOU SHOULD BE AWARE OF BECAUSE IT'S COOL AND I DON'T WANT TO LOSE TRACK OF THE AWESOME JEWELRY DESIGNERS I'VE FOUND HOORAY.



Necklace made from recycled glass bottles by Fun2Designs

( This is going to get looong. More cool goodies behind the cut! )

...so apparently, I'm having a love affair with things being made into other things.

Blah. I have to go do things now. BLAH.

Oh, Mr. Word Count Meter, you look so sad and empty inside.

FEED ME.

Mr. Word Count Meter, I can't.

FEED ME.

I've written six thousand words, but they don't count towards my word count unless they're posted!

FEEEEEEEED ME.



...yes, I am comparing my word count meter to a man eating alien plant that will eventually destroy the planet if left unchecked. Except man eating alien plants that will eventually destroy the planet can offer you a guest shot on Jack Paar. I DON'T SEE YOU MAKING THOSE KINDS OF OFFERS, MR. WORD COUNT METER. IF I'M GOING TO ENTER INTO A FAUSTIAN BARGAIN, I DEMAND COMPENSATION!

Oh well. Back to the grind.

Hahahahahaha I've written so much and am still not even half done with any of the chapters I'm working on aaaaaaagh and I'm still recovering from being sick and I will never be finished aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.

In other news, Halloween!Baby:



Baby's first Halloween was something of a fiasco. As you can see, he was swallowed whole by Dracula. This was not his proudest moment.

And of course, as is utterly typical of me when I decide to dedicate myself to writing one thing, an idea for another entirely different thing comes along.

So, in the near future I may be writing a Victorian era romantic comedy/farce about the young widow of a confirmed bachelor who had a three month long marriage of convenience only to have her husband die at a most inopportune time and who then spends an entire season going to masquerade balls and various social functions in disguise because she's tired of black crepe and weeping veils...AND HILARITY ENSUES BECAUSE I TAKE ALL MY CUES FROM BILLY WILDER AND NEIL SIMON LIKE GOOD GIRLS SHOULD, DAMN IT.

(Did you know that Victorian era mourning lasted three years? And if a widow was well off, she couldn't remarry until that time was over? Bloody hell. Just because Queen Victoria had to go and make it all fashionable by mourning for her husband for thirty years...yeesh.)

Damn it, brain. I don't have the energy for these shenanigans. I'm getting old.

So, the CATverse site has been updated for the first time in like, a year, and Captain and I have decided that instead of doing regular old NaNoWriMo, we're going to dedicate our November to writing fifty thousand words, each, for the CATverse which we have been horribly neglecting since real life started trying to eat us. The words only count if they're posted online, and rewriting/editing existing stories and reposting them count for quarter points...because we need SOME incentive to actually start the big clean-up.



ACK.

I remember the days when I could do eighty thousand words in a month without breaking a friggin' sweat, you guys. This looks pretty insurmountable right now, between life and boy and baby and stuff. Especially since most of the stories I have to work on are the tougher plotlines I've been sitting on for the past year. A complex mindfuck puzzle mystery? Oh yeah, I have to work on that. Outing all the main characters in the CATverse as non-heterosexuals in such a way that they don't come off as tokens? Yeah, gotta do that too. Alternate universe storyline with godlike beings? Hahahaha, that too is slated!

This is going to kill me, I just know it.

Give me Mountain Dew and three days without sleep and I shall become INVINCIBLE.

It's been...a day.

There were things I wanted to talk about, so I started writing a journal entry, but then I decided I shouldn't, and that I didn't really want to anyway, so I predictably deleted all of it.

Now, of course, I am at a loss about what to say, and I'm bumming around internets because I had a horrrendous nightmare that woke me up after like, two hours of sleep, and I can never go back to sleep after a nightmare unless I've completely exhausted myself.

There's also the fact that I'm feeling kind of...restless. It's probably the direct result of being confined to bed for the past three weeks, with another five in my future, but I have the itch to travel something fierce. Even if it's just hopping on a bus and riding around town for a day.

I think part of the problem is that the weather here in Delaware has turned cold--a weird, bitter kind of cold that I wasn't expecting for Delaware--and it's making me kinda homesick, I guess. It's the kind of cold that comes with living on the water, and a kind of cold I haven't experienced since living by Lake Michigan. So, a few years, by now.

I'm also homesick for food. Most likely because I haven't been able to eat much of anything lately and when you can't eat, and you can't get out of bed for long periods of time, the brief moments when you can't distract yourself go into thinking about how friggin' hungry you are. I want Wisconsin food. The kind of food my surrogate grandparents, Papa and Jan, would stuff me with when we went to their house for dinner. Comfort food. German food.

(Which is odd beyond belief because I don't have a single drop of German blood in me, but whatever.)

I want a bowl of beer cheese soup, and some bubble and squeak, and a bottle of Leinenkugel and German potato salad and saurkraut and bratwurst and Wisconsin cheese. OH MY GOD, CHEESE. You don't...you can't understand what it is to eat Wisconsin cheese your entire life and then move away. People give you cheese and are like, "Try this, it's really good!" and you try it and make a face that you really didn't intend to make because it's rude but the cheese doesn't taste like anything and there is nothing sadder than flavorless cheese.

Extra sharp chedder should hurt, damn it.

Aaand now I've gone and found a website with a blogger pretty much eating his way across my hometown. So...jealous. Just...just...just...if you can look at the post about three of my hometown delis and not want to eat your own hand right off, I will be very, very surprised.

...so...hungry.

I must go forage.

So, getting halfway across the house to the fridge is apparently the most arduous journey known to mankind for me right now.

I've spent most of the day in bed, asleep, and just ducking out into the kitchen drains whatever energy I have to the point that I have to go straight back to bed and crash for awhile to recover. My throat is also doing somewhat better. Oh, not better to the point that I can consider swallowing a recreational activity yet, but it's slightly better than "Oh God, oh God, kill me, why does this have to be the only way to stay hydrated, THIS IS A SERIOUS DESIGN FLAW! YOU HAVE MUCH TO ANSWER FOR, HIGHER POWER/EVOLUTION."

On the positive end of things, though, this has given me an excuse to curl up next to the Boy for a few hours and watch some stuff. So what if we can't touch or kiss or cuddle? Watching stuff!

( (FOREVER ALONE) )

So, we worked our way through a couple more episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, some South Park and a single episode of the 80's Twilight Zone.

And now, the Boy has crashed, leaving me to my own insomniac devices. I've tried sleeping, but my body has decided it's not quite through having a fever yet, and while I can pass out just fine with a high fever, a wimpy low grade one is sleepless torture.

Thus, I am alternating watching episodes of the original Twilight Zone and The X-Files.

...this is an incredibly bad idea, for numerous reasons. Like, for example, while I've never had nightmares because of either show, The Twilight Zone makes my brain start working on a speculative fiction level, and when that happens, it won't shut off. Remember when I went on a lengthy speculative rant about eugenics? That was caused by like, two links that found their way to me. The Twilight Zone is like on big Wikipedia of things to be thinky about.

And The X-Files? HAHAHAHAHAHA. You want to know the only show in history to ever leave emotional scars that are still visible to this day?

YOU GUESSED IT.

The neuroses manifest themselves in really bizarre ways that don't even look like neurotic behaviors if I don't actually tell anyone where they come from, or that I'm indulging in them.

If I have to look at it, I can't leave a digital clock flashing 12:00 because what if today is the day Wetwired actually happens and the appliances start telling me to kill people? In a room where the light is low, I sometimes catch myself glancing at my shadow because Soft Light taught me you can't trust those fuckers.

AND LET'S NOT TALK ABOUT HOW I FELT ABOUT HOME AND TERMS OF ENDEARMENT WHILE I WAS PREGNANT, H'OKAY?

And I know, in a distant, perfectly rational sort of way, that The X-Files is fictional and it can't hurt me, but there's a small part of me that still identifies as the eight year old girl who became aware of the serious dangers of death fetishists chopping the hair off your corpse and keeping it like a highly sought after collectible holy shit that kind of thing actually happens JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN. OR DIE. I WILL NEVER DIE.

Of course, the irony is that I genuinely love XF, and still have a deep affection/fascination/affinity for its characters, mythos and storytelling. Maybe even an obsession. But unlike the ER nurse I met a couple of weeks ago who couldn't see the new Star Trek film because those Romulans were just too scary (wut?), I can't quit the show, or just not watch it, because though it fucks with my head something awful, it's good, it's smart, and doggone it, I like it.

Anyway. As you can imagine, between the thinky of The Twilight Zone and the childhood horrors of The X-Files, I'm...probably not going to do much sleeping in the foreseeable future.

Mainly, I'm making this post so I don't have to finish watching Irresistible because hahahahaha, if you're going to doom yourself to never ending insomnia, you might as well get the worst stuff out of the way immediately, right?

...

I'm an idiot.

Aaaaagh.

( I am feeling very whiny and petulant today. Please ignore. )

I'm just tired, that's all. Tired and starving and in need of cuddles that I can't have for the near future.

Here. Have a video that I mostly agree with:

Okay, science, you have four years to give me that hoverboard you promised me in 1989. CHOP, CHOP.

I guess it's time to do the mommy thing for the first time in...four months? I have all these adorable baby pictures stacking up, after all. Well, maybe more like five. Five adorable baby pictures, ah, ah, ah.



( I MADE AN ADORABLE GEEKY BABY NAMED AFTER HAL JORDAN AND CAPTAIN KIRK, AREN'T YOU JEALOUS? )

...pretty much, I'm just killing time on the internet until I can actually be up and about and doing things like a grown-up. SO TIRED OF BEING SICK, YOU GUYS, SO FUCKING TIRED OF IT.

Every few months my torrid love affair with all the weird dissimilar music that found its way into The Lone Gunmen happens all over again...because for a show that only had thirteen episodes, they made some damn fine, strange musical choices. Like:



And:



Because why not seventies German pop-punk, fifties rock and roll and WWII girl group music? And the occasional Fatboy Slim? And tango? And Aretha Franklin? WHO NEEDS AN OVERALL TONE, AMIRITE?

And yes, I realize how sad it is that I still know every single song that appeared in a television that lasted for half a season a decade ago.

In other news:



Yep. Still have a healthy fear of sentient defense sattelites. THANKS, X-FILES. ILU.

I've got a horrible case of insomnia like you would not believe...and I've been trying my damnedest to figure out why.

Well, here's the thing. Yesterday, I went to the ER (the second time this week) because my symptoms were getting so horrible it was making it damn near impossible for me to breathe while being even remotely horizontal and while I can sleep upright for short periods, it does horrible things to my back if I try to do it all night. So, they gave me some steroids to make sure my throat wouldn't close up because hahahaha why WOULDN'T that be a standard symptom of mono, some codeine to kill the horrible pain and help me sleep, and I got some nutrional shakes to make sure I wouldn't starve until I can stand to eat solid foods again because swallowing? HURTS.

So I come home, crash for an hour or two, get up to slowly slurp some dinner (I haven't had a real meal in...five days? A week? I can't remember the last time I felt like eating...) and then try to crash again.

And can't.

And cant.

And can't.

Only now that I've been awake all night do I realize: Oh right. Steroids. They're stimulants. They cause insomnia. I am an idjit.

Okay, so I haven't been able to sleep for three days because I couldn't breathe, but now the steroids have made it possible to breathe so I can sleep but the steroids are keeping me awake.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. IRONY!

Universe, serious question: why do you do this? Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

And the worst part is, even after the acute symptoms let up--which could easily be as little as a week or as long as four--I am not allowed to engage in strenuous activity of any kind (because my spleen might rupture!), drink alcohol (because I have temporary viral hepatitis in my liver, wheeee!) or kiss anyone (because I'll STILL BE CONTAGEOUS!) for four to six weeks. Also, with cases as severe as mine has turned out to be, it's not unusual to continue to feel fatigued for six months after recovery.



YOU THINK IT'S OVER? IT'S NEVER OVER.

I'm...so...tired. God, I could just scream with exhaustion and frustration. I'm going to at least try to lie down and relax. Maybe listen to music or...or something.



And now I'm just torturing myself. /reference two people will get

I'm like two minutes into ABC's new series Once Upon a Time, and I just have to get something out.

Skin white as snow, hair black as ebony, and LIPS RED AS BLOOD. AM I THE ONLY PERSON ALIVE WHO KNOWS THAT PALE PINK AND RED ARE NOT THE SAME COLOR?!

Psht. I'm not even going to watch the rest of you, OUaT. You're just The 10th Kingdom lite, by way of Fables. BLAH I SAY.

You say your favorite Star Trek Captain/Commander is Kirk? Or Picard? Or Janeway?



THE CORRECT ANSWER IS ALWAYS SISKO.

In other news, holy crap the first three minutes of the DS9 pilot made me sob like a little girl. What the hell, self?

Also, unnngh, Bajor-related subplots, so booooooooooooooooring. That's going to be annoying every five episodes or so. Two...two episodes or so.

THANK GOD FOR THE CARDASSIANS.

JESUS AND CTHULHU ARE BUDDIES!



I love this image. It makes me happy.

I have to take some codeine and watch Netflix until I pass out now. Star Trek? She-Ra? InuYasha? MY OPTIONS, THEY ARE NUMEROUS.

Good-niiiiight.

One of the only good things about being the sick one in the house is that when we sit down to watch TV, I get control of the remote, because oh, poor baby, what will make you feel better? Anything you want!

"STAR TREK!" *cough, strangle, choke, die*

See? There are advantages to being on your death bed!

Thus, I've been leading John on a selective tour through Star Trek: The Next Generation. Currently, we're focusing on Picard episodes, because it's better to work your way through one character's arc at a time, rather than having to watch a Picard episode and then twelve kinda terrible Monster of the Week episodes (or Riker or Troi episodes, because eeew) before you get to the next pertinent bit. (I have a string of episodes for each character planned, actually, BECAUSE I'M AWESOME LIKE THAT)

I'm also trying to give John the most satisfying primer possible without having to slog through the entire series so that we can FINALLY sit down to watch my favorite Trek: Deep Space Nine.

(Since John loves Babylon 5, and I love DS9, and they were both reportedly based around the same series bible, we intend to alternate between each show, season by season, to compare and contrast how they differed as they grew and evolved. We do this because we're awesome...and because Sisko is still the only Starfleet Captain I would sleep with without a moment's hesitation.)

We dragged through Encounter at Farpoint because it's the pilot and is heavily referenced in the series finale, and then The Naked Now because there's a scene that feeds directly into Hide and Q, and though I kinda want to go ahead and work our way through the Saga of Tasha Yar, let's be honest, nobody wants to do that because being eaten by a tar monster was the most interesting thing she ever did.

So instead, after a brief jaunt into the adorably Picard/Crusher shipping heavy Dixon Hill episode The Long Goodbye, I decided to skip ahead to Q Who, otherwise known as "Q throws a tantrum and flings the Enterprise into Borg space. THANKS Q. YOU'RE A PRINCE"

AND THEN WE GOT TO THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS PT. 1&2 SQUEE.

(Brief aside: The first time I ever became aware of action figures as a thing I might be interested in was because there was a Locutus action figure at the local Walgreens when I was little...and I wanted it so badly. Thus, a whole world of 'boy' toys was opened up to me and Barbie and others of her ilk wound up on the back burner.)

And it was around that point that I realized I wasn't trying to give John a general primer, I was subconsciously doing my damnedest to make sure that my favorite of the Trek films, Star Trek: First Contact, would be as emotionally resonant as humanly possible.



While I love this speech, it drives me insane that my favorite part of this scene is never actually kept in YouTube clips, because fucking hell, if you cut out the part directly following that outburst where Picard realizes that his righteous crusade is actually him being so completely consumed by his own pain and obsession that he's lost sight of what's best for his crew, you lose the most powerful scene in the entire film. PLEASE TO BE STOP MISSING THE POINT, INTERNET.

....

I honestly don't know what I'm saying at this point, or where I'm going with this. Codeine! Wheee!

Now we watch Barclay episodes! Hooray!

Unnngh.

The last two weeks have been quite possibly the worst sickness of my entire life, not counting that one time my gallbladder tried to kill me for several months solid. Now THAT was fun time.

Anyway. So, I've had a low grade fever for two weeks, a swollen gland in my neck that's now so large I half expect it to sprout a mouth and eyes and start trying to take over my life:



And a sore throat that's SO SORE I can barely swallow, breathe while lying down, or speak.

I had this horrible sneaking suspicion I had mono, because I've never actually had it before, and the symptoms all fit perfectly. Since mono is viral, there's not much to be done for it, so of course between hating going to the doctor and that, I put off going.

A few days ago, though, I finally broke down and went to see a doctor at the local walk-in clinic. I suggested to the doctor that based on my symptoms, it might be mono, but she dismissed that immediately because it usually only strikes teenagers, not people in their mid-twenties. She said it was tonsillitis and probable strep throat on top of that--she was so sure, she didn't even need to test for it!--and she prescribed an antibiotic.

Four days of antibiotic later, I wind up in the ER. My tonsils are so huge I can barely breathe.

SO HEY GUYS GUESS WHAT. TURNS OUT I HAVE MONO. AND ANTIBIOTICS MAKE IT WORSE.

Ahfksjhdfklashdfkjashdfkjhasdklfdhsf MEDICAL PROFESSION!!

Now I'm on strict bed rest, fluids, a regimen of ibuprofen and tylenol and have at least another week of this horrible shit to look forward to. I'm not allowed to lift anything, or do anything remotely strenuous that puts pressure on my abdomen (goodbye, sex) for at least a month after this clears up, I'm not allowed to drink alcohol for at least a month after I'm better because my liver will be so taxed by the sickness, and I've been avoiding kissing, hugging and even touching anyone since I got sick.

Understandably, I am coming a little unglued. I mean, if you've been sick for two solid weeks and have been in self imposed quarantine, unable to have any physical contact with another human being, even if you're a bit of a loner like I am, you start REALLY WANTING COMFORTING CUDDLES, GOD DAMN IT. Yesterday morning, I just kind of sat in bed, holding baybeh in such a way that I wasn't breathing on him, and sobbing hysterically because I can barely eat, sleep, drink or interact with my family and it's making me more than a little bit crazy.

So I'm going to spend my day watching the VlogBrothers, to keep me from losing my god damn mind, and do my best to not turn into a stir crazy cartoon.



Blah.

John played this for me without letting me see the image; it took me entirely too long to identify who was doing the voiceover. I swear to God, for a second my brain tried to connect to Sam Elliot, but that wasn't right...



AND THEN MY BRAIN COLLAPSED WITH JOY BECAUSE SHATNER AND THE EXTENDED VERSION OF ONE OF THE BEST SONGS EVER RECORDED

YES PLEASE AND THANK YOU

Oh, Bill, may you never, ever die, lest the world be poorer for the loss of your sense of self awareness that isn't actually self aware. I love you so much more than anyone will ever truly understand.

I have to go listen to Golden Earring's greatest hits on a loop now. All two of them.

Originally posted by old_blueeyes at Mississippi Personhood Amendment

---

As I recently had to struggle with the question of whether or not to try to keep a child that I had very little chance of actually carrying to term, the idea of pro-choice vs. pro-life is still very much in my mind. Between stress and hormones and being completely unable to receive ANY prenatal care during my pregnancy, thanks to getting fucked over by the system time and time again at every literal turn, there were times when I seriously considered abortion. With no way to know if my baby was healthy, or even viable, and knowing that my odds of miscarrying at a crucial time when I'd already gotten attached to the pregnancy were really high, it was an option I thought about almost constantly during the first six months.

And while I ultimately went through with it, if at any time I hadn't felt like I had the option, I don't know what my mental state would have been like. As a survivor of horrendous childhood abuse, where I often wasn't allowed to leave the house for weeks or even months at a time without my abuser, or speak to friends, or make any autonomous movements whatsoever without tempting a severe beating, the idea of someone controlling my actions--especially to this extent--is so horrible that I feel my chest tightening with the threat of an oncoming panic attack just thinking about it.

Whenever I felt pressure during my pregnancy to keep the baby, and it was subtly applied from all sides by everyone, from concerned friends to concerned strangers, I felt the walls closing in, even though I knew I actually had the option to do the opposite. There is nothing worse to me in the world than feeling trapped and controlled, and I still haven't entirely forgiven everyone who unknowingly triggered those responses in me, because it hurt that badly. Even though I made the decision to keep Baybeh, and I'm ultimately very happy I did, if my right to do otherwise had been revoked, and I couldn't remind myself that I really did have a choice, the post traumatic stress would have caused me to spiral into such a severe depression that it might have ended in suicide.

And this was just my situation; a girl who thought she'd never be able to get pregnant and knew with likely medical certainty that the baby would not survive, who actually had the choice and the means to abort if she wanted. I can't imagine being pregnant because of rape, or incest, or being a teenager who doesn't want to give up high school or college, or a woman with an abusive partner, or a woman whose life would be in danger if she went through with the pregnancy, or any number of other combinations that make up the women who go into Planned Parenthood clinics every day.

Or worse, being a woman in any of those situations, living in a place where abortion is illegal.

Whatever the reason, an abortion should be the choice of the woman who has to spend months throwing up, and gaining weight, and her pelvis separating under the stress of a baby, and being unable to breathe at night, and the heartburn that makes her throat feel like it's bleeding for months on end, and the being unable to drink half a glass of water without rushing to the bathroom to pee, and not sleeping at night for weeks on end, and spending twenty-seven hours in labor and bleeding horribly for six weeks while her body heals from the enormous amount of damage the baby did.

The second every law maker in the country agrees to do all of the above, and more, for nine solid months, then I'll believe they MAYBE have the right to SUGGEST what we can and can't do with our bodies. Until then? Fuck off. You're only allowed to have access to our bodies if we're okay with it. Anything less should be a criminally prosecutable offense.

Oh Jesus Christ, does this mean I actually have to tell the story now?

As you might have noticed, yesterday I was feeling pretty exhausted from Fighting the Good Fight™, to the point that I had actually run out of juice. My little Blue Lantern was in serious danger of flickering out.

It happens sometimes, and not just to me. In comics fandom, there’s a lot of pushback against people who aren’t straight, white, cisgendered males, whether you’re the girl in the comic shop who overhears the fanboys discussing which of the Green Lantern 'bitches' they’d like to sleep with, a queer person hearing how Iron Man’s new armor is totally 'gay', or a person of color hearing about how diversity doesn‘t belong in comics because it‘s 'wrong' to shoehorn' it in. It sucks to be told, in no uncertain terms, that you don't belong and have no right to like what you like because of [insert intrinsic trait here].

It’s not easy to hear that kind of shit in your everyday life, from coworkers and bosses and acquaintances and people on the bus, but for me at least, it sucks just a little bit more when something you love is tainted by it, and when people who should qualify as fellow outcasts and should welcome you as brethren, don’t.

It’s hard to put up with if you’re a casual fan, it’s hard to put up with if you’re a diehard fan, and it’s especially hard to put up with if you’re someone like me (or box_in_the_box, or neo_prodigy, or captaintwinings or any one of a hundred others) who takes their passion for good comics and inclusive fandom and all but turns talking about it on the internet into a job.

It’s a job we don’t get paid for; a job we don’t get accolades for; and ultimately, a job that makes us tired in ways very little else can--because the pushback is constant and it never, ever goes away.

We do it anyway. I can’t speak for anyone else’s motivations, but for my part, I do it because I want to share my passion, and maybe infect others with it. I do it to teach, and to help lead the way for the n00bs who don’t expect the pushback and aren’t ready for the deluge they’re going to encounter. I do it to open up worlds to people who otherwise might not have even known they were there.

Most of all, I do it because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s what our heroes--even, or perhaps especially, comic book superheroes--should teach us.

The right thing is never easy, and though I prepared myself to deal with that long ago, I’m still human, and I still get tired.

But sometimes, when I’m at my most burnt out and I’m ready to throw in the towel, you guys give all my effort back to me, tenfold and wrapped in a great big bow.

I crashed and burned yesterday, hard, but this morning, amidst many other helpful notes of encouragement, I received the following message, and just like Jean Grey, I rose from the ashes whether the fanbase wanted me to or not.

Hi there.

I've been following your posts for the past couple of months, and I just wanted drop by to say thanks. I'm an eighteen year old girl who's been interested in comics (Batman in particular) for years, but the massive, incredibly complicated timeline and equally intimidating fanbase kept me from geeking out like I wanted to. Your posts - especially the Catwoman timeline, which is SO AWESOME YOU HAVE NO IDEA, and those dealing with gender and sexuality issues in comics - have been very helpful. They gave me the confidence to walk into a comic shop for the first time and pick up some of the DCnU issues, and they're helping me realize that I don't have to be a stereotype in order to enjoy comics.

Because of you, I know my Lanterns of Earth. Because of you I see Catwoman as more than a sex symbol. Without your posts I wouldn't believe so strongly that heroes are more than the tights they wear and that villains are more than their gimmicks. You make me want to be a better person, and you make me proud to be a fangirl.

I'm sure this whole message sounds weird, but it needs to be said. YOU ARE MAKING A DIFFERENCE. THERE IS HOPE. Things will change. People will change, and it'll happen because there are awesome people out there like you who fight for the things they believe in. As someone who didn't have a chance to get into this as a kid, it means a lot that there's a part of the fandom dedicated to teaching and accepting the ignorant rather than condemning them. So thank you for holding on, thank you for giving me confidence, and thank you for making the world a better place for fans in general.

--pundemonium

This may well be the greatest gift I’ve ever received, and it’s just words, but it’s been awhile since I’ve felt so awed and humbled and thankful. I’m pretty sure the glow I have inside burns so bright ir’s visible from the outside.

I obtained permission to repost this here because I’m not the only one who gets tired and I’m not the only one who needs a reminder that our cause isn’t a lost one. Refer back to this if you need reassurance that we’re changing things, little by little.

Finally:

To those who read this blog, thank you for making it all worth it. I couldn’t ask for better people to fight for.

To those who have blogs like this of their own, thank you for being in the trenches with me. I couldn’t ask for better allies.



...oh, what, you didn't think I'd stay earnest the whole time, did you? Come on now. I have a reputation to uphold here.

Tune in tomorrow for a return to our regularly scheduled comics blogging. Same Bat time, same Bat station.