It's late-nite, folks. I'm posting to prove to you that I'm still alive.

I think about that sometimes. Like, if something happened to me, and I wasn't alive anymore. I mean that I think about that in relation to you. If I went away, what would happen? You wouldn't know.

What happens when a fic writer dies, y'all? We're such goofy and instransient people, really, and to try and introduce a memorial to that . . what would happen? KJ told me once about a time when Dex-- you remember Dex-- faked his own suicide. In a, y'know, understated online kind of way. And there was a big scare that lasted for an entire evening.

When I think about it, I figure that one of my friends will do all my online tying up for me-- but I think that's assuming too much. If one of my people died, I wouldn't think, 'hey, this person has online connections, I should tell them not to bother anymore'. I would break the computer. I would go crazy. I don't know what I'd do. I can't-- end things.

Want to know what I'm thinking right now?

I'm thinking, god, I'm pissed. I'm tired of not ever writing, not being able to finish a single fucking story, and then having Te, of all fucking people, say: "Finally, X-Men done right." And then recommending a movieverse Rogue/Logan story! What the fuck, man!

I want a small community, that's what I want. Where we all know each other, and we're all goofy and intransient. I can't deal with these fic gods.

I discovered another *nfic that I hadn't read, called On the Bus 4. Lance makes a Justin a Sex On the Beach. That placated me, a little. Calms my nerves, baby. It's like valium.

Christ.

I've proven that I'm alive. I'm going to bed, y'all.

Alestar
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Boys. Boys, I am lusciously sorry about everything.