June 27th, 2001

running, bomb tech

Fun all gone. :(

The fun that Darkside and I were having on the Fanboy Otaku Gamer's Club message board is all over now...

It seems that Dennis, the moderator, in his infinite wisdom, decided that it was not relevant to his club, and asked us to can it. So, we shall. Darkside wants to take one last parting shot at getting Dennis to guess who he really is in real life, and do the following:

As Dennis is flying off (you'd have to have been there) invoke pyrokinesis and scorch away Dennis's pants, revealing Cutey Honey underwear. Azure Lunatic would then holler "Honey Flash!"

Dennis does in fact own a few pairs of said underwear, given to him by none other than Darkside. It would be an obvious ploy.

Right now we're looking for an appropriate place to take our online virtual pie fight (which has become, somehow, a battle filled with cheezy anime references) where those who are interested can still follow the thing. I suggested livejournal.

Hmm. That might do it ... if all of us combatants had the password... and few enough of us so that we could have unique user pictures... hmm. Shall have to suggest that to Darkside the next time we talk, which could be tomorrow. Hmm.

We were having so much fun, though!
running, bomb tech

reacting

Best friend, when he graduates college, is most likely to accept a job out of state.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I'm getting this out of the way now, all the bitching and whining and moaning and general pissiness.

I know it must not be every time, but it sure seems like it. Every time I get a heart-friend who dreams on the same frequency that I do ...

And now that we're adults, we've got a choice. He can choose to take that job. I can choose to stay in Arizona to finish the schooling that I'm getting less and less of a stomach for.

What is wrong with me? What?

I just want to settle down with a nice man (witchy of course) and have a studio of my own and paint when I feel like it and raise a horde of adopted little gamers/witches. I want to write. I fucking want to write for a fucking living.

I can't get anywhere, ever, if I keep bitching without doing anything, but for now I think I'm just going to bitch until I'm all bitched out and then find a corner and cry myself to sleep.

Then, I'd get up in the morning full of furious energy and start doing something.

I learned how not to let anger rule my life two months ago. Misery is a luxury, and at the moment I think I can afford it. I don't want anybody to offer hugs or snuggles over this. I don't want to be touched. If anybody touched me but Darkside or River, I'd probably draw back into myself if they were a close friend, or hit them if they weren't. River's seen my soul. So has Darkside. Them, I can trust to tell me what I need to hear in the way I need to hear it. I can hear Darkside now, sarcastic, telling me that even men can learn to correspond, and he'd do better at it, only we see each other every day/ talk to each other every day, and he always does better at saying things without an audience, and he's not sure how many of me there are these days.

There's always the system password, in any case. I know his and I'm sure he knows mine.

Ennirikit, etiernna mi twer.