Why am I so stupid? Seriously. It's just ohgodsohgodsohgods for a couple minutes, and then, too fascinated to stop, I do it all over again. XD I'm on Entry 16, and I'm taking it in ten second increments because I can't handle any more than that.
That said, I really like it. XD Turns out there's this whole ARG around it/the slenderman. I need to look into this more. It's really neat.
Also, wish JPo could be here for our game in April. He's done a slenderman costume for a con before, and he would be perfect as one of the nightmares/Gloria's horrors. Oh, well. Time to suit up and head out to class.
Addendum: Did not suit up; ran out of time, still left late. Got to the train station, realized I didn't have enough on my card for the trip, spent enough time dithering to miss the buses of two separate lines, caught another one, spend half an hour in sweltering heat with a ringing in one ear. Joy. No real scares on the way, though; no one was wearing a suit, at all. The closest was a guy who was sitting behind me with a long coat, who tapped me on the shoulder and asked me for the time, but as he was a somewhat unkempt black man with a Dr. Pepper clutched in one hand, he hardly seemed Slendermanesque. Also, and old white guy crossing the street in a suit, but he had a baseball cap. Really, the thing that caught me out of the corner of my eye was passing a suit store, and a couple minutes later, a Men's Wearhouse. So, yeah, I'm good. Final verdict: Not scared, just overheated, 45 minutes late to class, and I walked in to hear my professor describing smegma. Yeah.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Wrote up a backstory for a character...
In a sort of ARG I'm playing (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEqJeua-_1M if you're interested in what it's about), and decided that while not amazing, it's not bad, either. Writing it also helped me to feel better, so maybe I'm not entirely a non-creative after all. Huh.
-----------------------------------------------
I was never a normal child. That much can be said. While others were playing during recess and lunch, I would sit indoors and read. This prompted a certain amount of teasing which, I suppose, was inevitable, but I persevered and, I believe, grew the stronger for it.
I always had a goal in life, and followed it, determined and sure that I would face down life's adversities and triumph, in my own quiet way. While early life had given me my love of books, and the seeds of my burgeoning intellect, it was later that I started to interact with others more, and learned methods of dealing with conflict beyond running away or hiding within myself.
I progressed through college with little struggle, and became a librarian easily enough; my qualifications, dedication, ability to handle people with finesse, and love of books all spoke well enough for me. As time passed, however, friends drifted away, either through petty conflicts or because I no longer had anything they wanted. I began to seek out seclusion and peace more and more often.
Eventually I applied for and received the position of curator of a somewhat extensive collection of books, some rare, others merely beloved by my employer. I was allowed to read any and all I chose, and there, amongst the quiet, I found inner solitude for a while.
I don't remember much about the event itself. I suppose none of us really do. I remember, hazily, watching, horrified, as the walls shook and books fell all around me. I remember cracks in the earth and my beloved wards disappearing - downwards or, in some cases, simply vanishing in puffs of ash. I remember wandering, broken, amidst the desolation and wondering if I would ever see civilization again.
Perhaps this was what I needed. A call to my senses. All I know is that after wandering for some time, I found a group of refugees. While I tried to help them, explaining ways to refine their drinking water and make their shelters more secure and habitable, more often than not they would not listen, demanding querrulously that I provide them with trinkets they missed and supposed they still needed, or gathering the folds of their misery about them like a blanket, deaf to their own needs and the ones of those around them. Having restocked my supplies, and done the best I could for them, I moved on.
Traveling like this, some weeks later I found a shanty town of those with vessels, some honest traders, some people fallen on hard times and turn to piracy, and some cutthroat theives. The first sailor to lay a hand on me got a smart boot to the groin. The next, a firm thwack around the head with a steel-shafted umbrella I had found and correctly reasoned would come in use. After that, I was granted the modicum of respect I required.
I worked, after that. Hard labor, my hands once soft from indoor work becoming tough and strong. Where at first I had driven people away in my desire to be seen as someone of whom others could not take advantage, I eventually realized that cutting myself off from all contact could not be good. And so, I helped people. Fellow sailors mostly, just small pieces of advice or a friendly ear, but the littlest things can mean the most.
When I had earned my way to owning my own ship, I was pleasantly surprised to find a caedre of willing crew who would be happy to serve a captain who would treat them fairly, though by no means undemandingly. And so, I set to work.
Now I traverse the seas, trying to help where I can, and treat others with fairness at the very least. This apocalypse, this Penumbra may shaken apart our lives and set everything upon its head, but I believe that in some ways, it has done us good. It has shaken us out of our complacency and taught us to work together. And that is why I am proud to host the lending library for this, my 17 Hills tribe.
-----------------------------------------------
I was never a normal child. That much can be said. While others were playing during recess and lunch, I would sit indoors and read. This prompted a certain amount of teasing which, I suppose, was inevitable, but I persevered and, I believe, grew the stronger for it.
I always had a goal in life, and followed it, determined and sure that I would face down life's adversities and triumph, in my own quiet way. While early life had given me my love of books, and the seeds of my burgeoning intellect, it was later that I started to interact with others more, and learned methods of dealing with conflict beyond running away or hiding within myself.
I progressed through college with little struggle, and became a librarian easily enough; my qualifications, dedication, ability to handle people with finesse, and love of books all spoke well enough for me. As time passed, however, friends drifted away, either through petty conflicts or because I no longer had anything they wanted. I began to seek out seclusion and peace more and more often.
Eventually I applied for and received the position of curator of a somewhat extensive collection of books, some rare, others merely beloved by my employer. I was allowed to read any and all I chose, and there, amongst the quiet, I found inner solitude for a while.
I don't remember much about the event itself. I suppose none of us really do. I remember, hazily, watching, horrified, as the walls shook and books fell all around me. I remember cracks in the earth and my beloved wards disappearing - downwards or, in some cases, simply vanishing in puffs of ash. I remember wandering, broken, amidst the desolation and wondering if I would ever see civilization again.
Perhaps this was what I needed. A call to my senses. All I know is that after wandering for some time, I found a group of refugees. While I tried to help them, explaining ways to refine their drinking water and make their shelters more secure and habitable, more often than not they would not listen, demanding querrulously that I provide them with trinkets they missed and supposed they still needed, or gathering the folds of their misery about them like a blanket, deaf to their own needs and the ones of those around them. Having restocked my supplies, and done the best I could for them, I moved on.
Traveling like this, some weeks later I found a shanty town of those with vessels, some honest traders, some people fallen on hard times and turn to piracy, and some cutthroat theives. The first sailor to lay a hand on me got a smart boot to the groin. The next, a firm thwack around the head with a steel-shafted umbrella I had found and correctly reasoned would come in use. After that, I was granted the modicum of respect I required.
I worked, after that. Hard labor, my hands once soft from indoor work becoming tough and strong. Where at first I had driven people away in my desire to be seen as someone of whom others could not take advantage, I eventually realized that cutting myself off from all contact could not be good. And so, I helped people. Fellow sailors mostly, just small pieces of advice or a friendly ear, but the littlest things can mean the most.
When I had earned my way to owning my own ship, I was pleasantly surprised to find a caedre of willing crew who would be happy to serve a captain who would treat them fairly, though by no means undemandingly. And so, I set to work.
Now I traverse the seas, trying to help where I can, and treat others with fairness at the very least. This apocalypse, this Penumbra may shaken apart our lives and set everything upon its head, but I believe that in some ways, it has done us good. It has shaken us out of our complacency and taught us to work together. And that is why I am proud to host the lending library for this, my 17 Hills tribe.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Today
Blueberries remind me of summers in Michigan. We'd fly out to visit the family, and often we'd spend a day on a trip to a pick-your-own-berries type place, coming home with baskets laden with a lack of berries, most of our crop consumed.
I said goodbye today. I'll see him again, of that I have no doubt, but it was still hard. A few tears in the BART station, a few more upon getting home, a brief but violent torrent upon making up the bed. It's mostly passed now. I'll keep missing him, but for now it's nice to have space to stretch out in the bed. That's what I'm telling myself anyways. And I'll always have the cat to keep me company.
I said goodbye today. I'll see him again, of that I have no doubt, but it was still hard. A few tears in the BART station, a few more upon getting home, a brief but violent torrent upon making up the bed. It's mostly passed now. I'll keep missing him, but for now it's nice to have space to stretch out in the bed. That's what I'm telling myself anyways. And I'll always have the cat to keep me company.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Yeah, I don't even know...
This is verbatim what he wrote, btw:
"Erin, I didn't find this to be the simple rant you so offhandedly described it to be. I felt that it was very much aligned with the concepts of the persuasive essay we covered in class and in the text. It may have been a bit more challenging if you had chosen an audience with whom you weren't so intimately familiar, but you were not directed to do so. You wrote with compassion and conviction, and to do so isn't often done with as much balance as you demonstrate. I would have appreciated more voices integrated in your essay: If only they had been voices of the school mates you interviewed. As it is, your letter doesn't seem to be as well-formed as it could be. Still, though, very impressive work. I don't know how much effort you feel you put into the work, but I hope you know that your talent goes well beyond an adept ability to craft words and thoughts. You have a very well-developed emotional intelligence that I hope you continue to develop. Of the three classical rhetorical devices two are dependent on emotional intelligence. I hope you acknowledge that aspect of your gift and share it often with others."
Maybe that's why I'm not doing the mediation essay. I already spend most of my time mediating and generally looking after people as it is.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
People fascinate me
They confuse me, too. There's always that feeling, that wondering, of where the disconnect is. Even when you try so hard to get along, you wonder if maybe you're trying too hard; if you're coming off as pathetic.
I wish I could write grandly.
Spilling my words onto the page
or screen
My thoughts swirling and encompassing the reader
Until they're left with that feeling
that unknowing
that floating, meandering, purposeful feeling
Of meaning unseen
hidden.
I've almost lost the art.
No one is to blame. Not the teachers, with their desires for easily-transmissible messages. Not my peers, with their looks of gentle puzzlement. Not even Flammanatus, for scoffing whenever I tried.
But reading the words and works of others who never conformed
never tried to shape what they were saying into neat little packages, but instead let their words run rampant, imbued with meaning and a sense of things too deep to ever speak, makes me feel
Lost
Small
Lesser
Sad
Longing
Wishing that I could do it, too.
That I could say and write these things
So profound
Instead of just
A pale imitation.
A pale imitation that will be scoffed at and met with looks of gentle puzzlement.
There's something so amazing about being able to transmit meaning through wildly, chaotically graceful imprecision.
Someday I'll find it again.
I wish I could write grandly.
Spilling my words onto the page
or screen
My thoughts swirling and encompassing the reader
Until they're left with that feeling
that unknowing
that floating, meandering, purposeful feeling
Of meaning unseen
hidden.
I've almost lost the art.
No one is to blame. Not the teachers, with their desires for easily-transmissible messages. Not my peers, with their looks of gentle puzzlement. Not even Flammanatus, for scoffing whenever I tried.
But reading the words and works of others who never conformed
never tried to shape what they were saying into neat little packages, but instead let their words run rampant, imbued with meaning and a sense of things too deep to ever speak, makes me feel
Lost
Small
Lesser
Sad
Longing
Wishing that I could do it, too.
That I could say and write these things
So profound
Instead of just
A pale imitation.
A pale imitation that will be scoffed at and met with looks of gentle puzzlement.
There's something so amazing about being able to transmit meaning through wildly, chaotically graceful imprecision.
Someday I'll find it again.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
It has been an incredibly lovely weekend, all told.
On Friday, after work, I went to go see a production of the play Dancing at Lughnasa at my former high school. Going to see it was a curiously mixed experience. Seeing all of the familiar faces, though I'd only been gone for a year, was wonderful, but at the same time there was an odd sense of distance; a boundary between us that had maybe begun in senior year, when there were only a few seniors and only one junior in the group, and especially when I had directed a show. This was different, though. I was now classified as "all grown up" and "gone away," though still attending a nearby community college for various reasons that still make me bitter.
Despite the distance, however, it was a great experience. Reading through the playbill, I saw how the characters could have been one-dimensional, and feared that each of the sisters would be very different, and I would once again come away from a play or movie feeling that I had more than one of the characters as various aspects of my personality, and that it was completely unfair of the playwright to act like there were such clean divisions in traits. Nothing of the kind happened. Though the character of the teacher was stern, she also had a lot of love and kindness in her. Though the flighty sister was raucous and bawdy and more than a little saucy, I still had moments of connection with her, and appreciated why she was who she was. Though the homemaker was motherly and took care of the lot of them, she still had her moments of bitterness and anger. And though the young mother of the boy was a romantic, she was still often not a perfect mother, though she cared for her boy. I am not sure whether it was the writing or the acting that made the play so great, but I suspect it was both. The characters were too well-written to ever be one-dimensional, and my former colleagues had increased in their abilities by miles and bounds; the one going so far as to make me cry during a particularly intense scene. I may be a bit of a softie, but it still takes a very good emotional connection to push me to tears, and by golly, she did it.
After the show, I hugged and congratulated my friends effusively, though still feeling that disconnect a bit. Then I walked to the train station to catch the bus, feeling actually glad that I hadn't thought to bring my ipod with me. The quiet, slightly chilly but not cold night was perfect for walking, and it gave me time to mull over the play and my experiences with it. On the bus there was a man with a drum, beating out a repetitive rhythm that somehow fit. And walking from the bus stop home, I was filled with a sense of satisfaction and peace. I rather feel that seeing that play was the missing piece, the little bit of the jigsaw that I needed to tell me that it's okay to be who I am, and who I am becoming. There may be many paths in life, but all have their merits. I am not settling for something less by having found a path that will suit me, and one that I will comfortably and quietly enjoy, while my friends still struggle to make sense of who they are and how that will apply to the world around them. With light feet and a feeling of anticipation for the future, I made my way home.
Saturday, I went to Wondercon. Big leap, I know. Still.
I woke up at around 8 or 8:30, despite having gone to bed quite late, because I believed that Hero would be bringing a foam wrench made for a previous game over. Upon waking, I saw a message he had sent me saying that he didn't feel like waking up that early, so he had biked over the previous night and left it then, instead. Looking outside, I saw it gripping the doorknob to the garage.
I went in, got made up, lopped a bit of my hair off to form bangs for the character I was to be cosplaying:
From:
To:
So it was a bit of a sudden change. Felt good, though. I'd been meaning to do something to my hair for ages. Haven't dyed it in over a year, and cut it in over two. [/girliness and vanity] Then it was off to the con.
I had mostly gone to see various webcomic artists. I started with the Foglios, obviously, as I'd been going as one of their characters. (You may think it's Agatha, but without the locket it's kind of Lucrezia possessing Agatha. Didn't get a chance to act as such, though. Pity.) I asked them to sign my book, and they were kind enough, but I was shy, and hared off quickly.
I saw the people at the Blind Ferret Entertainment booth, made a quip about how they were all wearing pants, and moved on, hoping to see Alina Pete. Found her, but again was shy, so I made a little small talk, and bought three more buttons for my bag (stopping short at buying the pink one emblazoned "gamer grrrl" because I felt that was going a little too far).
Jostled by the crowds, I made my way back to the Blind Ferret booth, and hung around there for a good while. They told me I was completely welcome, wearing a corset as I was, though it was just plain silly to wear a shirt under a corset, and that I should take it off. Taking the comments in good humor, and appreciating them for the compliments they were (after all, I do hang around with theater people and larpers), I pretty much just stayed and knitted, feet growing sore, and at one point taking it upon myself to be a booth babe as I hadn't bought anything and felt kind of awkward just hanging around. They're good people, though. In all seriousness, you should check out the webcomics Least I Could Do, Looking For Group, and Gutters. They're entertaining, and made by some nice guys. They may be my second- or third-most favorite Canadians, after the Loading Ready Run crew and after or tied with Alina Pete.
Finally, Ariel told me he'd gotten into the con after all, so he came to meet me. We checked out the Foglio's booth again, both of us a little awkward because we'd each been there separately before, but while there, I found out he had some round glasses that made my costume infinitely better, so that was cool. He also showed me where Willis of Shortpacked!, It's Walky!, and Dumbing of Age was, and got a drawing of Mike, which he gave to me. Then we went off to have lunch/dinner with our other friends and I completely missed out on seeing The Meek and Lackadaisy booths. Drat. Still, though, an awesome time.
At lunner, Kitty drew a freaking awesome picture of me, that I am determined to have framed, and then Ariel and I headed back to catch a train, while the others went back to the con. I hung out with Ariel at his place with Wolf and Bard (who I hadn't seen in a while, and was a lot cooler and nicer than I remembered. He saw when I was really lagging from being tired, and made sure I was okay, and gotten home alright.), and later Overlook. We watched some youtube videos, played some music, had some tea, and completely failed to getting around to playing Pathfinder, but it was a really wonderful night all the same. I am once again convinced that I have the best friends. They're a lovely bunch of people who care for and about each other, and are creative, awesome, and basically all-around great guys.
And that brings us to today. It's lovely and sunny out; practically summery. I have an essay to finish revising, and some reading for Anthropology to do, but that doesn't spoil my enjoyment in the least, because it's just so nice out. The wind chimes are ringing, the plants are rustling, and if you step out the front door, the wisteria makes the whole world smell pretty. I finished re-reading Roald Dahl's Boy because it was a lovely memory from my childhood, and because the sheer enthusiasm in his writing makes everything really awesome. And later tonight I might see Ink with my mother, even though I recently saw it, because it's such a good movie and deserves a re-watch to see all the subtleties.
I don't like indulging in petty recounts of my days on here, because I'd rather it was an outlet for profound thoughts, but considering how often I am likely to have profound thoughts, and what a nice weekend it was, I'm allowing it this time. And I still feel that my coming to terms with who I am and who I will be was a pretty major development, so it kind of still fits. Shush. It's my blog, and I'll do what I want.
Despite the distance, however, it was a great experience. Reading through the playbill, I saw how the characters could have been one-dimensional, and feared that each of the sisters would be very different, and I would once again come away from a play or movie feeling that I had more than one of the characters as various aspects of my personality, and that it was completely unfair of the playwright to act like there were such clean divisions in traits. Nothing of the kind happened. Though the character of the teacher was stern, she also had a lot of love and kindness in her. Though the flighty sister was raucous and bawdy and more than a little saucy, I still had moments of connection with her, and appreciated why she was who she was. Though the homemaker was motherly and took care of the lot of them, she still had her moments of bitterness and anger. And though the young mother of the boy was a romantic, she was still often not a perfect mother, though she cared for her boy. I am not sure whether it was the writing or the acting that made the play so great, but I suspect it was both. The characters were too well-written to ever be one-dimensional, and my former colleagues had increased in their abilities by miles and bounds; the one going so far as to make me cry during a particularly intense scene. I may be a bit of a softie, but it still takes a very good emotional connection to push me to tears, and by golly, she did it.
After the show, I hugged and congratulated my friends effusively, though still feeling that disconnect a bit. Then I walked to the train station to catch the bus, feeling actually glad that I hadn't thought to bring my ipod with me. The quiet, slightly chilly but not cold night was perfect for walking, and it gave me time to mull over the play and my experiences with it. On the bus there was a man with a drum, beating out a repetitive rhythm that somehow fit. And walking from the bus stop home, I was filled with a sense of satisfaction and peace. I rather feel that seeing that play was the missing piece, the little bit of the jigsaw that I needed to tell me that it's okay to be who I am, and who I am becoming. There may be many paths in life, but all have their merits. I am not settling for something less by having found a path that will suit me, and one that I will comfortably and quietly enjoy, while my friends still struggle to make sense of who they are and how that will apply to the world around them. With light feet and a feeling of anticipation for the future, I made my way home.
Saturday, I went to Wondercon. Big leap, I know. Still.
I woke up at around 8 or 8:30, despite having gone to bed quite late, because I believed that Hero would be bringing a foam wrench made for a previous game over. Upon waking, I saw a message he had sent me saying that he didn't feel like waking up that early, so he had biked over the previous night and left it then, instead. Looking outside, I saw it gripping the doorknob to the garage.
I went in, got made up, lopped a bit of my hair off to form bangs for the character I was to be cosplaying:
From:
To:
So it was a bit of a sudden change. Felt good, though. I'd been meaning to do something to my hair for ages. Haven't dyed it in over a year, and cut it in over two. [/girliness and vanity] Then it was off to the con.
I had mostly gone to see various webcomic artists. I started with the Foglios, obviously, as I'd been going as one of their characters. (You may think it's Agatha, but without the locket it's kind of Lucrezia possessing Agatha. Didn't get a chance to act as such, though. Pity.) I asked them to sign my book, and they were kind enough, but I was shy, and hared off quickly.
I saw the people at the Blind Ferret Entertainment booth, made a quip about how they were all wearing pants, and moved on, hoping to see Alina Pete. Found her, but again was shy, so I made a little small talk, and bought three more buttons for my bag (stopping short at buying the pink one emblazoned "gamer grrrl" because I felt that was going a little too far).
Jostled by the crowds, I made my way back to the Blind Ferret booth, and hung around there for a good while. They told me I was completely welcome, wearing a corset as I was, though it was just plain silly to wear a shirt under a corset, and that I should take it off. Taking the comments in good humor, and appreciating them for the compliments they were (after all, I do hang around with theater people and larpers), I pretty much just stayed and knitted, feet growing sore, and at one point taking it upon myself to be a booth babe as I hadn't bought anything and felt kind of awkward just hanging around. They're good people, though. In all seriousness, you should check out the webcomics Least I Could Do, Looking For Group, and Gutters. They're entertaining, and made by some nice guys. They may be my second- or third-most favorite Canadians, after the Loading Ready Run crew and after or tied with Alina Pete.
Finally, Ariel told me he'd gotten into the con after all, so he came to meet me. We checked out the Foglio's booth again, both of us a little awkward because we'd each been there separately before, but while there, I found out he had some round glasses that made my costume infinitely better, so that was cool. He also showed me where Willis of Shortpacked!, It's Walky!, and Dumbing of Age was, and got a drawing of Mike, which he gave to me. Then we went off to have lunch/dinner with our other friends and I completely missed out on seeing The Meek and Lackadaisy booths. Drat. Still, though, an awesome time.
At lunner, Kitty drew a freaking awesome picture of me, that I am determined to have framed, and then Ariel and I headed back to catch a train, while the others went back to the con. I hung out with Ariel at his place with Wolf and Bard (who I hadn't seen in a while, and was a lot cooler and nicer than I remembered. He saw when I was really lagging from being tired, and made sure I was okay, and gotten home alright.), and later Overlook. We watched some youtube videos, played some music, had some tea, and completely failed to getting around to playing Pathfinder, but it was a really wonderful night all the same. I am once again convinced that I have the best friends. They're a lovely bunch of people who care for and about each other, and are creative, awesome, and basically all-around great guys.
And that brings us to today. It's lovely and sunny out; practically summery. I have an essay to finish revising, and some reading for Anthropology to do, but that doesn't spoil my enjoyment in the least, because it's just so nice out. The wind chimes are ringing, the plants are rustling, and if you step out the front door, the wisteria makes the whole world smell pretty. I finished re-reading Roald Dahl's Boy because it was a lovely memory from my childhood, and because the sheer enthusiasm in his writing makes everything really awesome. And later tonight I might see Ink with my mother, even though I recently saw it, because it's such a good movie and deserves a re-watch to see all the subtleties.
I don't like indulging in petty recounts of my days on here, because I'd rather it was an outlet for profound thoughts, but considering how often I am likely to have profound thoughts, and what a nice weekend it was, I'm allowing it this time. And I still feel that my coming to terms with who I am and who I will be was a pretty major development, so it kind of still fits. Shush. It's my blog, and I'll do what I want.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Explanation
So if you've been following this blog (unlikely, I know), you may have noticed some posts disappearing recently. The reasons are as follows: The first two were minutia about the week and didn't really deserve a place here, I felt, and the last was rather dark, and I'd prefer some people didn't see it. Not that I don't write dark things; Psychobabble is evidence that I do, but that's fiction. That post can be summed up fairly briefly anyhow. I read this: http://alexdaymusic.com/217/ and responded under the name of Fay. I then started considering how much of my life is about comfort and not pushing my boundaries, and wondered if by choosing a simple life I'm being complacent, or perhaps just not as worthwhile as all my artist/writer/writer-artist (in the case of Path) friends. Do they feel things more intensely, though a lot of those emotions seem to be negative ones? Is there any shame in being muse and editor to Fox and Path and my brain-twin? The image of supporting cast comes up a lot.
Needless to say, it's a dark read, regardless of some of the more grotesque/suggestive imagery, so that's going away for now. I've stabilized out a bit, and I'm pretty okay with who I am. For now. We'll see how it goes. And, uh... Sorry. Yeah.
Needless to say, it's a dark read, regardless of some of the more grotesque/suggestive imagery, so that's going away for now. I've stabilized out a bit, and I'm pretty okay with who I am. For now. We'll see how it goes. And, uh... Sorry. Yeah.
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