Our sordid years of loose women, fast cars, and big dogs.

May 27, 2007 11:25

I'm sure this past week has taken years off my life. Okay, probably not. But I'm sure that when I'm old and wondering why I'm just not as able to get around as I used to be I will think back on all of the subversiveness, excitement, and lycanthropy of my teenaged years and will promptly blame... my children. Because picking on other people for your problems is way more fun than taking actual responsibility.

In my defense, at least the lycanthropy wasn't really my fault. I guess it isn't really anyone's, though it would be nice if I could be angry about the bite, which happened in the past, than dwelling on the present and future post-bite reality. To answer the questions that may be forming in your mind - yes, if someone who is phobic of werewolves becomes one, that does mean that he has an irrational fear of himself. I may be writing this out in a somewhat amusing fashion, but believe me, it's not a pleasant feeling.

There is a bright side, though! My leg was broken (high heels + Thailand + rescuing kidnap victim = dumb idea) and now it is... not. I don't think this happens on my world, but apparently when you get bitten by a Nexus Werewolf and change for the first time? It heals major wounds. Okay.

Still. Broken leg > lycanthropy in my book.
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