Actually
Now that I've had food and a lovely, long, fannish and bubbly chat with nuraicha, I feel much more human again. A part of why it was hard to dodge the horrible people today was because the attack came out of the blue and because my period's just gone, so the hormone crash always leaves me unexpectedly depressed, sometimes even worse than PMS does. And then there's the stress about the coming operation, of course.
And I've also been thinking that fuck it. What if I don't come back from that operation? No, don't worry, I'm not saying that because I'd be overly neurotic or whatever, but considering how I nearly bled to death the last time (and that was a very minor operation in comparison to this one, which is going to be the biggest one I've ever had to submit to), it'd be idiotic not to think of that particular option. And if I don't, what the fuck is the point in sitting around and weeping when I could be laughing instead? When I could have an eight-inch dildo up my arse and a hot villain cackling over my squirming body as I explode into massive orgasms? When I could be transported by the poetry and fiction pouring out of me, when I could be walking under vaults such as these and thinking of the court intrigues that could happen underneath them? When I could be laughing myself stupid at utterly dorky things; when I could be gushing and squeeing?
So, yeah. It kind of gives you a new perspective to be reminded of your mortality--even if it's hard to even try and get your head around the idea that you might only have a little over a week left. I mean, I hope that's not the case, obviously (Connie, is your anus clenching in horror in the afterlife yet?) but a little reminder doesn't hurt.
Really, I'm hoping it'll go fine, even if I know I will be fucking miserable until Christmas at least, physically speaking. But, you know. It's a big deal, and of course, I'm worried, especially if I am to somehow move house in October/November while I'm still recovering. It's going to be one hell of a challenging three months, that's all I'm saying. I don't even know if I'll be able to finish the current fic before Christmas for the physical urf/painkiller blurg, and that bugs me, too. It's so annoying because I'm definitely in the last third or last fourth of the fic now, yet I know that I need to really sit down and think properly at the plotty stuff that's about to follow the current tragic bits. And then when they finally do get to have each other, you bet the wedding night is going to be another 10 k epic, because they certainly deserve that. I don't want any interruptions to my writing process, damn it!
But needs must. All I know is that I won't emerge from that hospital with the same hardware configuration and it kind of scares the hell out of me, because that's going to affect my brains as well because they're poking at bits that regulate my hormones. Here's hoping they won't affect the whole creativity/perviness thing, shall we?
And I've also been thinking that fuck it. What if I don't come back from that operation? No, don't worry, I'm not saying that because I'd be overly neurotic or whatever, but considering how I nearly bled to death the last time (and that was a very minor operation in comparison to this one, which is going to be the biggest one I've ever had to submit to), it'd be idiotic not to think of that particular option. And if I don't, what the fuck is the point in sitting around and weeping when I could be laughing instead? When I could have an eight-inch dildo up my arse and a hot villain cackling over my squirming body as I explode into massive orgasms? When I could be transported by the poetry and fiction pouring out of me, when I could be walking under vaults such as these and thinking of the court intrigues that could happen underneath them? When I could be laughing myself stupid at utterly dorky things; when I could be gushing and squeeing?
So, yeah. It kind of gives you a new perspective to be reminded of your mortality--even if it's hard to even try and get your head around the idea that you might only have a little over a week left. I mean, I hope that's not the case, obviously (Connie, is your anus clenching in horror in the afterlife yet?) but a little reminder doesn't hurt.
Really, I'm hoping it'll go fine, even if I know I will be fucking miserable until Christmas at least, physically speaking. But, you know. It's a big deal, and of course, I'm worried, especially if I am to somehow move house in October/November while I'm still recovering. It's going to be one hell of a challenging three months, that's all I'm saying. I don't even know if I'll be able to finish the current fic before Christmas for the physical urf/painkiller blurg, and that bugs me, too. It's so annoying because I'm definitely in the last third or last fourth of the fic now, yet I know that I need to really sit down and think properly at the plotty stuff that's about to follow the current tragic bits. And then when they finally do get to have each other, you bet the wedding night is going to be another 10 k epic, because they certainly deserve that. I don't want any interruptions to my writing process, damn it!
But needs must. All I know is that I won't emerge from that hospital with the same hardware configuration and it kind of scares the hell out of me, because that's going to affect my brains as well because they're poking at bits that regulate my hormones. Here's hoping they won't affect the whole creativity/perviness thing, shall we?