(I started to type this in all-caps so it would appear that I have more energy than I actually do but the constant need to correctly capitalize sentence starts and proper pronouns just made it look stupid so fuck that. I’m tired. There. I mumbled it sorta out loud.)
First of all I want to thank my FANTASTIC, BRILLIANT, WONDERFUL, AMAZING, AND DID I MENTION FANTASTIC? readers for all your VERY much appreciated love and support of the new story! Y’all have absolutely blown my (invisible, because it’s hot here) socks off with your comments and likes! As you know I love replying to comments – it gives “us”, the reader and the writer, a great way to touch base with each other, plus you (the collective ‘you’) are such great fun to just chat with, too. I love being able to do that. Sadly, between lack of time and feeling like a bulldozed watermelon, replies to this last chapter of ON will have to wait. Hence, this broad “thank you”.
Now, the five current WIPs all have bits and pieces in the process of being thrown together, and the epilogue/potential (PO-TENT-TSHEL) “future nights” for the (Awww, man, if I go with more nights I’ll have to change the name won’t I? I dunno…not if I just do the odd night – the odd “one night”- here and there? Fuck it, I’ll pull a Sookie and deal with it later) now-complete-but-maybe-not story is shimmering around in my oddly-vast brainbox.
Now for the “but”…cause there’s always an ass involved…
Thing is, I’m one of those people who are sometimes very negatively impacted by the inflammatory response caused by sugar. Yup – plain ol’ sugar – brown, white, turbinado, cane, beet…you know: sugar. As I’m T2 diabetic I usually don’t eat very much of it at a time anyway, so my tolerance to it nosedives. Then if I, say, give in to the ‘need’ to bake a, say, peach cobbler with, say, too much brown sugar (hey, it’s cool when it caramelizes on the top!) then, say, eat too damn much of the damn thing, I pay like fuck for it for the next couple days.
As you MIGHT can tell, it, shall we say, “negatively affects” my mood (any laughs that escape my cobbler-hole sound like a death warning), and Advil can only do so much to help negate the aches and pain response.
Dread may have a little bit to do with my desire to remain under my bed, too – my birthday is May 5 and GUESS WHAT: I get to have a motherfucking ROOT CANAL on that day. So yeah, the me of me is not a happy fucking camper.
Yay – the tooth will in theory stop fucking hurting.
Boo – it will involve a root canal. ..on my damn birthday.
Oh, and before anyone suggests that I ask the dentist for pain relievers to last from now till then, let me remind you that I live in the “”glorious”” Bible-Belt south where all medical personnel are far more afraid of “”enabling drug addicts”” than they give a damn about those of us in actual pain. Yhep, drug addicts are far more important than pain-ridden patients and doctors, dentists, and whoever the fuck else fearfully and with collapsed balls worship their beloved restrictions to an insane degree. I vote we direct every ache and pain to those assbastards who would rather regulate against people in pain because they prefer to worship/”protect” damn drug addicts. I have nothing either for or against drug addicts but damn, don’t make ME suffer because of their shit.
(I may be somewhat biased based on the amount of Advil I’m shoving down said cobbler-hole but GAWD FORBID doctors/dentists around here miss an opportunity to let someone hurt…)
Tolja I was in a shitty mood. Hopefully after this next week is over I’ll feel more human/humane…nah, I’ll still be in a shitty mood…just might be able to better front it. At least I never claimed to be all nicey-nice, though, right?
So, yeah, that’s where I currently am. Have a better day. ♥