Huh.

That's all I've really got when I stop to consider the past week in retrospect.

For those wondering what made me post up my number and ask for messages telling me why I was loved, the reasons are simple: bad news.

Two people I've known for a very long time both died last week. I found out that two of my surrogate uncles are on the way to Iraq, much in the same way my father went. And the ex came to visit this weekend.

The relationship with the ex and I is...complicated. Our version of platonic is not that of a normal set of people who were at one time romantically involved.

And the whole reason for telling you this? I feel the need to share.

And also, I must share this little tidbit: The ex did a paper last year on the homoeroticism of "Ocean's Eleven". I had to stop myself from reccing a few stories.

julianlee, dude, I still don't know...

But somehow the Phelps/Thorpe is 7-1/2 handwritten pages.
And yet, the fiction muses I need for fucking class are AWOL.
Bastards.

Ah, Moriarty, you've returned.

Or perhaps, you are the Joker, and I am Batman. For you are still full of very funny, disturbing shit to cackle at me.

fandom_scruples is at it again and claiming that nothing was meant by all the anger from before.

However, the most recent entry has a list of why writing sex is bad.
Apparently we're all sick fucks.

And you still can't comment.

Fucking coward.

Face me, Joker! FACE ME!!

::flings Batarang::