Still not dead, amazingly enough

Oh gosh they changed Blogger's layout while I was gone.  Time to relearn how to work this site!

Anywho, I haven't updated this thing since December, which was like half a year ago, and that's kind of a long time to have radio silence, so I apologize for that.  I'm working on the whole restriction of information thing, and I got distracted by other things, and I haven't felt a need to vent at you guys (because that's apparently what this is used for most of the time and therefore makes me come off as more whiney and emo than I really am by a long shot), yadda yadda.  But I'm not dead, so there's that!

I bet you're wondering what I've been up to, what I'm doing now, whether I'm still on the run with Curtain and Servo, whether my grandpa got himself killed yet (spoiler: as of this writing, he hasn't), [insert shipping-related thing here because most of the people reading this are shipper assholes and that's actually probably all some of you are actually wondering about, you callous douchebags], etcetera.

I can't tell you like any of that, sorry.

What I can tell you is that I've graduated high school, I now own a ukulele, I went to my senior prom as Batgirl and have seen The Avengers twice.  Yes, I have been at home at least occasionally since my last entry.  That's all I can really think of at the moment.  You're free to ask about whatever you want (including the stuff listed above), I just can't guarantee I'll be able to answer.  As you can probably tell, I am no longer messing around.

...

Oh, who am I kidding, of course I'm still messing around.  Just not as much and I'm being less moronic about it.  I haven't changed that much.

Research, Relatives and Revelations

I promised you guys my grandfather's life story, didn't I?  Like, a long time ago?  Well, I had a bunch of this typed up, but then, uh, certain events occurred and I kinda forgot about it.  Looking over my blog earlier, I found this partially typed and thought, "Aw shit, I was supposed to post this forever ago!"  So I finished writing it and am now posting it.  Luckily I was almost done, because it still kinda hurts to type thanks to that snowball incident.  My hands are getting better, though, so it's all good~

Now, without further ado, it's storytime.

--------

You guys know I've been digging into my grandpa's past, right?  Try and find out some vague information relating to the guy that taught me to fight and helped me to generally not die while on the run the first time, y'know?  The guy I trusted with my life for so long?

I knew he was a dishonest, conniving, fight-picking asshole, but...well, he left out a things that are pretty significant when he talked about his past...

Here's what he told me.

He was born in Cork, Ireland.  (Yes, County Cork is referred to as the "Rebel county".  Yes, people from it are referred to as "Rebels".  Yes, one of his arguments regarding why I should keep running was that I have "Rebel blood".  This is probably one of the more inane ones, despite being technically true.)

Where was I?  Went off on a tangent there.  Right, yeah, Cork.  He had several siblings.  A few don't matter, died as infants or toddlers, it happened, life goes on.  Terrible, yes, but the story's long enough without me dwelling on it.  I'm only leaving in the essential bits.  He could rant for hours about little details about it, so I'll try not to.  Even though I'm already rambling about not wanting to ramble.  Wow I do that a lot.  SO ANYWAY.  It ended up being him and his brothers Colin and Sam.  Colin was older, Sam was younger.  Forgot by how much.  Doesn't matter.  Grandpa's 67 right now, to give you a rough estimate.  Anywho.  Some Dubliners moved into their building when he was a kid.  They had kids: Sean, Malachy and Kathleen.  They were roughly the same ages - Sean was two years older than Colin and Kathleen was Sam's age.  Malachy was about my grandfather's age.  So the kids immediately all become bros and hang out a lot, since it was back in like the forties or fifties or whatever way back when when you actually had to have social contact to amuse yourself, and you had to go outside, too!  Weird, huh?  But yeah, they were all good friends.  Malachy and Gramps were pretty much inseparable, but then the latter started having feelings that were a bit stronger than friendship for Kathleen.  And since she's his best friend's sister, that could potentially be ugly.  She reciprocated said feelings that were a bit stronger than friendship, so they talked to Malachy (and Sean) about it, expecting a big fight.  Turns out, they were pretty much okay with it.  So my grandpa married the love of his life Kathleen and they lived happily ever after forever and ever the end.

Except no.  Not even a little.

Sean and Malachy gave them their blessing, that much is true.  But see, something happened in the next few months that kinda threw a monkey wrench in their budding romance.

Kathleen was Chosen.  And she Rebelled.

The group naturally stood behind her.  They dug up whatever weapons they could, teaching each other the fighting skills they knew.  Colin and Sean went around to pubs, trying to get people to teach them any Theurgy MAGIC mOtHeRfUcKiN' mIrAcLeS Theurgy they could.  (Apparently this was how you learned pretty much everything in Ireland back then - my grandfather memorized plenty of songs and poems in this manner, too.  Because those things are TOTALLY the same thing. </sarcasm>)  They would then try and teach it to the rest of the group.  In this manner, my grandpa learned pretty much all of the Theurgy he knows.  Which isn't really that much.

But yeah, they had occasional skirmishes that built up to a final showdown on the banks of their own lovely Lee.  (Ten points, my eternal amazement and probably my grandfather's respect if you got that reference.)  The River Lee, that is, which flows through Cork.  It was a rag-tag group of misfits against a number of Enforcers and White Masks that changes every time he tells the story but I'm almost certain is always embellished.  It ended with victory on neither side.  The remainder of the Enforcers got their asses out of there.  Sean was killed.  My grandfather had his right eye torn out.  (He wears an eyepatch now.  The smacks to the knee with a shillelagh I get every time I make a pirate joke are so worth it, SO WORTH IT.)  Colin walked with a limp for the rest of his life.  Malachy's missing the little finger on his left hand.  Kathleen ended up saving my grandfather's life by tackling someone who was about to kill him, ending with them both in the Lee.  Considering that she and the dude she tackled were both Chosen, this went about as well as you'd expect.  Yeah, my grandpa's first love got melted right before his eyes.  Er.  Eye.  Probably one of the reasons that he's such a bitter old bastard now. The group kinda fell apart after that.  They all went their separate ways, aside from my gramps and Malachy.

Fast forward to the Troubles.  They both join the IRA, Malachy as a medic because he's since become a pacifist and my grandfather as a sniper because he's really fucking good at it.  They later found out that Colin had joined the IRA, too.  They found this out after hearing a report of his death from an explosion.  Sam also participated, but for the other side.  He was shot and killed.  War-torn and weary, they kinda ragequitted towards the end of that clusterfuck of a "war".  My grandfather says that most of the reason for his desertion was because he had a growing price on his head and it was getting too dangerous to stay in the British Isles, let alone Northern Ireland.  They decided to go to the so-called land of opportunity, AMURRICA.  I mean America.  That place where I live.  Yeah.  They went their separate ways soon after.  Malachy kinda faded off the map - he hasn't been in contact for years.  Grandpa doesn't even know if he's alive.  Grandpa met my Grandma, and the rest, as they say, is history.

That's what he told me.  I have no reason to doubt any of that, nor do I have any evidence against it.  That's not the whole truth, though.  I've dug up some new, interesting facts.

This first one I knew but never really saw the need to tell you guys.  That name he gave you way back when, C.B. Devine?  That is both accurate and inaccurate.  Charles something-or-other-starting-with-B-that-I-can't-remember-right-now Devine is indeed the name of my grandfather.  Here's the thing, though: the man that taught me to fight, the man that got his ass royally handed to him by WhiteSuit, the man whose ass I had to save from a Commune (with a little *coughormaybealotcough* of help, of course), that man?

He's not my biological grandfather.

C.B. Devine died years before I was born.  After that, my grandmother met a man named Glenn Lynch from Cork.  They ended up getting married.  This is the "Uncle Chuck Norris" we all know and love and/or hate. 

(I'm going to be clear about this.  I still consider him to be my grandfather, even if not by blood.  I never saw him much before the shit hit the whirling device here and I went to him for help, but that's still more than I've seen of C.B.  And maybe he's one of the biggest assholes I know, but he's helped me so much.  I can hold my own in a fight thanks to him, among other things.  And that "Rebel blood" thing is true - some of my ancestors were from County Cork.  On my mom's side, dunno if it was from C.B. or my grandma.  It doesn't matter, really.  I'm getting off topic yet again.  Back to Grandma and Glenn.)

And then, like the good Catholics they are, they got divorced.  There are many reasons for this - because he's an asshole, because he's so fucked up from all the conflicts he's been in, because he never really got over his Dublin girl, because she didn't approve of his profession, even though it really raked in the dough.

That last one is one of the things I just learned.  I knew he had all kinds of shady, quasi-legal connections, and I figured that's how he got his money, but I never knew exactly what he did.

He's a hitman.  A gun for hire.

Can't say I really blame her.  Being in a relationship with a killer who is indifferent-to-happy about his job is probably not a good idea, despite what my own baffling emotions seem to want to believe woah shit ABRUPT SUBJECT CHANGE TIME!

Remember how I said Sam - my grandpa's younger brother - got shot during the Troubles?  He was killed by a sniper.

Three guesses as to who it was.

Yeah.  I'm not 100% sure about that particular incident, but I have some pretty strong evidence pointing in that direction.  They were in the same neighborhood, and I can't find any records of any other snipers assigned to the area.  If it was him, I don't know if he recognized who he was shooting, but...fuck, still.

So yeah.  Sorry to burst your bubble if you thought of him as some crazy-awesome freedom-fighting badass.

(Not that he isn't, but, y'know, perspective.)

Until next time.  Stay classy, world. </Ron Burgundy>

(P.S. I have begun retaliating against Servo's constant sticky-noting with the Tennantface meme.  This is quickly escalating to an all-out war.  Bruce help us all.)

Lack of Updates

So maybe you're wondering why I haven't been posting much lately, despite being more or less back in action.  Or something.

Two reasons: one, we've been laying much lower than I had been last time, thus nothing really noteworthy has happened because we are oh so sneaky.  Or we're a really low priority or something.  Doesn't make a huge difference as far as I'm concerned.  Two, my own paranoia.  I've been very careful this time around, like I've said.  That means letting as little information that could POSSIBLY have negative consequences for me onto the internet as I can.  This means making every attempt to break my habit of spewing my feelings all over this blog and elsewhere online (though I'm finding it somewhat difficult at times), not even giving the tiniest hints as to our location or when we're on the move, not mentioning what supplies and weapons we have on us, the works.  I'm taking every precaution.  I take measures offline, too.  I specifically packed some of the more toned-down clothes in my wardrobe for this so I can blend into the crowd better.  As much as I'd like to look like a fantasy/action hero or something, it's not good for being incognito.  If I notice anything even a bit suspicious, I generally decide we should hightail it.  I usually use the term "skip town", so it's kinda become an in-joke among my companions and I that I react to every situation by skipping town.  It's kinda like an image macro meme.  "Homeless guy looks at you?  Skip town."  "Squirrel makes noises at you?  Skip town."  "Phone rings?  Skip town."

The sad part is, it's fairly accurate.  I'm of the opinion, however, that you can never be too paranoid.  Never.  Which is one of the reasons that I no longer really sleep, I just kinda collapse from exhaustion after a few days or so.  That, mixed with the insomnia and the dreams.  Fuck that shit.  Curtain and Servo really, really don't like that sleep schedule.  They worry about my health.  They shouldn't worry.  I can handle it.  I'm more concerned about their safety than my own, anyway.  They're in danger because of me, so if something bad happens to them it's because of me and I don't want anything bad to happen to them because of me because enough bad things have been my fault already and I just want to do what's right and not have anyone get hurt or anything but it's so much harder than I'd have ever expected because morality can be so damn gray and subjective and sometimes none of the options seem right and goddamn it these are emotions.

Still working on the hiding emotions thing.  Anyway.

Our main strategy right now is to basically ride this out until WhiteDress replaces me.  Which I hope is soon, because winter rapidly approaches.  Because running in winter could seriously suck.  Funny enough, back when I was on the run the first time I sometimes thought to myself "Look on the bright side!  At least it isn't winter!" because I am just AWESOME at tempting fate like that.  Of course, winter is somewhat good, too, because waterproof gear is super easy to find around now.  And waterproof gear is imperative for when it snows so I don't die while playing in said snow.  Because I fully intend to play in the snow, no matter how idiotic that may be.  The reasoning behind it is complicated and I don't feel like explaining it here and you likely wouldn't get it anyway.

I've also managed to get in contact with my grandfather.  Apparently he picked a fight with someone he shouldn't have, and now he's in a bind.  I can't elaborate for security reasons and also because that's all he told me.  I should point out that he is much, much worse than me when it comes to avoiding these types of situations.  I mainly end up here due to a lack of foresight.  He intentionally picks fights.  My trolling is nothing compared to his, and unlike him I almost never mean any harm by it.  Anyway, I'm gonna start ranting on how much of an asshole he is, so I'm gonna derail that train of thought.  We've agreed not to meet up since he knows some Theurgy and Mist Travel and whatnot and I went to enough goddamn effort to stop that from being able to track me down.  (I found that Null Stone using his "little black book" of quasi-legal contacts that he gave me, though, so I have to give the guy some credit.)  Unfortunately, he said he'll probably be out of contact for a while.  "Assuming I regain contact at all," he said.  Any news is better than no news, I guess.

I think that's all I have to say that I feel even remotely safe about posting.  Really, even this much is freaking me out a bit.  I figure I should let you guys know at least something instead of leaving you completely in the dark, though.  Until next time, I'm the Doctor.  Stay safe, folks.  ### </made-up-on-the-spot tag>

P.S.  Just found a sticky note folded up in my jacket pocket.  SERVOOOOOO!!!

If WhiteDress can do a fucking important blog post in the form of a rage comic, then I can do mine in a goofy manner, too.

SO RIGHT.  Yesterday I emailed WhiteSuit to ask how he felt about the Occupy Ames protest seeing as he's one of approximately three people I know in Ames.

I was just like:

And he responded like:

So, naturally, I was like:

And he was like:

(Whoops, I just made a heartwarming moment kinda terrifying.)
Anyway, I was like:

My memory of the confrontation itself later is kinda blurry and I don't really wanna talk about it anyway, so here's a summary of what I did:

Does that help you picture it?  Yeah, it was nothing like that, but if it helps.  The cornerstone of my actual strategy was the element of surprise - meaning, there's a reason that I told absolutely no one the fact that I've learned to Mist travel.  And since I did that to escape, I suppose one of my little secrets is out now and I have no reason not to tell you guys about it.  I've got plenty of other cards up my sleeve.
Anyway, so when I was finally in the clear I was like:

In case you hadn't noticed:

Anyway, then reality kinda sank in.  The reality that I am now on the run (again), with no foreseeable way to get out of it like last time, and that my dog and I, though alive, are in pretty rough shape already.  And I was like:

So.  That's pretty much it.  I'm laying low in a different town for the time being.  We'll see how things go from here.  Perhaps with more Doctor Who gifs, as they always cheer me up.

And speaking of Doctor Who gifs that cheer me up...

Until next time~!

LastLord

So.  Guessing you all heard.  I got re-Chosen.  Because I am clearly brilliant.  Mm-hm.

They're coming for me again.  Tonight.

I've got everything I need to go on the run packed.  I have for a long time.  Just in case.

I've got more weapons, more possible strategies, more physical ability, and a big dog.

My odds of surviving the night (and not ending up in a Commune) are far slimmer than they've ever been.  And that's saying something.  I recall MT saying once that being Chosen twice gets you direct contact with Tall, Pale and Faceless himself.  And...well, if that's true...I don't really think I can win.  I don't even think I can not lose completely.

So.  What am I gonna do?

Try my damnedest.  Never give up.  Keep running.  Bite, scratch, shoot, slice, and smack my way out of whatever comes at me, or try to.  Y'know.  Same old, same old.

I have several new tricks up my sleeve I've been keeping on the down-low.  They may come in handy, may not.  We'll see.

But.  No matter what happens.  If I go down, I'm gonna make it as difficult for them as I can.  And I expect you guys to keep calm and carry on if I do.  I'm trusting you to do so, okay?

This could easily be my last entry as a Rebel.  Of course, if somebody up there takes pity on me, maybe it won't.  But I kinda doubt that.  I'm the last of the Time Lords once again.

And...well, that's all I can think to say.  Should've written this in advance, just in case.  But it can't be helped now.  Not much that can be helped now.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an awful lot of running to do.

WANGST TIEM

Disclaimer: This entry of my blog is going to be almost entirely whining about those silly things we refer to as emotions.  If you didn't like the fifth Harry Potter book, probably just skip this entry.  Because this will likely also be a novel, as there's a lot that I need to rant about and get off my chest.  I might tl;dr at the end if I feel like it.

You've been warned.

Apparently you're still reading, so here goes.  I seem to have forgotten the crushing boredom that comes with living a somewhat normal life in small-town Iowa.  Y'know, the reason I ended up at all those chat sessions in the first place.  Any reprieve from the endless gnawing ennui without being like the other kids and resorting to alcohol, sex and drugs seemed okay in my book.  And then I got Chosen and went on the run.  Now, I'm by no means saying that I ever, ever want to do that again, but you gotta realize that I was hopped up on extreme amounts of adrenalin nonstop for...two months-ish?  Yeah, back then what I wanted was reprieve from excitement.  And now, after all that, I'm finding it nearly impossible to readjust to my old life.  I don't connect as well with most of my old friends and classmates.  I can't seem to make myself care about school.  I can't seem to make myself care about much of anything, really.  I just feel...really out of place.  And, of course, there's the boredom.  It's crushing.  I barely managed it before I went on the run, now it's threatening to drive me completely batshit insane (instead of just somewhat batshit insane).  I CANNOT READJUST.

There have been a few escapes from the boredom of it all, though.  I got in a high speed car chase with a friend of mine a few weeks ago.  He was driving, hopped up on new cough medication and having just fallen in love.  (Newly lovestruck teens are absolutely hilarious.)  Also the cough medicine made his vision really really bad.  So when he saw one of our mutual friends waiting at a stoplight in her boyfriend's (race)car, he decided that the best idea would be to chase them.  Meanwhile, I'm clinging to my seat and the holy-shit-handle as we zoom around corners in residential neighborhoods at 90 mph.  Yeah, that was fun.  Also slightly terrifying, but I've been through much worse.  And then we drove into the woods, he got high off whipped cream and we went star-tipping.  Apparently those are things.  But being in the dark woods at night with only a friend who has just gotten high after initiating a car chase and does other illegal things for fun set off my horror movie senses pretty majorly, so we got the hell out of there.

Other than that, there hasn't been much interesting going on.  Homecoming's this week, I guess.  Been sewing an outfit for Spirit Day.  Found an old billy club at an antique shop.  It used to be black, but a lot of the paint's chipped off, especially on the handle and the business end.  It's obviously been used a lot.  The rawhide wrist strap is broken and retied in three or four places, too.  22 inches long from top to bottom.  It's really cool, except I keep really wanting an excuse to use it.  And violence is bad.  butgodisitfunsometimes

I've been swinging through phases pretty quickly, too.  Since I've changed so much over the summer, I guess that's my brain's way of  trying to figure out who the hell I am now and where I fall in the CIRCLE OF LIIIIIIFE?  I dunno, but I'm gonna be really, really brief here as I could write a book on this stuff as well.  I've gone from depressed suicidal existential nihilist (kicked my own ass a little to get myself out of that because goddamn am I dumb sometimes), promptly went full-on Killjoy (y'know, that group of characters that fights against something they can't possibly win against and they're fully aware of this, don't care and have decided to live forever by making one memorable last stand?  Yeah, goddamn am I dumb sometimes.), and seem to have finally regained my common sense.  I discovered that I actually have faith in humanity - pretty strong faith, no less - and these Wall Street protests are raising it to dizzying heights.  See?  Who needs Fluffy when we've got Anonymous?  People can take care of themselves on their own.  We're endlessly inventive, and everyone's got at least a little good and bad inside them.  If we can get more people to act on the good instead of the bad, we can do anything.  It's only been a few million years since we crawled out of the mud for the first time, and look how far we've come.

Anywho, I know I probably have a lot more to rant about, but I can't think of anything at the moment and I've probably already written way too much.  Been digging into my grandfather's past, should have that posted relatively soon, provided I don't procrastinate really badly like I usually do.  And with that, I bid you all a fond adieu.

tl;dr: Boredom isn't cool, car chases are cool, billy clubs are cool, going through phases rapidly can be cool or not cool depending on the phase, self-preservation is cool, my crazy IRA grandpa is cool...ish...oh, you'll see.

Okay, seriously, gotta wrap this up.  DOCTOR OUT!!!

P.S. - I suppose I should give you guys my email address if you want to contact me.  I can be reached at firestarterviii@gmail.com.  If you drop me a line, I'll be sure to get back to you.

HEY I HAVE A BLOG DON'T I?

"Felt the need to get out of town for the day, so I'll try to get a blog post up tonight or tomorrow. Theurgic bombs rule, by the way."

I posted that on my Twitter on Monday.  It is now Thursday.   Sorry about that, I was procrastinating.  I do that, in case you hadn't noticed.

So anyway.  First, I shall post a song that has lyrics that are relevant to my current situation because Nein seems to do it all the time.

Actually, this song fits for pretty much every situation (I made a case for To Kill a Mockingbird for a school project with it once), but it's a little more accurate here, I think.  Moving on.

So.  I decided that I didn't particularly want my Soul owned by anyone, let alone the being formerly known by Nein and I as Skinnybitch (though I use other names if I refer to him by a name at all anymore and she's probably calling him the Master by now...).  This created a problem, as said Lovecraftian beastie did, in fact, own my Soul.  Clearly there was only one way to fix this: by blowing things up.

Okay, not in the V for Vendetta sense.  But they're still called bombs, so I stand by my usage of words.

Anyway, Vadiir that guy that keeps changing his name SELLOUT MT gave me a bit of advice.  I'm not entirely sure how he worded it, but here's what I wrote down:

"1. Light bomb
2. Put on mask
3. KABLOOIE
4. ????
5. FREEEEEEEEEDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM and also a schweet mask"

...yeah, he didn't word it like that.  But you get the idea.

I was gonna do it on Saturday, but we had to go up to Mankato, MN for school shopping and we didn't get back until about 9 PM.  (I got a beautifully hideous suit vest while I was there.  AND BRUCE CAMPBELL'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY~!!! <3)  So Gramps and I decided to put it off until Sunday.

So I sat around being antsy, unable to focus for long on much of anything (INCLUDING BRUCE'S BOOK!!!) and I couldn't sleep worth a damn (but that's nothing I'm unused to).  I got a phone call around 2:30 AM.  It was my Grandpa.  The following conversation ensued:

Me: *upon answering the phone* Yeah?

Him: You awake?

Me: No, I'm talking in my sleep.

Him: Watch your lip.

Me: You ask dumb questions, I give snarky answers.  I thought we'd covered this.

Him: And you wonder why you got Chosen.

Me: I think I've got it pretty much figured out.

Him: ANYWAY.  Since you're most definitely awake at this ungodly hour...

Me: I'M ALWAYS AWAKE AT THIS UNGODLY HOUR.  I go to sleep at like 3:30, man!

Him: And this is why I will call you every day at 5 AM until you're back to your school sleep schedule!  Now, may I get to the reason I called or not?

Me: Fine.  Shoot.

Him: I had a small realization a few minutes ago.

Me: Oh?

Him: It's technically Sunday.

Me: ...you magnificent bastard.

Him: Shall I be there with a Theurgic bomb in twenty minutes?

Me: See ya then.  Allons-y!

Him: Alright.  And stop quoting things so damned much. *hangs up*

About twenty minutes later, he showed up with a bomb and I met him, mask in hand.  I lit the bomb, said "Viva la Revolution, bitch" in what I hoped was a badass manner and then put my mask on as fast as possible and holy shit.

That's the best way I can describe it.  Holy shit.

I had to sit on the ground until everything would stop spinning.  For a while after it I felt pretty sick, but I was warned about that.  When I finally started to get a grip, I burst out laughing.  And then I couldn't stop for a really, really long time.  And every time I thought I was close to regaining my composure, another stronger burst would come through and I'd be gone again.  When I finally managed to stop, my grandpa shook his head and said, "You really have to stop rolling doobies."  And then I was gone again.

I haven't laughed that much in a looooooong time.

(Also, I don't smoke pot, nor have I ever.  Just clearing that up.  It was a joke.)

After he left I decided to just pull an all nighter because, hell, it was already getting to be morning.  Most of it was spent figuring out exactly how badass the mask makes me.  Yeah, it's true, stronger and faster and all that.  I soon had the idea that I could probably run up the side of a building and backflip off of it.

As it turns out, I was wrong.

After my vision stop blurring and I was able to breathe properly again, I figured I should probably call it a day--er, night.  And with a final glance at the rising sun, I headed back up the stairs and went to bed.

And right as I was nearly asleep, I got a call on my cell phone.  At precisely 5 AM.  Guess who from.

I sent it directly to voicemail, shut my phone off and went back to trying to sleep.

All in all, not a bad day.

On Monday (the day Nein and The Artist Formerly Known as The Artist Formerly Known as MT were supposed to have a Session), I went with my mum and sister to visit family in a little town about ten miles away and we stayed there for most of the day.  I spent the entire day in fidgety worry.  And I haven't heard from either of them since that last chat session on Friday.  Well, technically Saturday.  Of course, I haven't tried to initiate contact with either of them either, heh.  I wonder if/how they've changed...

Anywho, I think I've probably rambled enough.  Talk to you all later.  Hopefully.  This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off. *Star Spangled Banner plays*