"Am I dead?" "Not yet. [...] Get off the bus."

Hi.  I wasn't... expecting, or meaning to post, until after all my RL emotional trauma is past, and until my emotional state wasn't literally hysterical with laughter one minute, crying the next, then a little angry and then back to crying.  Won't even bother posting my remarks on Prince Caspian until I'm sort of sane again.

But.

*Deep breath*

That was...

I'm actually mildly astonished.  I mean. Last season had a fucking scary ending.  But... not like this.

*More deep breaths*

Thirteen. Funny, that.  My number. My lucky number.

And Amber.  Funny, that. My favorite eye color of any of my characters'.  Except maybe warm brown.  Amber.

Also. I'm half graduated. So.

Yeah.

*Bows head and holds a moment of silence for Season Four and all it contained*

To everyone who... I need to talk to, and haven't yet for whatever reason. Or else, to whom I dump on because I need an emotional outlet in an unemotional place (sorry, Trojie. *Sheepish).  I'm going to deal with my fucking inverted head after Friday. Until then, I do like House does. Work through it, benefit from it, and go even crazier than before.

See, this is what scares me. I could be that. I could be that insane, that brilliant, and that fucking broken, but I don't want to be.  I don't want to be any of that. I just want to be a very boring, comfortable university professor. Preferably with a nice husband. And maybe a kid. Maybe two.  I've got all the potential for someone more... dynamic, someone more charismatic, someone who is at the centre of a story.

I don't want to be. I just tell them. I'm not in them. I wouldn't ever want to be.  I've said before, I think, that I'm most like Chris/Cinaed of all my characters--really, the English-teacher-Chris more than Cinaed, who after all was a soldier once and always bears the mark of it. Plus, he gets more active as he gets older, regrets not doing things. I don't know that I am, fully.  Not really. The quieter fantasy Tyroshaun childhoods mixed with an adult Chris's deepset urge to hide from his abilities, yes.  ...Maybe it is Tyroshaun. I dunno.

The point is.  I unfortunately identified with House on something.  Something... fairly major. And hate myself all the more for it.  But then again, I try not to be him.  I guess that makes me different. ...Ugh, Foreman. Ew. I don't want to be him, either. Or Cameron. Chase, sure. He's wonderful. But... I dunno. I mean. I am who I am and wouldn't be another person for anything in the world you could give me.  I'm proud of it.  Will stand by it. But, somehow, it doesn't mean I love it.

See, this is why I swore I wouldn't post before I had a sane mind.  Motherfucking hormones are a piece of shit. Sorry 'bout the cursing there.  But...

Finale broke me.  Broke the new cottages. Broke the old ones.  Broke Cuddy, a little.  Broke Wilson. Broke Amber too, but then... well.

Broke House.

I sort of wonder what next season'll be like.

This has been your message from your local centre of self-loathing, dreaming, and complete disconnection with reality.

I'll be able to write tonight.  This is not necessarily a good thing, with my exhaustion, blood loss, anemia, dizziness, and nausea.  I hate hormones. But I can do it now.  Couldn't before.  Can now. Funny. It's always things like this that get me writing again. Sorry for rambling at you all like this.

This is Lee, over and out.