See Lee.

See Lee die.

Die, Lee, die!

Okay, so I'm not sure if the minute or so late I was will count. Hopefully "in transit of email" will count as, y'know, being that minute or two late. -_-. DAMN WELL BETTER, RAULSTON. THAT IS THREE FUCKING THOUSAND WORDS OF QUALITY BULLSHITTING YOU HAVE THERE! *BEAMS* AND SINCE ABOUT THREE O CLOCK THIS MORNING, TOO.

...When I let my final grade rest on four hours of work, after no sleep and WAY too much scifi and anime? You know I have problems. But I basically analyzed modernism and existentialism and proceeded to deconstruct postmodernism, which is REALLY what my paper was about (and NOT actually form enhancing content, please GOD let him not notice that... -_-) but HEY, the first sentence of my paper was "As any debater, lawyer, senator, or overstressed English student will attest to, sometimes how an argument is presented is more important than the argument itself."  Voila my paper. Wondefully evil and self-referential, ja?

Also. This is the announcement of my living. I have not lived since about Friday afternoon, as I was in a state of perpetual limbo over this paper. But I live now.

And will now go die and try to get some sleep. I'm skipping school today. It can fuck itself.

...Also, I TOTALLY worked in The Name of the Rose as my final deconstruction of postmodernism AND MANAGED TO END MY PAPER WITH A SPEECH FROM DEATH. *CACKLES MADLY* The one about an atom of justice, a molecule of mercy. From Hogfather? *Snickers* I have a HUGEASS works cited list. Name of the Rose, Borges, Camus, Kafka, Sartre, Ives, Beckett, Nietzsche, a quote from Wittgenstein, and Pratchett. HAH.

I, my friends, conquer. Even if I fail this paper.

...I will deal with my life, that fucking magazine, that fucking novel I promised I'd do for a grade (I just need to pass, I can half-ass the fucking thing although I LOVE YOU TROJIE FOR HELPING ME WITH THE WHOLE MAGICAL APOCALYPSE WITH THE WHITE DWARFkthnxdone), and... uh...

I might start drawing. Just maybe.

-_-. If I do? Blame Adrian. The bastard's psychopathic enough.

...I am corrected. Sociopathic.

...No, sorry, you DO get labeled insane, hon.

EEEEEEELLLLGEEEEEEE. You need to let me know when you'll be online so I can raaaaaaaamble at you! *Beams* Especially as I've actually solidified all my social workings now, and just need to clear up minor plot points, sequences of scenes, etc.! You'll get fun scenes!

Also, WELCOME HOME JENN! I know you're upset to be back. But I'm happy to have you, and... I WILL BE IN BOSTON THIS FALL! (Assuming I don't fail first.) *SQUEE* That'll be fun, yes?

...Dear, dear readers, whosoever and howsofew you may be, I have lost my mind. Also, I quoted "Form of Things Unknown" for my title. Yeeeaaah, basically a Sandman AND a Pratchett moment in a paper.  I win.  Or lose. Or something.

Either way? My life is starting to return in snatches and glimmers of hope.  I'm so clooooooose... (Also? *HEADDESK* It's a bloody wonder I'm not in a straightjacket right now. I just want this clear.)

AAAHIWANNADRAW.

Happy birthday to you,
Snarky writers worship you,
You are awesome and amazing,
And Discworld is too!

From me and peacefuldragon (who helped me write the song) at least: HAPPY SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY, TERRY PRATCHETT! WE LOVE YOU!