late nights, bright lights

I've been thinking about Twitter recently. Anyone who follows me know Twitter is where my brain goes to shout maniacally about things. I have 0 coherency on Twitter. I shout about a lot of fandom stuff and dog rescue stuff and how much longer til I get to leave work.

Which is all well and good.

Except over Thanksgiving my sister gave a bunch of my RL cousins my Twitter handle and they all followed me. Now, none of them use Twitter as often as I do, so I don't think they see all of my tweets, but like...

They could potentially go find them.

Like my massive amount of tweets about gay incest and shark babies and putting my (imaginary) penis in things and drunk Batman and how much fanfiction I actually write and how much I love hairboats.

It's a lot. I really love them. Enthusiastically and unironically.

And like, tonight I was tweeting about sex pollen tarantulas.

Should I be worried that the entire internet, including my very "normal" blood relatives can see me being a dingbat?

Should I be more worried that I am this ding-batty person 24/7 and this is probably not a phase?

Or should I just be worried about these sex pollen tarantulas I've apparently willed in to existence?

Alright, so this might get whiny.

I know I'm not a great writer. I don't have the flair for the creative like I wish I did. I can't make people cry or laugh or think deep thoughts with my prose. I probably never will. I've long since accepted I am not an all star when it comes to that.

My writing averages about a C-. My very favourite, most proud writing moments might score a C+ or a B-. Not stellar, but average. Enough to get me by.

I woke to a review from FFN (aka: Pit of Voles) in my inbox. I haven't posted anything to FFN since December 2007, and the story that the review was for was from 2004. That's almost six years ago now. I read the story again. It was decent! Like, two spelling mistakes, some extra commas here and there. And it doesn't change tense once through the whole story, which was my biggest problem as a young writer. The characters were believable and followed canon, it had a unique concept and I happen to think it was one of my better-titled works (god, I am so bad at titles).

The review I got?

"Um, WTH is this supposed to be?"

Yeah, maybe I'm just hormonal or something, or pissy because I dislike the holidays, but it irked me. It irked me like the 'you need to move your car' lady irked me. I didn't think anything of it at time, but as the day went on, I got more and more ticked off.

So I deleted everything off my FFN account. Closed down the whole thing. I salvaged what I could from the fiery wreckage of sub-par fanfiction. It'll get remodeled and retitled (I was worse then at titles and I am still shit at them. Scary thought!!) and posted to my writing journal if I am feeling prolific.

It might seem like an overreaction, but it was something I kept meaning to do anyways and this anonymous idiot just pushed me over the edge.

I mean, unsigned, anonymous review, really? I can see not liking a story and wanting to leave concrit for the author, or hating it entirely and not leaving anything at all, but to take the time to respond just to be a big sack of dicks? Yeah, the internet is a hate machine, I know, but it just irritates me to no end.



Oh, and it turns out, I was writing crackfic before it was cool to write crackfic. You might be interested to know I was writing 'so and so is suddenly a dinosaur!! But everyone's okay with it because, come on, it kind of makes sense' before it became The Thing.

I woke with a violent start this morning. I had been dreaming about taking calls at work. This is the first time this has happened to me, but I found it horribly unpleasant. I swear, if it happens again... *shudder*

My second thought this morning after 'ahhh, work!' was 'is there a wikipedia page for wikipedia?'

Yes. There is.

Helping Lace pack tonight. Ooh, baby baby. I hate packing, but since she's probably moving on a Saturday, I'd rather help her pack this week then skip work and get in the way while she's actually moving.

I have never felt so relieved to be wrong. I HAS THE INTERNETS.

So here I am, in glorious North Bay. Roommates seem nice, but it's really too early to tell.

I get free long distance calling, so that's nice. Classes start on Thursday, not on Monday like I thought. I'm hungry.

My Internet connection has been so weird lately.

Grr, anger. I hate it.

So Colin either said he would be here at here between one and one thirty, or one thirty and two.

Either way, he is late.

I am wondering why 'find' was 'working' just now. Whenever I hit the comma or the back slash, it would try to search. It was pretty damn annoying.

I found a new pair of shoelaces. They have skulls on them. Ooh, ominous.