Didn't finish my lynnevitational fic. And, like my spring_with_xan fic, I thought it was due a day later than it actually was. Not that that imaginary extra day helped me finish it.

I have tweaked and tweaked this damn fucking story so much, it doesn't even remotely resemble what I started. I'm not sure whether that's good thing or a bad thing. And I'm so damn sick of BtVS/Ats. . . .

Never thought I'd say that. I think the last thing Joss!verse story I read was reremouse's "Xander The Bear", which was good.

But having to write this damn story--

I dunno. Maybe I've reached my Joss-saturation point.

I'll still finish the fic, and send it on to its intended recipient.

Everything I turn my hand to lately turns to shit. Except for work, where I somehow, through absolutely mediocre effort, got a slight raise. Isn't that the way? I sleep-walk and patronize my way through customer service and get a raise. I throw myself into a fic and get goose egg.

And Time Warner is fucking up my internet service A. Gain.

Canceled my car insurance. Fuck driving, the insurance alone'd make me homeless, forget the damn gas money and maintenance. Fuck driving and fuck this damn excuse of an oil war that's solved jackshit.

I'm bored and lonely. And it's too fucking hot all the time.

Tom Lenk and Samantha Smith were in "Transformers", which, despite the casting of Shia LaBeouf, was pretty good. Josh Duhamel was handsome, as always. Hugo Weaving was an impressive, if sparingly used Megatron. Peter Cullen was Optimus Prime to the life.

And the movie was true to the cartoon: it made the maximize sound . . . when the autobots transform from cars/planes/trucks to their natural form.

And the All-spark. . . .

Once I move, I'm gonna save up to get a pet python. They are, if raised well, docile and wonderful pets, not to mention cuter than a bug's ear. But feeding it live rats is gonna get expensive, I think. Maybe not, I'll have to research.

I've got so much to catch up on, LJ wise and no time to do it in. And this goddamn story--

I'm not an aloholic, yet . . . but getting there.