The Burden of Fame

A year ago I made a snarky post about some truly wretched and self-absorbed E!D!G!Y! teen artwork on Deviantart. Over time, that post somehow ended up high on the list of Google results for a self-injury related search string, and now that old entry is getting heaps of anonymous comments.

So far not one of these newbies has bothered to comment on the entry itself. Overnight the comments just became a forum to share their issues with the usual poorly concealed self-admiration. Mid-conversation, even, like they all migrated at once during a thread somewhere else.

It's like somebody's copy-pasting Harry Potter hurt-comfort fanfic in my blog, complete with self insert characters who listen to Evanescence and think suffering is just so romantic.

Of course I'm fucking with them. It's like a law of physics. Gravity pulls, objects in motion tend to remain in motion, and Luka hungers for the blood of Mary Sue. I added a shit ton of attention whore macros to the entry, and put a trigger warning at the very end just in case.

God bless you, blink tag. You get a lot of shit in this world, but you might just have saved me some eyerolling.

Hacking My Life

Oh I am in so much trouble. And I didn't even do anything. BLAH BLAH BLAH ANGST STORM ABOUT HOW I AM ENTITLED TO AN EASY LIFE BLAH.

Sorry for the cryptic. I'm not supposed to talk about Fight Club. :(

The tiny banana republic of Lukadia is being attacked by the Nation of Meltdown. Current forces in place include financial worries, oh-god-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life-I'd-be-better-off-dead panic, anxiety over Fight Club, obsessive thoughts and tics, and of course your friend and mine, the crippling fear of social interaction.

Luckily for me, the invasion began at a very good time. I'm energetic, functional and relatively perceptive. Best of all, I'm not so depressed that I'd rather just hide in my room for the next five years (that has historically been my response to these episodes, and look where it's gotten me). There's still time for decisive preventative action.

And so, instead of hoping the nasty invaders just get bored and wander off and leave me alone, I'm going to call in an airstrike. Money woes and pride be damned; I've got options here that haven't been tried yet, and the volition to try them. Tomorrow I am going to make that fucking appointment and get some help.

My length. Let me tell you about it.

I still feel horrible, but after a nice tasty meal I've stopped wanting to punch every face I see. Low blood sugar makes a sad Luka in to a PSYCHO LUKA.

Back to work. I've got to finish 4 pages this weekend, and I haven't been able to concentrate properly on the work today. Once again, I'm way behind.

But that's okay, because