Dithyramb

SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

And when I awake, an hour will have mysteriously vanished for no adequately explained reason.

One year, I’m going to be pushed too far, and I’ll just snap and abolish Daylight Savings Time within my personal bubble, and y’all can just carry on with your springing forward and falling back, and I’ll be over here, partying with my homies from Arizona, where we leave our clock radios alone to go about their business unmanipulated, until 4 am, which will never be 5 am or 3 am. It will be 4 am, as God intended.

Suck on that, Ben Franklin.

Just had a dream I was married to Prince William, even though I was madly in love with David Walliams and having an affair with him, despite being told by Stephen Fry that we were always being watched by the paparazzi.

Signs I’ve been watching too much British television.

Oh, look, something from my middle school days…

My sister recently re-discovered an old MST site that has been archived, complete with all the old MSTs. We were so thrilled, it wasn’t even funny. Flailing was involved. And caramels.

Anyway.

In amongst all the other stuff is an MST of a little rant-thingy written by a teenaged girl who calls herself ‘Unicorn of Light’ about how she has overcome her demons. Not metaphorical demons like alcoholism and reading Twilight fanfiction. No, she meant literal demons that gained entry to her soul through anime, demons she became aware of because of a nocturnal visit from seven snake-demons that came out of her Harry Potter books.

Oh, yes. She was serious.

If anyone’s interested in the MST, click here. It’s not that great (though there are some lovely moments), but in my sheltered, tweeny eyes, it was the greatest thing ever. Well, no, that was The Giving Tree, but whatever.

I don’t like to knock anyone’s religion. I honestly believe that, so long as you aren’t hurting anyone, your beliefs are your own. I don’t really like being preached at, but even that I can take. I’m not saying that she doesn’t have the right to write about her daring escape from the jaws of Satan, Pokemon Master of Hell.

I do, however, find it both hilarious and somewhat painful, and enjoyable things should be shared (and misery loves company), so I’m sharing.

This could also be called, “These People Give Those Who Manage To Be Both Religious And Sane A Bad Name.”

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The very first fanfic I wrote was an Anastasia fic. It was Demitri/Anya, and I hid it because in one scene, they confess their love, and I didn’t want people thinking I was weird for liking mushy romantic stuff.

I have this problem with everything. If I pick up an orange juice carton, I can’t put it down and buy a different one. Because I’d feel guilty. Because it would know.

OMG right?! And then if I do buy something slightly-damaged, I get to the front and the checkout person asks if I’d like another, undamaged item, and I feel like I should speak up in defence of the item.

Someday, when our true identities as science-defying brain-clones is revealed to the general public, people will be quoting these posts in newspapers and daytime chat shows.

OMG! I can’t even. We must be part of the same mutation. I swear.

Separated straight out of the test tube.

I have a habit of buying the less-than-perfect things, as well. I just got a little plastic clockwork monkey, the kind that walks around playing cymbals, only it’s missing a cymbal. I wasn’t planning on buying a clockwork monkey, but I knew it wouldn’t get bought, and that it would probably just get tossed, so…

I’ve named him Waltbert. He has little sunglasses. =3

When I’m in a store and I’m buying a stuffed animal, I feel bad for the ones I leave behind, because I think they must feel unwanted. I don’t go into pet shops anymore.

If I squish a spider and flush it, I have to wait to use the bathroom or I panic while I sit there, thinking it’s going to mutate and climb out of the toilet and KILL ME.

I’m not the sort of person to criticize others for their personal beliefs/flaws/eccentricities/brand of psychological disorder.

There was a black fly in the house, smacking into the window. I know it probably doesn’t actually want to be outside, given that it’s freezing, but who am I to judge the creepy little thing for its peculiarities. So, being the kind of person I am, I caught it using the trusty paper cup/random bit of sturdy card method and released it into the wild. Maybe it was crazy for wanting to go outside, but it was what it wanted.

People seem to think I should have swatted it. The only thing I ever swat is spiders, but that’s because the thought of holding one anywhere near my body makes me hyperventilate. I usually have to stand on a chair and drop a book on it so I don’t start screaming. Sometimes I scream anyway.

But I digress.

I do not judge suicidal insects. Please don’t judge me.