Yeah, so I broke the streak. I was watching Inception with my dad okay?! I can't do this, writing stuff every day is HARD. But it lasted for twenty-three posts. That's much longer than I expected! Let's try for every other day, just so I have time to let myself not worry about this thing. I started this for fun and I want to keep it fun, and lately things have just seemed to get crappier and crappier.
And no one wants that.
On another note, I AM SO ANGRY I THINK I MIGHT CRY.
You know how I said my pen stopped working unless pressure sensitivity tests were on?
NOW IT DOESN'T EVEN DO THAT!
I replaced a pen tip. I put in a new battery. IT HATES ME NOW AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!
It's a beautiful display of karma, or perhaps irony, that this would happen RIGHT after I whine about not having Photoshop, and my dad and I have this talk about working with what you have and he wants to see me drawing on it more before he starts feeding my 'give the mouse a cookie' nature and come back all 'Yeah! I'm going to do that thing!' All motivated and happy. And it doesn't work. As far as I know, it's not the Tablet. The tablet acknowledges that it is coming in contact with the pen.
Admittedly, my first thought was 'ROSIE!' because she nudged it earlier and I was worried because the pen, sadly, is delicate and the whole big sticker saying LEAVE PEN TIP UNTOUCHED WHEN NOT IN USE that I left on there. But it's been knocked around quite a bit, and it makes a cruel sort of sense that they would make the pen that comes with it to break so you have to buy a new one. A replacement is only ten dollars or something BUT THAT'S A DODGY TRICK AND I DON'T LIKE IT.
(...dodgy...?) Nevermind.
Now I am afraid to ask if I can buy a new pen with my birthday money because I JUST AGREED TO A LECTURE ABOUT DEALING WITH WHAT YOU GOT! And now I've got a... yep, still not working pen and I tablet I WANT to use. UNIVERSE WHY TODAY?! WHY WITH THIS!?
I genuinely hate everything right now.
And I feel bad for being mean to Rosie.
She takes that stuff way too hard.
T.Y.G.E.R.
Yesterday I got onto one of those fun trains of thought that leave you kinda stabbed in the chest with your own words. Somehow my observation that I get a lot of spam turned into 'I get about five real pageviews when I subtract it' and then 'I need to promote myself more' to 'I care too much about what people think' to finally 'I am not good and there's no point and blah blah blah I'm sorry.' I'm one of THOSE people. The ones that will listen to their friends rant for hours on end about boyfriend this and parents that because we don't know what else to do. (I'm assuming I'm not the only one. Seven billion goddang people here now and at least one's gotta be a little similar...) The ones that just don't gel with people properly and won't remember the name of a kid sitting halfway across the classroom and probably never will. I don't go nuts when given a little bit anonymity. I'm still timid, mostly silent, and more than a little invisible. I watch. Just joining in is something I've nearly forgotten how to do.
God the melancholy is strong with this one.
Maybe that's not that much of a bad thing.
But let's try for something else besides depressing all the same.
I've decided to write a story based on what I thought Doctor Who was when I first heard of it, and I'm going to post it. Writing the first bit now. G'Bye.
T.Y.G.E.R.
