why is it not four thirty yet?

So. This thing.

Actually, it's not a thing, but a weirdness, and for the life of me, I cannot work out why they are acting this way.

(Note: I seriously doubt it is any of you who read here. If it were, I'd obviously flock and filter. A lot.)

Right.

Have you ever been reading along in a comm with all these people you know, and thought you have known for five billion years, and then they say something so batshit with such earnestness you kind of get why Jeffrey Dahmer's neighbors had no idea?

(Note: this is not about friends becoming serial killers. Unless you are one. In which case, please don't tell me, because I cannot take this many shocks in one day.)

It's *weird*. If this were a novel, no one would believe this characterization twist.

In far less interesting news (which is saying something), I got a sudden sharp pain in my arm and shoulder and wondered if I were having a stroke*, then ate a granola bar. I feel it brings me closer to everyone to share this.

*(Note: As it turns out, it's from using my left arm to hold up my head while sitting at my desk for six hours a day. My logic sometimes isn't earth logic. Also, I'm lazy. Surprise, surprise.)

Comments

[teenygozer.livejournal.com]

Heh. I was perfectly sane... then perimenopause hit. And all those sitcoms with crazy women-of-a-certain-age suddenly stopped being insulting and started feeling very real to me. Every so often I even scare myself with the crazy!