I'd like to start with a rant on the fannish ADHD that my writing is suffering from--in which there are twenty--I'm not joking, there are twenty wips and I'm not even including my Smallville stuff in this one. They're all SGA. Half of them involve dead, maimed, or extraordinarily morally compromised team members either a.) dead b.) diseased/memory wiped/on heavy doses of thorazine (not kidding there *don't ask*), or c.) getting bored in negotations and killing entire civilizations. These are the thing my mind brings up then leaves, because I am apparently in the happy place in fandom, where all I really seem to get *finished* is domesticly happiness and oh God, I got them married, didn't I?
It's disturbing on some level that I'm connecting to my inner happy than my inner angst. I mean, I'm sure it's healthier, but there's just something missing. A body count, I guess.
In other news, SGA 2.11. No spoilers. Just mindless, mindless smiling.
I'm cooking the turkey for Thanksgiving. All I ask is that when someoen announces that me and my family all died of food poisoning, please don't laugh too hard. Just write porn in my honor.
I'm very, very bored. Someone should porn for me Something involving weapons and trees and chocolate and maybe bondage. I'm in that place. Well, I'm always in that place.