Frantic search for the edited copy of my Surfacing story through three folders and feverishly comparing the one I found with beta remarks to see if this is the one and finding a spelling error (Oh my God. It was on paper and people bought it and what if that spelling error made it through?).
My zines are held hostage by svmadelyn. I didn't even know we could release them! I thought it was two years! I didn't know it was time! I forgot I wrote it. I was mildly surprised to recognize cesperanza's, thinking, when did I buy a zine, wait. Wait. Wait. Why do I know this story?. Because I never said I was quick on the uptake, but in my defense, chopchica linked me to traumatizing fic, then I remembered the one I read with Rodney's cock compared to a fire hose and I can't be blamed, can I?
Did that paragraph even make sense?
(I am going to cheerfully blame at least part of this on the fact that I'm detoxing myself from Ritalin for five days; there's a boring story to go with this that comes down to a.) want to see if I can function without having it. (I can, but I forgot how chaotic it is when my focus is off; it takes a really disturbing amount of time to get anything done and at this point, I'm so used to the habit that it's pretty much all I have to work with) and b.) I'm vaguely worried about my tolerance, plus secret answer c.) because I left the bottle at work and while yes, I could go get it, that's a long drive and I dont' want to explain to security that I really really am just an idiot who locked their ritalin up with the spagettios. This experiment in self-dopamine control by the power of my will might likely end the second I walk into my office on Monday morning. I am not too proud to say, this is so much less fun than I remembered.)
I can see homework this weekend is going to be swell.
On the other hand, I got three differnt type of brownie mix and two kinds of cookie mix. I really can't complain that much.