I lie. This isn't going to be short. When I say things, they tend to be either really long, really boring, or both. So I'll be as brief as I can (don't count your lucky stars) and then we'll see where we're at.
Oh my fur and whiskers!
So having recently gone through a rather taxing stage of my life (I'm told teenage girls get these) followed by a series of rather unfortunate events, with a troubled denouement, that's leading up to a not quite concluded conclusion (is any of this making sense?) I have finally settled back out of my skin and am happy to say that I'm not myself anymore.
And no, I'm not doing drugs. I'm just telling it how it is.
Either way, for the longest time I found I couldn't write with any sense of equanimity or happiness, and although I'm always teetering at the brink of the Abysmal Black Hole of the I Suck Abyss (new band name, I call dibs!) I decided that if all I was going to do when I wrote was cry over the keyboard and throw minor cuss words at the screen, it wasn't worth it. Writing is something you're supposed to enjoy.
Thanks to the help of Oscar Wilde and a few very special (and very interesting) friends, I've regained what I lost and more. I'm back to my old hooligan-y self, and the pranks (and stories) shall be resumed. However, I'm not going to limit myself anymore either. I'm going to write, and this means the hole nine (or is it elven?) yards.
And you have to stick around and witness it.
I have only one thing to say. (*Adopts sinister tone*)