My, my, time does fly.
I wrote my last journal monthes ago, and, well, I don't have much to say right now. Looking back on my drawings is physically painful but I seem to be able to do it anyways. It's just weird and vaguely horrible, like watching pictures of your weeaboo years - you understand, but you don't KNOW anymore, and that's terrifying.
Homestuck has consumed my soul for monthes now and I don't think there's a possible cure, I'm in terminal phase, ready to break down as the final update slowly creeps out of the weird-ass caves it's living in. All of my celebrity, which, on a scale of 1 to 10, has proudly scored a 3 this year, is based on this fucking webcomic. What will I become when it's no longer here ? Will my followers still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful ?
The question is here.
Writing all of that stuff down makes me think that I have a diary and that I should update it. I really should. Historians are gonna miss a huge part of my life and THAT would be awful !!
Okay, we've talked a bit about stupidities, that was great. Now what ?
Homestuck is still pretty important to me, so more fanarts are going to come to you as affectionates as tiny fluffy chicken, which are, by the way, extremely cute creatures that should be loved and protected. Expect more rarepairs, inked characters and unlovable faces in your near future.
I also have a new book coming, word by word, and I should really draw the protagonists, starting maybe with some character sheets, something simple, to get me in the mood. it's hard to tear myself from the colourful and intricate pattern of Homestuck these times. But mother warned me : if it's shiny, then don't touch it, it's venomenous. Oh mother, I should have listened to you before it was too late. I was such a fool !
For real though : no fandom stayed as long in my heart, and no work of art made such an impact on me, as Homestuck did. The end of it will be the end of something for me. I don't know what, yet, but I fear it. And I'm not really joking. Maybe quarter joking. Half. Maybe.
Listening to: Bedroom Hymns
Reading: Insomnia - Stephen KING