The Crossover Episode

I decided to resurrect the blog. Less emo*. No one really goes in for emo these days.

Shit, who am I kidding? No one ever went in for emo besides the whiny characters that I used to unwisely lust after, thinking "ooh he's a lonely-wolf-strong-and-silent-type," when really they'd turn out to be these emotionally infantile incredibly dysfunctional occasionally scary-with-their-episodic-anger-or-depression types. Kind of like adolescent Severus Snape, who let's face it--never really grew out of his adolescent crush-based resentment. Which makes for a GREAT plot advancer. Not really a lifestyle you want to keep up. So I say NO MORE EMO.

It turns out the best remedy for being trapped in emo is not the multiple anti-depressant regimens or years of therapy, or even a regular exercise routine (although that totally helps) but having a kid. It turns out, being wholly responsible for the life, health, and well-being (not to mention eventual socialization) of a tiny human being really makes one get their shit in gear. Fast.

Almost as fast as the little adorable stinkers grow, but not quite. Because for anyone who hasn't noticed, infants turn into kids who turn into people staggeringly quickly. The Mollster and I haven't gotten quite into the "people" stage yet; we're verging on kids. Somewhere between infant and toddler, and toddler is one of those nebulous phases that's not quite a helpless being that you met a year ago when your uterus decided it was time to shove her on out after living in a nice symbiotic relationship for ten months (yes. the 9-month thing is a lie. I'll come back to that another day). Anyway, the transition from infant to toddler is also like a slap in the face. One minute you're swaddling this helpless sack of rags, the next SHE IS EATING DOGFOOD AND LAUGING IN YOUR FACE. No matter how hard you try to keep the dogfood from her, you turn your back for 5 seconds and the toddler-super-power kicks in. You turn around, she's got a mouth full of kibbles and is grinning at you because she KNOWS she's not supposed to be there and is enjoying watching you bubble with rage and disbelief. And getting from point A (swaddled) to point B (dogfood-and-taunting) happens in like 4 days. True story.

Which is pretty much the most absolute farthest thing from emo.
I'm glad I've been cured. May we never go back.

(Then again: may we never go here, which is also pretty freakin far from emo):

*Disclaimer: I left all the emo shit up here, so if you're curious you can search the archives. I couldn't throw it away, since it is kind of still part of who I am/was/whatever. But it's not always pretty. You've been adequately warned.