98 Posts, 2 Status Updates

Wow, so I made it this far without skipping an update. (Although technically I think 'Announcement' means this isn't really 100 "real" updates.)

And then I need to skip an update.

My motherboard decided that it is breaking up with my hard drive, in the sense that they're no longer on speaking terms.

I'm ... just a little bit devastated.

Writing from Mom's computer.

My baby. T_T

Reality

I want to get this off my metaphorical chest before anyone comes here for the wrong reasons:

I started this blog on a whim, with the off hope that I might scrounge up some additional cashflow while writing it. Hence the ads (which have become increasingly more depressing, I might add), and the donate button, especially.

This is not another ARG.

This is not a blog specifically started up to document the Slender Man wandering around my house being all spooky and demanding my twenty dollars (I don't even carry around cash ffs).

This is just me writing about whatever happens to be in my head, and yeah, the Mythos has kind of a way of embedding it in peoples' subconscious minds, but I am not writing about it because I want to be ... I don't know, linked somehow to it, leech off its fame, whatever. I'm writing about it because it happens to be there, and I can't really tell my subconscious mind to stop fucking with me.

I don't plan to lie to you about anything. There aren't any secret clues or mysteries to be found here. Sure, I'll omit things - leaving my exact location/name for privacy/security reasons, for example - but I'm not going to lie about anything and then pass it off as reality.

Even the backwards writing and the coughing is easily explained rationally: I've been able to write like that for ages, and it just struck me as the thing to do for that post. And, well, I'm allergic to this entire fucking state. I've always got a minor sinus infection of some sort going on.

This is just me writing about my boring life.

Now, that doesn't mean I plan on, I dunno, going out and telling other people to stop having fun with their ARG, or even to point out that it IS an ARG anywhere else. Hell, for all I know, having never met the people out there or the Man himself, it might well not be, which is a good thought for never sleeping again, now isn't it? Believe me when I say the uncertainty of that has ....

huh. I kind of got distracted reading comics and stuff and completely forgot where I was going with this.

I actually don't think any of that really needed to be said, but since I've got massive writer's block due to not ... really having a ton of stuff going on in my head, this'll have to do.

'Til Friday.

Being sick is really leeching my brainpower.

Sam

UPDATE: MWF this week. Don't think I can manage more.

Ah hell, I lay odds I'm gonna be crying by the end of this.

So, anybody who can scroll down the page and see my twitter feed will probably already know this. Kind of. So here's the somewhat less abridged version.

Sam was never really my dog, you know? He's a little toy poodle, purebred, not like it matters since the first thing Grandma did when she got him was cut off the breeding bits (with a vet's assistance but still). He had a bunch of genetic problems - his teeth were messed up, his knees were messed up, his heart was failing him for the last five years of his life. Which, see, is why inbreeding is a bad thing, purity or not.

But yeah. So, initially, he belonged to Grandma, and she took care of him, I guess, at least until she passed away from liver cancer. I miss Grandma sometimes, but it's finally distant enough it doesn't hurt so badly anymore.

Then, my Great-Grand-Uncle (I think?) Tom inherited him. We always called the old man Uncle Tom, which come to think of it is part of the name of a book, right? They were basically inseparable, right up until he, too, died - from pneumonia and old age. There's a little bit of a pattern here.

Grandpa took care of him from then on. There's this old recliner in our house, and I've got all kinds of memories of Grandpa sitting in it, learning computers and watching television, whatever. He retired, and less than a year after that, we found out he had lung cancer. A couple of years after that, and he's just gone.

Two days before Sam died, I saw him just -staring- at that recliner, the one that sits empty most of the time anymore. Sam used to sit in it with him, you see.

And now Sam's gone, too.

We couldn't even bury him properly, because of all the snow. We'll do it, yeah, after the ground thaws out, but still.

I was never really all that close to him.

The house seems so much more empty now that the last of the pets have gone.

Quick Announcement

Hey all!

Due to my new case of Being Employed IRL, I am going to be swapping to a Monday-Wednesday-Friday update schedule! Thanks for understanding!