There were always things to do and or say.  Worthy of the hands or worthy of the mouth is not a question we ask them when they stand at the gate.

Yesterday was nice because I didn’t have too long to think about it.  The deadline came up and I just wrote this piece of puff fanfic that hasn’t quite coagulated into anything of note, but maybe it could.  It doesn’t have to, though.  It can just be play.  I will probably rewrite it, and don’t want to hold myself to the faint recollection of “accurate events” or characterization as it stands.  She comes off bitterer than I believe she is.  I still ask myself every time what it would be like to write something that you didn’t secretly want someone to read.  That didn’t have the impact of ego riddling it with unpalatable, un-patchable holes. If I knew no one would ever get their hands on it and that I would never try and steal parts of for something else, to make my daily quota.  If it was solely to amuse myself, full of scribbles, dropped sentences, distracted, raccoon-eyed desire for shiny and fun.  If it was written in a way that felt half-encoded, dense with self-indulgent, self-referential language.  With commas used decisively and incorrectly all over the place.  Oh, how, might you say, would it be any different than what I do now?
I don’t know.  It just would be.  It would be one of Anne Bradstreet’s unwashed, shameful, beloved children before she’d sent them off to school.
I’m in that fuzzy, quivering state of being when a fandom, a pairing, and OTP is coming into being.  It feels like you’re willing something into existence.  You think I mean that figuratively, but I don’t.  It is a muscle working, a force being drawn, a rift being sealed.
There’s still a little bit of new content left before we’ll know as much as there is to know before we consider further investigations.  We’ll have the canon and the first time.  It makes you want to put your two cents in.  Like it all hasn’t been said as far as fan writing goes and your oddball way of saying it hasn’t been done better.  It makes you want to gather up the experience and the internal monologue and document it just so you have one more thing to hold, so this thing that you’ve brought into being can carry its breath a little further down into the depths.
It’s very involving or I choose to be pretty involved in it.  And I’m realizing that there’s not a lot of people who find this level of obsessive behavior cute. Also, tasks still need doing.  Touchstones still need touching.  Self-care still has to take place.  Trying not to blow everyone off right now…already have done a bit of that and it feels rotten.  Trying to honor the fact that not everyone else is in this dream with me.  They’ve got their own drugs and their own ways of getting by.

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