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I know it is a first world problem, my life is not in danger and no one is trying to kidnap me off the street, but dealing with FAFSA under this regime is beyond frustrating! Are we great yet?

Cicadas when I’m trying to write late at night: “I respect you and want you to succeed, so let me sit on your window and scream about it.” I just opened my office window and told the damned bugs on the screen to go get laid somewhere else because I couldn’t think straight from their noise. Our neighbors probably think I’m nuts. Meh. They drive ugly cars; people who drive ugly cars don’t get an opinion on my sanity or lack thereof.

The other day, I noticed a draft coming through gaps in a few of our windows (it’s an older house, but not old enough to have been built well) which led me to this long list of actions: Find appropriate sealant. Fix one window (it looks like a toddler finger painted with dad’s tools but whatever) and move onto the next. Prep window frame. Realize the windowsill was probably last cleaned in the 90s and is full of grease, lint, dust, and animal hair. (Hurk) Decide you don’t want to seal that junk into permanence with something that dries clear. Grab cleaner and scrub the gap clean with a bristle brush (cleaner sprays brown crap everywhere, barf) and knock loose some paint that may have been white back in the 80s. Realize the cleaner will need to be rinsed out and the paint touched up before sealing the gap. Give up. Sit on the couch and question your life choices while staring at the tube of sealant and convince yourself that cussing at inanimate objects is immature and you’re better than that. (I’m really not.) Realize that the entire time, you were standing in the window with the blinds open and the lights on at night wearing a man’s shirt and no bra with People-of-Walmart hair, and your next door neighbor is out on their porch watering their plants…at night. Homeownership would definitely keep my millennial ego in check if it ever got big enough to worry about.

That is true, this is Earth 17.2 and not the main timeline. Also as it is role playing, I guess that's okay, and Ronnie Anne's and Lincoln's relationship did begin with her bullying him. If you get any ideas to continue this series, I'll love to read it.

Ah, I can’t see that either… You can look at my profile and see who I’ve recommended, but I can’t tell who’s recommended me.

I’ve never found a way to see who’s recommended my stories. I can see which stories got a recommendation, and how many, but the identity of the member is unknown. I don’t know if non-members, which would include bots, can recommend a story. The next time I’m not logged in, I’ll try it and see if I can do it.

I’ve got zero recommendations & two “current reading” in mine; so guess the bots like you!

So when is "Out of Hand" coming out? I enjoyed both Enter the Sandboy and this story.

We’ve got another double-header today: the final chapter of “Rewire” this morning, and a new chapter of “Band Together” tonight! Chapter 6: The Band, Part 2

What I’ve been running into with this are some issues using Edge. If that’s what you’re using, try Chrome.

Time for a shameless brag: I have just reached 100 favorites in the archive. As far as I know, I’m the first author on AFF to do that.

I doubt you’ll be the last person to be confused, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it lol

ignore the one above me. that is me and i am a dumb butt. lol. i didnt understand the change. i figured it out! lol

Just since Friday, my number of recommendations in the archive has shot up from 108 to 121. This is after it took me 12 years to get to 100. So either I’ve gone viral and am completely unaware of it, or there’s a bot creating accounts in the archive and favoriting me over and over for some reason.

If life could just take a break from randomly skull-fucking me for once—or at least schedule a time and ask consent—yeah, that’d be great. (In which Ghost is a cis-woman who gets sick like a man and requires medical intervention on the regular and inevitably ends up with horrible cramps AND yet another random household crisis, all at the same time.) I’ll live. I feel like roadkill, but I’ll live.