Lalalalalala. I submitted a question to “Ask Sideshow!” With my luck, even if they do answer it, it’d be on their podcast, where I will never know, because dial up + podcasts = angry, angry enemies.

Which kind of begs the question, “why’d you even ask anything, then?” And I say, “Because I want a goddamn Liev Schreiber Sabretooth, and I need to know if there’s any hope, or if I’m doomed to wail WE WANTS IT, PRECIOUSSSSS forever.” Also, anything I can do to help combat my paralyzing conviction that I will be hated anytime I attempt to communicate with anyone is a good thing. Even if the only result is that in a few weeks/months I can look back and go, “look, nothing bad happened,” that helps.

I don’t mind being ignored or anonymous. I’m happier unnoticed, for the most part. Its the idea that someone who actually matters to me will hate me that turns me into a weeping vortex of doom. And I guess the reason it freezes me up with people who don’t matter sometimes is that in the back of my head, there’s this hellish little voice whispering, “But what if they were going to matter? What if you would’ve loved them and been loved if you had just kept your mouth shut right then, and you ruined it and will never even know them now?”

Yeah. Being in my head pretty much sucks cockroach anus.