WAUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

20 01 2007

The unthinkable has happened. My final project for Introduction to New Media class has been discovered by the very people I tried to hide it from when I realized that it was a disgraceful, half-finished mess. I opened my browser and looked at my homepage, which was the Lemmasoft Forum, and got a feeling that now was not the time to look through it. Never one to listen to that still small voice, I started opening up the recently updated subforums in my tabs.

Lo and behold, the name of my project was a subject heading in one of the subforums (presumably Completed Projects or something). I freaked out. I was doing the whole cover-my-ears-rock-back-and-forth-screeching-incoherently routine (not that it is something I do often, mind you), chanting about homicide over and over again. I think, psychology expert that I am, that that may have stemmed from a subconscious desire to kill all the witnesses to the abomination I once passed off as “finished work”.

I told my mother, because of course she wanted to know what all the screeching was about and whether I had witnessed a murder. For her information, I tend to be very articulate when a non-personal matter is deeply upsetting me. I would have said something like, “MOM!!!!!!!! SOMEBODY’S GETTING KILLED!!!!!!!!!!!! CALL THE POLICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and thus communicated in an unequivocal manner what was going on. That may be an unfairly optimistic assessment of my own faculties, but I can remember more times when she has gotten verbally disoriented over stress than I did.

Update: She just asked me to go over and find it for her. It was in “Works in Progress and Recruitment”. Then I ran off and Mom laughed, saying “Hey, they did find yours!” Then she tried to read it to me. REPEATEDLY.

She says they have my name.

I am trying to drown her out with symphonic metal, but she just came up and started asking me why the thing is said to glitch up in Firefox.

Oh dear heavens, she printed it. The poster is Py’Tom. THE Py’Tom. THE GREAT Py’Tom.

He knows where I live. He will come for me and take me to Crappy Artiste’s Hell where I will burn in my own crappy productions for all eternity. God save me.

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