(no subject)

Four handwritten zine pages later*, my right hand is trying to, like, slip free of my wrist and curl up in a dark corner whimpering silently to itself. Would never have made it as medieval monk.

*And that's still with no natter, and one ish left that I did margin comments for, and, whoa, apa in lj, don't cross the streams. Boy am I going to pay for staying up this late tomorrow morning, but, four issues of comments...