Naps good. Midday pillow creases on Jean's face, not so much with the pretty.

To my fellow Spuffy 'shippers: I found this interview with Jane E. extremely heartening. In it she says that "the Buffy and Spike love story" is her favorite arc out of the entire series and explains why. I realize it's all just her opinion, but the great thing about it is that she talks about the love "they" have and doesn't qualify it at all to make it sound like it's all one sided and unrequited or downplay Buffy's feelings to be anything less than love. Much like the love I have for Jane. Warning, though, it does contain a casting spoiler. It's not very surprising casting info, but the spoiler pure might want to keep away.

On a completely unrelated tac, how come some people can't compliment a fic they like without inserting a not so veiled dig at DL (or any other fic they don't care for, for that matter)? It usually happens in posts that smack of "darkfic is superior and anything that dares to be lighthearted or optimistic misses the point," an attitude that irritates the shit out of me. And it carries the implication that DL is nothing but fluff. While it certainly has its fluffy moments and has a pretty optimistic basic premise, it has some pretty dark moments and themes, too. If it's not your thing, fine. Some people don't like their angst served with side orders of romance and comic relief (though if that's the case, I have to wonder why such a person watches the show). Diff'rent strokes and all that. I just don't appreciate DL being pointed to as the pinnacle of fluff, and when you're praising a darkfic I don't get why such a comparison (especially such a pointed comparison, even if you didn't call the fic by name) is even necessary. If you don't like it, fine. That's cool. But you don't have to be so damn condescending about it.

So, I decided to skip my PM class to write -- and nothing but, yet here I am online farting around with a journal entry. But Fox asked the burning question, "Are you happy?" Like others, it got me to thinking. No surprise, as I'm prone to introspection and self-analysis anyway. But I've come to realize that, less than a month away from turning 30, I'm pretty satisfied with myself, with who I am and where I'm going. Of course I'm not as pretty or as thin as I'd like to be. I'm not the most outgoing person and I value my privacy, and I realize this makes me somewhat difficult to get to know, but much like Willow all it takes is an expressed interest and I open right up. Those who've made the effort to get to know me tend to claim that it was worth it, so there must be something about me that's worthwhile. I realize that entirely too much of my self-esteem is wrapped up in my writing ability and the perception others have thereof, and I need to work on that. I also wish that I could be more outgoing and that I was more skilled at the art of flirting or even just, y'know, talking to a guy, and that I weren't so oblivious or prone to get impatient (I often really hate my ADD, but I try really hard not to use it as an excuse for my bad behavior, and at least for the most part I know how to control it or work around it). But in the end I know that I'm smart and occasionally even witty and/or insightful, and I'm not without talent. For all of my flaws and my occasionally evil tendencies I think I'm basically a kind and decent person, if not always nice or good. I'm strong in my faith and in my identity. I know who I am and what I do best and I've got a pretty good idea of where I want to go from here.

All this is to say that I don't look to other people to provide me with happiness, and I don't think I need a man to complete me. That said, I find I'm lonely more often than not. I want a boyfriend. I want to know that I'm not going to spend the rest of my life alone, just me and my cats and my tiny, tiny dog. I want to know that there's at least a chance that I could have my own children someday and that I'm not destined to just be the eccentric aunt who spoils all her nephews because she hasn't got anybody else to spoil. I wish I had the stones to be the pursuer, because God knows I'm never the pursuee, and I wish that didn't ever come down to me wondering what is wrong with me that nobody ever notices me or thinks I'm worth chasing after, but sometimes it does, and if I dwell on it too much I can get pretty depressed. And sometimes it's a constant struggle not to dwell on it. So, no, I'm not happy. I want too badly to share my life with someone. To share my bed. And I don't see that happening any time soon. It's not like I have time to date right now anyway, let alone get involved (although if a certain Brit would ask me out for coffee or dinner I'd certainly make the time).

That said, I think I can see myself becoming complacent with my single status sometime down the line and resigning myself to it, which is perhaps the most depressing thought of all. But barring the presence of a significant other, I think the key ingredients to my life satisfaction are 1) my relationship with God (which I've been neglecting far too much lately), 2) having plenty of time to write (even if I never make a living at it, I get all kinds of stressed if I have to go too long without writing) and 3) having a lifestyle in which I'm not too rushed too often. I don't mind being rushed occasionally -- I'd get bored otherwise. But all in all I don't like to be rushed. I like being able to take my time with things. I can't stand to be constantly on the go. I need my quiet time.

I also know that I had damn well better get my ass in gear and start making it as a writer because if I don't, if I have to settle for any other type of career, I'm going to be absolutely miserable for the rest of my life. But that's fodder for another post.