Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;

Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!

♥

Comments

Re: Distance

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

If you come right down to it, I've been 'making do' my entire life. When you lived as far down the food chain as I did, you got pretty good at living on scraps, or else sooner or later you didn't live at all. So I make do. I live anywhere it doesn't rain on me, eat anything that can't escape me, and fight on my own against anything that I can't outrun. That isn't many people, you know. I may not lie, but I sure as hell can run. I learned to save clothes so they don't wear out. I can build a radio out of a pile of rusted metal scraps; damned if I'd know what to do with a shiny store-bought one. Where other people see worthless junk, I see how to pick it up and glean the very last drop of usefulness from it. Everything turns to rust sooner or later, but you might as well get everything out of it you can. Then, by the time it's all used up, there's just nothing left to worry about anyway. And then, during the war --

Let me tell you what a rush it was to pilot Deathscythe. I mean, talk about a role reversal! For the first time, I was the one on top of the scrap heap. I was making messes, not picking up after them. Instead of waiting around to be destroyed, I was the Lord of Destruction. Mint little clockwork pilots came at me in their shiny new OZ-issued mobile suits, all lined up in a row to be smashed into pieces that I could use. It was glorious. I still have nightmares about it.

That's why I turned to salvaging, after the war. It's not a bad job. Sort of like vultures. I admire vultures, actually. They're ugly, yeah, but they've got a job to do and if nobody did it then the world would be wading in rotting meat. The vulture gets fed, the place gets cleaned up, and everyone wins. It's an honorable profession; I'm used to it. I'll take anything I can get.