There are very few things in life I can recommend more than not writing. You get to experience your actual, real, singular human life in the first person and be present in every moment you share with your loved ones. You get to interact with other people as real, jagged, surprising entities separate from yourself and not as characters approximating real, jagged surprising entities separate from yourself. You get to go out and find profitable work and devote your full attention to the job in front of you without also having to dedicate precious system resources to fake worlds that don’t exist. Also, strangers don’t know you but also not know you at the same time.
Neural IBS! Sexy Vampire was nicely creepy. The worst “good guy” wolf in sheep skin blah blah blah. Would a vampire become more petty or detached with time? Is he insecure by the stupid sparkles in sunshine skin and overapplies goth makeup?
There is show called Bluey for little ones. It’s heart achingly delightful, despite being on Disney.
Neural IBS! Sexy Vampire was nicely creepy. The worst “good guy” wolf in sheep skin blah blah blah. Would a vampire become more petty or detached with time? Is he insecure by the stupid sparkles in sunshine skin and overapplies goth makeup?
There is show called Bluey for little ones. It’s heart achingly delightful, despite being on Disney.