Edited to add PSA: Mel-Mel is in the throes of autistic burnout that’s been going on since… probably since dad died. The following is going to sound bitchy because, well, it should. Apologies in advance for any unintended hurt feelings. Anyway…
I was trying to publish this very exciting, beautiful, milestone beginning of Ragdoll #10 on Halloween. I could have, honestly, but I’m not going to push this one out for a non-existent audience. Working on Ragdoll is an absolute joy to me. Publishing Ragdoll sucks huge donkey balls. Drawing this book makes me feel closer to, I dunno…. God? Satan? Nell Carter? Whatever fucking entity created my weird soul. But putting it out online, begging people to read it, being aggressively ignored, and hoping each and every day that someone will reach out to me to express anything other than “Meh” is killing that weird soul of mine. I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to reiterate this to myself in blog form before it sticks.
In fact, I’m not sure when the next update will be. I may decide to finish the entire issue first. It’s going to be pay-to-read anyway, so I’m sure no one was going to do that. This is just another reminder to the public at large that I am an INFJ type, and your rudeness didn’t escape my attention. Yeah, I’m a crazy girl. I’m so crazy, that I can list and document for you every glitch in my system. YOU CAN’T SAY THE SAME. The average person is walking around thinking they are just as sane as you please, when in reality they have subconscious motivations that they ignore, issues they never unpack, and just general shit they never want to face. Most people think I’m nuts because I write about how I’m feeling, I talk about my issues, I face my fears, and I’m brutally honest. I can say with confidence, that if you know me, really know me, I am the safest and sanest motherfucker you will ever encounter in this world.
But that’s okay. Fear is the norm on Earth. I should know, it’s what Ragdoll is all about. I’m just going to go ahead and assume from here on out that I am apparently so very intimidating and terrifying that only the bravest of the brave will talk to me. I’m also going to assume that the entire world at large has developed a severe alcohol problem, where everybody is simply so hungover all the time that they have lost the basic ability to read and communicate with people. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
