A Year in Pamporovo

Last night was like any other Wednesday night for me.  Got home from work, changed, went to Panera, ate, and wrote.  I had two projects last night:  one was writing up a little over six hundred words for a letter I’m sending to someone–I always type it out before I hand write because my spelling is fairly horrible and I need to correct–and then I went to work on the novel and put in another eight hundred words there.  Nothing unusual, right?

It might not be were it not for the date.  Because last night represented three hundred and sixty-five days since I started this novel.  When I did that the novel sort of looked like this:

Only there were, like, zero words on everything.

Only there were, like, zero words on everything.

And now it’s here, twenty-seven chapters later.

With a lot more words added.

With a lot more words added.

Tonight is the night when I started on this little adventure, and it’s been a milestone for me as well, for I’ve never stuck with a novel this long.  In the past I’ve usually burned out and given up on something like this, but I haven’t, not this time.

Doesn’t mean there hasn’t been stress.  I’ve probably had two or three nervous breakdowns in the process of putting out this story.  I spent a month rewriting chapters because I did Annie wrong.  Oh, and I grew breasts:  I should get points for that as well.

How did it all begin?  With Annie and her mother.  Let’s go back and see that moment, captured in the just over the first five hundred words I wrote (and have since edited) on 30 October, 2013:

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

The mountains were bright under the morning sun, though the light had yet reached many of the surrounding valley floors. Within the hour every valley in and around Pamporovo, Bulgaria, would bathe in sunshine, but for now most were enveloped in quiet shadows.

In one valley lay a small lake, the surface smooth and unmoving, still in possession of a layer of light mist from the prior evening. The eastern shoreline brushed up against the heavily wooded valley side, but everywhere else the lake was surrounded by low, rolling hills marked by a few bare spots of erosion, and meadows covered in short grass. Here no trees had taken root—

Save for one spot opposite the eastern valley walls. A lone tree stood upon a slight bend in the shoreline, making it even more distinctive. It was impossible to tell the tree type: even a close scrutiny didn’t reveal its secrets. It looked out of place—and yet, based upon it’s height and the spread of the branches, it was obvious it had been there for decades.

Stranger was the color of the leaves. They were a bright yellow, as if they were dusted with saffron—an unusual color, for the other trees on the opposite bank were a uniform green with a sprinkle of brown, and nary a spot of yellow anywhere. The coloration wasn’t due to the coming of fall—it was late August and the trees wouldn’t begin changing for another two months. It was possible that the tree itself sprouted yellow leaves, but if one had visited the tree the day before, they may have seen the leaves a bright red—and the day before that a light green.

The leaves changed color, but they didn’t change with the seasons . . .

Beneath the branches a young girl with wavy chestnut hair that rested lightly upon her shoulders stood. She was dressed in a light summer blouse and jeans and sneakers, making her indistinguishable from any other eleven year old girl currently living in and around Pamporovo. She stood facing the lake, her eyes fixed upon a point somewhere across the water, her arms locked across her chest. It seemed as if she were deep in thought, staring off into space so that her mind was free from distractions. She didn’t move, nor give any indication she was aware of her surroundings.

Her expression betrayed her emotions, though. She slowly blinked as she stared across the lake with lips slightly pursed while in the cool morning shadows of her unusual tree. Mist drifted off the lake and over her, making the skin on her arms dimple. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to finally enjoy this almost-perfect morning.

The girl was about to check the time on the small wristwatch she wore when a voice called to her. “Annie!” She turned slowly; she knew the voice, and why they were looking for her—

She spotted the woman standing on the porch of a small house forty meters away. The woman waved her right arm in the air as she called once again. “Annie!”

Awareness dawned upon young girl. “Yes, Mama?”

“It’s almost ten o’clock.” This time she waved for the girl to come to the porch. “It’s getting close to the time to leave.”

Anelie Kirilova—or, as her mother, father, and the rest of her extended family called her, Annie—knew her mother was right. She knew it was nearly time to leave; she’d known this for over an hour. In another twenty, thirty minutes she’d leave this all behind and not see it again until it was all covered with Christmas snow . . .

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she walked toward the house. “Coming, Mama.”

 

There was my beginning.  And how did I continue a year later?  Another five hundred or so words with Annie and her mother:

 

The moment Annie’s eyes opened she checked the clock at her bedside. 5:21. She did a quick calculation and determined the time in San Francisco. It’s 19:21 yesterday there; Kerry’s likely meeting his family right now. Secure with the belief that Kerry was probably starting his holiday, she threw the covers back and sat up.

It was pitch dark in the room, but that wasn’t surprising: local sunrise wouldn’t be for more than an hour. She waved her hand at the lamp on the bedside table and it came on, illuminating her bedroom in low, white light. She slid off the bed and into her slippers before giving her blue pajama tops a final tug down. She walked the short distance to her dressing table and retrieved her locket from a necklace tree and fastened it around her neck, pressing the heart-shaped locket into her chest to assure herself it was there. Lastly she put on her robe and pulled it tight around her body before letting it swing open. With a smile she made her way to the bedroom door.

The night before, during dinner, her mother had said that now that she was on Salem time she would probably rise early, adjustment or not. Annie had said she expected to sleep in for the first time since leaving home, but she should have realized that Mama was speaking from experience. It makes sense— She reached for the door knob. I never sleep in at school, so why would I expect to sleep in once I was home. She slowly opened the door. Must be an enchantment they put on us during the E and A

Her mother was in her sitting room, seated at the table with a plate of food and a kettle before her. “Good morning, Anelie.”

Annie was surprised to find her mother up this early—and with breakfast ready. “Good morning, Mama.”

Pavlina Kirilova nodded toward the closed door to her left. “Go on and use the bathroom. I’ll prepare your tea.”

Annie was in and out of her bathroom in a short time. When she returned her tea was seeping and plate with a printsessi sat before the empty chair across from here mother. Annie sat and inhaled the aroma of the breakfast. “This is what I missed.”

“My printsessi?”

“Yes.” She took a small bite and savored the disk. “It’s still hot.”

“I cooked them last night and put a time spell around them.” Pavlina raised here tea and took a small sip. “From your perspective, they’ve only been out of the oven for two minutes.”

Annie savored another mouthful before speaking. “When did you get up?”

“I’ve been up about twenty minutes.”

“And Papa?”

Pavlina set her tea aside, chuckling. “I let him sleep. Though I expect him up within the hour.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I wanted a little mother-daughter time—like what we had before you went off to school?”

Annie didn’t remember there being a lot of mother-daughter time, but she wasn’t going to start contradicting, not now. She’s searching—and I think I know what she’s looking for . . . “I did miss chatting. I only had your letters.” She smiled. “At least we wrote. A few of the students didn’t hear much from their parents.”

 

A year later and Annie can tell her mother is fishing for something, but she’s playing along.  Any idea about what she’s looking for?  And as I’d said, as Kerry’s last thoughts upon reaching San Francisco and seeing his family were of Annie, Annie’s first thoughts upon waking–at the same time, mind you–were of Kerry.  There’s some kind of symmetry with those kids, I tell ya.

How much have I put behind me with this story?  As of last night Act Two finished up with 140,960 words; the full manuscript is 291,665 words.  I stared Act Two in May and I’ve been trudging along for a little over five months now, and I’ll finish it in November for sure.  And then it’s on to Act Three and the end of the novel.

Soon.  I hope.  I want to have some kind of NaNo, even though I haven’t bothered registering yet, and may not.  I’m still on the fence about doing so, because I’m really not sure I can keep up the pace this year.  Far too many things happening, far too many things to get in the way.

Or . . . I just have to suck it up and put my two hours of writing aside and not be distracted.

That would probably work better, yeah?

Good News Day

Monday–yesterday–was another of my long, “I’m on the road and can’t really get anything done” days.  I had to visit my HRT doctor, and it’s a nearly two-and-a-half hour drive to her office–I’m in The Burg and she’s off in the Swamps of Jersey–so there’s a bit of driving.  A lot of driving, actually, and it’s pretty much heavy traffic the whole way there and back, not including the rain I was in last night.  Needless to say, by the time I returned to my hovel at seven-thirty PM, it was hard to get worked up for anything in the way of writing.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good day yesterday . . .

See, my visit was to go over my labs, which I’d taken a couple of weeks before.  Lab work is important, because you don’t want to worry that what you’re doing to your body is killing you.  And it can . . . Bit of full disclosure here:  back in April and May of 2014, this year, I was on a DIY hormone regiment for about six weeks.  I did it because I wanted to get on them, and as I always do, I dug into my research and figured out just how much I could handle without hurting myself.

Wrong thing to do.  I stopped taking the hormones right before I started my lab work, and didn’t get back on them until I started my injections.  One of the thing my lab work discovered was my iron and some of my liver functions were way the hell off.  The liver function was due to taking oral hormones (after you’re fifty they break down in your system differently and are metabolized by your liver as well), and the iron came from mistakenly taking a women’s vitamin, which are full of iron that I don’t need.

The moral of that story is don’t do meds on your own.  The other moral of the story is that in April I was pretty much an emotional basket case because of lady hormones taking over my body, and let me tell you, it wasn’t fun.  It also makes me understand far better the sort of hell women go through from time-to-time, and makes me want to slap guys with large, smelly tunas every time I hear them say, “Wow, you’re moody today.”  Hey, try this stuff for three months, dude, and tell me how you feel.

But the news yesterday was good.  Hormone levels are where they should be; liver function is good save for a slightly elevated bilirubin, which may or may not be genetic and/or affected by my lack of a gall bladder, my weight is continuing to drop, and even my blood pressure was down a bit–and while still high, it wasn’t up in the hypertension range.  It was all great news.

That's why I look so happy here--glowing even, as some people say.  I'll take that.

That’s why I look so happy here–glowing even, as some people told me yesterday. I’ll take that.

It’s back to the writing tonight.  Today I’ll ponder over some of the comments I’ve received concerning Annie’s and Kerry’s relationship.  It seems as if there are a few people who thing something bad is going to happen to them.  Since I already know everything that’s going to happen to them, I’m sort of sitting here smiling and thinking, “How are they gonna feel when I get to this scene?”

But really:  nothing bad happens.

Well . . . nothing too bad.

Welcome to My Trans World

I’m doing things a little different today, mostly because I promised some people that I was going to answer some questions for them, and this is how I handle that particular request.

As everyone–or just about everyone knows–I’m a transwoman.  I’ve been out online and with friends for about two years now, and in March of this year I began living publicly as a woman.  I started on hormone treatment back in July, and I’ve just passed three months on hormone replacement therapy.

You can imagine that mot many people know the ins and outs of what I’m going through.  It’s rare that people other than close friends know anyone trans, and until recently trans people in media were either played for laughs or we were psychos who usually committed the murder in whatever drama was bring presented.  In other words, the majority of people who we might encounter in real life don’t know much about us.

This all came about a few weeks ago because there were people in one of my Facebook groups asking me about the stuff I do concerning my hormone injections.  I was getting other questions asked as well, and it made me realize that, yes, people are curious, and not in a morbid way:  they really want to know about these things that are happening in my life.

Since yesterday was my shot day I decided to put together a few videos that show the steps I go through for my injections, and also answer a few questions that have come up from time-to-time.  So, if you’ll step this way . . .

 

This is a video going over the stuff I need for my injections, and I actually take you thought the process.  You never see the injection, and I give you fair warning it’s happening in case you want to look away.  As I say you don’t see anything, so safe all around.

The next two videos answer questions about hormones and injections, and–particularly with the second video–I get into the good and bad parts of going through hormone treatments.  I give warning in the second video that discussions may get a little graphic, but only because I’m talking about naughty bits.

Okay, now we get to the one video that’s probably Not Save For Work or Kids.  I get into a rather frank explanation of physical sexual responses, and how mine are changing.  It’s pretty interesting, but as I said, it’s frank, so let me warn you once more:  Sexy Talk Ahead!  That’s even the name of the video.  Click at your own risk.

And last but not least, a video that answers a question that I’ve been asked more than a few time:  why are you doing this?  For me, the answer isn’t surprising.

There it is:  a part of my world as it currently exists.  I hope it’s informative, and that it leads to more questions in the future that I can take time to answer.  Because, believe me, the more people know about the sort of things that led up to my decision, and the aftermath of said decision, the more the stereotypes can be cast aside.

Like I say in one of the videos, once you get to know me I’m really a nice person–

No different than you.

The Hesitancy of Drama

I know some of you are wondering, “Are we going to see what’s coming next for Annie and Kerry?”  And the answer to that is, “Nope.  Not today.”  The why of that is both complicated and . . . not.

Part of what happened, for me last night, was having to help out a couple of friends who were having a rough spot of it last night.  I was up until midnight speaking with first one, then the other, consoling, offering advice, and offering general reassurance.  It’s the sort of thing I do these days, but more and more I seem to give this advice freely.  And without hesitation.

"Okay, I'll help you hide the body, but you're driving.  Got it?"

“Okay, I’ll help you hide the body, but you’re driving. Got it?”

It’s easy to write off a lot of things that happen online as just another form of drama, and seeing as how I keep our Facebook Drama llama calmed down most of the time, but my friends were in the middle of real concerns, so no drama:  it was hurt and anxiety all the way down the line.  I stepped in and did what I could to help ease the pain.

Speaking of drama, however . . .

I did manage to write a little.  We’re only talking about two hundred words, but I’ll get to more tonight.  There is a problem that I’m encountering, and it’s one I’ve hit before:  the feeling that I’m about to say or show something that’s a little too personal.  I’ve done this before with other stories, and I feel it coming on here as well.  Because what is about to happen is personal–not only for my kids, but for me.  I’m about to unbare some souls and show some feelings that haven’t popped up before, and . . . it’s nerve wracking to pull this out and wave it about.

Though I’m much better with my emotions these days–never might there are times I have the emotional stability of a twelve year old girl going through puberty, I’m talking about opening myself up to others–there are times when I feel I’m putting to much of my own soul out there on the page.  I saw something, show something, put a hint or two here and there:  that’s all part of the plot.  But there are things that Kerry says in this scene which is a little gut wrenching for me, because they’re things I’ve felt and even said from time-to-time.

When Kerry says no one has ever loved him, or that they wish he wasn’t there, I’ve heard those things before.  I’ve had those words ring in my ears, either coming from someone else, or from my own mouth.  It can be a tough thing to write about an emotionally detached eleven year old boy, and remember what it was like when that boy was you.  And then to go back and write this . . . it’s not the stuff of nightmares, but it leaves me uneasy leading up to and for a little after I finally get it out of my head and down on paper.

Tonight, for sure, I’ll get there.  I’ll stay off the computer and put on the music and just write.

Things need to be said.  And writing is where I get my support.

Besides . . . Annie will be there.  And she’s the best support I have.

Out of the Evenings and Into the Dreams

I got out last night:  it was warm enough when it started that I put on a skirt and my sandals and grabbed my computer to dine and write.  Probably not as much as I could have, but it was still a good deal–over eight hundred words, all of them original, all of them–well, good is always a relative term, isn’t it?

The important thing is I finished the penultimate scene of the chapter and managed just under two hundred words into the final scene, the one that’s gonna open things up and probably raise more questions than answers.  But that’s always a problem with this kind of tale; there’s unanswered questions, and sometimes those questions lead to more questions.

Not to mention they keep adding to the word count.

Not to mention they keep adding to the word count.

Now, the last time we checked Annie was told she was going to spend the night in Bed #1, in Bay #1.  The next word out of her mouth is probably the same as that of most readers . . .

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie sat staring dumbfounded at Coraline. When the head nurse mentioned her tower Annie was certain she would be forcibly put to bed. This was, however one looked at the statement, unexpected. “Why?”

“It’s actually pretty simple. One, I’ve got Bianca and Thebe spending the night down in the Dining Hall. Since we’re going to have fifty or sixty students sleeping down there tonight, I thought it might be a good idea to have them handy in case some of the students are still bothered by the events of the day.” Ten minutes earlier the Headmistress had stepped into the hospital and explained that a number of students wanted to know if they could spend the night in the Dining Hall; they cited the fact they’d been locked up in the towers all day, and most were feeling a little anxious from the experience.

“Then there’s Maddie.” Coraline looked up to the ceiling, beyond which was the Second Floor and the ICU. “Her vitals are stables but low. I asked Gretchen to keep an eye on her tonight, so she’ll be up there all night.

“I’m off to the Instructor’s Residence after this because I am not an AP and I’m pretty much dead on my feet and I feel like I’m gonna drop in another couple of hours. I can be here inside of a couple of minutes if there’s an emergency, but I need to crawl into bed and get some rest tonight.

“That means everything on the hospital side is accounted for—save . . .” She pointed at Kerry once more. “Our sleeping lad here.

 

There you have it:  not enough people to keep an eye on everyone.  Coraline’s got everything covered with explanations, too:

 

“The stuff we used to put him under should wear off in another couple of hours, but the pain meds should do a good job of keeping him under. However, that’s no guarantee that he won’t wake up in the middle of the night, and between the meds and the concussion, if he does come to he’s likely to be a little disoriented. If that’s the case, it might not be a bad idea—” She slowly turned to Annie. “—if he had a friendly face to help get him back to sleep.”

Though Annie was excited to hear this, she also worried that there was a catch. “Won’t someone say something?”

“Like what? That I let you spend the night here? Remember, you’re part of the triage team now: you did a great job—save for one moment that we won’t discuss . . .” Coraline stared off into space for a moment before returning to the conversation. “That makes you part of my medical team, and that gives you certain . . . privileges when it comes to being here. That means you can sleep in Bed #1, and you’ll both have the bay to yourselves. Should Kerry waked up you can help calm him and get him back to sleep—and if you run into a problem you can’t handle, you’ll know to contact Gretchen and she’ll have Bianca or Thebe come up and help you.” Coraline snapped her fingers. “Simple as that.”

Annie stood slowly and smoothed out her uniform skirt before going over and hugged Coraline. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Coraline put her arms around the pleased little sorceress and hugged her back. “You’re welcome.” She released Annie and patted her on the shoulder. “Grab your jacket and let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

 

I guess this means we can start calling her “Nurse Annie,” though that’s stretching it a bit.  But then I’m good at stretching–just don’t ask me to wear yoga pants when I do.

Finally I started the final scene of Chapter Twenty-three.  What’s going on during Dreams on the Ward?  Take a look:

Not here:  this is just proof I wrote this.  Look below . . .

Not here: this is just proof I wrote this. Look below . . .

 

Annie opened her eyes and lay still under the covers of her bed. She listened for unusual sounds, but heard nothing save the slow breathing from the bed next to hers. She cast a glance towards the ends of their beds looking for movement, but there wasn’t anyone inside the curtained-off ward bay except for Kerry and her.

Whatever had aroused her from her slumber hadn’t come from outside. That left only one possibility . . .

Annie carefully slid the covers back enough to uncover her upper torso and propped herself up on her left elbow. She checked the time on the clock on the night stand between their beds: 00:38. A little after midnight. The attack day is finally over. She spied Kerry’s glasses in front of the clock where she set them when she took them off to clean his face. Annie stared at them for close on to thirty seconds, resisting the urge to reach over, pick them up, and try them on as she done two months ago on their flight out of Amsterdam.

 

There you have it.  Annie’s awake, looking for whatever it is that woke her up, and thinking about trying on Kerry’s glasses.  What happens next?

Just you wait and see.

Matters of Imaginary Life and Death

If you’re expecting to find stories here today, you’re sadly mistaken.  Yesterday–and last night–were some of the strangest there were, believe me.  It seemed as if I spent part of the day busting urban myths–which, by the way, I love doing, particularly when they’re of the heinous and vile kind–before getting into a discussion at the end of the evening where the term “Moving the Goalposts” became not so much an expression as a spectator sport.

"No, seriously, you win.  You've already expanded the argument past three stadium and a cricket pitch!"

“No, seriously, you win. You’ve already expanded the argument past three stadiums and a cricket pitch!”

At least the most interesting thing I learned last night if that if you have uncontrollable hiccups, the only way to stop them is by internal digital massage of your rectum.  Yes, that means exactly what it says.  You’re welcome.

"Go to the other room; I'll be in shortly.  That's a little nurse's humor!"

“Go to the other room; I’ll be in shortly. That’s a little nurse’s humor!”

Since tonight is “Go Out to Eat and Write Night,” I promise to finish up the current scene and start on the next.  I mean, I should be able to rip off over a thousand words tonight, I promise I’ll get cracking on the last scene in Chapter Twenty Three.  I wouldn’t lie.  Mostly wouldn’t.

However, I was working on a few things last night, if only in my head and talking scenes out loud.  One of them had to do with characters having babies–yes, that does happen, particularly to characters in my world.  It seems as if a few people have children:  the Headmistress does, as does Professors Simplen, Salomon, and Kishna.  Though the families don’t live at the school, some of the instructors teleport home and visit when they can–Professor Simplen does this a lot of Sundays.

I was imagining two of my characters discovering they were in a family way, and how they were affected by their feelings, and how they found themselves at that point.  That’s actually what a large part of my non-computer evening was about, and it was fun to be able to do something like that once more, because I’ve been away from doing things like that for the last month, and I need to get back into doing these things.

And then there were my dreams . . .

For some reason I had an extremely vivid dream last night, and it seemed to have something to do with an end of the world event–or maybe it was just the state of Pennsylvania finally running out of money and being unable to do anything.  I know part of it happened down on Second Street here in The Burg, because I recognized a few of the restaurants–one of which was on fire.  Someone must have been displeased with their appetizers.

But a large part of it had to do with getting a family out of the area and to–somewhere else.  I think Boston, because I heard that name come up a few times, and I knew we were heading east. The only problem was no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to get their asses in gear.  It appeared I was the only one with an agenda, and everyone else was like, “Eh, end of the world, let me finish this email.”  Really strange situation, and I couldn’t understand why I was there for a group of strangers who didn’t seem to care that I was there.

Had to be a group of editors.  Just had to be.

On Beyond September

It’s that time again, thirty days hath and all that.  The last month has been nuts, and it doesn’t look as if October is going to get any better–at least not on the surface.  I may need to start planing so I can get through the month with all my intact.

Not much writing last night because . . . honestly, I was in the middle of an emotional meltdown for most of the evening.  Hormones:  what can you say?  They can bite you hard at times, and it’s usually the Monday after my Friday injection that I start feeling the hammer drop.  But I pulled out just long enough to get a good thirty minutes in and pen all of the follow:  Annie in the Aftermath of the Morgue Comment . . .

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie sat and ran Coraline’s last statement back a few more times: Someone not as smart would have put themselves in the morgue. And as the head nurse had said, she knew it to be true—just as she knew that Kerry was responsible for all his actions that led to where he was now. It didn’t do any good to blame Emma for his condition, because there were any number of things that could have put them next to The Diamond that wouldn’t have had anything to do with an idea she dreamt up. He could have ran when Emma was attacked—what did Nurse Thebe say? Abominations create a fight or flight reaction. Kerry decided to fight. He fought a creature that was scaring him to death, and would have killed him given the chance. And the whole time he managed to keep his wits about him to save Emma and fly off and have his accident . . .

“You should be dead.” Annie leaned forward, watching Kerry’s quiet, sleeping face. “You’re not because you struggled to stay alive and won.” She slid her chair towards the bed so she could run her fingers over his exposed right hand. “You came back to me; I know why. I wish you could talk. I wish you could tell me I helped keep you alive, that you were thinking of me—”

“Okay.” Annie quickly pulled away from Kerry and sat back as Coraline silently appeared at the foot of his bed. She glanced between Annie and Kerry before continuing what she was going to say. “Here’s what’s going to happen: first, you and I are going to get diner, and don’t tell me know, because I’m pulling my my Chief Medical Officer rank here and ordering you to get something to eat.” Coraline crossed her arms in a self satisfied way. “That means you can’t say no—you got it?”

Annie nodded slowly. “Yes, Nurse Coraline.”

“After that, you and I are going to head over to your tower—”

“Why?” Annie was almost ready to bound out of her chair, ready to challenge her.

“Because you need to pick up your pajamas, your robe and slippers—” Coraline shrugged. “Maybe your tooth and hair brush . . . ‘cause you’ll need need those if you’re gonna spend the night here and keep an eye on him—” She pointed at Kerry. “From there.” She pointed at Bed #1 behind Annie.

 

Wait, what’s this?  Annie gets an overnight in the hospital?

Seriously, what the hell is this?

Seriously, what the hell is this?

Just hope I can get thought the night in the right mind so you can find out tomorrow.