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I got a Christmas time on Glee

Oh my god, so many feelings happening right now that Tumblr is not enough.


For starters, HOLY SHIT GLEE, THAT IS NOT THE "I CAME TO NEW YORK TO TELL YOU I HAVE CANCER" SCENARIO I REQUESTED.

NO.

JUST.

How, how do you manage to find a carefully locked-up-for-fanfic wishlist item and make it happen? I am irrationally upset! I am incapable of hearing "caught it early" and "one of the less scary types" because HEART ISSUES + CANCER = POOR PROGNOSIS FOR LIVING 'TIL YOU'RE NINETY. And the most horrible part is that I am kind of selfishly psyched for this because man, I did not care at the time of 2x03's airing but now I am so here for unfairly burdening Burt Hummel in the name of Kurt angst. And I'm still reeling from the shock of you actually working cancer in there.

The rest of me just feels like curling up in the fetal position because Blaine's soulful heart eyes are the best but they are being met by composed yet horribly impassive faces and subtle cold shoulders at every turn and this is not how I wanted things to be for the long dark winter hiatus before heart sledgehammering. (not, I guess, that there was a better way for them to be, but...you know, I kind of didn't see any mature heart-to-hearts happening, did you?)

In other news, I want to wrap Marley in a hug and never let go, so at least her storyline was nice.

Right now I'm kind of in awe at how completely skippable act III was, and so I'm off to start a proper review because this is getting long.

I won't finish it, because I can already tell tonight is going to be a down-the-rabbit-hole kind of night where I stay up until 2-3 AM going all over the internet feeling sick, may or may not cry, but will definitely wake up (late) with a headache and an overall feeling of having been recently poisoned. And work will suck, because that's what it does after nights I've been put through the ringer.

[edit: Wernicke's Aphasia! SOMEONE HAS WRITTEN IT and yessss, this will do nicely for my collapse.
continuing edits: Up next, a heady rush of poetic writing about dying young and behind left behind...
1:30 am: ...and again the other way around!  Now I think I'm done.
next morning: yup. Still feel like death.]

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