Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

eat your brains

Sometimes for no discernible reason I go into a zombie state of depression: blank affect, flatlined brain, facial paralysis, loss of articulation in speech and writing. Usually I wind up on the couch staring at the dancing lights for hours--if I'm not at work, when I instead have to drag myself through hour after hour of apathetic effort with whatever minimal, nominal, mindless rote work I can find to disguise my uselessness.

Today I gradually slipped into a similar state, but instead of being depressed I was distracted by a Lindsey-Spike fantasy that spread through my brain, slaving neurons to its imperative with viral speed; as more and more circuits were forced to divert and dedicate themselves to producing this weird little daydream the rest of the Anna system slowed down further and further. And now, as I finally get home, with the fantasy apparently waning, I'm still in a fairly worthless state. But at least not inarticulate, I notice, as I find myself writing these words. Now what to do?

The dumb part of the fantasy was Spike getting caught for the hundredth time in one of my alternate hell dimensions, this time all alone. He spends a hundred years there, comes back ensouled, hits L.A.

The interesting part of the fantasy was where Lindsey came back to L.A. because Wolfram & Hart tugged the unbroken strings of his lifetime-and-beyond contract (what the hell ever happened *there*, by the way?), and he was determined to get out of it. So he goes to the Hyperion and meets up with Angel, who after some palaver tells Lindsey he's not going to help him. "Did I ask?" Lindsey snaps back. He's actually there in seach of Lorne, who isn't around. So he heads out again: grumpy, storm-browed, darling little man, and he and Spike meet up in some contrived way, and ally themselves in some contrived way (after a fusion of incendiary sex), and as they're lying around after some adventure trying to figure out what to do next with their lives, Lindsey drowsily mentions a fond dream he's had of coming back to L.A. and setting up his own law practice, with paranormal resources. He wants to go up against Wolfram & Hart because there's currently no law firm around who's playing their game on the side of the angels.

And as Spike's now a wizard, he could help a lot with such a venture. (Yes, you're correct: that's the dumb part of the fantasy again.)

Earlier in the day I had a predictive flash about the upcoming season of Angel--its dramatic arc and focus--which I'd decided was insightful to the point of brilliance, but now I've utterly forgotten what it was. Those circuits were desperately needed to power hot man-on-vamp action, I guess.
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