I don't exactly get...much time. So I'm not going to spend it being weepy, because the Powers that Be Pains In My Ass will be angry if I get mucus on the keyboard. Stupid, stupid limbo with its creaky-ass Windows 95 (Bill Gates: someone I REALLY WISH I'D EVISCERATED REPEATEDLY) and dial-up modems. They save the DSL for people with conviction, apparently.

So I'm morally conflicted. That doesn't mean I should be treated as a second-class citizen. I was a top vengeance justice demon in my--

Okay, the ranting really isn't that productive. I'm supposed to be saying I'm okay, death is my box of chocolates, yadah yadah yadah. Am I happy about it? Not particularly. They had to get me a splint just so the other half of my body wouldn't keep falling off. DO YOU KNOW HOW FAT THIS MAKES ME LOOK? Gah.

Yes, I was sliced in half (and apparently left in the ruins of Sunnydale, or so they told me. Thanks, people. You're real pals.). I'm currently appealing my death (you can do this), and hoping D'Hoffryn will be of aid. I'm not hopeful.

Um...I think this is it.

And it would be painful to cling to this journal, so this will be my last, last time. After all, I'm certain all of you are in deep and heavy mourning, wearing black and not having sex. (well, believe it or not I don't expect THAT much--I'm sure Buffy and Spike are having sex anywhere and everywhere! Or at least they should be. There's nothing like post-apocalyptic sex! Ask Xander about the night Buffy died.) Much as that thought warms my heart, it would be selfish of me to prolong that long, dark period via online communication. You're supposed to "move on" and "pretend the gaping hole previously filled by the gloriousness that was Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins, a.k.a Aud, a.k.a Anyanka, and a lot of other names, for that matter, isn't there" and all those nice things. Four out of five self-help book authors recommend accepting the death of loved ones, and I'm sure I ripped the liver out of the fifth for cheating on his wife.

I'll accept my death bravely and nobly, and possibly be looked upon as a martyr of the greater good for hundreds of generations of vengeance demons. I hope all of you will too. (Martyr me, that is. I expect wailing, pounding fists and nervous breakdowns. A statue, dead minimum, monument optional.)

Harris: I may be dead, but you won't get rid of me that easily. But I loved you, and that made all this stuff--human, dying--okay, I will not descend into cliche. I'll be fine, and naturally so will you.

Eh...I'll be seeing you.


OOC: After a lot of careful thought, I realized it's best for Anya's journal to end here. She needs to move on, not become a parody of herself in heaven. I appreciate the many people who supported me made this journal so enjoyable to write. Anya will never truly be dead, because she'll be remembered long after the BtVS franchise ends. I bid thee adieu.

Current Mood: nervous
Current Music: Offspring - Gone Away

Goodbye.

Well, I am no wordsmith...what the Hell IS a wordsmith? Why would someone take a job like that? It can't possibly pay well.

Yes, there's a point to this. Since we're all going to die, I figured I'd best say my goodbyes. Granted, many goodbyes of this calibre should be done in person, but many of you I don't actually care enough to bother with seeing personally. Unless you're Xander, in which case I hope you'd be up for some goodbye sex--again.

So, the journal seemed like the way to go.

To xbuffysummersx - you're an irritating, snobby, whiny over-pretentious bitch who just happens to be endowed with super strength, so I'll stop there. Although if you live, some of us don't understand your countless pop-culture references. Stop them. Also, make up your damn mind about your vampire of choice already. Either way it's necrophilia.
You're flawed to the core.
Yet...you definitely saved the world...a lot, even.
Thank you.
And don't change. (Except maybe that pop-culture thing.)

To red_witch - pity you'll die never having conquered your irrational fear of your own power. Power is meant to be used and reveled in and--well, that's not really a very human sentiment. I wish you lots of luck in the future none of us will have.
And maybe you could take back up with Tara in heaven? The moaning is getting on my nerves. Sure, _kennedy_ and her magic tongue ring gives you many happys, but those of us who have to settle for ex sex want to sleep now and again.

To soulvamp - You're extraordinarily good in bed, although the brooding needs to go. Laundry was nice. Consider the benefits of becoming a homosexual. Trust me, we're all fickle.
(Rumor has it cole_turner would take you up on that.)
Wonder if Buffy would be so interested in redeeming you THEN...

To xdawnsummersx - Your hair always blinded me whenever I saw you. (Who needs Caleb and his overeager thumbs to blind us?) I wish you many minutes of semi-real shiny glowness.
Also, if you live, stay out of trouble.

To _ripper_ - If Xander won't sleep with me again, will you? I don't want to die horny. Seems obscene.

To _rogueslayer_ - don't kill people.

To the0therguy - surprisingly, you are not as irritating as you...actually, you are as irritating as you seem. You'd benefit from weightlifting and a voicebox. And some sex. Spike might be on the market!

To the Mini!Buffys - don't get killed. Staying out of _rogueslayer_'s way may increase your chances, but your odds of survival are still infintesimally small. All those young, unfulfilled lives ended...

And...to xander__harris - Maybe this isn't the place to say it, but I don't know when else I'll get a chance.

I love you.


To all of you, including those I may not have noted here, I wish you all many over-pretentious, melodramatic goodbyes. With weeping and whatnot.

And...yeah. This is it. I fully accept all of our impending deaths, including my own. I have regrets, but I won't look over my shoulder now. As a certain dancing demon said, see you (some? most? all?) in Hell.

Current Mood: melancholy

I'm tired of looking for Buffy. Can we have sex again?

Current Mood: bitchy

People are so vexed. After she left, people have been...

...lost.

GAH! This is irony. This is irony biting me in the ass. And not in that super-sexy kinky way Xander used to do. Is this a good time to mention I miss that biting? Or should I stick to topic? Does talking help with being horny? Not just dirty talk. Like talking out your feelings. I talk about how hot and bothered and...

...wow, I'm turning myself on. What is with me and my hormones lately? This is ridiculous, even for ME!

At any rate, people look a little lost. Not sure what to do yet. Buffy's skankier half has been trying to direct the action, but people don't seem to be listening. Willow's latest...whatever her name is...seems to be one of the loudest voices. Everyone's in the other room arguing about how to save ourselves while I type this.

Let's face it! We're. All. Going. To. Die.

Period.

But hey, Hell's not so bad. It's kinda like LA, only warmer. And yes, I am fully accepting of the fact I am going to Hell. I mean, three years of humanity isn't going to cancel out a thousand years of righteous smiting killing innocents.

Three years later, and I still can't regret it. Except that last one. Should've swallowed it and moved on. Kept doing my job. Then I wouldn't have to worry about this. I'd LIVE.

Okay, so not even *I* believe it.

Damn you all. I really DO wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale.

Where's a vengeance demon when you need one?

Incidentally I'd settle for a few rounds in the bedroom. With just about anyone male, bipedal, and breathing. Oh, and isn't excessively hair or pudgy.

And it's also time to stop making pithy sexual commentary and start spinning our last threads of hope.

Current Mood: annoyed

Xander's agitation over the whole "breakup sex" comment seems secondary to the rather disturbing developments of last night. Everyone's got their feelings on the topic, and obviously I have mine.

Namely, I feel for me.

I am mortal.

If you stick me with sharp stuff, I die.

No matter how many times I say it, I still can't get used to it. Immortality grows on a girl. So does evisceration, but the latter is now repugnant to my overclocked conscience. I miss evisceration. Or maybe it's that I miss feeling as if nothing could touch me. That's not just immortality, you know. It's a state of mind. Like a chi, only bloodier. Like an uncooked steak! Or something to that effect. Either way, it's kind of red.

But seeing my old contacts always makes me feel a bit morose. When I was a vengeance demon, I didn't have to worry about tact! I had POWER. And the problem with humans is that all the power is in the tongue--you say this, or do that--and all these million rules people EXPECT me to know but weren't at all relevant when I was ripping out livers in Renaissance Italy...

...that's not the point of this, actually.

The point is, I care about being alive. And I care about the people I care about being alive. There's a lot of caring. I even care about the people I DON'T care about being alive, like the smelly old woman at the supermarket who always looks at me funny when she bags my groceries, or the irritating bankers who told me that the Magic Box was not insured against supernatural damage. Giles, that was flat-out NEGLIGENT.) And I don't want anyone to die. I don't have anything to bring to this table, so I want to err on the side of caution. SHE, on the other hand, will probably outlive cockroaches. Super-girl and whatnot.

Don't mind me. I'm tired and frustrated and I want to live.


And I really, really miss Xander right now, but I'm not supposed to be saying things like that, am I?

Current Mood: morose

What kind of flowers do you send to your unconscious, possibly one-eyed ex-fiance?

Do they have Hallmark cards for that? "I'm sorry an insane preacher man gouged out your eye. Get well soon!"

Roses are too romantic, right? They say 'I-love-you' and that's not really the right sentiment when you're just hoping they get better. Lilies? Pansies? What did the Victorians use...?

Because I'm really grasping at strings here. Because I feel horribly GUILTY for not being there that night, and not doing...something. Because I hate this stupid, stupid war, and I hate Sunnydale, and I hate being afraid all the time, and I HATE HATE HATE XANDER HARRIS!

*wipes at eyes*

I'm not gonna cry...

I hate him...because I don't really hate him at all.

Current Mood: sad

Well fine. Does anyone know to what extent one must lotion and oil onself to avoid peeling after nearly being charred to a crisp by a certain sun-happy, lousy excuse for a vampire? Constant, I tell ye, constant! And since Xander was too busy playing house for a bunch of post-nymphet Lolitas. Oh, WHO am I kidding? They probably played their part to a T.

Nabokov was a cad. Glad I gave him boils. Big ones. Guess where!

If I wrinkle because of this, will personally stake Harmony.

Hope he's happy, surrounded by his gaggle of adoring, beautiful, virginal creatures I'm sure are v. willing to throw themselves--

Wait a minute. This is Xander. Nice upperarms, but STILL.

At any rate, was v. lucky to remember basic levitation spells. All-over sunburn + lying down = world of pain.

Instead, spent time flipping through Thea's little book. Thankfully, made photocopies. Did you know that Disney will try to take over the world in 2053, but be stopped by an army of vampires? How's ironic for you?

Never was fond of Disney. Killing Bambi's mother...and then having him befriend a RABBIT. The only thing worse was that Alice movie, and the only thing worse than THAT was the book. Oh, how I wish I could've found a woman to make a wish against Lewis Carroll! Yet never could find one. Hallie managed it with a young girl though...

...what? Some secrets are best kept. No fun to brag about the dead's exploits. Unless of course, it's the undead.

Now for something more recent...

...oh.

...oh.

...OH.

Please excuse me.

Current Mood: blah

I think I might've overdone it with the tanning thing...

Really hope the body switches back soon. Lobster red isn't in this season.

Current Mood: sunburned

This is SO sad!

I'm like...not hot.

On plus side, I CAN TAN! I CAN TAN! You know, it's really hard to find a good tanning bed as a vampire. All the shops are all closed at night, so it's usually sewer way for me. And the shop people get all mad because I burn so easily. I mean, just because that was someone's lambskin jacket...I had to put the fires out SOMEHOW...and can we say couture RIPOFF? Totally did that girl a favor, but SHE was not amused.

But I must've been kicked out of...

*counts on fingers*

*recounts*

...MANY tanning beds! So I like the whole 'human' thing.

On minus side, am now ex-DEMON with only moderately shiny hair. A DEMON! Can we say ew?

I think I'll go tan. Do demons have scales?

*checks*

Guess not...


I need a snuggle-wuggle.

Current Mood: cranky
Current Music: Britney Spears - Crazy