Real life isn't good unless it's imaginary.

After my first few entries, all I want to write is microfiction, like a fucking hipster. I can't believe this is me. I thought I was going to want to write all about my personal life: my sexy, slightly tragic, heartitchy romances and my vinegar-bitter passive-aggressive rants and a little bit of some other stuff that I hadn't come up with yet but that I was certain would be exciting but actually, I don't. And since I'm the supreme ruler here at Hives of the Heartland, we yield to my iron will. Also, I'm not changing the name of this blog. "Romance" is still accurate. Hives are perennial. Sorry if you feel misled.