Jane. Right out, along with Heathcliff. Visions of cinched corsets and unrequited longing.
Maria. Those blasted Von Trapp children. Definitely out.
Owen. Hey, wasn't he that short guy who spoke in CAPITAL LETTERS ALL THE TIME? Ugh, not going there.
Roxanne. She may not have to turn on the red light, but who wants to write about a character which comes with a pre-made soundtrack?

Welcome back from the rather suddenly-imposed hiatus, everyone! Glad to see that a few of you are still around and kicking. We at casa domesticat are doing the happy dance, now that our web server is back online.I'm pleased to report that you've missed virtually nothing in the meantime. The cats are still rotten, the house is a bit cleaner than it was last week, and everyone (except Gareth) has gone home (alas, geekfest is over…).

"It is—absurd—I know—but what other—explanation—is there?"
        —Dr. Daniel Schreber, Dark City

A man wakes up in a bathtub. Gingerly, he touches his face; there is blood on it. His? Or someone else's? The phone rings, and a stranger's voice crackles through the line: "You are confused. You have lost your memory." The line is suddenly disconnected…and there is a body of a dead woman in the living room. A body whose death appears to be of his causing, and whose murder he has no remembrance of.

Close the door. No need to be quiet; for now, there is no one else here.

The lock on the door slides home with a satisfyingly solid click. Two sets of whiskers slide cautiously into view from behind the divider; they are followed moments later by four cautious, reddish-golden feline eyes.

Note: this is being said after a rather late-ish night of geekfesting.

Enter three people into the living room, having left the kitchen after obtaining glasses of water.

Person B on sofa bed, groaning, with arm thrown over eyes: "What time is it?"

Me: "Eight-thirteen."

Person B: "You people are ill! Fuckers! Go back to bed!"

Me: "Kinda weird. We're having a geekfest on the second anniversary of domesticat."

Jessica: "Oooh. We should have a cake!"…and so year three of writing for this site begins in much of the way that years 2 and 1 began, with me sitting in front of the computer in my pajamas.

In television, it's customary to wrap up a season with a nail-biter of a plot twist, to keep the viewers hanging until the beginning of next season. While online journal writing is often a lot like screenwriting (how does one present the daily events of one's life in a fashion that's both interesting and compelling, even to those who don't know the players involved?), the idea of 'seasons' is a big difference between the two.