I'm not even bothering making this private considering I was so open about... things.. in Al's journal.

I know it was a virus, but I still can't believe I did that. Noting bad happened, quite the opposite actually. Surprisingly enough, I didn't end up with a wrench as a permanent fixture in my brain. As viruses go I guess it wasn't that bad, it just gave me the ability to be truthful about things I never wanted to admit to myself let alone anyone else.  It felt like nothing bad could happen.  I'm just lucky it didn't.

I feel... better, sort of, at least about some things.  I was without worry, and without worry certain precautions weren't taken that otherwise would have been, at least at first. If anything comes of it, I'm going to do the right thing. She doesn't have to worry about that. I'm nothing like my father.

. . .

She still won't give me my arm back.

Shits going on with Al and  Apollo and I don't  know how to help.  Or if I'm supposed to help. I'm more then bad at stuff like this. I don't even know who I'm supposed to be pissed at anymore!  Fuck! I can't even hug him properly right now because Winry took my arm.

This all feels like it shouldn't be happening.

I'm home. I'm tired. I hurt. Trains suck. But this is funny.

Over the past years since he's seen Maes, Edward has changed as well. He was taller -barely an inch but who's going to tell him oterwise?- and more broad shouldered. More a man now then the boy the former soldier knew.

His hair was far longer, worn down to hide his face as he switched trains and walked through all too familiar streets. He even seemed to carry himself differently. The weight that had once broken him time and time again seemed to have lifted, but he was no less damaged by it.

Edward made his way  along the barely used dirt road that lead towards the manner, mostly over grown by weeds and grass. He still had the poise of a lion ready to strike, time and torture hasn't ever lessened that unwavering determination. Even the thought of meeting a dead man didn't slow him.

He stood at the edge of the property when he saw him, bag hanging over one shoulder. Amber eyes caught the sun, flashing gold as he watched his friend, a man whom he was never supposed to see again. It was one of those rare occasions where Edward Elric didn't know what to do.

I actually found a video for this Friday thing.

Winry finally realized why my automail as been giving me problems. It seems that I've finally out grown the original ports I was fitted with years ago. The anchors in my shoulder are now pulling against the bone and the caps are digging into the skin.  She said this was the main reason her family would never give automail to children. They would constantly outgrow the fittings and would have to go through that torture over and over again through out their lives. I guess I'm lucky.

I can either just have the caps and anchors replaced or start the whole thing over from scratch. She went on and on about the advances in 'nerve interfacing' and how I would benefit from replacing ports that are almost ten years old. Though I think she just likes to torture me sometimes. 

I'm not sure what I want to do. I don't think replacing the ports will take as long to recover from as getting them originally, a good portion of the recovery time was learning how to work the  automail and I already can do that. But still, I don't know if I want to be laid up for so long. Regardless of which I decide, there are things I want to do before I'm stuck in a wheel chair again.

I need to talk to you.