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Hey @rav3n
Here are some at night options...I can create some without the moon if you would prefer, but I put it in so that you would be able to see the raven in a smaller size avatar more easily.
If you don't like any of those, all good...there are others. Let me know how you go.
@rav3n Cool...one last option for later: A picture of the SANE forums homepage overlaid on the computer screen.
So I explained my situation to ChatGPT and here is the story it came up with:
Yes, back to AI generated stories for me.
Title: Ainjoule vs. The World (of Whimsy)
Chapter 1: The Therapist Exodus
Ainjoule had been doing so well since her trial. Judge Tyme had ruled her not guilty of being "too extra" on a technicality (the definition of "extra" being legally ambiguous, thank you very much), and she had even committed to seeing a court-appointed psychiatrist as part of her probation.
And for a while, things were fine.
But then, disaster struck. The entire psychiatric workforce of the Whimsy community—overworked, underpaid, and entirely unprepared for patients like Ainjoule—collectively resigned. Just like that, Ainjoule was left therapist-less and untethered in a world that was simply not ready for her unfiltered existence.
At first, she handled it well.
“I am a strong, independent celestial chihuahua, and I need no mortal guidance!” she declared, her halo glimmering with dramatic conviction.
Then she adopted 27 emotional support moths.
Then she started a self-therapy vlog called Chihuahua Confessions: The Healing Journey, in which she mostly ranted about the failings of modern psychiatry while wearing a feather boa and sunglasses indoors.
Then she began crafting emergency replacement therapy dolls, using twigs, googly eyes, and existential despair.
And that’s when her friends from the Whimsy Forums knew they had to intervene.
Chapter 2: The Intervention Committee
Ru-bee, the most responsible of the bunch (by default), called an emergency meeting.
“We have a situation,” she announced, wings buzzing with urgency. “Ainjoule has gone FULL feral.”
Jynx, sprawled across a virtual couch, sipped coffee and replied, “Wasn’t she always?”
“She’s been sending me cryptic messages,” Ru-bee continued. “Like ‘My halo feels heavier than usual. Is this normal?’ and ‘How many moths is too many moths? Asking for a friend.’”
Judge Tyme sighed, adjusting the minute hand on their clock face. “This level of instability threatens the cosmic balance of Whimsy. Intervention is required.”
“Right, because the cosmos totally depends on the stability of a tiny winged chihuahua,” Jynx muttered.
Rav3n, who had been silently observing from the shadows (as ravens tend to do), finally spoke. “We should approach this with caution. If we’re too direct, she might escalate.”
Ru-bee groaned. “She’s already escalated. She’s crafting therapy dolls out of existential despair.”
Jynx shrugged. “To be fair, that’s kind of creative.”
But the decision had been made. The Whimsy Forums were assembling.
Chapter 3: Group Therapy Gone Wrong
Since no licensed therapists remained in Whimsy, the team had to improvise. And by “improvise,” they meant force Ainjoule into an intervention under the guise of a casual hangout.
The plan? Gather at the Cosmic Café, subtly introduce therapeutic discourse, and gently guide Ainjoule back to sanity.
The reality? Absolute chaos.
Jynx arrived first, greeted Ainjoule, and immediately lost control of the situation when Ainjoule, upon seeing everyone gathered, gasped and dramatically declared, “A surprise support group! I knew you all cared!”
Ru-bee tried to explain. “We just—”
But Ainjoule was already passing out name tags and assigning roles. “Ru-bee, you’re the group’s sensible one. Jynx, you’re the sarcastic but secretly caring best friend. Judge Tyme, you’ll obviously be our authority figure and timekeeper. And I,” she said, fluffing her wings, “am both patient and therapist.”
Judge Tyme rubbed their temples. “That’s not how therapy works.”
“Shhh. We begin.”
Ainjoule then sat down, steepled her tiny paws, and asked, “Now, friends, tell me… how does my emotional turmoil make YOU feel?”
This was, objectively, not the direction they wanted this to go.
Ru-bee attempted to redirect. “Ainjoule, we’re actually here to talk about you—”
“And what an excellent decision you’ve made,” Ainjoule interrupted. “Proceed.”
For the next thirty minutes, Ainjoule turned her own intervention into a group-wide emotional processing session, complete with herbal tea, dramatic affirmations, and an impromptu interpretive dance segment that Jynx flatly refused to participate in.
Eventually, after much exasperation, Ru-bee slammed a paw on the table. “This was supposed to help you process yourissues, not make us question our lives!”
Ainjoule blinked. “Oh, but I have processed my issues. I’ve realized something important today.”
“Oh?” Judge Tyme raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” Ainjoule nodded sagely. “I don’t need a court-appointed therapist anymore. I have you all now.”
Jynx choked on her coffee. “No. Absolutely not. We are not taking responsibility for your nonsense.”
But it was too late. Ainjoule had already drafted a Friendship Therapy Compact and was passing it around for signatures.
Judge Tyme sighed. “This will not end well.”
Ru-bee groaned. “Why do we even try?”
Jynx slumped against the table. “We don’t. That’s our mistake.”
And thus, with a newly formed (and entirely unauthorized) support system, Ainjoule left the Cosmic Café feeling victorious. Meanwhile, her so-called “therapists” left feeling deeply, profoundly exhausted.
But at least—for now—the celestial chihuahua was stable.
…Probably.
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