Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday was a brilliant day for my brain.

I had a fantastic sleep Tuesday night, skipping training to go home (I'd have been in a bad way had I gone to training).  Once home, I fed the cats as, still clothed, collapsed into bed.  I promptly fell asleep.  I woke at eleven at night, after a solid three and a half hours of sleep, and gave the cats some dry food so they wouldn't bother me the rest of the night, had a shower and collapsed back into bed for another, blissful seven hour sleep.

Over ten hours of sleep later, I woke up full of energy and ready for the day.  The walk into work was great (except for the interesting encounter).  I got into work.

And my brain went crazy.

So many stories bursting through so quickly...  I struggled to keep up with it all.  I decided to go with the loudest story of the day, which will be told in stage play format.  I have already sketched out the first act.  It was a frenzy of writing that I haven't had in quite a while.

Granted, it was mostly because I was so tired from a weekend of insomnia that I hadn't managed to write a single word all week.

Pro tip to all writers out there:  Sleep.  Seriously.  It's incredible brain juice.

This weekend is a long one, it being Canada Day, and I will be with family doing awesome family stuff.  I will also be doing a whole lot of sleeping.  I want to come in on Monday as refreshed and inspired as I did yesterday.

I have a book to finish, and I'm deep in the sadness of it, so it's affecting me.  I will need a lot of sleep to get through it!

Until then, I'm giving myself permission to goof off.  It's the holidays after all.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So, this is going to be a story time.  Take a seat.

This morning, I walked to work.  Not an unusual occurrence.  I usually walk to work  It is an hour long walk, so I tend to wear shoes that permit me to walk long distances in relative comfort.  Sneakers.  I was wearing an old pair of sneakers.  I have more work appropriate shoes at work, under my desk to change into when I arrive.  I'm a huge nerd, so those work appropriate shoes are a pair of black flats that the Amazing Flatmate hand painted with the N7 logo from Mass Effect.

I also happen to be wearing a really lovely knee-length black and white satin dress, with my hair in an up-do, and, unusually for me, jewellery (necklace, earrings, ring, the lot).

Anyway....

I'm roughly five blocks from work, motoring along, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.  I look, and a young man is indicating for me to take out my ear buds.  Thinking that perhaps he needs help, or I dropped something, I took out an ear bud and he said, "That dress?  With those shoes?  Really?"

My brain immediately began to sass, but I had a good, long sleep yesterday and my mouth had a little more control.  Still, it went something like this:

That dress?  With those shoes?  Really?

Well excuuuuuse me, Mister What Not to Wear.  Is my practical shoe choice bothering your dainty eyes, is it?  Has my appearance insulted your sense of aesthetic?  Let me break it down for you, fucktard, it's an hour long walk into work.  I'm not walking an hour in heels.  You should just be grateful I shaved.  Also, fuck off.  I'm busy.  I'm on my way to work.  I don't have time for this shit.

Well, I have to get to work somehow.

Where do you work?

That's not really your concern, is it?  Like I'm going to tell you.  Christ!

Just up the way.

I put my earbud back in and walk as quickly away as I can.  I'm busy.  I'm on my way to work.  I haven't the time for this.

To the lad's credit, he didn't actually come off as creepy.  I wasn't weirded out or scared.  Just mildly irritated.  For the gentlemen, women wearing clothes is not an invitation for your comments.  We actually don't care what you think of our attire (unless we're dressing up for a night out with you or something, in which case, we do care).  If you feel the need to interrupt a woman's day to comment on her attire, here's a tip:

Don't.

Just don't.  She's busy.  She doesn't care, and she doesn't have the time for it.  Just leave her alone.  Let her get on with it.

​In short:

There's usually a giant fucking clue as to her availability to talk to you, as well.  I'll help you suss it out.  Is she looking at her phone?  Is she reading a book?  Does she have fucking earbuds in?  LEAVE HER ALONE.  These are all visual clues that tell you she doesn't want to talk to you.

Don't take it personally.

She doesn't want to talk to anyone.  She just wants to go about her business - waiting for the bus, grocery shopping, walking to work, whatever it is she's doing - and not be disturbed. M'kay?

M'kay.

Now I have work to do.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

I'm not doing so great, guys.  Not at all.

After a recent bout of insomnia, I feel unable to catch up on my rest.  I'm not functional.  Yesterday I was exhausted beyond belief.  Today, I'm so blank that it has taken me all of half an hour to write these few words.

This is not a cry for pity.  It's just crying.

All I want to do is go back to bed.  I just want to sleep.  There isn't enough coffee in the world to make anything okay.

The insomnia came out of nowhere.  It's been a long time since I've had an insomniac episode that I had forgotten how frustrating and depleting they can be.  Two nights in a row - Saturday and Sunday nights.  Last night, thankfully, I did not have trouble sleeping.

I was an idiot and decided to finish the video editing I had started on the weekend.  I went through a lot of gaming footage, edited it, exported it, and uploaded it.  There was a monster gaming session where I played Skyrim for many, many hours (I kept dying. It was awful).  The many hours of footage has been trimmed into manageable roughly half-hour bits, exported and uploaded to Silver Stag Studios YouTube channel.  There was enough there to keep broadcasting once a week until the middle of August.  This is the same block of footage that I have been uploading from since the end of May.

It was a really long gaming session.

I try to keep it down to two hours a session, but GODS DAMN IT THOSE DAMNED SILVER HANDS AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG!  You'll understand when you see it.

Anyway, there was a lot of footage to go through.  It took a long time.  I went to bed at my usual time, but what I should have done is go to bed many hours earlier. Perhaps then I'd be okay today.

Nope.  Nope I was an idiot and screwed myself over and now I'm whinging about it on social media.

Boo hoo.

Alright, I'm done complaining.  I'm going to just rest my eyes for a bit...

​Ciao.

Good morning, Readers.

Sort of.

I'm very tired.

Good friend of mine and generally awesome person Robert Olsen has started his own tea company.

It's really good, guys.  Like, really frakkin' good.

I'm not just saying this because Rob is an awesome guy and also a good friend.  Those are just bonuses.  I can definitely say that I adore this tea.  A lot.

I mentioned this company in my after-event reflection of C.O.N. - the Creative Ottawa Nerds market that happened earlier this month.  Rob was there, offering his tea.  It was his first event, I believe (I could be very wrong on that, but I'm pretty sure it was).  He offered samples of his teas throughout the day, and I cannot tell you how impressed with them I was.

I checked out his table before the event properly opened, and was immediately drawn to a tea called "Knights of Avalon" because, come on! Of course I was!  The description was intriguing:

It was the first tea served as a sample.

It was so good, you guys, I bought a bag on the spot.

Anyway, last week, Rob launched the website for his business.  It's beautiful.  I promised him I would blog about it today, so here I am.  Blogging about it.

I wouldn't have made that promise if I didn't really love his teas.

I really love his teas.

Do check out his website.  Perhaps buy some teas.  I recommend the Knights of Avalon tea, but they're all really amazing.

Even friends who don't really like tea were very impressed.  So go!  Get some tea.

​You're welcome.

Good morning, Readers!

So I've been thinking a lot lately, as some people have been critical of my openness, particularly about my past experiences and the damage that they've done.

Now, it wasn't just one person, but a couple, and it's been mentioned since I started blogging.  Sometimes it's accusatory.  Sometimes it's not.

It amounts to the same thing though, and that is that talking about mental health makes people really fucking uncomfortable.

"It's so personal."

"That's private."

"We don't talk about it."

And that's a problem.  Not talking about it is really fucking unhealthy.  That's why there are so many mental health campaigns designed to get people talking about it.  Because bottling it up inside helps no one.  It doesn't help you, and it doesn't help those who are suffering too.

I have not been shy about explaining how I felt growing up.  It's gotten a lot better, though I can say that there are a lot of wounds left open, a lot of anger and grief without closure because those responsible for inflicting that pain will never apologise (this song explains how I still feel sometimes).  It's taken a number of years and some very expensive therapy to get to the point where I can even talk about it without wanting to punch a hole in the wall.  I still go to therapy, when I can afford a session.

You can rest assured that I'm making peace with it because I can talk about it.  Usually, if the pain is too raw, I can't.  I start to, but the minute my mouth opens, words get drowned in a sudden flood of tears.

An aside: I cannot recommend therapy enough.  It took me some shopping around, but I eventually found a therapist who respected my desire to avoid medication whenever possible, and was otherwise a great fit.  She helped me through a lot of childhood traumas, and my grief and anger following my step-mother's cancer diagnosis and subsequent death, and every so often, when I need a little extra help, she's just a phone call away.

I'm so grateful I took that step.  And I'm so grateful for my current circle of friends, who are nothing but the kindest, loveliest, most supportive people I know.  Thanks guys, for being there for me and not trying to tear me down.

I'm open about it because finally, after years of bottling it up to disastrous results, I'm finally in a good place.  By being open with my past and mental health issues, they lose some of their power over me.  I'm no longer controlled by the shame of mental illness, or by the events of the past, and that has done wonders for treating that mental illness.

And there is still a lot of stigma around mental illness.  There is a lot of shame around it.  It's ridiculous.  We don't have the same reaction to a cold, or measles, or cancer.  But when it comes to mental illness, we decide it's alright to do our darndest to try and silence the sufferers.

When we see a person with a broken leg, we tend to watch ourselves to avoid doing more injury to that leg.  When someone expresses emotional pain, why do we not mind ourselves around them to avoid causing more?  Why is it okay to speak sharply to them?
​
I think part of it might be a reaction to guilt.  People, and I'm culpable as well, tend to react badly if they feel they're being accused of something.  Instead of listening, they shut down and bite back, weather or not you're speaking about their actions precisely.  They might be feeling responsible, and they don't want to shoulder that responsibility.  So they tell the person to shut up.  To be quiet.  To stop crying for attention, you attention seeking whore...

Everyone acts like a dick sometimes, even you, so stop being so dramatic.

Sigh.

Sometimes it's just because they're hurting too, and they can't express it, so they go into attack mode.

Sometimes it's because they don't believe mental illness is a thing, so why are you even talking about it?  Everyone gets bullied.  Get over it.

For whatever reason, people are uncomfortable with the subject, and so do what they can to shut discussion down.  It works for some; those who are too hurt and too tired to fight back any more.  They close down.

And they suffer in silence.

Maybe, if they're lucky, they stumble across something in which someone openly shares their own struggles.  And maybe this wounded, tired person finds a spark of hope in that thing.  Maybe, just maybe, they realise they're not so alone.  Maybe, just maybe, they see that things aren't as dark as they appear, that there is help, that someone else has pulled themselves up from the mire of despair, and maybe, just maybe, they can too.

It happened to me.  I think I've mentioned it before, but I read a blog post by Wil Wheaton (yes, that Wil Wheaton) detailing his struggle with mental health.  It was that post, so many years ago, that sent me to the phone in a quest to find a therapist.  It was that post that convinced me that life isn't all dark, and good things are possible, that it's not easy, but I'm not alone in this, and good things can be mine if I'm willing to fight for them.

So, I speak.

I speak because I spent a life being unheard.

I speak because silence hurt so, so much.

I speak because I have a voice that others are denied.

I speak because I hope that someone who is hurting will read this, and know they are not alone, that there is hope, that despair can be overcome.

I speak because it's time to end the silence, end the stigma, and recognise the humanity in all of us.  Even the desperate,  Even the angry.  Even the despairing.

We're all struggling through this mess called life.  We all carry our wounds.

Let's be kinder to one another, hm?

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE IN SKARA BRAENS, THE 2ND YVOA DEMOCRATICALLY WRITTEN STORY

Good morning, Readers!

So yesterday I was writing.  Shocking, I know.

Anyway, yesterday I was writing and one of my characters only just accepted that they are probably facing something supernatural on the other side of the battlefield.  It's 70 000 words into the story.  Is it too late for the character to finally accept that their world is scarier than they thought?  I feel I'll have to go back and write in more of their disbelief.

In my defence, or theirs, they have been raised to consider all faiths but their own as barbaric lies.  Things like necromancy are simply non-existent.  Magic doesn't exist.  Mages were merely frauds, tricking the people in an effort to retain their considerable power because the dominant religion freed the people from their conniving grasps.

So.. yeah...

There was a point to this tale...

Oh yeah!  So, 70 000 words in might be a little late for this kind of resolution, but it is also a six book series (for now.  That might change).  It also isn't the resolution of the book, either.

Also, I'm feeling kind of lost with this one.  I may have to do another rewrite.  I'm not sure.  It was all so clear when I started out, and now I've hit the "swampy" middle part of writing.  It's that part in the book where writing feels like you're wading through molasses, and it's unpleasant and difficult and you're not really sure you're getting anywhere.  I dislike this part of the writing process.  I only hope it means that my writing will come out stronger on the other side.

But GODS I hate writing right now.

I love the story.

I love the characters,

I have a manic need to get this story out of my head and onto paper (albeit digital).  But writing right now sucks balls.  The worst part is that I think what I've got right now is utter shit, and I'm going to have to rewrite the thing all over again.  It's going to need major edits, if not a another rewrite...

Gah! Crippling self-doubt!

The trick is, though, to finish writing the damned thing.  I can fix it up later.  I must finish it first.

Bad things are a-coming, so it's going to be very depressing going from now until the end... which is also depressing.

Hold me.

Good morning, Readers!

We all know that growing up, I wanted to be Xena, Warrior Princess.

It wasn't until too late that I started doing the things the I really wanted to do, like martial arts, and archery, and improving my strength with weight training.

I'm doing them now, though, so I can't regret too much.

And things are looking up.

Mostly.

Last night I went out to the gym with my weight-lifting crew to test how far we've come along.  This session focused on high weight exercises, testing out strength improvements.

The Bad

The bad is that the five pounds I struggled so hard to lose over the last two years has returned.  I kind of knew this already, as my clothes are fitting a little tighter.  I'm quite sad about that   I'm resolved, however, not to let it get me down.  I'll just have to get back on My Fitness Pal and log my food.  I'm also cutting wheat products out of my diet again.  It's probably not wheat's fault, but the weight gain and inclusion of wheat seem to be correlated.  Now it's rice cakes and Vegemite instead of toast and Vegemite... and pasta is right out.

I'm also cutting out all processed sugars again (or as much a possible... even in savoury things here, there's so much added sugar (like in sausages. SAUSAGES)).  There is an exception.  I'm allowed two squares of chocolate for five days once every month.

The ladies know why.

The Good

There is a lot of good news though.  I blew my previous maxes for the bench press and the squat out of the water.

My previous max weight for the bench press was 120lbs.  Last night, I lifted (barely) 135lbs.  That 15lb increase is nothing to be snuffed at.  I will say that just 5lbs more defeated me.  Still, I'm really pleased with the bench.  I'm still miles behind everyone else on the team, though.  That frustrates me.  It also gives me plenty of inspiration to keep going.

I did great on my squats as well, kicking my previous max of 185lbs to the curb.  My new max is 205lbs.  I'm pretty impressed with that.  I didn't even hurt my knees doing it, which is important, because my left knee in particular is screwed.

Alas i couldn't test my dead lift, as my broken finger prevented me from lifting in that manner.  It did try, but it hurt too much.  For the record, my previous dead lift max (and I suppose, current max) was 185lbs.  I'm hoping to keep my dead lift and squat the same.  Perhaps I'll be able to next time.

Stupid finger.

Anyway, all in all, I'm quite pleased all told.  Not happy about the weight gain, but I've no one to blame but myself.

Now I have to figure out what I'm going to eat today.  I've inputted what I had planned for today, but with the two hours of martial arts tonight and the walk into work this morning, I now have a two thousand calorie deficit I have to somehow make up, because here's the thing, I want to lose weight, but I want to do it healthily.  That means eating enough food to fuel all the exercise I'm doing.

That means that today I have to eat around 3 000 calories.

That's a lot of food.  I know I'm not going to make it.  Using My Fitness Pal before, I noticed on the days I was training, I routinely fell short of my calorie intake goal by about a thousand or so.  The number of times I received a warning from the app that I needed to eat more...

Anyway, not enough food is terrible for you.  It's really fucking bad.  And my goal is to continue to get stronger.  I can't do that if my body is eating itself in an effort to stay alive.  I also don't want to wreck my metabolism more that it already is.

You would have thought that I had this all figured out by now, being in my 30s and all.  Nope.

Oh well.  At least I'm getting stronger.  That's something that going all right.  Now I have work to do!

​Ciao!