Good morning, Readers!

I did mean to be blogging Mondays every week since my return post a couple of weeks back. 

Alas, as the writing of this, I've not yet managed to get internet in my apartment, and with my taking on the workload of and cleaning up after a recently departed, entirely ineffectual coworker, means that I don't have much spare time at all. I've snatched a few moments on my lunch break today, however, for an update.

First, and foremost, I am feeling so much more myself. I am still setting up my apartment, but despite having an incomplete living room and studio... and still no internet (grumble)... I am in fact feeling more contented than I have in a long time.

Creativity is returning. I am suddenly bursting with ideas for paintings, and I'm so excited to get to work there. Soon! I just need to buy something into which I can unpack my paintbrushes, paints, papers and sketchbooks. I was passing by DeSerres in the St-Laurent shopping centre, and they have something that looks like it would work well. It's called the Really Useful Storage Tower.

I'm also dreaming up what I can do with my living room. There's already growing a little exercise corner. I have my dumbbells all set up. I'm getting an exercise bike from my father, who is no longer using his. And there'll be space enough for floor work.

My living room proper is still a little sparse. My bookshelves are up and filled. Just looking at them make me happy. My gaming system is all set up, which will be great as soon as I get internet. I need a sofa, and am looking for either a butter yellow or turquoise one (this one caught my eye recently). I have my father's old Laz-Y-Boy rocking chair. It's very comfy, but does make it a little awkward trying to game when the cat wants to share my space (adorable as hell, though). A rug would be nice, a side table, and maybe a coffee table. I'd also love to have a small side table or buffet thingy in which to store my alcohol.

Houseplants are also on my list. Did you know Ikea sold living plants? I sure as hell didn't. I am eying the potted bamboos. I'd like at least three - one for my bedroom, one for the kitchen, and one for the living room. I bought myself a wee $10.00 yellow rose bush from the supermarket on a whim and it went from one blossom to five in a week. It sits on my bedroom windowsill, enjoying the morning sunlight, and every time I see it, it makes me smile. I'd love to get a sage plant for my kitchen. I adore the smell of fresh sage. My little spider plant, the one plant I was given (thank you, TV!) in my old place that survived the dark, and the atmosphere, is now recovering. It was once quite large, and by the end was reduced to three pale, dying leaves. Now it has four. Another is growing. It's colour is brighter. That, too, makes me happy. It's sitting in my studio, and I can't wait to give it a few plant friends. I'm looking at some low-light plants like ivy for the tops of my bookshelves, maybe some lavender and a short tree or two for the living room (it's a big space).

With rent being so high, it's going to take me a while to save up enough to get it all together, but I'm really enjoying dreaming up ways to decorate the space and make it my own. I'm considering painting accent walls, but I'm undecided since it's a rental, and I know I'd be too lazy to paint it back when I leave.

Anyway, I'm feeling really good. My home is a safe space now. I'm feeling so much more rested. My creativity is returning. That's the most important part to me. I'm grinning now just thinking of it.

I'm glad to be better. I should be able to blog weekly soon... as soon as my internet is up.

Grumble

I hope you're all well. Thank you for staying with me through the past few years. Some writing news to follow soon, I promise.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers.

Image by Ingo Jakubke from Pixabay ​

Well... it has been quite a while, hasn't it?

I'm sorry.

I was not well.

Things were... difficult. It wasn't just the rapid explosion of changes, change being one of the biggest challenges for my weird personality to deal with. It was the nature of the change, as well. It was the burden of restrictions. The CPTSD triggers, and the resulting petrifying depression that resulted. It was my inability to do anything, for fear of conflict, from exhaustion of dancing around conflict, and all the small pleasures I gave up in order to avoid that conflict.

Home life was... tense for me.

The woman I was living with was... difficult.

It all seemed fine when I first met her. But when I moved in, the control measures started. I was forbidden from using fragrances; which was fine. I could give those up, even if they made me happy. Then I was forbidden for cooking in the manner I wished. The smoke was an issue - regardless of whether there was smoke at all. I gave up some of my favourite foods to cook in the manner I was prescribed; the singular manner in which I was permitted to cook. There was an incident when I was cooking, in the manner prescribed, which appeared to result in a coughing fit. Until she investigated the manner of my cooking. Then, like a miracle, the coughing stopped.

I tried many compromises, none of which worked or was to her liking. There was a small fight over the air fryer, which I bought specifically so I could cook my favourites without fear of smoke. But I was forbidden to use it. Not outright, of course, but by her behaviour when it was in use, and the terse conversation that followed.

Once, I received an accusatory email demanding that I never use soy candles again. It was disasterous for her health. Only, I had never used any candle at all, let alone a soy candle. But the accusation came all the same.

I was blamed for a strange smell from the bathroom... though I suspect it was the fact that she had a shag carpet in there as a bath mat which caused the musty smell.

Later, I received another accusatory email demanding I never use my air conditioner again. It rattled the apartment and thrummed terribly, keeping her awake at night. There was no investigation, just the sharp accusation. My tiny window unit could not be responsible for the noise... and it wasn't. I proved it when the noise and rattling began anew, despite my unit being turned off.

I was blamed for foodstuff on the stove top, causing smoke when the elements were turned on, despite the fact that, due to the restrictions on cooking, I never used the stove but for to boil eggs.

I was expected to be responsible for cleaning the kitchen should I walk in and encounter a mess - whether I was responsible for the mess or not.

Rules that were in place for me were flouted by her. The rule to wear headphones. The rule against fragrances (she used and air freshener in the bathroom). No cooking smoke in the kitchen.

It all built up. False accusation after accusation, my every attempt at finding compromise rebuffed with terse words and seething, the continuing restrictions.

It got to be that I was afraid to do anything at all. I retreated to my bedroom, where I lived, like I was a permanent resident of a capsule hotel. I ate in there, because I couldn't face the anxiety of being in the same space as her. I would arrive home, crawl into bed and watch YouTube until it was time to feed the cat. After, I would return to my bed to watch YouTube until it was time to eat, or go to bed. I stopped doing all the things I loved - stopped cooking, stopped learning guitar, stopped using my studio to create art. I hid away to avoid her, to avoid the anxiety that bunched my shoulders, turned my stomach and pounded in my head. I made myself as small, as quiet, as invisible as possible.

And in doing so, I lost myself. The resulting misery sapped my strength, rendering me incapable of anything except going to work and my once-a-week chores... and at times I didn't even manage that (my laundry habits suffered, for example).

Everything suffered. I missed deadlines. Birthdays. Important functions. Emails went unanswered. Dream gigs slipped through my fingers as I watched, unable to so much as curl my fingers to grasp the opportunity. I've missed out on so much due to my own inability to act.

Depression is a terrible, paralyzing weight.

All my efforts, in the end, were for naught. I was kicked out; given no later until May to find alternate accommodation. The stress nearly killed me. Rent was absolutely unaffordable, despite my working a full time job. I could not find anywhere. Having a renewed aversion to living with someone, I would regardless be forced to cohabitate again; denied the distance, silence and solitude I personally require to heal. The prospect brought me to despair.

My luck turned, thankfully, and after a difficult move (which I will describe in another post), I found somewhere to live. It's not without its flaws, in a not-great part of town, and expensive. Finances are a new stress, but the payoff thus far has proved worth the expense.

On my second night in my own apartment, with no one but my cat (whose judgements are far easier to bear) intruding in my space, my lower back, where I tend to hold my tension, finally snapped back into place with a sharp, painful crack. The headache I had for months on end faded and has not returned. I slept deep and woke refreshed for the first time in recent memory. Suddenly, I had energy enough to not collapse into bed the minute I got home.

The change has been remarkable. I am stretching to a human form once more after nearly two years of cramming myself into an unremarkable lump, hoping to pass notice.

It's a process. I'm not there yet.

I still need time.

And silence.

And solitude.

But I finally have somewhere that feels safe enough for me to begin.

I can see the parting of the mists.

I don't think I'll be back to my pre-first-move self for quite a while. I won't be able to keep up with the Monday to Thursday blog posts as I once did. But I'm starting to come back.

Thank you for your patience with me, for my long absence and silence. I ask for a little more as I make my way back through the fog.

​Back to myself.

Good morning,

I quite like the vaccine passport, actually.

Image courtesy of sadid at Pixabay

As I write this, an occupying force of white supremacist pro-infection domestic terrorists with a mandate to forcibly replace our democratically elected government has entered Ottawa. The services we pay to protect us are either cowards or complicit, and have done nothing that even closely approximates the jobs for which they are paid.

The residents of Centretown are subject to levels of noise that can only be described as torture. Sound/noise as a torture method is a documented thing. And the occupiers are using it now, as I type, on the citizens they are professing to be fighting for.

The authoritarian nature of the movement is something I will leave for now, except to say that those running the whole thing, with money from foreign interests, don't give a shit about the mandates. They're simply tapping into the selfishness and childishness of those who are bothered by them in order to acquire an unwitting force in numbers. This letter is instead aimed at those who feel they are protesting in good faith - that they are fighting for our freedom.

You do not speak for me.

I quite like the vaccine passport, actually.

Knowing that public places require such a thing ensures that I can go out and have a lovely meal and a few drinks with my friends, knowing that everyone there has been vaccinated, thereby mitigating as much as possible the risk of catching something I may unwittingly carry to high-risk loved ones, possibly being the cause of their untimely deaths or life-long incapacity is incredibly freeing. Being able to go to the cinema to catch a movie with a high-risk loved one, knowing that the risk to their health is as minimal as possible, frees me of fear and stress. It means I can go out with far fewer worries than I ordinarily would in a world where a single disease has killed 5.1 million people thus far (though likely much more, thanks to under-reporting), and crippled so many more.

What you're fighting for is the end to that comfort. What you're fighting for is the exact opposite of freedom for those of us who care about the health of the people around us.

And you do not speak for me.

Here's the thing, you are fighting for nothing. You are free. No one is forcing you to get vaccinated. There are no posses going door to door, holding you or your loved ones down and injecting them. That is not happening. You are free to choose not to get vaccinated. You are free to choose not to wear a mask. What you are not free from, however, are the consequences of those choices. That's what you're fighting for. You're fighting so that you, specifically, will be free of the consequences of your free choice.

I can understand why the concept of consequence is difficult for the majority of you to take. I don't blame you. I highly suspect that you've not come across it all that much, given how you've faced absolutely none for your illegal occupation and intimidation of Centretown. Your parents have failed you, alas. I lay the blame on their feet.

Your inability to grasp that consequence is not the same as oppression is a mark of the privilege you have enjoyed all your life. It has made you small, cowardly, selfish and soft. You cannot so much as bare to do the very minimum to protect the citizens of your own country. It's an inconvenience. And an inconvenience is too difficult. This is your problem, however, and yours alone.

You do not speak for me.

I fully believe that you have been manipulated by the powers that seek to destroy democracy. I've seen it in every thread online. I'm fighting for YOUR freedom. You have been told you are heroes. Freedom fighters against the unjust oppressions of a smug autocrat. My dear, you have been lied to. Stalking the streets with your comrades, you may feel mighty when you bellow at folks just trying to go about their day, feeling that nothing will happen to you should things turn sour. Mighty is surely how heroes must feel, no? But my dear, you are not a hero. You are an unwitting foot soldier, and as soon as your use is done, they will abandon you, as they have done so many others. You are being used in a larger, more nefarious plot. Your own fears and misguided hatreds are being used to manipulate you.

It is not my freedom you are fighting for. It is your own selfishness that you so violently seek to defend, to justify.

And you do not speak for me.

You do not speak for me.

You do not speak for me.

You.
Do.
Not.
Speak.
For.
Me.

Good morning, Readers!

Image from webandi on Pixabay.

So at the start of the year, I bought myself two nifty notebooks. One was just a regular daily diary; small and compact, and very pretty to look at, for me to carry around and make notes in regarding my goals and schedules.

The other was a business workbook, because I want to get on top of my creative life and get it to start working for me.

I must confess, I’ve not been very good at keeping up with my goals, particularly as it pertains to trying to make a living from my creativity. There are lots of little things I could be doing, that I ought to be doing, like small bits of promotion that I’m just not doing. I find if I set out the intention to do them, and make it a goal, I’m much more likely to get it done.

It’s how I kept my word count on track before I hit my latest depressive spiral, and it’s helping me both get back on track with my writing and to beta read a manuscript for friends. So, last week I sat down to play catch-up with my business notebook. I was supposed to be updating it every week, but I neglected it after the first week of owning the thing; some three weeks ago.

Happily, I managed to accidentally make one of the goals for the (earn more than $100.00 from my creative efforts), as I recently crossed the payment threshold on Twitch, and earned some grocery money for myself. But that was entirely incidental. I need to focus my intentions more directly.

So, I’m going to try. If I do it long enough it will become a habit, and if it becomes a habit, it will be less of a struggle to keep it up.

The hope is that I will one day be able to maintain a livable income from my creative life, so that I can step away from work that doesn’t light me up and make me happy. I haven’t been very intentional about it before now. Since letting my work out in the wild and hoping for the best hasn’t really worked, I’m going to be a whole lot more proactive about it.

Probably. I hope to be. I still feel terribly squicky about self-promotion, but I’m also fed up with my current situation. Something’s got to give.

Anyway, I’ve been struggling with the very basic stuff, which is not how I wanted to start off my year. But these things take patience (of which I have none, so that’s going to be a fun thing for me) and practice. It’s probably going to be messy for a bit.

Wish me luck!

Good morning, Readers,

Album cover for Ruin by The Amazing Devil

Many of you know how incredibly necessary to my life music is. I'm always keeping out an ear for something new and interesting. I stumbled across this latest obsession quite serendipitously.

A couple of weeks ago, there were a flurry of tweets following the release of the second season of the popular show The Witcher. Of course I've watched it. One of the highlights of the show is Jaskier, the comedic foil to Cavill's straight man, Geralt of Rivia. Perfectly portrayed by Joey Batey, I've long loved his voice as it is revealed on the show. Of the soundtracks to The Witcher, it's Mr. Batey's songs that get the most play on my phone.

Anyway, these flurry of tweets was for a band called The Amazing Devil - fronted by everyone's favourite bard, Joey Batey, and Madeleine Hyland. Intrigued, I looked up their stuff on YouTube, and I immediately fell in love.

As it turns out, they have a brand new album release: Ruin.

I'm no expert, but the best I can guess is that there's a modern folk band. And they're spectacular. Both Joey and Madeleine have remarkable voices that pierce right through the core. The lyrics are stunning. I've cried more than once listening to their music since discovering it last week. It all hits just so.

As for Ruin, there isn't a single song on there that I do not at least like. I really do recommend you listen to the whole album, but there are three that are absolutely standout pieces for me. I've embedded them below.

The first, The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace​, is the longest of the three and shifts through moods perfectly. This is the song for those times you've reached the absolute limit (note, that I was contemplating putting Blossoms in its place. It really was a toss-up between the two).

Next of the three is Inkpot Gods​, which was my favourite for a flash. It's defiant and affirming and sad, and just... Well, I'll let you see for yourself.

And my absolute favourite, The Calling. It's been on repeat for days. This is the song pulls at the primal part of myself. It has stopped me in my tracks more than once, even though I know it extremely well by this point.

A special mention should go to A Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious for sheer relatability.

It has been a long while since I've been so excited about a new musical discovery, and I just had to share. I highly recommend listening to the whole album. It's really is art.

Right, I have work and stuff to do. I shall see you next week, hopefully.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers

Image by Engin_Akyurt on Pixabay.

I’m writing this at the end of the fasting attempt, because I cannot and will not deal with folks’ opinion on the matter. I’ve researched and decided, and it’s done now, so save it. I decided to experiment a little with a protracted fast; specifically, a seven day water fast (with some changes). I’ve been eating like crap for the past month and a little bit, and I was feeling it. Covid also did a number on my digestion, and it left me struggling a bit. I felt bloated, sluggish and things weren’t working as they should.

I needed a hard reset.

So, after a lot of reading and thinking, I decided to do a seven day water fast.

Sort of. By sort of, I mean that I didn’t give up my caffeine. If I do this again, I think I’ll wean myself off caffeine for a few weeks before the fast, but as it was, I was not confident that I could deal with removing both food and caffeine at the same time. Thankfully, in my research, it was mentioned that black coffee and tea were permissible. It technically isn’t a true water fast, but near enough that the results would likely be the same. So, coffee and tea it was; but only in the morning. I drank water the rest of the time.

Since I’m experimenting here, I figured I’d keep a running journal of the experience. So here it is in full. My attempt at a seven day water fast(ish).

Last Meal: Burger and fries at 3:30pm (thank you, The Works), Saturday Jan 1.
Break Fast: Bone broth and bread at 4:30pm, Saturday Jan 7.

Sunday, 2 Jan, Day 1: Hunger pangs are quite pronounced, starting around midday. Drank water to try and quell them some. It was largely ineffective, but not entirely. Felt cold the whole day, except in the morning, when I could have my coffee. The hot shower in the evening felt fan-frickin-tastic, though.

Monday, 3 Jan, Day 2: This is supposed to be the worst day. And it was. Holy hell hunger pangs can be quite painful. Mind you, they did die down when I hit the times outside my usual eating hours. Water did not help, though I did try to keep up with drinking a lot of water, since I wasn’t getting any from my food at this point.

Tuesday, 4 Jan, Day 3: The hunger pangs disappeared into background noise by day 3. It was no more pressing than the period between breakfast and lunch. Water helped a lot in controlling them. I started to feel a little off and remembered that I needed electrolytes, and so ate a pinch of salt. That fixed it, but gave me a cramp in my left calf that lasted the whole day. Other than that, there was nothing remarkable to note.

Wednesday, 5 Jan, Day 4: This is usually the day that the brain fog and fatigue start to lift. That was not my experience. Mind you, I didn’t really feel any increased brain fog and fatigue. It generally stayed at the level it usually is. Fasting doesn’t cure depression and its symptoms, evidentially. Interestingly, there wasn’t any change in my general mood. The things that usually annoyed me still annoyed me, and not by any greater measure.

Thursday, 6 Jan, Day 5: Nothing really changed. Everything is more or less the same as before. I did find that I was more tired in the evening, and absolutely had to get to bed by 10:30. Also, I began to feel funny again, so went with another pinch of salt. That fixed it within the hour. I got a little bitter that I was denied the clearer mind and increased energy that so many of the case studies promised.

Friday, 7 Jan, Day 6: No alcohol with my Friday night live stream, as I usually do. Man, that was sad. Had green tea instead. It’s less fun. The hunger pangs started to get intense again around the middle of the afternoon, but died down with increased water intake. Very tired after my stream, so I went right to bed.

Saturday, 8 Jan, Day 7: I fucking made it. Broke the fast in the evening at 4:30pm with bone broth with onion and garlic and a piece of bread. My stomach took the reintroduction of food very well, so I followed that up half an hour later with smoked salmon and cream cheese on rice cakes. I gave my stomach another hour to see how it would do, and there were no weird things happening, so I went ahead and had a full dinner - rib steak with parsnips and buttered peas, and a small glass of red wine. It was lovely.

Sunday, 9 Jan: Returned to my regular eating pattern, which this week includes a lot of salmon, apparently. Breakfast was smoked salmon and cream cheese on rice cakes, a nectarine and yogurt, and coffee and milk. Lunch was pan-seared salmon with buttered peas (and holy hell did I do a good job with the salmon) and a small glass of wine. Dinner was salmon and cream cheese again. The smoked salmon was open and I really needed to finish it. That’s alright, I rather like salmon, smoked or otherwise.

The results: I didn’t bother to weigh myself or measure myself. This was not a weight loss thing, so if you came hoping for reporting on that front, I’m sorry. I just wanted a reset on my troubled tummy. So far, so good. The aches and weirdness that prompted me to do this seemed to have been resolved. This morning, after the posting of the blog, I’m introducing tougher to digest foods (oats, nuts etc), so we’ll see how it goes, but I reckon it’ll all be good.

I’m a still a little bitter that the clear mind and increased energy didn’t really happen for me, but the nonsense going on with an abused digestive system seems to have been fixed, so all up, I think it was a success. Would I do it again?

Well, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it would be, so perhaps I shall make it a yearly thing, depending on what’s going on with my tummy. Perhaps next time I’ll get that clarity and energy (psht).

Good morning, Readers!

Image courtesy of qimono on pixabay.com

I’m not going to recount my New Years resolutions; mostly because I have no idea if I even made any for 2021, and I certainly did not hit them in any case. I made it out of last year alive (as of the writing of this, which is right at the end of 2021. Presumably I didn’t encounter some disaster before this post is scheduled to publish… but I’m not counting it out entirely, to be honest).

That said, while I have the strength to dream about the future as of this minute, I am going to try and set myself some goals for this year that I’m keen to hit. I’ll also add a dream or two that currently look impossible from where I am at present, but I hope to achieve relatively soon (not this year, likely, but soon).

So, here are some actionable goals, according to aspect of my life and insterests.

• Complete all three rounds of editing for The Lioness of Shara Mountain and upload it to the web novel portal.
• Complete the first drafts for all three books of the Avalon series and prepare the first book for submission to the wonderful folks at Renaissance Press. If I manage to get all three books done in their first drafts, then I’ll be able to have each book published every year; meaning readers won’t have to wait too long for the next book, and there’ll be three years when I have at least something published.
• Compete Super Secret Special Project and have it ready to gift to the person I’m writing it for at Christmas.

I think a total of five projects mostly complete by the end of the year is quite ambitious enough. I’ll be happy if I make two of those bullet points, to be honest.

• Monthly Coffee & Creativity live streams.
• Fill a 300 page sketchbook by the end of the year (sketchbook is pre-ordered and shipping sometime this month, so it’s going to have to be roughly a page a day, which will be quite the challenge).
• Create a book cover for The Lioness of Shara Mountain​.

Two of these are very doable. One is going to be tough to maintain. We’ll see how I do.

• Return to martial arts training; and go consistently.
• Strength and flexibility training Monday & Wednesday evenings.
• Return to language learning - French and Welsh to start. Speaking of, anyone want to become language pen pals?
• Return to reading.
• Return to blogging.
• Reestablish Nights at the Round Table​.

My biggest problem with this aspect of my life is consistency. I’m aiming for that this year.

So. There we are. Things that I’m going to attempt to do for 2022. It’s a long list, and quite ambitious, given how little I was capable of in 2021. I’m feeling a little optimistic, though, even if it’s only because I’m currently in slightly less of a depressive funk. I do hope I’ll get at least some of these things marked off my list.

What about you? Are you setting goals this year, or are you just concentrating on making it out of 2022 alive? Because, honestly, I’ll be pretty okay if that’s all I manage. If 2022 is anything like 2021 was, it will be quite the achievement.

Let me know in the comments.

​Ciao!