I am here.  I am surrounded by those I do not know, those I cannot know.  I remain here with no direction from those who should be here, for they are not.  Alone within a crowd, yet no desire to merge with the others.  Sitting alone as I am alone.  Waiting alone, for those who will not appear.

Silence is the song filling my heart, and nothingness fills my soul.  Every moment is a little more of a disappointment than the last, until there is nowhere left to go, and yet, still it falls.  Deep, deep, deep down, into the murky lack that defines me.

Can you be with no one else around?

Will you be with only yourself to rely on?

Shortly after my last blog post– with the title “Who Wants to Live Forever”– we had to take our cat to the vet.  The details are still too difficult to share.  Suffice it to say that our darling cat is now asleep and shall remain so.

It’s amazing to realize just how deeply she’d become ingrained in lives.  We only adopted her about a year ago.  Yes her absence is keenly felt.

Life is simply full of connections.  Family, friends, acquaintances.  Our pets, wildlife, the plants and, here, the sea.  No moment is defined by another, yet every moment exists because of those that preceded it.

My heart is in pain because of how dearly we loved her.  That pain, though it is painful, is something to be embraced because of the love we shared with her.  I’m glad that I am sad, though I still mourn deeply.  I would hate to not feel this level of sharpness with what the circumstances are.

Emotions are emotions.  They exist because we exist.  Accept them for what they are, and learn from why they are.

Rest, my darling.  My world was better with you in it, and I hope that yours was better for being with us.

I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to go out the last few days and write.  It’s been very nice to feel like I have a sort of work schedule.  So I celebrate that feeling today by staying home.  I have a load of towels started so I can touch up the colour on my hair.  I’ve enjoyed a bowl of cereal with banana sliced into it.

My coffee maker has just beeped to announce that the pot is ready.  After this post, I will make half a mug of hot chocolate and then pour my coffee into it with a splash of vanilla syrup.

My laid back plan for the day is to dink at the laundry, dye my hair, play Dragon Age, and maybe look at the novella I’ve been working on.  After my hair, I might even play around with some fun eye shadow!  But that might be a little too girly today.

Have a lovely day, dear travellers.  Breathe in the taste of air, look at the sky and appreciate the vast expanse that hangs over our heads.  It is a big, beautiful world, and we’re all parts of this amazing existence.  Good and bad, each moment is yours.

Hello, dear travellers.  I hope your day is fine and sunny, that your rain is sweet and pleasant, that your snow is cozy and packable.

It was quite chilly this morning but now I’m set-up at my favourite coffee shop, sipping my decaf, non-fat, no whip, peppermint mocha with an extra pump of peppermint.  I’ve landed a wonderful table right by the windows and, thus, just a bit in the sun.  So I’m finally warmed up, and relaxed.

I have written perhaps six words, thus far.  Well, on my current project, anyway.  Today I was excited to see my publisher starting a new line of stories.  I was instantly alight with the desire to write a story for it, but there’s a bit much on my plate to do so solo.  It’s dangerous to go alone, take this!

My ‘this’ in this case (haha?) is a very good friend of mine, one might even say one of my best friends.  Actually, please do say that, because it is quite true.  She will be writing with me, if our synopsis is accepted and so I am doubly excited.  Not only do I have the chance to write in a scenario I’m very excited about, but I also have the chance to write with my best friend!  Double win!

Before I came to settle here and not actually work on my novella, I was at therapy.  We went over quite a few things, and I finally presented him with the one question I actually brought with me to the session.  And the answer was….  Fitting, yet entirely unsatisfactory.  My response of essentially those words made him laugh, and I had to join in.

Poetically, I believe in balance and nebulous thoughts and that certain something that makes the universe so mysterious.  Practically, however, I just want a checklist of things to do to make my bad feelings go away.  I want to know exactly when and why I should push through my anxiety and do some exposure therapy.  (Nothing dirty, my dears.  I know some of you are disappointed, but others are relieved.  Exposure therapy simply means to expose yourself to the thing that causes you anxiety.)  I also want a detailed list of when it is okay for me to simply retreat.

Like many things, though, it’s not that simple.  In the end, as always, I must use my own judgement to know whether to fight or flee.  Practice is the answer, says my therapist.  Practice and patience with yourself.  Some decisions are good for that situation and some are bad.  All you can do is learn from each of them.

And, in my case, come to terms with the fact that it really is okay if I can’t do something.

Safe paths on your journeys.  Every step is movement, and movement is how we change.

Often, I wander to a local coffee shop to do my writing.  I have come to associate the scents and tastes of overly priced coffee with ease and creativity.  It helps that my particular brand of coffee is laden with chocolate and peppermint.  There is a particular store of a particular chain that I frequent the most due to its proximity to my home.  And the fact that they have this lovely little table in the corner, right next to the door, with an outlet.  I enjoy wedging myself in the corner, my back safely protected by the wall behind me, and my eyes on the door, ready for trouble should it arise.

Sidenote: My spouse says I’m paranoid.

Secondary sidenote: I am not paranoid.

I’m just very cautious.

After a very long day yesterday, a day spent hanging out with my spouse’s family– who are lovely– and walking around a mall, and just generally being surrounded by people and noise, I retreated, spouse in tow, to this very store.  I had coffee, I had my laptop.  And I had no concentration.

My focus was scattered, I was emotionally and physically exhausted, and I simply couldn’t muster the brain power to write anything.  It was a frustrating experience.  Atop all of that, this store was playing only country music.

I do not associate good things with country music.  In my misspent youth, the time I spent listening to it was also a time filled with drama, pain, and great emotional turmoil.  After the long, incredibly anxious day, after being surrounded by people constantly, after having my plans change time and time again, now there was the insult of country music and, specifically, a song strongly associated with an ex.

I wanted to run away.  I wanted to hide.  I wanted this with a deep, primal longing.  And, I didn’t give in.  My spouse helped by setting a time minimum for us to remain.  That gave me time to tolerate my distress and, eventually, pass through it into a calmer state.

The human mind is an amazing thing, and the spirit is quite resilient.

Safe journey today, dear travellers.  Difficult strides are proof of your growth.

I am one of the likely seven million or more who suffers from anxiety and depression.  I don’t have any idea how to even locate an accurate statistic for that, so let’s hope that a quick google search will not lie.

As of late, my anxiety has been especially strong in my personal matters and surprisingly less in my work.  Of course, a large part of that now is likely that I finished the final edit and sent it in before my deadline.  When I spoke with my therapist about a particular, well, breakdown, I suppose it was, he really hit me on a few points that cropped up during my explanation.

First of all, I hate guilt and I hate feeling guilty and I hate doing things that will somehow come back so I have to feel guilty.  Which, really, makes it sound like I’m required to be a serial killer.  Nay, dear travellers, never that.

I was recently blessed to have two of my close friends come to visit.  It was a fantastic visit and I adored having them here and getting to see them and do girly facial masks and drink a ridiculous amount of coffee.  As they were here, however, I was getting more and more anxious.  This wasn’t their fault; it was all me.  I felt as though I had to fix the tension between them, fix my child being a spoiled brat, fix every event and activity so that everyone could have fun and be happy.  I want to fix things so badly.  And that– I’m sure you’ve guessed it– is how I broke myself.  Again.

One of my homework assignments currently is to tolerate guilt.  In my case, at least, guilt is proof that I am growing.  I will be uncomfortable and likely incredibly unhappy, but I will be practicing a tool that will help me in the long run.

And perhaps if I keep reminding myself of that, it really will help me grow.

I’ve been having a rough time as of late.  As many creative individuals seem to do, I am often stricken by anxiety and depression.  Some days it seems impossible to get anything done.  Some days it seems stupid to get anything done.

I am incredibly blessed with my family and friends who gently encourage me to keep going and keep trying, even when I desperately don’t want to.  They are the stars in the night sky of my mind.

My therapist has suggested that I find a way to put up reminders of the things that help me when I’m down.  I’ve begun writing on my mirrors and windows little sayings and simple drawings.  These remind me to do some deep breathing, or encourage me to keep going.

Currently, my mirror is a gust of wind reminding me to breathe, and a reminder that every little thing helps because addition is a real thing.  Our back door is the more poetic

Every mountain is made of pebbles.

Giant problems are made up of small puzzles and issues that can be addressed to reduce the size of the mountain of doom.

The need to reach a goal is a series of small decisions and projects that gradually culminate together to become the mountain of achievement.

Each step you take today, no matter how small, is another step along the journey of who you are.

Safe travels, my dear friends.  May your steps ever be sound.

Today I have spent a great deal of time and effort thinking about BA people, mainly soldiers of one type or another.  It is absolutely incredible what a single human being can do when in the grasp of great courage, unknowingly or not.

Tale after tale of someone facing down the odds.  So many of them stating that it was no big thing.  It was a job that needed to be done, and so they did it.  They certainly weren’t doing things for the accolades; many, in fact, tried to eschew such things entirely.

Each of our lives are also filled with insurmountable odds and circumstances.  While they may not involve blowing up tanks– if they do, then more power to you– but they are still situations that requires courage and finesse.  Not just any, but yours.  They need your courage.  Your honour.  Your dignity.

You, dear traveller, are a person of infinite worth and possibilities.  Explore them to their fullest, for they belong to you and you alone.

May your trail be bright.

Recently my spouse did the math of how many female Power Rangers came in the different sets.  This is all involved with our son receiving two different Power Ranger toys that require these strange “keys” which are made with the figures themselves?  It is incredibly clever, but also very disturbing.  But I digress.

I can’t recall the numbers now, but for all that there were upwards of 30 figures on the back of the box, very, very few of them were female.  And, as my spouse noted,

“That’s messed up.”

It set my mind off a trundling.  Often after we hear that sort of numerical breakdown is that girls need role models, too, and there need to be more female heroes.  But I think it’s something more than that.

We don’t need a ton of heroes.  We don’t need to be validated in every single branch of every single genre.  What we really need is for woman to be normalized in all roles.

I don’t see it as a failing that there aren’t as many female superheroes.  I see it as a failing that society– or at least big businesses– view them as such a strange and mystical thing that they are not included regularly in different play sets, in different shows, etc.

We’ve created an environment that even though we set-up certain women as these wonderful heroes, overall women are not accepted as a normal part of groups such as superheroes.

Perhaps if we began including them as an expected part of such unassuming things as toys, it would lead to women being accepted in other, larger roles.

After all, what sort of society raves about a movie with a female protagonist, yet purchases toys with only male figurines?  Rey, we stand with you.

First of all, I apologize for the extreme lateness of this post.  I have just submitted a novella to a publisher for consideration for an anthology.  I’ve been working frantically on that for the majority of December.  I am exceedingly blessed to have two very dear friends who are willing to go through the ringer with me.  I use them as sounding boards, as handkerchiefs, as praise monkeys, and as my first-round editors.  You are dreams, and I adore you both so incredibly much.  Thank you.

And for full disclosure, my spare time has been eaten up by a Qunari named Signify.  Signify has been dubbed the Herald of Andraste and she’s in the process of growing the influence of the Inquisition.  I have enjoyed the other two Dragon Age games I have played thus far, but Inquisition has taken the cake.  I would gladly spend the next four days glued to the tv and controller, but for the need for editing.

I do miss Fenris, though.

I am working on the second round of edits for the piece to be published next year.  This round has been more difficult.  There is, of course, the reiteration of my weak points from the first round, but also a basic questioning of some of the nomenclature in the story.  The point both of the editors have made is exceedingly valid: reader confusion, mental changes to the characters, a lack of “history” for the race itself based on common interpretations of the used words.  And though I can see this validity, though I agree with it, I still have some part of me utterly opposed to changing it.

It isn’t an opposition of “This is my story and I’ll do what I like with it.”  It’s not a difference of views; I see and agree with the argument.  This is something entrenched within my breast, something that is reviled by changing the nomenclature.  Repulsed.  Refusal.

The frustrating part of this is that I can’t say why I am so against the change.  I’m not sure why this is so important to.. that world or my subconscious or whatever it might be.  But this isn’t the first time something inside has decided things without my conscious mind knowing.  So I shall endeavour to stop fighting it and simply let it rise to the surface, to surprise me when I least expect it.  Then the world-building will be clear, the decision made valid, and the next story– should there be one– can grow properly.