An author's collection of thoughts and stories
The other day we went to pick up sushi, and while we were stopped at a red light, a man crossed the street in front of our car. My husband and I both turned to each other at the same time and said, “Definitely Damon!”
The hair and swagger were a perfect match.
We found Damon out in the wild. How funny!
I’ve spent the last month or so probing around, and I’m starting to suspect that I’m going to have to let go of my little malfunction.
So that’s it, I guess. It’s probably time for me to get with the program.
Though honestly, with the way everything is going, charging $3 for a book might as well be giving it away for free.
And we did spend 2020 together.
Anyway, I’m not going to make any moves this week. Still processing ‘n stuff.
And the nice thing about books is that they don’t have expiration dates. I could spend the next five years sulking if I wanted.
The thing is, I will write in a vacuum. I will write for one other person. But there’s still a part of me that wants to know what my full potential is, and that’s not going to happen without making some changes. This isn’t 2010 anymore.
Vague griping, lawl.
I guess I can’t help but feel a little bitter about pulling myself together too late to achieve what I wanted. Ten years ago, sure. But not today.
Went to a neighbor’s birthday party yesterday, and I’m still feeling drained. So. Many. People. The children loved it though, so it was worth it.
Also, according to the neighborhood news, some creep was driving around trying to talk kids into getting in his car, so fun stuff going on. I know some people called the police about it, but I didn’t catch what happened after that.
Millennial parents get a ton of crap about being “over protective” ‘n stuff, but I’d much rather sit outside supervising my children playing in the yard, then end up being that parent, you know? An ounce of prevention…
Today my husband and I took the kids out on a mile long bike ride, and afterwards we ate mint chocolate chip ice cream with sugar cones. Then I roasted coffee beans on the porch and yelled at the kids to stop putting mud in their splash pad. Good times.
I started crocheting a stuffed dragon. In terms of technique, I find it boring to only work one stitch over and over and over, but those toys are so stinking cute.
I’m nearly finished sewing some pants that I designed for myself. They have wide legs with an asymmetrical hemline that drape beautifully, and I’ll probably have them finished tomorrow. *So excited*
And that’s why I’ll never be normal, lol.
Tie-dyed cotton sateen (orange sorbet and plum blossom), with my own machine embroidery design, satin ribbon, and rhinestones.
I know that I mention every now and then that I like sewing. For me, that often means taking plain white fabric and turning it into a colorful garment with various embellishments.
However, I do not identify as a “sewist”, because I am not a follower of “sewism.”
I just play with chemicals, computer programs, thread, and fabric to make stuff.
Our house likes to eat dishwashers.
The last one died on Mother’s Day. After which, we discovered that the small business we had bought it from — for that personal touch and guaranteed warranty — had gone out of business because of … you guessed it! Queries proved that it was going to be difficult to find an authorized repairman.
So I bought a bottle of soap just for the new scent, and am now using the dishwasher as a horrendously overpriced drying rack. Because the only thing that works reliably is me.
Especially now that I haven’t had a single migraine since I started taking low dose aspirin. Ha. Ha.
The funny part is, I’m actually better at keeping up with the dishes when I’m handwashing them. I can easily slip into autopilot and scrub away while thinking about other things (usually my writing), and I don’t have to sort through what can go through the dishwasher and what can’t, or make sure that I’m loading everything in correctly, or blah blah blah. I just hate washing dishes. ‘Cause, you know, it’s the dishes.
So the other day I had a pan of cream cheese brownies baking in the oven, the baby was busy throwing cat food all across the kitchen floor, and I was scrubbing away at the sink with a particularly deep train of thought, when it hit me that since I’m writing a story with lots of different branches, I can easily invoke the multiverse and have the branches bleed into each other. Which one is canon? They all are!
Be still, my heart!
I know, I get excited over some pretty weird things.
BTW, the brownies were amazing.
Lately I’ve been wondering how much blogging matters.
You see, I’m old enough to remember Neopets, Gaia Online, and LiveJournal, and the internet sure as heck ain’t what it used to be.
I’m pretty convinced that certain monoliths suppress literally everyone, then select which individuals they want to become popular, and there’s nothing organic about any of it for anyone.
‘N stuff.
But don’t worry, this isn’t my “farewell forever” post. If my calculations are correct, I’ve got about 11 real live actual people who come here to read, and I’m not going to up and abandon you just because of something as silly as stats.
Actually, I’m getting tired of trying to be structured.
And if I get the impulse to post a random pun at 10:43pm, I might as well do it without explaining anything.
I’m also tired of pretending like I’m not as cynical as I am. After a certain amount of bullying and ostracism throughout my childhood, I made the conscious choice that fictional friends were considerably better than real ones — 90% of everyone will go out of their way to hurt you purely because they can.
Hell, five years ago I tried to get out and be more social with the assumption that adulthood changes how people interact with each other, and it ended up mentally fucking me up pretty badly. Conclusion: adulthood has made the bullying even worse.
And let’s face it, modern fashion trends are purely an experiment in how far people are willing to debase and humiliate themselves for the sake of fitting in. Yes I said it. If you don’t look at yourself in the morning and immediately feel good about yourself, then you should trust me when I say that *you* aren’t the problem, it’s your fucking ugly clothes. Change your style. Just do it already.
Aaaaaanyway.
I’m gonna do what I want for awhile.
By Autumn Rain 