Damn, it's already June 3rd. How does my reality skip like this? I didn't really do anything for my birthday. I was supposed to go to Denver, but my siblings asked me not to visit, lying and saying that a crisis was set to occur, and then the crisis ended up being them getting a city garden plot, so fuck them...

Some "friends" made an open invitation to see "Alice" and we were like the only ones to say okay and show up. So I spent 2 hours of my first day of 36 watching "Time" rant about himself and life and knowing that my characters for "time" were way better, and that I know the story of "Through the Looking Glass" inside and out and that movie was NOT it.

I also realized this also means we have friends who live less than 3 miles away who we see once a year or less, which is a record for all of our friends. And then when we finally meet up 90% of it isn't even actually directly communicating or interacting. That's got a short story to write about modern society all over it.

When we did communicate afterwards, we learned that one of them has developed a food allergy similar to mine, after getting an ulcer, exactly like what happened to me 4 years ago.

I've been very zoned out since my birthday. Wanting to really write, as in write my novel, but really being too tired, and also giving myself a chance to feel all the confusing debilitating depression I apparently need to feel right now to counteract all the otherwise awesome feelings i'd be experiencing??

But I've also splurged on some much needed and kinda cool items that will help me do things like drill holes in my boyfriend's walls. This oddly makes me feel happy, a spark of light in my otherwise dimmed tunnel. It was no small feat to find a drill I can actually hold upright either. I can lift at most 3 lbs without my hand and wrist doing bendy things that defy logic. So anyway, I found one I can hold, and i love it, and it's like a real manly drill, just smaller. I had to ask my boyfriend what the numbers mean when you turn the dial thing on it, and he explained it's the torque. And i'm like "so the number represents the force of the drilling...", and he's like "no, it's the torque."

Men...

I've started moving my stuff to his house. Not that i will actually be moving in anytime soon. But I at least won't have so much stuff at my house to move later on. I have a lot of stuff, mainly books, and art supplies, some sewing stuff, and toys from my childhood. I've also amassed a ridiculous amount of clothes since I started school, many are professional, and I need to keep them. Especially since they all still fit since losing all of my weight due to stress. I look at what i own though and remember when i was a child with one box of possessions (as in toys), one shelf of books, and a single pair of shoes, two pairs of pants and two shirts, and one dress, and I know I don't need all of this crap.

Anyway, back to my writing, I have several boxes of stories I've written, some are first drafts, some are what i consider completed stories, and some are still ideas. Some are poems, and some are memoir. I miss writing speculative fiction more than anything. It made my endless possibilities feel real. Because, honestly, fuck reality.

On Tuesday I got to see a live in-person talk by writer Lynda B@rry. If you don't know her, you should know her. I adore her, I also question her and why I adore her, but not in a judgmental way. More in a way of why am I not allowing myself to go for what i really love...well I know the answer. I need to get off of SSI, and maintain healthcare and psychiatry. But I also know now (one thing I learned in college) that I am a damn good writer when i put even a little toe's effort into it.

I am trying to process what college just did for me. Did I learn something? Sure. What I wanted to learn? Not really. Did I discover something about myself that I didn't know? No. Something that i already knew about myself? Yep. And i even got a boyfriend out of it. But college wasn't what i thought it would be. It was painful. I never actually started out intending to get a degree, i just wanted to say i tried...i think being a 5th grade dropout but graduating with both a degree, and a certificate in creative writing (back in 2012) with highest honors is funny and cool to show people that it's possible and to not stop people from trying anything they want to do in life.

I'm grateful for the cheers here, because really, it doesn't mean shit to my family, so it matters that you here do think it is great and the comments, wow, I've gotten some great comments, even from fb friends who I haven't seen in 4 years. Even through the depression I feel everyone's enthusiasm tickling my spirit into feeling some happiness. I appreciate that.

Okay, I need to get back to killing moths go do laundry or clean. Because it is still me vs. mothra in my room. Those buggers are still everywhere. If i could set my room on fire, I would. I will write a story where a girl voices a truth about her boyfriend and he can't handle, so he shatters into a thousand moths, and she leaves, setting the room ablaze.

poof...

~e