A few months ago, Dad asked me if I was still writing. I think he was trying to distract me from the whole world-on-fire situation, but it didn’t work: I immediately started crying. (I’ve been more than a little depressed, obviously.) I have not been writing. At all. The only writing I’ve done was at retreat last summer, when I finished a story I started at retreat the summer before. (The sections I read at retreat got positive reviews. I sent it to one very competitive market at the end of April. It got summarily rejected. And that’s that, for the moment, anyway.)
I go on retreat again at the end of the month. I have no idea what, if anything, I’ll work on. I haven’t been able to look at the novel. It’s too big, too hard, too much. Maybe I’ll work on an essay about my health. Maybe I’ll write fluffy fan-fic just to find joy in writing again. Maybe I won’t write anything and will just read and sleep. But I’m going, if for nothing else but to see my friends and spend a week in nature and away from life stress, work stress, and news. Because how can you create when the world’s on fire?
So… I haven’t blogged in a while. A very long while, as it turns out. I blame depression, anxiety, health issues (both mine and family members), the world being on fire, and other problems/issues that have been sucking up my energy and generally making life very, very difficult.
Most of this I just can’t talk about. At least, not right now. The work stuff and one of the personal situations I doubt I’ll ever talk about online — work because it’s not appropriate, and personal because that situation isn’t something I want to talk about publicly. (Friends can DM me on Twitter or FB if they want more details.)
The one thing I will say is that one of my aunts is dying of cancer and will probably be gone by the end of the month. Her condition has deteriorated rapidly since they did a procedure to put radiation directly into her liver. And we found out last week that the cancer didn’t originate in the liver but in the pancreas. (That’s basically a death sentence.) So the procedure only weakened her and made her condition worse. I should add that this is the aunt who took us in for weeks after Hurricane Katrina — so there are lots of complicated memories and emotions tied up with thoughts of her. It still feels kind of unreal, probably since we haven’t seen her since Christmas. Dad went to see her a few weeks ago, but only he and his youngest sister went; my cousin felt like her mom wasn’t up to seeing many people, and she could only manage a very short visit (less than an hour). I’ve accepted that I won’t see her again, and I think I’m okay with that. I don’t know that I want to see her in her current condition, and I know we wouldn’t be able to have any conversation that would mean anything. I wish our last visit had gone better — I was too depressed to interact with her in any meaningful way — but she was a saint, so hopefully she understands.
I thought 2017 would be better than 2016. Clearly, I thought wrong.
I’ve been frustrated lately by the condition of my poor Lady Sif bobblehead — specifically, the condition of her head itself. In the course of standing guard over my desk, she’s taken a tumble a few times, and it’s quite the distance from the top of the PC to the hardwood floor. Those high-speed trips earthward left her with a distinct head tilt; the spring must have bent or shifted, leaving her looking down and to the right.
A few days ago, I took a pair of needle-nosed pliers and tried to shift the spring, but that only made her condition worse. Then it finally occurred to me to do a Google search, and it turns out, there are plenty of Internet resources on the subject of repairing Funko figs. I found two different sources that suggested sticking cotton balls inside the head to force it into a better position, which sounded like a pretty easy fix to me. I ended up pushing three cotton balls in there — one at the back, one on the lower side, and one in between the two — and I pushed them down between the spring and the side of the head using a Q-tip. And it worked like a charm! My Funko Sif holds her head upright again and is back to looking like her bold, no-nonsense self. (Note: this fix does make the head less bobble-y, which some people may not like. But I thought her head was too wobbly before, so I find that side effect to be a bonus.)
Funko POP’s take on Sir Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston’s character in Crimson Peak) has arrived to join Lady Sif, my first foray into the world of tiny adorable character figures. I had him on my shortlist of figures I might get, and when I saw that he’d been released, I ordered him in a moment of severe weakness (last week was very, very stressful and exhausting). I think he looks delightfully fretful, and since I’ve been worrying a lot lately, I figure he can worry with me, or possibly for me.
I like the companion figure of Edith Cushing too — the little candelabra is such a great accessory — but I already have one more figure on the “must buy” list (Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock, holding a violin) and several on the “strongly considering” list, and my budget can only cover so many little vinyl folk. I’ll have to sternly remind myself that just because I like something, that doesn’t mean I have to own it.
Common threadsArrowverse Benedict Cumberbatch board games books buy borrow bin cancer creative writing prompts cute cute cute depression and anxiety Discworld Doctor Who Douglas Adams family fashion fiction writing flash fiction friends Funko Hobbit/LOTR hurricanes illness joy and laughter Katrina life Lovecraft Marvel Cinematic Universe music Nathan Fillion novel otters Richard Armitage Sherlock short stories Sophie Kinsella story submissions stress TableTop Terry Pratchett Tom Hiddleston wildlife Wil Wheaton writing exercises writing workshop