lavender, conventions, & nimona too

Usually I sit down to blog posts and have absolutely no idea what I’m going to talk about. Today, however, is different. Not only have I done things since this blog post, I have things I want to talk about. So weird, I know. I’m wondering if I should pick up a format or something but really I just think I’ll randomly update you all as I see fit, because if I give it a format that will make it a little less exciting and a little less me. I am organized, you see, but only to a point. I prefer my organization with a flair of chaos to it.

So over the last week I: got drunk, went to a lavender festival, went to a book con (book fair?), picked up old projects, and took a really exciting bath.

We’ll skip the drunk, fast forward through the lavender festival (it was really great and super pretty and I went with my girlfriend for her birthday but we had no money which was a great thing because we would have spent it ALL and we decided that Sequim is a wonderful place and that we both wish we were already retired so we could live there because it’s perfect except it doesn’t rain enough), and pause on the book con:

It was the Capital Indie Book Con, that was held at the Evergreen State College, and it was so fun. It was super tiny (as it was a local indie book con) and I’m really not sure how much publicity was gotten for it. It seemed like a mostly word-of-mouth sort of thing, but it was a fun little event. I, of course, didn’t go as an author but merely a reader. It was incredibly interesting to see the marketing that some of these authors did for their novels. And it was an “every genre ever” sort of con so nothing was left out. There was speculative fiction and fantasy, erotica, historical fiction, even a few non-fiction pieces and authors there. In all my friend and I – also a writer – ended up spending about two and a half hours milling around the booths, talking to authors, getting a feel for it all. Once again I was very glad I was broke. If I hadn’t been when I walked in, I would have been when I walked out.

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Nimona, by Cait Spivey – photobombed by my jewelry, pet pictures, and pens. Lots of pens.

I did walk out with two books and a piece of art though – albeit the art was free and from a WONDERFUL author named Cait Spivey, whose book I immediately went home and picked up on Amazon. I will be reading it soon and will post a review as soon as I do! In the meantime, she sent me home with a watercolor piece of Nimona, a character created by Noelle Stevenson, and I about died of excitement. Obviously I had a favorite person there. I can’t help it. She loves Nimona, I love Nimona, she gave me art…and what I was able to read for the concepts of her stories seemed absolutely wonderful. To say I’m excited about her existence and her work is a bit of an understatement. (Nimona is now hanging across from my other shaved-haired-favorite, Ronan Lynch, on my desk. They are friends. Probably. Not.)

Then in other news, I had an exciting bath, but that was mostly just because I used the bath as a meditation exercise that involved planning for #Rory, and I was able to get the next plot point worked out that I was having issues with. So, I’m happy there too. Gus and I just got back from a walk and I’m going to sit down to get a bit more writing done – and check off my blog post on today’s to-do list. 😉

If you’re reading, hi, I hope you’re enjoying. Otherwise I’ll just click ‘publish’ and send this into the void. Although it’s a very friendly, helpful void. I like you, void. Let’s be friends.

Muchly,
Renee

loss and gains

Explain absence. Don’t apologize. Explain coming out, and then losing Peepers. Maybe don’t cry. Maybe do. Explain how hard crying is. How easy it is at the same time. How it’s all you want to do, but you feel like there’s not enough of you to keep doing only that.

I tried to outline everything that’s happened over the last two weeks so that I could tell you, dearest blog, but I don’t think I can. The more I try to explain it in my mind the more confusing and upsetting it becomes and the less I want to talk about it.

So I’ll just say these few things, and hope this sums it up.

First: I came out to my dad and most of my family the Saturday before last. It was nice. It feels freeing. It’s so strange to feel like myself, utterly and without fear.

Second: The same week my oldest cat, seventeen year old Peepers, fell ill. She hadn’t been feeling herself for about a week. It progressed. Diagnostics were run. Nothing came back good. Her last night as home was spent with her sleeping on my chest as I brushed out the fur she had given up grooming on her own. I felt terrible. I hate that our last night was me grieving. The pre-grieve. I hope she knows how much I loved her.

Third: I can’t stop crying. I don’t want to stop crying. My face swells up and my cheeks warm and the water pours from my eyes and I don’t want to stop. Instead I want to sob, and sob, and sob until she comes back. She won’t. I know that. It doesn’t change what I want, though.

I’m sorry this was so sad, dearest blog. But I am sad. That’s just how things go sometimes.

I miss my cat. I hope you all understand.

Not very much at all,
Renee.

on the absence of anxiety and timeliness,

Today was an all around good day. I woke up, I went to a staff meeting, I came home. I felt – for the first time in a very long time – like I could sit down and genuinely relax. Like my mind was clear, anxiety not bundled in my chest. It was a strange feeling. Of course it was welcomed with open arms, but the embrace was wary. When you have genuinely “good days” as rarely as I do, wariness comes with the territory. I’m like a dog with a history of abuse. I want to trust it, want to know that I can relax and fall into the feeling like a summer camp trust exercise. Ultimately though, I know that most of the time the feeling is fleeting. In fact, the moment I realize and acknowledge the feeling, it almost always disappears.

So today was an anomaly.

I sat brewed myself tea. I turned on my essential oil diffuser. I considered for a moment the pro’s and con’s of getting work done. Then I realized that these days truly come to me once in a blue moon and that I shouldn’t waste it worrying about something like work. For once, on a day where I genuinely felt that I could enjoy it, I needed to take the day for myself. So that is exactly what I did.

I “lost” my phone for most of the day and it wasn’t until the minute I picked it back up that any mention of anxiety even blossomed. It wasn’t until dinner, when I was sitting having a frustrated textual conversation with a friend who wasn’t even at dinner with me, that any other feeling than utter relaxation set in. Honestly, even that couldn’t change the way today went for me.

I cannot explain to someone who doesn’t have anxiety how absolutely freeing it is to be able to see myself and be so utterly content to give myself a well-deserved and needed break. So, today, the only reason I’m sitting down and writing this is because I promised that I would write posts twice weekly. The only reason I’m here is out of obligation and because I wanted to make sure to document this wonderful day. For the record, all I did was drink tea, nibble chocolate, watch Mozart in the Jungle…and spend a wonderful evening with some wonderful people. It was good. I needed it. Thank you, self, for doing well today. I’m proud of you.

Muchly,
Renee

“that idea of home is gone”

“You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of the sudden, even though you have some place where you can put your stuff, that idea of home is gone.” – Garden State

I remember the exact moment that it happened to me. I stood in my bedroom for the last time, staring at the empty room. The only things that remained were the cupboards, painted green, and the pink striped wallpaper that lined the room. I’d wanted it to look like a princesses room, once upon a time. I’d had a giant bed, a duvet covered in roses. My pillows were large and suffocating, but comfortable. Now my bed was gone, the many times I’d spent playing and reading on top of it just memories. The vanity that I’d kept all my childhood jewelry and make up left an empty crevice in the side of the room, the cupboard under the stairs no longer full of stuffed animals. I’d hidden under those once, disappeared so far that my parents had thought I’d run away, when truly I’d just fallen asleep buried under bears and used a stuffed duck as a pillow. I realized then that I would never be able to hide that well ever again.

I cried for hours. I stood in my bedroom and cried, trying so hard to feel the edges of the bed that had once been there. They told me I could stand there for as long as I wanted, but if it had been up to me, I never would have left. I would have grown roots, forced my way through the floorboards, turned myself into the foundation. I never would have moved from that place. I never much wanted to say goodbye.