It has been a hell of a week, hasn't it?

Hi, folks.

When Erin wrote last week about how rough she'd been feeling lately, it really resonated with me. I hadn't realized it at the time, but writing has become a bit of a chore for me  as well.

I began working outside of my home late last year, which I hadn't done for nearly a decade prior. While I was working at home, when an idea came to me I could stop what I was doing and bang something out, or at least take down some notes, because the computer was right there in front of me and I was good enough at my job that I could take 20 minutes to write something without missing a beat in my day job. Now I've got to get up earlier, drive across town, be stuck somewhere for 9 hours, then drive back across town and wind down from work, and by that point it's difficult to get the old fingers moving.

Not only that, but working from home took its toll on me in other ways. My immune system is pretty worthless considering that I wasn't around sick people for so long, so I've had two or three sinus infections and a few upset stomachs from things going around. Like now. I have both, and I'm still working.

The job is good, though. I'm treated well, paid well, and have a level of work satisfaction I wasn't previously aware of, so there's that. But my personal time has become more valuable to me because there's now less of it, and being that I'm forced to be "on" for a full third of the day, pretending like socializing is easy and fun and not just something I'm good at but hate to do, that takes a toll as well.

I was feeling this before I started A Still Point In Time, which I openly admit is a silly bit of fan-fiction, but I've only got one chapter left, and I completely intend on turning it in soon. Expect a special guest star or two, as well as a relevant twist ending (a post-credits sequence if you will, given the subject matter). But I do feel like I owe Erin, and all of you, an apology for missing schedule here and there.

Also, she did say I'm not allowed to write anything else until Still Point is done, so I'll preemptively rap my knuckles with a ruler, if I can find one.

It's Been a Week

Yeah. I haven't been writing lately, and I'm sorry about that.

I've been looking at the blank page of this blog for... I don't know how long. And in that time, I've come to an uncomfortable conclusion: somewhere along the way, writing stopped being fun and fulfilling and felt more like a chore. A job that I don't want to do and am looking for an excuse to avoid doing.

(The irony that I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with writing does not escape me).

I seem to lack the passion and joy that writing used to bring and now it's just a job. Unless I'm really fired up about something and need to get that fire out of my skull, I'm kinda 'meh' about the whole prospect.

Yet at the same time, I have this deep and abiding regret over the stories that I want to write, but likely never will, because I can't seem to find the focus or the discipline to write them. So am I truly tired of writing? Or am I just tired of struggling?

I don't know. It's been a rollercoaster of a week, and maybe I'm just worn out. I went from high stress levels, to completely losing my shit and looking like a raging cuntbitch in front of my friends, to the stress becoming so high that the frequency of its oscillation wasn't a discernible series of ups and downs but rather a constant hum. In other words, this picture:

I'm getting better, but I'm still fighting the associated mental numbness and desire to do nothing except let my mind go blank in front of the television.

Anyway, I'm okay-ish and seem to be on the upswing. I have chocolate, and I have rum, and I'm going to see Deadpool 2 this weekend, so that ought to help. And I've written this blog post so I can reasonably say I've accomplished something this week.

See ya on the flip side.

Checking In From the ATL

Hi everypony!

I admit that I've been quiet this past week -- big hugs and thank-yous to everyone who checked in on my to ask if I was all right! The truth of the matter is that no, I wasn't all right, but I was taking care of myself and getting better.

On April 14th (the Friday before last), a good friend of mine named Donavan Lambertus passed away. Don was a fellow Traveller grognard (go check out his vector scaleable Quick Decks, they're amazing) and also helped out with data entry during the crazy early days of Operation Blazing Sword. His death really affected me, and it intersected with my monthly bout of feeling blue and not wanting to deal with anyone or anything, and so I just took the week off in order to get the space needed to retain my sanity.

Unfortunately, there may very well be silence from me for another week; fortunately, it's for a much happier reason. I'm in Atlanta right now, staying with friends and getting a makeover in preparation for the NRA Annual Meeting. When the meeting starts, I'm going to be quite busy; not only wll I be oohing and ahhing at all the nifty stuff on display, I'm also going to be meeting with people in order to spread the word about Operation Blazing Sword (and hopefully get some corporate sponsorship for it as well). Oh, and I'm also scheduled to appear on Cam & Company during the convention. On camera. No pressure, right? [Erin begins doing combat breathing exercises to prevent panic]

Speaking of meeting people, if you're at NRA this year (or if you live near Atlanta) and you'd like to meet me, send me an email or a PM on Facebook or leave a comment below and let's schedule a time and place to meet!

One more thing before I go: I'm pleased to announce that the Operation Blazing Sword storefront is now carrying my signature "Concealed Carry is herd Immunity Against Crime" design for both dark and light shirts. We also have stickers, and they're only $2.50 each!

All proceeds go to my charity, so please buy early and buy often!

I'm Still Alive

Yeah, I've been quiet for a while, but I felt I owed it to everyone to check in and let you know I'm all right.

This is turning out to be one of those weeks where accomplishing more than getting out of bed takes far more effort than usual. And I'm not even depressed!  I think it's a combination of my sleep schedule getting screwed up, over-extending myself on the weekend, and having real-life duties that have eaten much of my free time. But combine that with the fact that I do feel my monthly depression spooling up -- doubly so because Singles Awareness Day is in 4 days -- and I don't know when I'll have the energy, or the desire, to check in.

So anyway: I'm all right. I'm not in pain. I've no desire to hurt myself or anyone else. I'm just tired a lot, more than a little discouraged, and bracing for the emotional thunderclouds that are rolling in.

If you want to do me a kindness, wish me well on the 14th. I'm never anyone's Valentine.

Still alive, just not feeling it

My apologies to my faithful readers. I appear to be a funk right now.

I need a muse like this.
http://oglaf.com/blank-page/

I don't know if I'm depressed, or burned out, or something else, or a combination of all of the above. I'm just not feeling especially witty or creative, and the only thing I want to do lately is either sleep or play games -- i.e. turn my brain off.

The voices in my head which keep me active have been quiet lately. Is this what sanity is like? If so, it's boring, and I hate it.

I need to get in touch with my inner chaos goddess. Earlier this week, Salem introduced me to Jinx from League of Legends. Now, I don't play the game, but from this video she looks like a cross between Deadpool and Pinkie Pie:


That's.... that's everything I've ever wanted to be, man. *sheds a single tear of joy*

Well, okay, maybe I don't want to be a violent criminal or psychopathic murderer. But being a adorable little pixie of wanton chaos? Yeah, sign me up.

Le sigh.   Yes, please.


Oh hey, look at that. I managed to write a blog post after all. Cool.

Meltdown in progress. Please stand by.

OK, so here's what is going on in my life right now. Warning -- whining ahead.

My father (who just turned 78) was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease last year. He's on medication for it and is responding well, but he's turning into one of those creaky, slow-moving old men who can do less and less, and I'm having to do more and more for him.

My mother has some kind of lung problem that's been bugging her since at least November. After a barrage of tests and specialists, the pulmonologist finally determined via CAT scan that she has scars/ nodules/ cysts/ some fucking thing inside her lung, and so she needs a bronchioscopy. That's scheduled for the 22nd (yay, more waiting). She's often out of breath and lacking energy, so she's probably not getting enough oxygen. Because of this, I have to do more for her, and be there for her more often.

Did I mention that when someone in the family gets sick, dad acts like it's a massive fucking inconvenience directed specifically AT HIM and basically acts like a petulant, sulking child? Or that mom is so goddamn stubborn that she'll work until she almost passes out rather than ask for help?

And we also have two young, energetic dogs who are more than mom can handle by herself (and dad can't be bothered to help with) and so I'm constantly having to stop what I'm doing in order to take care of them -- let them in, let them out, play with them, give them attention (which is fine, but they're both NEEDY because, let's face it, this is not an emotionally healthy home and they reflect that), and generally take care of them. And I love them, but I just a certain amount of time per day to be left alone without someone AT me all the time.

And of course there's my inability to live the way I want to live because I'm living with two "all fags burn in hell" arch-conservatives, and that's because I am financially unable to take care of myself. The great irony here is that even if I *could* take care of my money needs, I'd still feel like I was abandoning my family.

So I'm stressed for a variety of reasons, but mostly they boil down to "I'm trapped by finances and guilt and cannot make a single positive change in my life." Pile on top of THAT the worry about my mom's health, increased duties and responsibilities, sexual loneliness and frustration, the knowledge that for as long as I'm stuck here I'm never going to be an attractive choice for a mate, and it all turns into a gigantic pile of I AM OVERWHELMED AND CANNOT HANDLE IT RIGHT NOW. I just want to lock myself in my room, turn off the lights, and cry, because -- joy! -- my monthly depression happened a week earlier than expected, and caught me unaware. Because it ambushed me, I wasn't prepared to handle it, and so it hit me worse than usual.

Now, before I go, and before you respond, you need to know that:

• It's not your job to solve my problems for me.
• I know the world doesn't owe me a damn thing, and I accept this.
• I am venting because it releases emotional pressure, not because I am an attention whore or am trolling for compliments.

That said, if anyone wants to pray for me, I would be pathetically grateful. I need all the emotional and spiritual support I can get.

The 11th Commandment

No, isn't Ronald Reagan's "Thou shalt not speak ill of any fellow Republican."

It's not even "Thou shalt not get caught."  At least not where I live.

No, living in my parent's house, the 11th Commandment was "Thou shalt not whine", which later morphed into "Thou shalt be responsible" as we grew older. Note how the latter contains the provisions of "If you're whining, you aren't being responsible for your situation or feelings -- if you hate things so much, fix them instead of whining about it"  as well as "Be self sufficient."

I'm trying very hard not to break the 11th any more than it's already been broken. (The self-sufficiency thing went out the window almost a decade ago.) I'm trying to suck it up and be a good soldier, but between the weather (and the allergies/headaches that go along with that), my chronic mid-month depressive cycle, and my #&$!*ing family, it's becoming increasingly difficult to stay motivated and on-target.

My parents have started fighting about television now. The goddamn boob tube. Apparently there isn't enough stress and misery in their lives, so now they're going to bitch and fight and have temper tantrums over who gets to watch what, and when. Because apparently it's important to argue over entertainment now.

Honestly,  they should have gotten a divorce about 20 years ago, but by the time I was out of the house and in college they had gotten to the point where it was less work just to become fractious roommates where dad brought in money and mom kept the house than it was to get divorced and move out. This way, they get to keep the illusion of being a "proper" family. Oh, the shit I could tell you about my parents...

If I'm being totally honest, these people never should have gotten married in the first place. And yes, I realize this means that the "me" who I am today wouldn't exist. At this point, I'm fine with that, as I think that theoretical me would be a lot healthier and happier.

Dad's never forgiven me for not being his perfect little clone, going into the military, and being an officer with a house, a spouse, 2.5 kids and at least one combat deployment. "Disappointment" is pretty much the order of the day. I've talked about him before, and there's no love lost anymore on either side things. We basically have a working relationship and that's it.

Mom... well, when she isn't over-reacting by screaming and yelling and saying vile shit over rather inconsequential shit, she's basically clinging to me for companionship because I at least talk to her and treat her as a person rather than a live-in maid and cook. Which is not too bad, because despite all her flaws I still love her, but this kind of emotional manipulation (whether it be intentional or not) makes it difficult, if not impossible, for me to get away.

And then there's me. I'm too smart for my own good, in that I see busywork for what it is, and I refuse to tolerate bullshit or play office politics. I also have a smart mouth, a quick temper and no real self-censorship when I get riled up. As a result, I've been fired from every job I've ever held.

I don't do well with roommates for the same reason (look, I admit it, I am a difficult bitch to live with, being moody and territorial), but on the few occasions I've lived alone my depression has gotten the better of me and I've gone from living alone to feeling alone to "nobody loves me" to "why should anyone love me" to "I don't deserve love anyway" and by that point I'm sick and malnourished because I haven't been taking care of myself -- after all, why should I care about myself when no one else does? -- and that's when things get so bad I have to move back in with my family, because for all their fucking faults I know that they, at least, are obligated by biological imperative to take care of me when I can't (or won't) take care of myself.

To quote Gravity Kills, "I've built this perfect little hellhole." I hate my situation, but I am financially and emotionally unable to leave. I'm fully appreciative of the irony involved in putting myself in a place that I can't leave yet don't want to be in.

If you've ever wondered why I've often seemed so desperate to find someone to love and who would love me back... well, now you know. I'm looking for emotional rescue, hoping that someone will want me and love me enough to choose me to be with them forever. Not because they have to, not because they're obligated to, but because they want me. And then that makes me feel like a pathetic loser, because instead of fixing my situation, I'm waiting to be rescued like a dog in a kennel.

I'm tired of being caught between two warring factions.

I'm tired of not having the courage to improve my situation.

I'm tired of playing the go-between and peacemaker.

But I don't have the strength to change any of this. I feel like I have no options for self-rescue.

Some days, I just want to leave loaded pistols within arms reach of them when they're yelling at each other.

And then I realize what I just thought, and I hate myself for wishing them dead just because I'm weak.


Well, that pretty much obliterates my "no whining" goal. Some days, I can't even be strong enough to shut up and soldier on.

Comments of sympathy, while welcome, aren't required. I think I wrote this just so that I would have something to show for today, and to forestall the usual  "I didn't write yesterday, no need to write today, whoops there goes a week of not writing anything" pattern. And, of course, to get it off my chest in the hopes of some cathartic relief.

Welcome to my brain. It's dark in here, and you may be eaten by a grue.

The Literary Equivalent of Throwing a Bottle at the Wall.

     So this was originally going to be some light-hearted piece about how the new Call of Duty came out, and how I hate playing competitive multiplayer and would much prefer something like a cooperative campaign or horde mode, but then I saw that latest Simon Pegg film, The World's End, and got a little depressed for a few minutes. I'm a bit Gary King, see, and I don't want to explain it for fear of spoiling the film for anyone that wants to see it.

     So instead, I'm going to get a little bit introspective, a little gazing of the navel. I'm going to look into the abyss for a bit, and other such pretentious ways of looking at it. See, I've got this problem with socializing.

     Wait, wait, it's not the usual problem. I'm not claiming Asperger's or saying I'm a wallflower with no social skills. Quite the opposite. I've got a ready smile and charm with a smooth voice and a healthy ego (obviously, right?) and a self-deprecating sense of humor. I just really. Really. Really. Hate socializing. I've taken those Meyers-Briggs test multiple times, and come out INTJ 9 times out of 10. I watched House for 7 years before realizing that House wasn't the character I was supposed to be identifying with.

     For my school years I found myself in a situation where I was forced to socialize. And so I did. Despite the goth kid persona, I spoke to pretty much anyone. Talked my way out of being bullied and learned to stare down the ones too slow to follow my evasive logic.

     After high school, I was a complete social animal. I had at least three different scenes that I frequented, and fell in and out of love with a frightening rapidity. Then I went off to university and discovered high-speed internet.

     In retrospect, that might have been one of the things that caused me to leave school, adding up with mental and social exhaustion, a sleeping disorder rearing its ugly, inconvenient head, and being an intellectual at a 100% football school. So I withdrew for a bit.

     Then I moved to Mobile, following a woman and working a shite job, living a very small life. That job didn't last, and I was nearly broke and unemployed and alone, having observed how unstable things had gotten with the woman I'd followed. So I was forced out into the big, scary world again, and threw myself into it. I was a bouncer at a strip club, got ordained in a church, cleansed people's homes and persons of evil spirits, and was social royalty for a while in the larger beach town of Pensacola. Good times, Bianca. I still think of you now and then.

     Then I snapped back again. Didn't leave my apartment for six months for longer than it would take to visit the nice Bahranian gent who ran the corner store a block away in the dead of night. Then my lease was up, and the call of a woman beckoned me to Texas. I went.

     That, though, is a period of my life that you and I, well, we just don't know each other well enough to talk about just quite yet.

     After that ended, though, I was life of the party again. I drank more than I thought possible, dallied with many a lovely woman, and realized just how broken I was when I disappointed one woman in particular that deserved better than I could give her.

     Some health problems coupled with a change in my job (our site shut down, and a few dozen of us got to work from home) contributed to the longest, if not most intense, period of social withdrawal yet. I haven't regularly gone anywhere and done anything since sometime in 2009.

     Anyone worried about me may be relieved to know that I have actually been regularly leaving my apartment here in Albuquerque, where I relocated to six months ago. My health has, more or less, stabilized and while I may not have any friends in the area, I am at least re-training myself in socializing. I don't put my hood up as often, and will often speak to people while I'm out. The only thing is... I'm not sure if I want to. I kind of like the solitude, and I'm having some very real internal conflict about whether I want to rejoin the real world again or not.

But that's enough about me and my problems. Geek culture resumes next week.

My Life With Depression

I won't presume to speak for everyone who suffers from depression, but I can share what it feels like for me in the hopes that maybe others will understand. You have my permission to share this, if you think that is deserves to be shared.


I've read that "Depression is anger turned inward" and I agree with that 100%, because so much of my misery is caused by me being angry at myself for being angry at stupid things.

Example:  
Erin is sitting in a chair and it's not comfortable. Normal Erin would think "This chair isn't comfortable. I should move!" and then she would move and get on with her day.


Depressed Erin thinks "Why does this chair hate me so much? Am I such an awful person that it has to go out of its way and make me uncomfortable just to spite me? Stupid chair! Well, I hate it too! I wish it were dead!"  at which point Erin's Rational Mind says "Um, Erin?  You know you are being totally irrational about this chair thing, right?  It's an inanimate object! It can't possibly hate you."

And Depressed Erin thinks "Of course I know this!  But I FEEL like the chair hates me. No amount of logic will change how I feel right now, because EMOTIONS RAWR." And then Depressed Erin feels really stupid because it's just been pointed out that she's mad at a thing for no good reason whatsoever.

She then thinks "What the heck is wrong with me that I am losing it over a chair? I must be really stupid to let my emotions override my good sense like this."  And then she begins to hate herself for being so stupidly emotional, and this puts her in a worse mood.

Because she's in a worse mood, everything else that goes wrong seems that much worse and that much more personal, which becomes a feedback loops. "It's too bright! The light hates me! Stupid light!  No, wait, stupid Erin."  "Argh, I'm too hot! Stupid thermostat... no, stupid Erin again..."

Eventually, Depressed Erin just gives up and goes back to her room, which is hopefully the most comfortable room in the house for her, and she hides back there because it's the only place where she has 100% control of the environment and hopefully she will not be disturbed by all the things in the world that hate her and make her feel like she's dumb for overreacting. And if she does overreact, she's in her safe place where no one will judge her for screaming at a lightbulb or crying because her clothes hurt.

And this is why Depressed Erin hides in her room and doesn't talk to people. She has to wait until she feels like things don't hate her just because she exists before she feels safe enough to risk coming out of her protective den.


This is how it is for me. Your mileage, of course, may vary, as I am not you.

Struggling

I am having a truly bad day right now.

Hello depression my old friend
Come to mindfuck me again

I'm not really sure why I'm having a bad day. Nothing specifically terrible has happened lately.  I just feel like.. honestly, I feel like the fat chick all the popular girls keep around so that they look prettier, and now they've left with all their dates and I'm still sitting alone at the bar. No, I will not go into details on this, but if you are thinking "Is it X?" then the answer is probably yes.

It frustrates me no end the way some people can effortlessly make friends. It pisses me off when those people are, themselves, not friendly. Meanwhile here I am, trying to be fun and insightful, and being ignored in favor of the big-boobed cheerleader. Friendship, dating, my relationship with God -- they're all the same, in the end: exercises in how long I can tolerate being ignore and neglected before I finally snap and tell everyone to go fuck themselves, and then - ONLY THEN - do people talk to me. Of course, by then it's usually cutting comments like "Get over yourself" or "Overreact much?"

Some days, I don't even know why I bother trying to make friends. They're all virtual anyway. All of the friends I have are in different parts of the country, on other sides of computer screens. I haven't had a real, local, friend since 2009, when jealousy and stupid girl drama caused the other female in my social group to make up some bullshit story and turn the rest of the group against me. Never mind that they had known me years longer than they knew her -- she was prettier, and everyone wanted to sleep with her. She wanted to be alpha female, and she got it.

Fuckers. I hope they all burn for their perfidy.

I said once before that I like persons but hate people. That's mostly self-defense, because generally people hate me, too, and usually on sight, like one of the cast of those 1980s Nerds movies. So I've given up. I've stopped trying. I'd be bitter and cynical, but as a long-time goth I know that full-blown cynicism requires a reservoir of emotional strength that I just don't have any more. The best I can do these days is adopt a low-drag "Fuck everyone and watch the world burn" attitude. I like to call it "lazy nihilism."

So yeah. I'll never be loved like the popular girls. Fine, whatever. And because I'm an artist at heart, I will continue to be your online dancing monkey, because I have a need to create and a need to have that creation be seen. So yes, as much as I hate to admit it, I need you more than you need me.

But my days of trying to make friends are over. I've extended my hand only to get it get slapped away enough times that I've finally learned not to try.  Those folks who reached out to me, or took my hand when I offered it:  I love you all deeply, and you have my loyalty for as long as you care to keep it. The rest of you, however, will have to actually make an effort. Which, ironically, describes exactly why I don't have many friends to begin with.

Oh, and for that one special someone in the gun community who thinks it's cool to single me out for criticism and ridicule, I'd like to point out that:

• You are exactly what is wrong with our culture today. If I had encountered you and your shitty attitude when I started gunblogging, you would likely have driven from the hobby completely. Think about that the next time gun control is being marketed to women.
• No matter how much you hate me, you will never be a better writer than I am. You may think I am completely unqualified, or that I've sold out, but the fact remains that people are seeking me out for reviews. How's it feel, actually being less popular than the moody unpopular goth girl?
• In conclusion, 

I'm like a Green Day song

.. in that I've got no motivation.  Not sure if I'm fighting off a bug, or this is my usual seasonal depression, but as of this moment I really don't want to do more than sit in front of the computer or the TV and aimlessly stare at the screen.

Anyone want to write a guest post for me?  Pellatarrum, My Little Pony, guns... heck, it's Khaotica season and I can't even be arsed to write about it, so if another Discordian wants to take a shot at it, by all means do so.

I'll just be here in my bathrobe, flipping through channels.

Confession Time

This came up  last night on #GunBloggerConspiracy, so I might as well make it official and talk about on my blog:  I have body dysmorphic disorder.

I'm not going to get into the specifics of this, because it's taken me five years just to get to the point where I feel safe enough to mention this online, however vague it may be.

This is the real reason I hide my face and legal name. Yes, I get the added benefits of pen name, such as the ability to talk crap about my family without it blowing back on me, and the fact that those of you inclined to develop crushes on my can imagine me as your perfect fantasy without harsh photographic reality getting in the way.

But the brutal truth of the matter is that I think I am hideous, and am scared beyond reasonable measure that people will look at me and vomit. Or point and laugh. Or become enraged and want to hurt me.

This doesn't so much hurt me in daily life, because I couldn't give a shit what random people think -- mostly because I have a low opinion of people to begin with. But it's terrible when it comes to forming relationships, because it's the opinions of people who I like and respect that matter. It's like fear of rejection, only ramped up to a million.

In other words, I like persons but hate people. Conversely, the opinions of people don't bother me, but the opinions of persons do.

So normally this is something I can deal with on a regular basis, because I am effectively a shut-in hermit without any real-life friends. But then I read about the awesome hijinks that occurred at this year's Blogorado, and I ache. A deep, throbbing pain in the heart and the gut, like I'd been sucker-punched and dumped at the same time.

I desperately want to meet people who think I awesome, but at the same time the though of it is pants-shittingly terrifying. I am trapped between a need to protect myself and the need for human contact.

Before you ask: No, I'm not in therapy. I have no health insurance. We can't afford it, but neither is my family poor enough to be on assistance that I can get it for free. And frankly, given my family's attitudes about psychology and perceived weakness, I would quite honestly rather die than open myself up to the verbal abuse that would result if I admitted to them that I have this condition.

So I'm stuck. And that's why I am a writer:  I can create worlds where I am welcomed and not judged. I live inside my head because living inside my body is too painful. I want to be loved, but I am afraid of rejection, so I put on this mask to hide my face in the hopes that you come to love my anonymous heart and mind and soul.

I need help, but I can't bear to be looked at.

Seasonal Depression

Gah. I must be suffering from seasonal depression, even though I don't exactly feel depressed. I'm just exhausted all the time, for no real reason. I have zero energy and no desire to do anything except  sit in front of the TV and vegetate.

Wait, that's not entirely true. I have the desire to write, except I don't have the energy or imagination to write anything other than this half-assed entry. There's something I wanted to do for Pear Harbor Day, which was yesterday, and by the time I get around to it I fear it will be too late for the entry to have any meaning whatsoever (although honestly it wasn't going to have much meaning anyway).

I am so fucking tired of this holiday season and it's only going to get more "in my face" festive in the coming weeks. Please, someone kill me now. Or at least supply me with enough booze that I pass out until after Christmas. A coma sounds delightfully restful.

I know it's Wednesday and I'm supposed to post something wacky, but nothing seems funny to me right now. It's all fake. Everything about this time of year is fake, including the forced sentiment we have to endure in order to avoid being called grinches.

I'm not a grinch, or at least I don't think I am. I don't want to take anyone's Christmas away. I just wish there was some way for you to have yours without foisting rampant commercialism and false cheer on mine. You know that hush you get in a church when the lights go down, right before the candles start lighting up and the congregation sings "Silent Night"? That moment, that pregnant pause, is my ideal Christmas moment, and all I want is to celebrate it.

Unfortunately it's being drowned out by the glitz and schmaltz and lights and carols.

Me Monday

I didn't post at all last week, and to be perfectly honest I'm a bit hurt no one even noticed.

So here's the thing: My splint came off last week -- huzzah! -- and immediately my Occupational Therapist (don't call her a Physical Therapist, oh no, she will cut you if you do) started laughing wickedly and began implementing all sorts of sadistic exercises for me to do with my thumb and hand. Most of these involved machines and weights and at least one contraption which I swear once belonged to Torquemada.

So anyway, for fir first few days my hand was really tired and sore and I didn't want to write. Okay, fine. But by about Wednesday, the inertia began to kick in: "Well, I really should write, but I've already missed a few days, so there's no big rush or anything, I'll post when I get around to it..."  In case you hadn't noticed, this is procrastination, my friends, and it is one of my worst enemies.

By the end of the week, though, I was starting to get a bit depressed, because I hadn't posted all week, and it looked like I wouldn't get to it, and why hadn't anyone noticed I wasn't posting? Didn't people miss me and care enough to ask if I was all right and would I post soon? Because as I have said before, I desire constant adulation from my readers.

Now logically, I understand that you folks are busy with your lives, and you probably read this blog through an RSS updater or email or Google Friend Connect, and you just didn't notice that I wasn't updating as often as I used to because you have lives and you were reading the blogs that actually did manage to update in a regular, professional manner. I understand that. But depression ain't rational, folks, and sometimes I just need a hug.

The reason I am writing this isn't because I love to complain (although that is a true fact). It's because I don't really feel like writing anything today, but I realize that I need to write something today in order to make it easier to write something worthwhile tomorrow. It's also a request for help from me to you: if you notice I haven't been around for a while, please drop me a line and let me know that you care I am missing.

Some days I just need a hug.

Zzzzzz

Blarg.

I know I haven't been posting much, and that bothers me. I haven't had much progress with Chapter 4, either.

The biggest problem is that I'm so damn tired all the time. I swear, I'm sleeping between 12 and 14 hours a day and I still feel tired. It might be depression, but it doesn't feel like depression. I say that because I've been depressed on top of being tired, and then the depression went away, and I'm still tired.

So I'm thinking that either my body rhythms are totally fucked for some unknown reason, or I'm some kind of sick and don't know it, or possibly my mild hypoglycemia is getting worse. Just in case it's that last one, I've been eating snacks on a regular schedule. It seems to be helping, but slowly.

I'm seeing someone about this tomorrow, but it's not a "real" doctor (because I can't afford one), it's a chiropractor/nutritionist. It's the best I can do under the circumstances.

Anyway... I haven't forgotten about you guys. Still working on Curse/Or. Camel is still being a major bitch, because god damn she doesn't play well with the other characters. It's like every time I want her to sit nicely and ask questions, she throws a tantrum that involves things breaking or being set on fire.

Sigh.

All right, already

I'm back.

First I had a kidney stone (ick) on the 26th, which ruined my weekend and left me feeling generally weak and shitty and not wanting to write.

Then I fell into a depression because I hadn't updated in a week, and no one seemed to notice or care.

Rule #1 of dealing with Palette: When she goes quiet, things aren't well. However, any show of attention is looked upon favorably by her.

Anyway, back to semi-regular updates.

I am filled with frustration, anger, jealousy

Frustration: After admitting defeat yesterday, I wasn't in bed more than five minutes before having not one but many ideas on what to write about. Of course, I didn't immediately get up and write because I was tired and already in bed. Now that I'm awake I can't think of any of them. Goddammit.

Anger: By a show of hands, how many people remember even 10% of what they learned in high school chemistry? Biology? I dunno about you guys, but I took an algebra or pre-calc class every year and damned if I can recall more than 3 formulas, total.

How about college? Maybe if you're lucky you remember 20% of what you learned there. I'm not so lucky... with the exception of my Literature courses (which I adored) and one or two VERY notable classes, I don't recall shit about my college experiences.

Yet I can quote to you, verbatim, huge uninterrupted passages from Monty Python, Red Dwarf, and Blackadder.

I don't know which pisses me off more: that I have forgotten all of this potentially useful information, or that I spent so much time and effort in learning things that I've never used, nor ever needed to use, since graduation.

Meanwhile, I still don't know how to change the oil on my car.

Jealousy: How the fuck do some bloggers strike it big and amass huge audiences? I'm about ready to attribute it to random chance, because I've read many of the "big name" blogs and I know -- not think, not feel, but know with an ironclad certainty -- that I write as well, if not better than they do.

And it's not a case of my blog "lacking focus," either; some of them are just random opinion pieces about whatever catches their attention at the moment, and they're still pulling in big numbers.

Maybe I should just go "misanthropic bitch" route and try to offend as many people as possible. I got a huge amount of hits from the recent Canadian brouhaha, and from a quick scan of talk radio it seems like people enjoy being offended, seeing other people be offended, and feeling validated in their prejudices by agreeing with the person doing the offending that the offendees had it coming in the first place and really need to get over themselves.

I'm certain I could do it on a constant basis. I just think it wouldn't be healthy for me -- mentally, socially, emotionally -- to live my life in a constant state of venomous ire. Plus, I am a delicate flower and desperately want people to like me and tell me how great I am, not be angry with me and send nasty or threatening emails my way. I realize that criticism and dislike of my work is part of the literary "package", as it were, but choosing to offend as many people as possible just isn't my thing. I'd much rather keep being who I am -- a quirky, over-literate goth chick with a skewed perspective on life -- but to a much broader audience.

Reading that last paragraph, I think I see the problem: "goth" and "over-literate" simply don't belong in the same sentence as "broader audience." I'm too goth for the mundanes, not goth enough for the lifestylers, and no one ever struck it rich in the popular media being over-literate.

Of course, I'm sure I could increase my viewers by about a thousand percent if I posted nude pictures on my blog, but that's a line I refuse to cross.

Le sigh.

To whom must I whore myself out just to get some decent exposure?

Yet more proof everyone is more talented than me

Tom Foss pitches "Crisis of Faith."


PS: Some of you may think that these last few posts are me crying for attention, like I want people to say "No Palette, you're still a good writer, let me stroke your ego some." I don't want that at all. To prove it, I'm disabling comments.

I am a talentless hack

So, a few weeks ago someone asked me what kind of comic I'd write if given the chance. I replied:

I'd love to do a team comic with some of the under-used DC characters. Creeper, Man-Bat, Vixen, that latina Wildcat from the late 80s, and maybe Etrigan the Demon as the leader. Give it a nice street-level occult vibe, and a slightly weird name like "Hand of Glory"....

... well, I'd buy it.

Guess what? It's been done before. No, not literally, but there are more than enough similarities that all it takes is one glance at my proposal to go, "Oh, that sounds like Shadow Fighters." Maybe you can't see it, but I can. And now I can't use that idea, because I refuse to write anything that could be construed as ripping off another series.

And then over in Plok's blog, he challenges us to pitch a Time Travel TV series. My early contribution:

I’m noticing a surplus of science-fiction themes here and a dearth of other means of time travel (magic, psychic, etc).

I have something mulling about in my head involving the Wyrd Sisters, but while I have character, means, and motive, I’m still lacking an overall plot.

The theme I’m going for, however, is that of Timestream = Tapestry, and all the time-travel that’s occurred throughout sci-fi history is really mucking the place up, so the Wyrd Three have to go fix it by resolving paradoxes.

It could easily become a satirization of sloppy time-travel stories.

The next day, I find out that it's essentially the premise of Voyagers! done with the cast of Oh My Goddess!

I'd kill myself in despair, but that's been done before, too.

Depression Monday

Hopefully this won't turn into a recurring theme like Dead Piro Days, but nonetheless I need to beg off of writing today's entry. My allergies have been killing me, which means I haven't been sleeping well due to not being able to get enough air at night. (Sleep apnea, whee.)

And in addition to being tired and clogged, my "Middle of the month, every month, like freaking clockwork" depression is back, no doubt made worse by exhaustion and oxygen debt.

I'm going back to bed. Maybe the world will end while I'm sleeping so I won't have to deal with this mess any more.