Tag: personal

So here I am with a fic idea…

And realising that my main character is a lot like me. I never mean for that to happen but I wish there were more characters I could relate to… So I’m like sitting here designing her and then going “wait. Wait. This is me, but in wishful thinking”

Ugh. And I can never tell if that’s a terrible thing or a good thing because it’s slightly more representation of mental illness, and a flawed but good character, and I know it’s fucking accurate, because it’s literally how I live 😂

So let’s pretend for a second that ghosts are real…

And one died like… 300 years ago… Do they like, learn new things as technology comes along? Like, see people with phones and learn about texting and computers and emojis?

Things to ponder.

Streaming Services

It cannot be said enough just how much I love my various streaming services. One of the things I used to bitch about incessantly was how I wanted to pay for my music and TV shows… but that they weren’t available to me here in Australia. 

I used to eagerly get money for iTunes, as a pre-credit-card-unemployed-because-my-parents-were-strict-on-school kid, so excitedly… Go to download music that I wanted… and find it never available in the Australian iTunes store. So I’d ask my friends in the USA to send it to me. 

And it sucked. I wanted to support things, but… if you don’t make it available, I can’t do it. 

But Netflix and Spotify just changed everything for me. 

I know it’s a weird thing to be passionately excited about… but I’m actually really impressed and pleased with both services. I never run out of things to watch, to listen to. I hear new things. 

Last year, I listened to over 42000 minutes on Spotify. That’s 13hrs a week. I pay $13/month for the service… MONEY WELL SPENT I SAY. 

And I really LIKE Netflix series. Like, they’re weird, and different, and push the envelope, and not like every other TV show. And that won’t last, but fuck I’m enjoying it whilst it lasts.

IDK. I’m just about to watch Riverdale, and I feel excited because if I get bored of this, I’ve got so many other shows to watch. It’s awesome. 

So I’m getting to the age where every second post on FB is marriage, or birth announcements, or engagements (SO MANY FUCKING ENGAGEMENTS, CAN WE NOT). 

But mostly it’s the spawn.

And like. I think some kids are cute. But mostly I just go “AHHHH WHY. NO NO NO PLEASE NO” at the idea of kids.

So obviously the answer is not to have them. But I’m just really surprised by the intensity of my reactions. Not “nahhh” but “AHHHH NOOO”.

Starting to sketch out character profiles, and realised the Empress (a major, but not main character) in my novel is pretttty much a prosocial psychopath. 

And she’s kind of the best character in the story thus far

So on this holiday, I’ve exclusively stayed in AirBNBs. And I see their value. I really do. But I hate to admit that… I prefer hotels. I would rather the money go to people and their homes… but I’m such a fiend about bathroom cleanness. And sure, I could complain about that in my review of the place… but that seems mean and unnecessary. Like. I don’t wanna be a dick, but your shower is gross. I want others to be able to know – but also don’t want to be a dick. So I keep my mouth shut.

I like to be able to use the bathroom without fear of someone being home. I like to have sex comfortably. I like that you can get hotels in the city, and not have to commute, or pay lots of uber fares. 

I think next time I do a holiday I’ll do hotels more. Sorry AirBNB. 

write.

Another day, another angsty post that’s actually way more angsty than I am truly feeling. Hey, emotional writing pours out of me. Writing “I had a good day, and got a bagel, and did some stretching, and reached 25K on my NaNoWriMo and it’s only day 6, and I’m not even 1/5th through my story” just doesn’t make for a good Fetlife post yanno.

And in many ways, unless it’s a truly ~beautiful~ moment, writing happy stuff kind of feels… braggy. Like, hey, I’ve had a week of amazing things, and I had one hour of sadness, so I wrote about that. It’s like Facebook. We see people’s highlight reels and none of the bad bits. Well, Fetlife, I swear, seems to be where I put the bad bits, but none of the good bits. Soz team.

I’ve been tracking my moods in an app for 19 days now, and I’ve only had one day where I’ve marked it as bad. I don’t really get bad days. I get bad hours. Such is the nature of a life with chronic mood swings. But it’s like the weather in Melbourne… (or so they used to joke – I’ve lived in Melbourne and would like to alter the saying – it’s perpetually shit down there!) – if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it’ll change. My moods are the same. Every couple of hours and it’s a new one.

At least it’s never boring.

I’d been having major existential crises. The realisation that someone who has become a core part of my being is leaving has left me reeling. Who am I outside of him? I used to know… but now I don’t. Or didn’t. Still don’t, but I’m figuring it out.

It was the realisation that I was alone, and might always be as such, and also that everything I had built my life around was going to change. It was pretty distressing. I thought I had dreams and goals, but actually, those were all framed around what he wanted. He never wanted me to, but I shaped my thoughts, hopes, values around what I thought he would want in a partner. The other thing is that I didn’t mean to. It’s just a bad habit of mine. A loose sense of self-identity lends itself to that, it seems.

So a few weeks back, I got inebriated. I mourned the relationship. I grieved for what felt like years of hurt. I cried and cried and cried. And above all, I learned some very vital things about myself.

And a few days later… the clouds finally started to clear. And I knew what I wanted.

It’s like something broke open in my brain. Despite writing on Fetlife a lot over the past few years, I haven’t written in years. Not fiction, anyway. The last time I wrote fiction was over four years ago.

And seven days ago, I decided I wanted to participate in NaNoWriMo again. It’s day 6. I’ve just cracked 25K. I know there are people who get this done faster. I do, however, think a girls gotta give herself credit. I work 2 jobs. I’ve socialised three times in those six days. Done obligatory family time. Had three dates. Barely slept. Not exercised. But by god I’ve written. And I would have written more, if my hands and shoulders and back and neck were cramping.

I tried to type cloud before and typed clowd twice.

I feel like I’ve rediscovered a part of me I’d feared had been gone forever.

And it feels good. It feels safe. Because I have shitty self-esteem and writing is one of the few things I’ve actually thought I’d not-sucked-at. And maybe it’s okay to cling to the things that make us happy, and feel good about ourselves. Maybe it’s okay to recognise our own “good"ness.

I guess I just feel like I’ve come home to myself.