Over the last year, a lot of changes have occurred. I didn’t even blog, because I didn’t know what to write. I wrote a short story that I toyed with turning into a novel. I’ve not done much with either one. I finally got a job, doing something I never, ever, thought I’d do… let alone enjoy. It’s not quite enough to pay the mortgage, but it’s more than I’ve had in the last four years. At least it’s there. It’s real. It’s reliable.
I accepted more of myself and embraced my weirdness. I bought my dream car. Her name is Lucille, and she’s a hearse. I expanded my skeleton family. They are a perfect little family, despite the missing limbs and the fact that they are dead.
Some bad relationships turned good, some good relationships turned bad. I tried to tune out the toxic influences. Sometimes I succeeded, sometimes not. I met some awesome new people in my job, and found a new family member that had been long lost.
I relied very heavily on my cats to keep my sane. I spent the better part of the last year doubting myself. Questioning myself. Disliking myself. They kept me grounded. They kept me here.
I’ve started to write a bit more again. I’m even going to be published, since I helped my saner half write a short story. I’m immersing myself in the beauty of the world though photography. I am hoping to carve again this year.
So far, 2018 is stirring up a lot of memories… especially from one of my worst years ever (2013). It’s not going to be an easy year, but I’ll get through it. One way or another. I’ll return here too, and vent to whomever reads this. If no one does, that’s okay too. At least I will have spoken.
The Witch of South Mountain 