Due to a clerical error of epic-level proportions, Jesus’ death certificate appears to have a mistake on the dates and…
Happy Easter, folks.
I’m tempted to delve into an essay about faith and the modern world, but I’m not informed enough to give a strong opinion.
After an initial round of egg-hunting at the house and an early-morning Mass at the school (we gotta change our home church to get the parishioner tuition), it’s off to the family obligations for the day!
It’ll be a mandatory day-off from writing, but I’ll be putting my foot down this evening and shutting off social media until I make some progress in the stories. Also going to take a look around here and see what needs fixing, like the rest of my property in my spring-cleaning mode.
It’s 10 minutes after dawn, and just before the people are out and about.
I’m not a big-city, crapton-of-people-around-me person these days, but this tiny moment of quiet before the street cars start rumbling and the noise begins is when I’m comfortable with a metropolis.
Of course, as I type this out, the city wakes up. Time to start the day.
It’s been a busy time, folks. That, and I’ve been working on things.
Spring-cleaning this property has taken over a great deal of my attention, especially since things keep cropping up. A good example: carpenter ants infesting a shed at the far end of the property and making the thing collapse.
This was an ‘oh shit’ moment and way louder than you’d expect.
Watching your old tin shed start to cave in for absolutely no reason is a moment of concern, to put it lightly. After looking through the building (and battling a nest of wasps), I decided it was time to take the thing down and recycle the metals.
I’m not sure why there’s an old pit in there, to be honest.
Most of the lumber used for the shed was riddled with carpenter ant tunnels, which I learned about in the worst way possible and had to scramble to get my gloves removed. Fighting a nest of homicidal wannabe termites was not on my “To Do” list, but here we are. The tin is still good, though, so it’ll be reshaped for a smaller shed and used to keep the lawn mower out of the weather.
Following that, we’re getting back into the swing of things concerning the campaigns! Back-to-back sessions! Q&A discussions! Seeing 5 different players in my Discord messages with queries and RP notes!
Sigh…if management knew that I actually do handle multiple conversations and can be coherent (mostly) throughout the talks, they would try to make me a supervisor.
Not happening.
Of course, now that the flurry of activity is handled, I’m taking advantage of the day off and necessity to stay in town (doctor’s appointment) in order to write and post!
Cue the executive dysfunction…
It’ll be a struggle, but there’s determination! Also a self-imposed deadline, which will hopefully spur me on to reach a goal.
We’re working on the Star Wars novel today, but I’ve been to also add to the Campaign pages for a while. My players are making great strides in developing their homebrew concepts, and several have been play-tested and implemented. Getting them put on this thing gets a tad difficult (I think the layout might need restructuring and I just don’t wanna), but we’ll figure it out.
With that, I’ve finished rambling and procrastinating. For everyone that’s been patient with me, here’s Korra being the water-wolf that she is.
… all right, no matter how much an effort I put into keeping a straight face, the phrase ‘deep-ghosting’ always makes me chuckle.
I blame my old friend Brady for a story he told me that I cannot tell people.
For me, beyond its momentary inducements of immature hilarity, it’s always been a phrase that follows the first word of this post: depression.
It’s not one of my usual afflictions, but depression does hit in February with its usual “surprise, now you’re anxious and overthinking everything” starter, then follows up with the questioning of self-worth. It’s a cycle that I’m almost used to, though the severity of the depression varies on how rough the previous months had been.
That it happens right around my birthday every year is just unfair.
So, this is 38. My back and knees aren’t happy about it.
When I was younger, this typically resulted in me vanishing from my social circles and contemplating my life choices up till then. That would result in (most often) a terrible decision that I’d have to correct over the course of the next months.
Problem to that is that I can’t do that anymore. My family needs me, and just as important, I need me to be around.
And the dogs need me. JoJo, being 11 and cancer-stricken, is living out the remainder of his time with me as his nurse.
He’s not happy about this, either.
My typical method of self-therapy is not exactly healthy, but for most folks it isn’t seen as self-destructive: work. I normally dive head-first into putting hours away with the mail.
You’d think that after the Heavy Season, I’d avoid this mindset.
The consequences to this pattern should be obvious, but it somehow misses me every year: I suffer physically, and my writing all but stops.
Much like what’s happened this year, only with a twist: I took two weeks off from work as a “birthday gift” to myself. So, instead of whiling away daylight slinging letters, I went into spring-cleaning.
And I know why I do this every year: I need a sense of accomplishment with something. I need to look at something and say it’s finished. Writing can take a long time, and cleaning up is something I can do (no matter what my desk may indicate otherwise).
I took it upon myself to clear out the storage building of the cardboard boxes, sort through anything that’s broken or molded (there was a leak in the wall, had to seal it back) and put everything remaining into crates.
Yes, this is highly satisfying for an obsession.
Working on the property gives me that small moment of satisfaction, even if it can be taxing as I grow older.
At least it’s finally getting done.…accurate
An unfortunate part of this bout of depression is that, like I mentioned earlier, I tend to ghost everyone (IE I stop returning calls, texts, and avoid eye contact) until I either snap out of it or someone notices what time of year it is and drags me back to the group.
This time, I haven’t snapped out of it, but it’s me that’ll be dragging this sad old man back to the people that make up his life.
In the meantime of getting out of this emotional rut, I have things to do that won’t allow me to indulge in my isolation but still help me find small moments of victory. Such as curating the vast amount of baseball cards I’ve found in one of my boxes and selling them.
This is just one box.
How the hell did they survive over 30 years of following me around and still be in good condition? That, I’d love to know.
I can’t say this has been all that healthy for me, but it has been cathartic.
To everyone who’s been messaging me, or wondering where I’ve been, I’m coming back and will get caught up with you.
After battling through multiple bouts of ailments, and simple age, we’re having to say goodbye to Sarah’s pet, our family dog, Sadie.
15 years of getting underfoot and nipping at everyone’s heels in order to herd us to whatever it was she decided we had to be. When she started showing problems with her hips, I started bending my rules about dogs in the bed and would pick her up so she’d still have her favorite spot.
I had to go to work today, but I did get to see her one last time and talk with her. For the first time in maybe 8 months, she recognized me and even wagged her tail.
Goodbye, Sadie. Thank you for the years. We’ll miss you.
Swift's Corner 