Crud, Worm, and other appealing updates

Ugh! Why is it so much easier to get the Crud at Gen Con than any other convention I've been to!

I'm finally mostly recovered. Poor David's been having a hard time with upper-respiratory symptoms and some bad nightmares.

At work, I've done some little witchy stuff cleansing and warding and such, with noted positive effects on myself, my own work, and staff morale. I'm thinking I want to get into that at home, too. David has his own monthly ritual, but I want to step it up. I feel like I could do more to protect my home and family. I also want to talk to him about seeing a therapist - maybe looking into some EMDR treatments, since it did so much for me.

In health news, I'm thrilled to report that my weight is firmly into the upper 140s! Less than 15 pounds to a healthy BMI! I've also noticed great improvements in my cardiovascular and muscular endurance, and flexibility.

After joking around with an old high-school friend, I've decided I want to add succ…

The mess is part of the process.

If you want to know a weird learning curve, try being in love with someone who's a lot more fastidious than you.

I'm not even getting into how physically-messy things got, pre-David, mid-depression. Here's your gentle reminder of the day that an embarassing space is often a mental-health symptom. (If you recognize yourself in this problem, you do deserve better. You deserve help! You deserve a healthier mind, and a living space that doesn't stress you out. Also, unfuckyourhabitat is a godsend.)

David, meanwhile, is a type-A neat freak. At my best mental health, I have still been mellow about cleaning as I go, or even about cleaning up immediately after done cooking/crafting/etc. This does not fly at all with him, I've learned. I'm still learning this fascinating new lifestyle choice of not just waiting to tidy up 'til the end of your activity. So when we cook things together, I somewhat catch on, but mostly he's dashing around rinsing off the measuring…

Gen Con nightlife: All the goth clubbing your little black heart can stand.

Gen Con is nigh! David and I leave Thursday for the 4-day extravaganza of geekdom.

Amusingly, a former roommate tried to get a rise out of me once by saying that goths are "just nerds who wear more makeup." Well, duh? We're all sun-averse humanoids who know how to get our party on, and that is all ye mortals need know.

Naturally, the biggest gamer-geek convention in Indianapolis is a haven for the undead, and those who just wish they were. In a city where there's a sizable, but splintered, goth community, it's usually hard enough to keep one or two goth club nights a month going on - and we have to invade a "normie" bar to do it.

But. BUT!

This coming weekend, there are no fewer than FOUR darkly delightful places to drink and be spooky. Truth be told, there's nothing in the world like the Gen Con experience. Many a tome has been written on the greatness that is Gen Con. On top of everything else, though, the nightlife alone is worth the pilgrimage. …

Truth is the female body is always heavy, regardless of its size.

(Content note: Talk about weight gain, weight loss, and sexual harassment.)

Something happened yesterday that hasn't in years.

I was cat-called as I walked from the parking lot into the CVS to pick up my prescription.

It was frustratingly common in my teens. In my 20s, it was ubiquitous. I literally could not even walk from my front door to my car without some douchebag loudly commenting on my tits or my butt, or some other means of asserting that my body was there primarily as an object for his amusement.

The one good thing about severe clinical depression hitting hard in my late 20s, pulling me into its depths, and packing 60 pounds onto my 5'1 frame, is that I hit this amazing Limbo that I didn't know existed - a land where you're too fat to be visible to serial harassers, and too thin to be visible to fat-shamers. It's entirely likely that my white privilege had something to do with this. Black ladies of similar height and build to me still complain of this deh…

Friday Lights: Affirmations that helped me get from rock bottom into life

All has not been well at Casa Granola. It's been a little bit of one thing after another. Some minor health troubles and a little mental-health backslide for me, and a tragic death in the family for David. He's currently in the Chicago area, with his family, to inter his 38 year old brother's cremains in the family plot. The funeral was a week ago.

It was, of course, a shock when he died so suddenly, at such a young age. David's grief manifested into physical pain and awful dreams. Last week was hectic and tiring enough to keep me from the gym for the whole week, and I ate a lot of feelings. I know that a profound loss never becomes OK. It becomes more possible to bear over time, and that is generally the best we can hope for. I don't have any platitudes, just love and sorrow for the family.

While we come to the other side of the past couple of weeks, and bring ourselves back to some sense of normalcy, I've gotten back to some basics. We took most of last week…

BRB, screaming forever

It's... been an interesting couple of weeks.

There's truly nothing like the stunning banality of slipping into fascism in the modern United States to bring on a mental-health backslide.

As I type and file and have an after-work cup of tea with David, the hub of gleeful cruelty that is the Administration builds concentration camps for tens of thousands of refugees who they call criminals. Some survivors of Japanese-American internment camps still live, and now they have to watch us do it all again - but this time, the kids don't even have their parents.

As we ponder high school options for Bonus Kid, Justice Kennedy announces his retirement, thus solidifying the impossibility of a return to sanity within our lifetime - and a hell of an uphill fight to get it back within Bonus Kid's lifetime.

My last hope was that this flimsy bulwark against fully unchecked, ravaging, gleeful governmental cruelty would, at least, hold long enough for us to regain the US House of Represen…

Sometimes a breakthrough looks like a breakdown, part 1: "when I finally get my shit together enough"

It seems to take being at a certain point on Maslow's hierarchy to be able to consistently create.

I was very prolific in high school and college, but I've written in fits and starts for years, never reaching the polish of certain aspirational fashion, yoga, foodie type blogs. I wasn't seeing my kind of pathos in blog content, so I figured there must not be a market for someone who was living a life that's more of a warning than an aspiration.

"Just write, just write every day, just do it." went the pithy catch-line of a speaker at a bloggers' workshop I'd attended years before. But these people's lives, clothes, occupations... they looked nothing like mine. They'd successfully ascended into the Creative Class - in some cases, they inherited it from parents and grandparents who'd already been there. How to find the energy and time to write when you weren't even getting enough sleep in the hustle to kind of survive? The reason, after a…