Being human

I haven’t blogged for a bit, because I’ve been human. I turned 40, which wasn’t that big of a deal to me. No where near as life shaking as I’d expected it to be for certain. Maybe that’s because I’d been really ill for about a week before.

Docs still don’t know what the hell it was, but my throat and face swelled up so much and hurt so badly I couldn’t drink. Thank gods for modern chemistry, I couldn’t have taken much more of that kind of pain. (… and having fibro, I’m used to pain) It wasn’t strep, but it had so many similarities it might as well have been.

It’s taken me a while to recover my strength. (I chuckle when saying ‘my strength’, I’m not strong, being chronically ill… maybe I should just say that I’ve sort of regained my level of ‘normal’?)

I’m back to my normal, but I’m not sleeping well because of life stress. We’re moving to a smaller house, which requires some purging of stuff. How the hell we managed to accumulate so much stuff I’d really love to know, but we have and now I have to purge it.

My youngest and last child started pre-k/junior kindergarten today and I admit I bawled like a little baby. I made it home first, though.

You know, depression never really goes away, you just learn to cope with it. All of this life stress and my lack of concrete success in finding an agent who likes my work makes depression and anxiety and self doubt rear it’s ugly head again. I have good days and bad days, like most people who cope with these issues.

Some days are full of self care in the form of comfort food and binge watching tv series. Some days I’m ripping through my word count drafting three stories, though since I can’t even sell one I have that ‘why the hell am I doing this’ issue with the writing. I can only answer (again to myself, sometimes talking to myself is the only adult conversation I have in a day until my spouse gets home) that my writing is my calling, my love and on some days, my sanity.

So, all that emotional blathering to let y’all know I’m still here, just have been more ill than usual, coping with life shite and self doubt, but that I’m still writing. I may have a new short story for you all in October. If the publisher of the anthology doesn’t pick it up by then I’ll self pub it so you can have something new to read. (It’s another suspension scene, paranormal, I had a lot of fun writing it).

Again and always, thanks for reading my words. Without you, I’d only be a writer telling stories to myself.