Spring Cleaning

Too many cobwebs cluttering up BrainTown for the last year. A year ago, I was in isolation, riddled with COVID, miserable and sick for Mother’s Day and my birthday. Everything was bullshit.

A year later, I can still feel the after effects of having contracted the plague; my lungs are close to, but not 100%. I feel like I aged 10 years in the last one.

Spring’s often a time where I sort of shake off the dust and feel a little less hollow; there’s definitely something to that whole “Winter makes some folks fucked up in the head” — it me, reader; some folks is me.

I have a lot on my plate, these days — the day job got infinitely busier, the house we bought shortly before the plague is much larger and requires lots more maintenance. My better half tricked me into suggesting we get chickens (I maintain it’s entirely not my fault — I would never have done such a thing like leaping into a massive endeavor without ever fully grasping the consequences, no, not me) and my descendant tricked me into getting them a dog after our first one passed away. Said dog is sleeping behind me in the office, in the only place she ever really wants to be during daylight hours: with me.

I am beset on all sides by conspirators, truly.

But I have also chosen to try new things like auditioning for voice acting work, or dusting off manuscripts and actually shoving them in front of other people for judgment. I’m renewing some old things too, like my rock choir, and Friday Night Meatballs, and firmly settling in to my kitchen witch self.

I make a lot of soup, let me tell you.

The point is, I noticed I’m still alive, and in true ‘I really miss LiveJournal’ fashion, I’m going to scream into the void that is the internet, and fill it up with whatever kind of noise I can think of that feels good. Stick around, watch this space, and come along with me for the ride.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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