A journal excerpt from about a month ago. This will probably be expanded to an essay at some point.
This post is an unedited, stream of consciousness about grief, death, and losing a loved one. I’m posting the content with minimal edits to give you the most intimate view of what losing a loved one does to your brain that I can. There will be followup posts in the coming weeks. This was written March 15.
My grandpa died three weeks ago today. It doesn’t feel like that long, but it also feels like an eternity since then. I feel like I was living some other life even though I’m basically doing the same things for the same reasons.
This post is a re-working of several posts I made in early 2014 about the Sorceress and Teela.
My biggest plotting pet peeve is when characters keep secrets from one another that serve no useful purpose. There’s nothing wrong with the character having a secret or secrets. It drives me crazy when characters keep secrets that do more harm than good and never seem to grasp the idea that they are causing their own problems when they lie to their loved ones. There are PLENTY of good, interesting stories that can be told without this particular cheap plot device.
It’s sad that I’m a Christian, and yet when someone tells me they’re a Christian writing about their faith or Christian life, I worry whether I should even attempt to go to their website. I cringe because I’m waiting for the judgment that almost always vomits off of so-called “Christian” sites.
When I was 15, I threw a party and nobody showed up. I wasn’t one of the “cool” kids, but I had what I thought was a reasonably solid group of friends from different cliques in my high school. (Everyone knows who you are when you have a physical disability, and most people will converse with you if they think that you are smart enough to help them with their homework.)
Getting my parents to agree to that party had been a monumental effort. Then I had to invite everyone–also a huge deal for an introvert who with an anxiety disorder. Inviting people or asking them to do things was my worst nightmare.
February and March kind of sucked. No. They didn’t “kind of suck.” They just sucked. A lot. I’m glad they’re over.
This is a stream of consciousness brain dump meets personal update meets update on my website progress. I’ll add headings and whatnot so you can skim if you’re interested, but be prepared for my patented Rose ramble style where I have no idea what is going to come out of my mouth next.
My family’s had some serious troubles over the past few months and it seems like people want to help but don’t know how or what to do. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to know what to say or how to give the person support. The biggest thing I have wanted is a person who would listen to me without squirming in discomfort or rushing to offer “solutions.” When a friend or family member is in crisis or even just having a bad day, it’s natural to want to fix the problem, but more often than not, it makes the other person feel pressured or judged. .Here are 15 tips to help you give support in a more beneficial way.
I’m a terrible person to play video games with. I’m that gamer. The one who needs to find every bit of loot, every piece of armor, every hidden gem. The one who will spend hours and hours on the same level farming a boss or running through caverns killing the same monsters because they have cool drops and I’m looking for that one item I don’t have.
I always start off with the best of intentions. I want to complete the quest and win the game. I like to win. Once I’ve learned the ropes and have seen all the shiny loot I can play with, I’m not so interested in winning. I’m a hoarder. I’ll build a dozen characters just to collect special armor pieces. Somewhere on my computer, there’s a folder full of screenshots of all my Torchlight characters decked out in my favorite gear.(The ones in this post aren’t mine. They must be on an external drive.)
Content Warnings: Mentions of physical, psychological, and sexual abuse, depictions of spousal abuse.
Bloggy warning: This is long. There are no pictures. It’s angry and NSFW. Names have been changed.
When the phone rings at 7:45 PM on a Saturday, my stomach sinks a little. My mouth goes dry. No one calls me at that time of night on the weekends. I’m sitting at my desk with a blanket on and the box of tissues in my lap. The answering machine picks up before I can unload everything and get to the phone.