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This weekend left me feeling strange….

I wanna scream… but in both a good way and a bad way.

I found the perfect yard of linen fabric for a super important, super secret embroidery project. The Fabric Wars event had barely started, and it only cost me a dollar, but it’s exactly what I was hoping to find. Now I can proceed with the next stage: actual embroidery. I’ve got both lots of time and no time to do it in, but I’m confident I can finish in time with no problem.

On the down side, I spent much of the weekend exhausted and in pain. Sleep was weird and uncomfortable, and my back is angry with me. Between the pain and the poor sleep, I couldn’t really focus on much of anything most of yesterday. I felt bad for everyone at the event because they had to be around me with the mood I was in. If you’re reading this and you were there, sorry. I should’ve put on a better face regardless of what I felt like.

My foot was hurting, too, and I’m starting to get worried. Intellectually I know that since it’s not broken from the last time I injured it, that means it’s a soft tissue injury… Which means I need to just take it easy and let it heal. My concern, though, is that I have no time in the next couple of weeks where I can take off early from work to go to the podiatrist. So the increased pain and limping around can’t be addressed yet. I’m sure I’ll be okay in the long run, but in the meantime I can’t, well, run.

I’m still debating on whether or not the good of finding the perfect fabric for what I need to do outweighs the bad of the pain in my back and foot.

Hopefully no surprises this week. My schedule should be decent, or rather should be semi-normal, and I will be back to work on the sequel to Abnormal in the mornings. Life should settle down a bit. I hope.

Perpetual embroidery project? Done.

Upcoming embroidery projects: Due September.

Arts exchange project: Plenty of time.

Arts and Sciences projects: Pretty much done. As done as they’re going to get for now.

I think….I think I get to do stuff I want to do now!

So what’s first on my list now that my list is more open? Revisions! That’s right, I have the first round of edits back from the publisher for my sequel, so that means I need to dive right on in. Time to fix the passive voice, cut the adverbs, and kill those darlings.

Speaking of killing darlings, the upcoming webcast is off to a great start even before we’ve actually started recording. Lol We’ve got authors, actors, and even a producer lined up for when we start production in a couple of months. I’m super excited for that project to pan out, even though it’ll be a little anxiety-inducing at first. My co-host started working on her end last night to book more guests, and I think at an episode a week we’re set for the first few months already! Muses and Murderers should be a lot of fun to do.

I’m looking forward to revising Escape the Light. Most authors hate revisions, and to be honest when you’re in the process it is tedious and annoying. How do I fix these issues and still keep the voice I was trying to convey? But the finished product, when it’s all said and done, is the goal, so best to power through the revisions and get them done ASAP so the book can shine.

Speaking of which, this will be a short post today as I have to get cracking. A lot to do this weekend, but if I bring my laptop with I should be able to get some revising done here and there.

Ah, doctors. Gotta love ’em. Especially when they decide to order the whole gamut of testing. Routine labs? Sure! Hormone levels? Why not! Sleep study? Let’s do it! Ultrasound? We’ll throw that one in there, too!

Meanwhile, in my head, I’m wondering when I’m going to get the time to do all this! Fasting labs are hard to get done in time before I have to be at work, so it’s gotta be a day/time when I can come in a little late. Ultrasounds take some finagling, too, and I have to contact a whole ‘nother doctor’s office to arrange the sleep study…which means another doctor’s appointment prior to the study, most likely.

Looks like my “work-free” birthday week is going to be chock-full of appointments. I hope my primary care doc doesn’t mind that I’m planning on putting these things off until then, but there just isn’t time. Oh, wait…He wants to see me back before then. Crap. Guess I’m calling the office at some point to notify them that I can’t get the time off to do the things for a little while.

That’s the worst thing about working at a doctor’s office: I’m working all the hours when these things need to be done. Can’t take a long lunch here because I’m covering for someone, can’t come in late here or here or anywhere because patients love checking in early, can’t leave early because who the hell knows when the patients will be done for the day?!? Ugh.

I’ll figure it out. It may take longer than the primary care doc has in mind, but I’ll get the things done…somehow.

Oh, and the whole weight/constant hunger thing? Yeah, I got the “well you’re on an awful lot of medications” speech. Basically, the PCP doesn’t seem to want to offer any suggestions on how to minimize hunger or what kind of exercise plan might be good for me or recommend a diet plan or anything. I’m on meds, so that’s it. I’m screwed. Fatness for life. Hopefully something will show up in this battery of testing that will provide a clue other than “you’re on a lot of meds, and they all can have side effects.”

In the meantime, I guess I’m going to have a hard look at what I’m eating. I’m trying to stick more to veggies and yogurt instead of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Doesn’t help the hunger, really, but maybe I can fool myself into thinking it’ll make a shit’s worth of difference.

This is me.

Sleep-deprived with yesterday’s makeup smeared under my lids, but not too bad, right?

This is also me.

More than 100 lbs overweight for my height, and feeling more and more lately like the weight is going to kill me.

How did I go from the skinny chick to the Blob? It’s easy to claim I don’t know how it happened, but that would be a lie. I grew up skinny, so I never learned proper eating habits. In my first years of college, I could easily down a bag of Oreos with some Cool Whip and not gain a pound. I could eat a whole can of frosting and still wear crop tops. 132 lbs on a “fat day.”

After starting a retail job my metabolism changed. I gained up to about 150 lbs. I was eating terrible foods from the food court rather than bringing a healthy lunch. For several years, I bounced up and down…165, 155, 170, 185, 165, 150…

This was me.

At 143 pounds at the time of the above photo–over 10 years ago–I had people asking me if I was eating enough. I had just started Ritalin after falling asleep while driving, and my body melted away the post-college pounds. I was actually drinking Ensure every day to keep the weight on.

But I still didn’t listen when my body started to expand again. I found out I was moving across-country, and I got worried about finding a new job, meeting new friends, starting life all over again.

It started small. Foot-long subs at the Subway next door to work instead of 6-inchers. A couple Swiss Cake Rolls from the gas station around the corner before work. Captain D’s. McDonald’s. Diet Dr. Peppers out the wazoo. Energy drinks. A good ol’ Southern “veggie tray” from the hospital cafeteria every other day. (Note: in Alabama, mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese count as “veggies.”) I attributed my slow crawl back up to 150 to the stress of the impending move.

I moved to Arizona a month before the rest of my family so I could do in-person job hunting. Because our house wasn’t finished yet, I was living in an extended-stay motel. My food habits suffered. Sure, I bought the little weight-loss frozen dinners…and ate two or three at a time because one doesn’t do shit for your hunger. I also ate at fast food places a lot and ordered from the local Pizza Hut. Stuffed crust veggie pizza, no mushrooms. I didn’t realize how often I was ordering from Pizza Hut until one of the delivery people started recognizing me and greeting me like an old friend. Guess I was a good tipper.

By the time the house was done and I had access to a scale again, I was about 165-170. That’s around the time I started working retail again. Smaller mall, smaller food court, still crappy food aplenty. While working in retail, before I got my current job, I met my now-husband. Who likes to cook. Who LOVES potatoes.

Well, that was pretty much the end of that. Now that I had someone feeding me constantly, someone who didn’t care how big I was, I guess I gave up on trying to get serious about losing weight. 180. 195. 200+. Almost nine years later, I’m hovering just under 290.

It’s hard to get dressed, especially putting on shoes & socks. I get winded easily. I’m hot all the freaking time, and I don’t know if it’s from the weight or hormones or both. I can’t make cosplays for myself anymore because I’m way outside the upper limit of the commercial patterns. I don’t fit at some restaurants’ booths. My feet hurt all the time, and I can’t do the things I used to like to do. I have stretch marks over my entire belly in the shape of purple-blue flames, which may sound cool as a tattoo concept but not as nature’s cruel reminder of how fast I’ve gained. And it doesn’t help that I’m hungry all the time. Seriously–I get so hungry I feel nauseous.

My depression and anxiety are warring inside me, fighting against the logic of the situation. Depression says “What’s the point?” Anxiety says “I can’t go to a gym. They’ll stare. They’ll point and laugh.” Logic says “You will fucking DIE if you don’t lose weight.” The problem is, depression and anxiety are teaming up against logic, and fear has me so paralyzed that it’s no help whatsoever.

I really don’t have adequate words for all the ways my life went wrong to bring me to the weight I am today. I can’t blame anyone but myself, because I’m the one who keeps eating when I shouldn’t and what I shouldn’t and I just can’t stop myself. I know the easy answer: Diet, you moron! Sure, it’s all well and good to say that, but what diet out there won’t make me feel like I’m being deprived? I know, I know, pizza and cake and cookies and all that aren’t necessary foods. They’re very, very bad for me. But when I try to cut them out, I just feel like I’m missing out. I mean, the first half of my life I could eat whatever the fuck I wanted. Now? Now I’ve spent another half a lifetime shortening my lifespan.

I want to go back to being the skinny girl. I want to lose this weight that makes me feel awkward and gross and terrible. I just don’t know how to do it.

Next Monday I see my primary care doc. It’s not for the weight specifically, but I think I’ll ask him about it. See what I can do. Dietitian? Gastric bypass? I’m willing to try, I guess. I mean, I know I need to try. But I just don’t know if I can make myself do the thing I know I need to do.

I’ve given up on rapier fighting for now. I’m too damn fat. I can’t move right, and whenever I see photos of myself fighting at events I want to cry. Hell, whenever I see myself in photos that I didn’t take myself (with a little camera angle and forced perspective to make myself look thinner), I want to cry. When I look down and can’t see my feet, I want to cry.

I’m so tired of crying. So tired of being overweight and unhealthy. So tired of living like this.

Something wicked(ly fun) this way comes.

I can’t give details yet, but if plans go, well, according to plan, there will be a new project in my life that looks to be really fun. I’ll have to get over my social anxiety and woman up, but I’m excited for the prospect.

I won’t go into it much more, because I’m superstitious about some things and this is one of them. So I’ll say that I’m hopeful and looking forward to it.

More later when I have more definitive info!

I’m not an intellectual. I know a little bit about a bunch of things, but I don’t know much about much of anything.

I’m smart enough, sure, but I’m not an intellectual. I don’t seek out knowledge. I don’t read much anymore, not like I used to. I don’t care much for researching things, even if they interest me.

I wonder what happened. I used to read all the time. Fiction, nonfiction…I loved it. Now? Now I think about reading all the books I have piled up, and I just can’t. I can’t make myself do the thing that used to engulf my time. Is engulf the right word? I’m not even intellectual enough to know anymore.

It amazes me when I go to SCA events and people know SO MUCH about the past. Any subject, really. They can rattle off dates and names and eras and cultures and on and on and on, and I’m sitting there like, How do you retain all of that?!? How do you absorb that knowledge and maintain the database and still function?

I used to be like that. When it came to forensics and serial killers, I was a wealth of knowledge. I knew so much, once upon a time…

Sometimes I wonder…is it my medicine? Is it just a general loss of interest? What happened?

I know we go through phases in life. Our interests change, our primary motivators shift gears, and our minds find new things to entertain them. Is that what happened to me?

Who knows. Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe my mind isn’t engaged by learning new facts anymore. Maybe it’s the learning of new activities that my brain craves. The facts about those activities? Meh. I SHOULD try to make myself learn them, too. If I want to be a Laurel some day, I’ll need to force myself to learn the details about the period arts that I do. The facts. The research.

But becoming a Laurel takes a long time. I only just started on the path, so maybe my brain will switch gears again soon.

It’s 0520 on a Thursday. I’ve been up since about 0230, and ready for the day since about 0330. Just another day in the surgery department, right?

Nope. I’m headed off to war–SCA war, that is. And it’s not in Atenveldt. No, my husband and I are headed to California for Potrero War.

It’s not my first out-of-Kingdom war, but it’s a new one for me, and as of right now I’ll know all of one person there (well, one person who lives in Caid… There will be some Atenveldt people there as well). For the introvert in me, it’s a little nerve-wracking, but I think I’ll do okay. I’ll have a book with me, I have some embroidery to work on, and I’ve promised my fencing teacher that I’ll at least try some tournament fighting. And if all that fails, I can nap in the tent. Lol

The forecast is looking kinda gloomy, with chilly temps at night and possible rain. I hope it’s not as much rain as Estrella had this year! A quick check online shows that it’ll mostly be before we get there and after we leave, but forecasts are notorious for being a little inaccurate. Either way, I’ve got my trusty wool Viking coat for the day and some thermal pajamas for the nights.

Supposedly the cell coverage will be decent, so hopefully I’ll be able to share some photos of the apron dress I made. I’m pretty proud of it (even though it still needs trim and embroidery), and I’m so glad my Laurel showed me how to math out the pattern so I can make more if I want to.

Well, by now the sun is starting to come up, so I’m going to get the book I brought out and read until it’s my turn to drive.

I’ve had an epiphany about my WIP, and it’s all thanks to a podcast I was on the other day.

I was feeling like the third book in my sci-fi series was falling flat, but I couldn’t put a finger on how to vamp it up. Then, the conversation turned to a subject that sparked an idea. Yeah, it means rewriting much of what I’ve already gotten down, but I’m not too far in yet. That means I don’t have to rewrite the whole kit ‘n’ caboodle, just the bits that don’t jive with the new direction.

Once I’ve revised/rewritten up to the point I had stopped before, it’s all new material from there. I’m glad I have a new focus, though, because I think this will add depth and interest to what was looking rather lackluster.

I’m going to get as much done before my trip this weekend as I can, but I don’t think I’ll write on this trip. Usually, if I have a WIP to work on, I bring my laptop and hotspot my phone to save changes to Dropbox. That way, I can work while I camp. This time, though, I have a book that a friend traded me (he’s got a copy of Abnormal) that I can read, and it’s been entirely too long since I’ve read for pleasure. My TBR (to be read) list is a long one, and I need to get to it. I know how important reviews are to an author *cough cough* so I want to be sure to read as much as time will allow.

This weekend is more SCA stuff, but I’m excited to be going this time. We’re going to a different “kingdom” (aka leaving the state), and I’m hoping to have some time to embroider and read while I’m on vacation.

Speaking of embroidery, I’ve now started squirreling and I’m getting my embroidery stuff out before I have this post finished! The project is long overdue, though, and the person I’m making it for has had the patience of a saint when it comes to waiting on my slow ass. Best get cracking so I can have it all done in a reasonable time.

I have few true idols in life. There are some that I look up to because of sage advice, some that I look up to because of their calibre in their field (whether it’s a field that interests me or not), and some that I look up to because of sheer badassery.

Carrie Fisher and Betty White are in the third category. Stan Lee is in the second. But today, I want to talk about a couple of idols of mine who always have words of wisdom when I am working on any art project. I can call on either or both of these men to tell me how to get through any artistic flub, block, or mishap.

I’m talking, of course, about Bob Ross and Tim Gunn.

Most people recognize Bob Ross the moment they see a picture of him. And yes, I realize he’s been dead for quite some time. In today’s media age, though, death less permanent than it may once have been. You see, Bob Ross doesn’t have to be alive to give me words of wisdom. He’s already given them to me–to millions, really.

Happy accidents. That’s right, fuck those mistakes. Make that errant brush stroke, that missed stitch, that “oopsie” into an intentional part of the work. Own it.

I’ve forgotten this advice at times. I get frustrated or upset at my mistakes, but at least in terms of art I can still hold my head high and be proud of whatever my happy accidents have wrought.

Tim Gunn is another art idol of mine–and while this one is living, he’s also someone I’ve neither met nor interacted with. So how does he give me advice?

He tells me to make it work.

How is that not inspiring? And for anyone who’s seen him on Project Runway, he doesn’t say it in a pushing, bossy, or degrading tone. Ever the gentleman, he says it in the classiest way possible.

Even when he’s not too sure about the work in progress that he sees, he’s still encouraging.

“Carry on.” He will tell you to carry on because he’s giving you the chance to prove him wrong.

“Happy accidents,” “Make it work,” and “Carry on.” Sage words from top men in the realms of art and fashion.

How can I use these words to get me through my daily life? Well, in healthcare, you can’t really make accidents happy. You can’t always make it work. But carrying on? Hmm… that one may require reinterpretation. Perhaps not interpreted as “carry on with the mistake that you’re making”–more like “carry on despite any mistakes”? I don’t know. They’re not my work idols, after all.

I think I might try to find (or design) some kind of embroidery that harnesses these three phrases, something I can hang in my house with pride.

Speaking of pride, my Laurel gave me the best compliment today after I told her about my latest “make it work moment”–She said Tim Gunn would be proud of me.

That was the boost I needed today.

So get out there. Make art. Make accidents. Make it work.

And carry on.

Okay. I normally don’t get political, or get on a soapbox about current events–but this shit has got to stop.

I’m talking about using a young man’s death to further one’s own political agenda. Yeah, it’s happening, and it makes me sick.

You have probably heard by now (unless you live in a cave somwhere–in which case, how do you get a good wifi signal??), but let me refresh your memory: a young student, just 18 years old, died in the process of trying to stop a gunman from shooting up his school. You may think well yeah, but what does that have to do with agendas? Let me tell you.

This student, as I said, was 18. He was, by law in most states, an adult…but because he was a student, people are calling him a “child” and using his tragic story to push their anti-gun rhetoric. This, in my book, is not okay.

Think about it: He knew that rushing the gunman would be risky. Dangerous. Deadly. He knew it. But you know what? This “child” made a very adult decision: risking his own life to save his classmates. And, when I look back at it, I can totally see how it might have played out in his head. He probably thought of himself as an adult, not a child. Yeah, to me–at almost 40–18 seems like forever ago. It seems so young. But for this “child”? Probably not so much. What fresh 18-year-old isn’t constantly thinking about how old they are, how they’re finally an adult? Able to vote, to serve, etc. To die, if need be. And I bet that’s what he was thinking. He was thinking about how he was an adult and his friends and classmates were mostly “children,” and he probably made a choice to sacrifice himself for them–because that’s the adult thing to do, right?

Okay, so it’s probably not the best decision. It’s never wise to rush an armed person unless you’ve had training in how to properly subdue and disarm them. I didn’t say it was a wise decision; I said it was an adult decision.

But I’ve seen many people who are focusing more on this young man’s student status, thus giving them the ability to dramatize the tragedy by calling him a “child” and demanding stricter gun control legislation. People are using this man’s death to put heat on the government and demonize the NRA…by saying he was a child.

Now, I’m not saying he wasn’t someone’s child. Everyone’s a child in their parents’ eyes, even after they’ve reached that magic age of maturity. That doesn’t give others the right to use his death to push their ideals.

To that young man, I say “Well done.” I’m not going to say that we should ban guns. I’m not going to say that the government is at fault. The government didn’t send that shooter into a school. The NRA didn’t endorse the shooter. Stop. Using. Someone’s. Death. To. Push. Your. Own. Agenda. Do I need to say it louder for the people in the back?

I know who the hero is in this story. I also know who the villains are.

They’re not the government. They’re not the NRA. They’re not the gun-rights lobbyists.

They’re the gun-control lobbyists. They’re the ignorant masses who want to diminish one man’s sacrifice to get their way. They’re the people who can’t get past their own self-righteous causes to see a man’s true worth.

One man. One brave man.

Kendrick Castillo, I salute the man you were. You didn’t get a chance to grow up into the man you could be, but you were grown-up enough to know right from wrong, and to put others’ lives before your own.