It's coming up on a year since my house burned down. To recap quickly, since January of 2020, I've lost my mother, my husband, my grandfather, my home, my belongings, 90% of my writing, all of my animals, and now my health. I continue to struggle with grief, with making ends meet. I am a living breathing country song. I detest country music, the new stuff anyway.
I would like very much to get back into my writing, and I've had glimmers. Little ephemeral whisps. I delved heavily into D&D, complete with a private community server on discord and making dice. But writing is waiting.
My car continues to fall apart at a slow rate. There is exhaust slowly leaking into the car and it's going to take more money, it's never ending. I love my car though. I named her Goldie. I will cry like a baby when she leaves me.
This wasn't meant to be a pity party. My life just feels disjointed. My last entry was written 2 months before the house fire, and it was about life and its series of little fires. I felt a tiny superstitious chill before my ADHD brain went off on a tangent about some sort of subconscious awareness. I won't go into that now. It's been too long since I've written here. I will try to write more.