Author: Jea

What a Weekend…!

Slice of Life

I’m at the tail-end of the Easter long weekend and boy do I ever have an update.

For starters, I’ve been sick all weekend.

I started feeling under the weather when I got home Thursday (after someone had come into work feeling sick and not bothered to mask or cover their mouth while coughing and sneezing — to their credit, they did choose to go home early), which turned into feeling sick on Friday and though I tested negative for covid that evening, I woke up the next morning knowing I definitely wouldn’t be going in for the Saturday shift I’d agreed to lead earlier that week. I told my manager exactly that and explained to my Saturday-shift coworker what flow to follow for her tasks that day, then I contacted my brother to ask him if he could find someone else to visit Pearl this weekend (thankfully, someone else was available), and finally, I crawled into a blanket cocoon with a box of tissues.

Later, I learned that a third member of my team had gotten sick and tested positive for covid and so I tested again.

Sure enough, the second test came back positive.

I’m just thankful that these symptoms don’t feel much worse than a bad cold, and that I decided to take precautions and isolate even when I thought I might just have a garden-variety cold. This means I’m going to have a lot of cleaning and disinfecting to do over the next couple of days as my symptoms clear and I prepare to rejoin the outside world.

Scout and I have been resting and watching Pose together (we just started season 2), and I have been drinking and snacking voraciously since I got sick!


But let’s back up. This isn’t the biggest thing that’s happened in the past week.

That… was Tuesday morning.

As usual, Scout tried to nudge me up out of bed for breakfast after I dared to press the snooze button, and I complied, still only half-awake. We went into the kitchen, I grabbed one of the new cans of food I’d bought for him to try and peeled off the lid… and stared.

The can was smaller than usual and its lid thicker than usual, and I’d misjudged my strength in opening it, causing the lid to slip and slice the back of my hand open. It welled with blood immediately and my head went blank for a second; then I brought my hand over to the sink to try and wash the blood off which just made more well up. I tried using a napkin to stop the bleeding but that didn’t work, and I was feeling woozy, lightheaded as though I were about to fall. I kept telling Scout, “it’s gonna be okay” and reminding myself over and over under my breath, “don’t panic, stay calm.”

The next part is a little jumbled in my head, but here are the basics. Shakily, I grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped my hand in that, pressing it to my chest in the hopes that the pressure would help. The wooziness got to me though and I fell awkwardly onto the floor, at which point I started to get a little scared. I was able to get back up, though, and (kind of comically) took out a spoon to try and get Scout’s meal out into his bowl.

It just felt like I had to make sure he had food before I fully focused on getting my wound taken care of.

I’m pretty sure I let myself fall to the floor again against the wall after I gave him his food, trying to think of what to do. The wooziness wasn’t going away and I was the only human in the apartment, so I did the only thing that made sense to me: I called 911.

I know. Even though it was a very deep cut, it was still just a cut, and I probably would have been okay to get myself to the hospital with my hand wrapped in the towel, but I truly didn’t know if I was going to faint completely or not, and I didn’t yet know how bad the cut was, so 911 seemed safest.

I was so out of it when I called I actually told the operator I was a year younger than I actually am. They were very kind and to the point, and I gingerly went out into the main hall sit and wait, unlocking the door for the EMTs. I rang them into the bulding, and then they got me to sit in the bathroom so they could assess my hand. They explained that I would need a tetanus booster as well as stitches, but that thankfully the wound hadn’t been deep enough to cut muscle and hadn’t nicked any nerves either.

I was so lucky!!

I thanked them for applying gauze to the wound and bandaging my hand and, having given me the all-clear otherwise, I also turned down their offer to be driven to the hospital by them in an ambulance. Having been patched up, and my body no longer in shock from the sudden wound, I was okay to get to the hospital myself — it only made sense that they should go back to being on standby to help someone else.

All of this happened well before my shift at work so I sent an email to tell my manager that I would not be in for obvious reasons (lol), those reasons being that I had to go to the hospital and get sewn up, and thus began the next leg of my adventure that day.

I charged my phone, gave Scout some extra food, packed some books (to avoid using up my phone battery), very carefully got dressed, put on my coat, then headed to the bus stop to make my way directly to the hospital. It was actually a nice sunny day above zero, the bus was relatively empty, and I arrived at the emergency room without any issues.

The estimated wait time when I arrived was 12 hours, but I thankfully got seen in less than 5, and though the process of getting sewn up was not fun (lol), the nurses and the doctor were all really kind throughout the intake process and procedure itself — three stitches on the back of my hand, between my thumb and forefinger.

I went home, cleaned up the floors and counters in the kitchen (I’d spattered quite a bit of blood), reassured Scout that everything was okay, and then had to face my newfound fear of opening cat food cans. There was no getting around that, though. I had to do it. So to make it feel safer, I fished a little cardboard box out of my recycling and surrounded the cat with it to protect my hand. Now I use it all the time.


As a little celebration after safely feeding Scout, I ordered myself a pizza :3

I went back into work the next day; thankfully, I’m doing a lot of training and quality assurance for my team’s work now, all of which I could still do mostly one-handed for the first two days. We ended up having a freezing rainstorm, and again, I was incredibly lucky that the weather the day before had been so good!


Now I’m sick though. haha!

I shower and do all my cleaning with a bandage and glove on, and so far the wound seems to be healing well. I am so, so eager to do a thorough spring cleaning (and disinfection) once this illness blows over!


In other good news, Saga made a full recovery from the flu, and ALICE NINE. are back to rocking out on their tour. Saga feels “better than before” [ apparently ]! And that selfie is the cutest, the sweetest…!

( I’m glad! I was worried about you! :)♡ )

I finally saw the setlists they’ve been playing while on tour and they are amazing. The last tour was really focused on GRACE, but this one is really integrating the songs from GRACE into setlists that celebrate all their eras. So proud of them, and can definitely understand how filled with passion each live must be!

Anyway, it’s still cold here in Ottawa, but we’re getting more and more sunny days, the Canada geese recently returned, and I’m starting to see buds on trees, so spring is just around the corner.


From the two of us at ホームBASS… take care! ♡

All Over The Map

Slice of Life, Writing

We got news today that Saga had come down with the flu, and though he does have a fever, it sounds like he’s relatively okay for the moment. They were definitely right to postpone some concerts for him to fully recuperate. I hope he starts to feel better in the next few days… I do worry, but of course Saga has family, doctors, and friends around him if he needs help so it’ll be okay.

Though as a musician, I can imagine it’s really frustrating to suddenly get sick that way… every fan and person who loves Saga just wants him to feel well before stepping back on stage.

My heart goes out to him ♡

The result of Arsenal’s latest match probably lifted his spirits a little, though…


I had finished my Sunday vacuuming and was well into researching publishing options for TE when Scout suddenly started pacing the floor in front of the bed, and then jumping up onto my pillow to meow loudly. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted. He wasn’t interested in playing fetch with his new toy, he’d already had breakfast, and the Scouthouse was clean (recently bought him a bigger, deeper box and he can no longer kick litter over the sides — total gamechanger for HOMEベース)… he only stopped meowing when I went over to the bed and asked him what he wanted.

He stared at me pointedly, willing me to understand.

Turns out, he wanted me to lie down and keep him company while he dozed and slow-blinked at me.

For 15 minutes. Then he was refreshed and trotted off happily.

Cutie.

In the time it took to sit down and type this entry up, Scout climbed up to the top level of his cat tree and started taking a proper nap. There are still several parameters to consider in order to decide how I’ll distribute TE digitally (aside from on this site), but I’ve read through several options and now they get to percolate in my brain while I do other things. Like finish writing the ending.

And plan for a full reformatting of the manuscript.

That’s going to be an adventure in and of itself.

This is completely beside the point, but whatever it is my neighbours are currently cooking smells so fantastic that it’s distracted me from what I was going to write next. I have put a large slice of the pie I bought last week in the oven to balance the scales.

Before getting distracted with that, however, I got distracted by deciding I would put on some bright eyeshadow for the afternoon (a new weekend ritual) but makeup is really not my forte and so the result was more off-putting than inspiring. It didn’t help that I then tried to distract from the wild eyeshadow by putting on an even louder layer of lipstick lol. Needless to say, I wiped it all off. This weekend is a naked sort of weekend, it seems. But I took a picture of my clean face anyway, because… why not? The makeup remover has such a soft, glossy residue that it kind of has its own sort of allure. And here’s some bright eyeshadow from last weekend for comparison.


There is just something that I love about wearing greyscale clothing and putting a highly-pigmented colour on my eyelids. Not that I’m opposed to wearing extremely colourful clothing… on occasion.

I’m itching to infuse some new pieces into my wardrobe this year.

Ah. The blueberry pie’s ready.


This is frickin’ delicious, in case you were wondering.

I am at roughly 3880 words so far for the completed section of TE’s chapter 10, with another 2000 rough-draft words to deal with (chapter 9 was only 3600 words, for comparison). The rest of it is all in disparate sections that I am steadily joining together and shuffling around… because of course I never write a chapter from start to finish. I edit that way, but I write sections, lines, and passages every which-way, like sticking post-it notes all over the screen (represented by highlighting things in all sorts of colours).

2000 words sounds like a lot to process, but I expect to cut out a good deal of that. Some of those lines and passages have been sitting in the file for a long time and no longer necessarily fit the narrative’s tone.

I’ll figure it out.

Some of those passages are probably at least a year old, if not older, jotted down during work breaks. A part of me is maybe hesitant to remove those sections because it feels like I should be able to make them fit, that they have history. It’s not unlike decluttering a room. What truly belongs in this space? What can I get rid of? What can I donate to another story?

Because of course I collect errant bits of prose like extra buttons, letting them sit in my metaphorical sewing kit just in case they might be suitable to mend a different garment down the line. You never know what offhand note might lead to an unexpected bit of inspiration or be a good fit for another plot.

I will end my Sunday rambling with this:

To be trans is to be human.

Trans people have always existed and they will always exist.

Obvious, but it bears repeating.

De-hermitting

Slice of Life, Writing

ALICE NINE. have kicked off their nationwide tour and so far it sounds like they’ve been putting on incredible shows, even better than the ones I was able to attend last November. I’m so happy to know that they’re giving every performance their all leading up to 9/3 and enjoying the hell out of it in the process… meanwhile, Saga’s getting back into collecting Gunpura figures (my heart!), Arsenal’s still doing amazing and holding their own in the Premier League (great motivation for Saga, surely) and Hiroto started a coordinated, daily effort to get アリス九號.’s name trending, and it’s worked two days in a row so far! The best part about that effort is, all we have to do to keep the trend up is tweet just once a day, together, about the thing we all love: アリス九號. I love Show’s insistence on savouring each and every live as well — both in his note interview, and in this tweet:

That’s it. That’s how I approached each and every live last November.
Saga playing bass in a flowy white suit embodies beauty, grooviness, and grace. Such catharsis in the wake of GRACE’s release, especially considering how difficult an undertaking it was…

Exhausting though they are, I’m glad lives are as much of a refuge and a pleasure for the members as they have always been for me as a fan attending — not to mention them being a sandbox for each song to grow during the performances.

It was magic.

It is magic.

A technician showed up at the apartment incredibly early yesterday morning (an hour earlier than I’d been expecting) in order to switch me to a new internet service provider, and even though Scout was giving me an expression of trepidation, he came right up to the technician as he was taking off his boots. That’s how Scout is — brave, and unwilling to let me face a dangerous or new situation alone. He’s such a good boy. What was particularly interesting, though, was that when people I know personally have come over, Scout has gone right up to them and sniffed their hands or rubbed against their legs, but he must have sensed that I considered the technician a stranger (albeit a friendly one) because Scout kept a polite distance from him the whole time, just as I did.


Later in the day I went out to meet up with the Ottawa Writers Circle for a casual in-person event, and despite my initial reticence at de-hermitting myself on a weekend (oh, the horror!), it was a great experience. I picked up several interesting ideas for new avenues to explore in terms of writing (mainly: narrative VR), and more importantly, I got to listen to elevator pitches, pain points, and the thought processes behind the works my fellows are currently writing (or had recently finished writing) which was both inspiring and motivating. I’d give all of their stuff a read. There was a ridiculous amount of imagination crammed into the seats at that pub.


Also reassuring (yet nerve-wracking) was the experience of giving my own elevator pitch and trying to describe the ever-weird TE novella, as I hadn’t really been discussing it with anyone in person up to this point (…does my therapist count?). I did post a somewhat snarky 1-star faux-review on the discord channel as part of one of our question of the day prompts though:

Too many random poetry interstitials. Author keeps trying to engage you in conversation yet constantly interrupts. Do not go into this acid trip of a forest.

Now I just need to word it in a less snarky, earnest manner and I’ll be good to go.

It was refreshing to be among like-minded writers.

An altogether good afternoon.

A Cast for the Psyche

Musing

Taking the full dose of an SSRI for over a year was like putting my emotions in a mental full-body cast. I could no longer truly touch them: they were shielded from me and from the outside world, made stiff in order to let all of my metaphorical broken bones finally set and heal. Aside from truly unusual, heightened experiences of joy or of grief, I felt my life in a flat way, looking at it almost as though through a window.

Safe, distressed sometimes at how distant it felt.

I used to fear medicating my mental illnesses, because I imagined it being akin to having my personality changed, to having vital parts of myself suppressed, and now I wish I could go back and tell my younger self that it’s not been like that at all. I wish I could go back and tell my parents, too, that they should have gotten me into therapy and on medication right away when they first witnessed me isolating, falling apart, and having emotional outbursts, when I eventually told them a boy in the neighbourhood had been abusing me, that they should not have told me to simply think positively, that they should not have been frustrated when I chose to stay home in my room, on the internet, where it seemed marginally safer than Out There.

I’d been living my life for years by pushing through the pain of doing everything while having broken emotional bones, while being blamed as a child as a teenager as a young adult for having been broken by others in the first place, the fractures multiplying through to adulthood with the wear and tear of everyday stresses, compounding with each additional mental blow, each new trauma I experienced.

I survived… I survived.

Here I am, alive.

The medication did not change the core of who I was, and it was not a puny bandaid over a bullet wound. It was a cocoon beneath which I was able to experience a sort of mental stillness that I hadn’t had since I’d been a very small child. I no longer experienced constant anxiety, near-daily panic, disturbing dreams, or intrusive thoughts of suicide and worse.

It was like again telling my chronically-panicked brain,

See: we are not irreparably broken, so suicide should not be an option — it is counterintuitive to even consider. You don’t need to always force us to imagine the worst possibilities. It’s going to be okay.

…and having my brain finally start to believe it.

The obsessive, viciously intrusive thoughts lessened to become bearable. The chronic anxiety and frequent panicking lessened to a degree I truly hadn’t believed possible. I had been living with it so long, I couldn’t remember what it had felt like to not be afraid of some ever-present, menacing, and undefinable quality of reality. I assumed these were normal states of mind. It was a shocking, life-altering experience.

I finally understood the combined gravity of the mental illnesses I had been living with for so many years, and began to see more clearly all the ways that they had impacted and impeded on my life and intruded in the lives of all those around me — those still in my life, and those that have passed through it and left.

I have been able to reduce my dose to half and regain a bit more tone to my emotional state, feel less like I am viewing my own life through the thick, sturdy glass of a porthole.

I told my counsellor that with the reduced dose, it felt like I was wearing the mental equivalent of a light, durable brace, like the ones my third cousin wears on her legs, no longer in a restrictive cast. Maybe I’ll wear this emotional brace for the rest of my life, or maybe I’ll be able to dispense with medication altogether, with time. Maybe I would have achieved the same result of calming the suffocating, chronic anxiety I used to experience some other way eventually. The important thing is that my quality of life has completely changed with this.


The important thing is that, you deserve to live, not merely to survive.

You deserve an emotional life that is not flat, that is not vicious in its highs and lows — but that has a rich shade, and full tone, and delectable nuance.

I deserve that too.

Little Struggles

Slice of Life

I felt incredibly emo last night and listened to a short selection of songs that felt thematically appropriate while weeping before I finally pulled myself together and went to sleep. I was… already in bed. Lying with my head at the foot of the bed. Somehow, that makes sense to me when I’m already feeling out of sorts. I have a small assortment of decorative pillows at the foot of the bed for this purpose — viewing a familiar spot from a different perspective once in a while makes you think in a different way.

I woke up feeling markedly less emo and for some strange reason, instead of jumping straight into writing, I opened one of my sketchbooks and decided to draw a bit. My first attempt became what I can only describe as a falcon growing out of a person’s hand.


Which begged the question:

dafuq?

I couldn’t answer that question, so I gave up on that particular drawing and turned to a blank page, deciding to try and get back in the drawing-saddle so to speak by attempting a sketch of the back of my own left hand.


Not terrible. Though nowhere near as realistic as I used to be able to manage. If nothing else, it’s driven home the fact that I should really trim and even out my nails again today before work tomorrow. But I digress. This shaky bit of realism flies directly against the strangeness that is TE10 and my struggle to make the ending feel right.

Speaking of middling-level struggle, check out my new exercise equipment:


A gym membership was out of the question (not least because I probably wouldn’t step foot in the place on the regular), so instead I’ve started taking this flight of steps daily during my walk home instead of riding the escalator as I had been doing before. It’s a small thing, but I’m out of shape enough that the last flight of steps was a struggle to clear for the entire first week. And my thigh muscles would burn the day after. Once I can walk up the steps without any effort, I’ll start jogging up the steps.

Little things add up.


Oh, and Scout has a new favourite place to take naps, especially when I’m working at my desk: his carrier. He knows his carrier is used to bring him to the vet, and that doesn’t bother him one bit. He now regularly jumps in, flops onto his back, and snoozes there. I love my weird little cat.

Gradients of Belief

Musing

I think that a love good for the soul should be harboured in two dimensions at once: it should float in a space larger-than-life, while also being moored in the minutia of everyday reality. It is possible to have a down-to-earth, entirely real love with another person, and together, to make of it something spiritual, destined, and beautiful. You can embrace a story of being fated lovers while also making the choice, over and over again, to put in the work of maintaining a realistic, enduring relationship. Making a partnership all one or the other can cause it to suffer, in my experience.

If you don’t together believe that what you have is a special or particular connection, why put in effort to protect and nurture one another and the connection you share, especially when you go through patches of boredom or difficulty?

I’ve only been in monogamous relationships, so I can’t speak for the dynamics of polyamorous ones, though I imagine the above could apply just as well to those.

Holding both the reality and the spiritual idea of the relationship in balance is difficult, though, when one or both have suffered interpersonal trauma. You start off not connecting as yourselves, but rather connecting through one or more layers of survival behaviours and traits–it’s not always necessary or feasible to heal or dispense with them all, but if and when you do, sometimes the connection fades.

It depends on whether or not you choose to connect from a deep, vital part of yourselves from the outset, through some avenue that makes up the core of who you are: something steadfast, that you couldn’t change even if you tried. That you wouldn’t want to change.

I’m certain that many would disagree with me, but I think holding a certain element of magical realism together is essential for a love-filled, longstanding relationship. Human beings have imagination for a reason. My body craves down-to-earth touch and shared glances filled with meaning just as much as my imagination craves the extraordinary, the wondrous, the irreplaceable.

I believe in cause and effect so minute, so intricate, so beautifully complex that it seems like fate–but outside of imaginative art pieces, I don’t believe in destiny as a concept. I hold true to the notion of having free will. Intricate chains of (outside) cause and effect do affect free will, of course. Free will means being able to make a choice between one or more options, not that everything is possible. Some paths are not open to you due to exertions of the collective free will of the universe(s). Moreover, we’re all humans with corporeal bodies, and thus have limitations. We manage to invent ways to get around those limits all the time, though–a testament to how incredible the human imagination and the ingenuity that results from it is.

You wouldn’t be wrong to think of what I called the “universe’s collective free will” as being the will or plan of God(dess), or as the influence from a pantheon of deities. Each of us, at birth, are given a set of life circumstances to begin with that we truly have no control over. As we grow and age, we are able to make choices and find ways around whatever limits we were born into or come into as we live, but there are always things that we cannot in the moment and may never be able to control. There is still a lot of magic and mystery left on Earth (not to mention the universe as a whole) that science has not yet managed to explain, let alone control.

I became a cynic out of necessity, but that is not who I was by nature.

Bathing and Baking

Slice of Life

After giving the apartment a thorough cleaning, it was time to give Scout his second bath. Even without the mild anti-anxiety medication he had been on for his recent vet visit (and subsequent first bath), Scout was remarkably good about accepting his bath without deliberately biting or scratching me.

In no way did he enjoy the experience, however.

Poor little fluff-nugget.

About halfway through the experience, I made the mistake of putting him in my lap to lather the shampoo on his belly more easily. He saw his chance and scrambled out of my grasp and up to my left shoulder, then onto my back like a little mountain goat.

With very long, sharp claws.

There is a collection of tiny puncture wounds on my back from where Scout was holding on for dear life until he could safely leap, sopping wet, off my back and onto the bathroom floor.

Unfortunately for him, he was still covered in shampoo, so I had to pick him up and bring him back to finish getting rinced off. My poor boy looked miserable — and cute as he was, I certainly didn’t want to prolong his discomfort any more than was necessary. I got him squeaky-clean, drained the tub, and thus began an incredibly long drying phase.

During which he growled at me several times (he did not appreciate my towel-drying technique).

We managed, though, and I cuddled him into one of my warm sweaters when it was only a hard-to-reach spot on his back that was still damp, and let him fully relax.

Don’t worry: Scout got plenty of treats as a reward for putting up with another bath.

Once evening rolled around, I set about doing some baking: a blueberry bread to bring to work for lunch all week. And of course (though it wasn’t baking per se)… the fillings for my annual handmade Valentine chocolates for Saga.

Scout was extremely keen on helping. While I was taking a short break to eat a bowl of noodles at the kitchen counter, Scout decided to butt-dial the source code of the webpage I’d left open on my laptop: the blueberry bread recipe.

When I first adopted Scout, he would gobble up his food as soon as I gave it to him, probably anxious that it would be stolen from him or taken away. Thankfully, with time, he’s learned that it’s safe to slow down and even take breaks as he eats. In the past few weeks, though, he’s even started to leave food in his dish so that he’ll have some left for when I start to eat my own supper. It’s incredibly sweet of him. Sometimes, I have to take an empty bowl and feign eating just so that he’ll go back to eating.

What did I do to deserve such a good boy?

He left a little in his dish so that he could finish his meal while I treated myself to the end piece of the loaf of blueberry bread (sampling baked goods for quality control purposes when they come out of the oven is essential… and delicious). It’s not that sweet on its own (which is why, like my banana bread recipe, it’s good to eat for lunch), so when I have it as a dessert, I add a little dollop of maple butter for extra sweetness.

The chocolates? Oh, they’re coming along wonderfully. The main half of the truffle shells are chilling in the freezer and will be ready to dress with the fillings I made when I get hone from work tomorrow.

I have an idea about how to garnish the chocolates this year, but we’ll see if the imagined concept works in reality… either way, they’re made with love, as always.

Edits and Supplements

Footnotes

All translations on the Cryptography page are in the process of being cross-posted to the Alice9Lives Fansite that I maintain, and the blurbs at the bottom of the pages on this site are steadily being updated with a link to the mirrored fansite page along with a request to not repost any of my translations (link back instead — please and thank you).

To be more specific where Cryptography is concerned, I have recently updated this site with the translation of Moondance, and have also made minor corrections to the translations and/or notes for Grace, Brilliant Stripe, and Living Dead.

A brand new section has also been added to the site called [ Reading Supplements ] and it is filled with some old fairytale TSBA reading episodes (The Seven Ravens, The Nixie of the Mill-Pond, The Emperor’s New Clothes, The Three Sons of Fortune, The Water of Life, and The Donkey), the original three Whisky Story Time video episodes, the original two Witch fairytale reading video episodes, and three previously-released poetry readings in video form (Anorexic by Eaven Boland, Basket of Figs by Ellen Bass, and Ne touchez pas aux marbres par Théophile Gautier).

Inner Landscapes

Slice of Life, Writing

For the past two days, a cold front has caused the weather (with windchill) to dip to -40 degrees. Luckily, it started on Friday and I only had to commute to work that one day, but even so, during the ten minute walk home that I had to take, most of my toes got frostnip. Nothing serious of course — frostnip is easily treated at home and won’t turn into frostbite as long as you can warm up the affected area quickly enough. Still, it was enough to convince me to stay firmly inside for the entirety of Saturday. On my way home Friday, I’d actually been considering volunteering to lead a Saturday shift at work. Ha! I changed my mind real quick during that walk in the cold.

The fact I’d been considering at all was mainly due to the fact that I was off at the beginning of the week to take care of Scout who, it turns out, has asthma brought on by seasonal allergies (and dust, most likely). I came to realize that some things I’d considered “normal” for a long time were actually symptoms, and a sudden worsening of what he had been experiencing warranted a trip to the vet. He was diagnosed, he was an incredibly good boy during the trip to and from the vet, and he’s doing okay now. Though… our apartment is old, dusty, and stuffy by nature, so I’ve got some trial and error cleaning to do to make it more comfortable for him and by extension, me (because I have seasonal allergies too).


One of the things that the vet prescribed (aside from some stronger measures during peak seasons), was… regular bathing! Ordinarily this isn’t something a cat needs, but given the dust and allergens that settle on his long fur, bathing and shampooing is going to be necessary, it turns out, as long as he’s experiencing symptoms. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about his first bath earlier this week, but he was surprisingly calm about it. He’s already very fond of watching the tub fill with water when it comes to my baths, so this was just taking things a step further. He tried to jump out several times, but he didn’t try to scratch or bite me. And afterwards, he did seem to be breathing easier and feeling better!


The more dust I manage to root out of this apartment of ours, the better he’ll feel after each bath, and the better our air purifier will work.

One incredible thing that happened after getting home from the vet and giving him a bath: he’s been biting and swiping at me less. I’m thinking this has something to do with the act of me bathing him being both an assertive act and a caring one, but also that going to the vet and coming home was reassuring. He belongs here. He has a home. He isn’t being abandoned. He handled the whole experience extremely well and it built some more trust between us. I felt so proud of him. He was completely unbothered by the presence of another cat, and just as unbothered by the presence of several dogs passing through the office. I don’t know how he would be around children, but he’s friendly towards adults and seems comfortable being around other cats and dogs. The more I teach him to express himself by meowing and licking and using soft paws instead of biting or holding human limbs with his claws out (slowly but surely), the more confident I feel that he might be okay around children too, with time.


He’s a very intelligent, brave, protective, and affectionate cat.

Not to mention, a real beauty, a truly handsome boy!

To summarize: I’m glad I adopted Scout, and I’m also glad I decided not to freeze my butt off going in to work yesterday.

I woke up this morning (Sunday), to a leisurely snowfall, which was a sign that the extreme cold had passed… and a particularly beautiful way to start my morning of writing in that it nudged me into just the right sort of headspace for it.


When I write, I imagine the details of scenes as stills, as photographs, and play interactions like short movie clips in my head. Inner thoughts, monologue, and dialogue aren’t enough for me — I need tactile details and textures to anchor my mind and senses into what I’m writing. It doesn’t quite feel like a cerebral process. It feels more like trying to experience a moment bodily. What does it feel like to be in the scene, in physical space? How can I place myself and the reader in the moment I’m penning (typing)? I don’t want us to observe from a safe, mental distance. I want us to be there. I want us to experience the physical, the emotional, the spiritual space and all the thoughts that come with it, both the character’s and ours.

It’s a lofty goal.

I sure as hell fall short on it a lot of the time — but that’s what I reach for.

The fact that humans can share their imagined, inner landscapes (and through so many mediums, besides) never fails to awe me.

I am as awed by the romantic, the fantastic, the imagined as I am with the minutiae of everyday existence. That’s likely also why I’m prone to depression. You can’t have awe without going through moments and periods of despair. But awe is the constant. There is always awe to be shored up in times of despair, even when it’s small, even when it’s just a grain. A grain of hope is enough to turn that tide.