Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 12 14

Well, I fell on my ass a bit there, didn’t I?  And off the wagon with a little bit of overgrooming and I did wind up buying a pack of smokes after a week.  I’m still proud of myself.  I handled so much pain in the past three days, all across the board, without completely shutting down or getting too sucked into it.

I’m still on my Billy Joel kick.  Speaking from my heart.  To my heart.

Days like these, tons of memories come back.  Shame.  Misery.  Loathing.  Anger.  Frustration.  They are like acid on the wounds that never close.  I wind up chanting- “Let it go.  It doesn’t matter, let it go.  You can’t change it.  Let it go.”  Most of the time, it works.  I’ve got lots of little meditations or chants like this to help me deal.

Being open to people is hard.  They will hurt you.  Will.  That’s part of loving them and accepting them.  So, here’s the deal.  For me, it’s the intent I see as to whether or not I get crushed inside and how intense that crushing is.  On top of how often it happens.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”  I fully believe this.

What’s going on in the back of my head at the moment is a memory I have of my shy mother standing up for me.  Outside of our family, she was ferocious in a graceful way.  What she saw on a daily basis- people not thinking about their actions and the damage it can cause… well, unfortunately, she brought that home  and internalized a lot.  It wound up crippling a lot of what she allowed herself to do or be capable of, within our family environment.  It taught her fear and she lived it.  Every day.  On top of the horrific experiences with her husband, my father.  She had too much of a conscience, to the point where she stopped being.  Where she stopped me from being.

This particular memory, though… it is a precious one.

I was young.  Perhaps eight.  Perhaps twelve.  I can’t honestly remember.  I had received a set of watercolors for my birthday, the brushes to go with them, and some pre-printed mat boards.  The ones where the pictures are already drawn in lines.

Water colors are not supposed to normally have sharp edges.  The drying of pigment saturation is supposed to give shading and shapes.  Brush control and amount of pigment…

I was in the sunroom of my grandmother’s house.  Playing with my birthday presents.  Making pictures.  Mom, my sister, and I went to a lot of museums in those days.  My mother’s joy with art.  The joy.  I can still see the joy on her face looking at impressionists.  The joy on her face when we were out in the woods and I would wind up covered in mud or my sister in grass stains.  All of it was exploring our world, in it’s beauty, inside, outside.

My grandmother, on the other hand, was an artist.  Of sorts.  Not one that you would see in galleries or anything like that.  The typical high society lady, of the era from her own childhood, where women painted, drew, played the piano, etc.  She was my teacher, in a way.  It should have been a share.  Should have been.

Mom came home from work, right in the middle of my grandmother berating me for going outside the lines on the mat board with the water and the colors I had chosen were all wrong.  I had hunched in on myself.  The joy that my mother was trying to teach me, share with me, died so many times under the perfection my grandmother tried to mold me into.  That day was no different.

Before someone thinks of this as some rich chick bitching about how hard life is, let me say that while my grandmother had money, we did not.  My mother walked away, for the most part, from that life and I have always been grateful that she did.  There were several days she went without proper meals so my sister and I could eat, and several needs of her own that she did without for us.  We were taught, in my mother’s home, to cherish life.  To live simply.  To enjoy the complex and the simple.  To be self-sufficient and to see all the wonders around us.  Like her own childhood had been, with her own father.  My grandparents, though they loved each other, were polar opposites.  Grandma had her own maid as a child.  Grump, on the other hand, lived on a farm and slept in the same bed with more than half of his brothers.  He worked hard for his family and wow, what he became is a way cool, interesting story (and not into the family business of psychology).  Grump very nearly gave Grandma back the lifestyle she’d grown up with by the time he retired.

That day, with the watercolors, was the day most of my remaining innocence was ripped away.  With everything I had been up to by that point, the abuse, violence, molestation, that day was too much to bear.

My mother said one sentence to my grandmother.  That it was my choice what I did and she had no problem with me going outside the lines.  There was anger in her thin, erect form.  For me.  On my behalf.  They went elsewhere to speak as I continued to sit with my paints.

I overheard their argument.  It was then I learned that all the opportunities and classes my mother presented to me, to have fun and some sort of a normal childhood: art, piano, violin, gymnastics, dance, tap, ballet, swimming… all of it.  Most of it was paid for by my passionate grandmother in order to fix what she saw was wrong with me.  Physically, from the birth defects, and mentally, with the little they knew that had been done to me by my father.  The gifts weren’t gifts.

While I know my grandmother loved me, it was her driving need to have the perfect family that produced those experiences.  Not love.  Of all her children, my mother was the least type A.  Grandmother’s denial of who other people were was at the heart of most of her interactions.  Whatever didn’t fit her mental image of ideal.

The real gift my mother had been trying to give me was harshly dented.  I learned that people are usually quite selfish in what they do for others.  But that day, I also learned two other things.  One, that my mother was, sometimes, willing to bend her own pacifistic moral compass for me when it wasn’t life or death and two, what it cost to remain with the family in order to at least attempt to give my sister and I what we needed.

I love her even more for it, despite the damage caused by buying into family bullshit.

My anger with Mom, for the most part, has been that she stopped seeking that joy.  She was so tired.  Inside.  And she refused to get herself the help that she needed or to do the harder things to learn to live free again.  This is how I learned to step on myself.  The overbearing, harshly critical, opposing ways of my family.

I mention all of this because I don’t normally care for surprises.  This is why.  What was shown to me at so young an age was that they are rarely gifts meant for me, but are built up in someone else’s need.  Many, many things were done to me that I had little control over, little say in the matter, little way to object.  Rape, beatings, food, gifts.  It is all one and the same in my head.  It is the intent I look for.

The past week?  Someone I care greatly for who is incredibly well meaning, telling me that one pain I have is not personal.  Guess what?  Most of what was done to men wasn’t personal.  It had nothing to DO with me, even though I was the object of the circumstance.

My grandmother’s gifts had nothing to do with me.  They were  her way of obtaining that blond haired, perfect child.  And the violence from my father had nothing to do with me, either.  I was simply the means to destroy my mother.

That is what I have been facing down the past couple of days.  It isn’t a question of speaking it out loud.  “Getting it out.”  When your wounds are constantly reopened by the people you love, that care about you, you can not heal, so speaking it doesn’t help.

What does help is when that person who has caused you damage listens.  I was very angry with someone, held on to the anger instead of turning it in on myself again, worked it, worked through it by simply feeling it, then spoke.

She listened and I do not think that two parts of the problem will ever come back.  She makes an effort to see, even if she will remain what I feel is self-serving and overly stifling.  Because she knows what I gave up for her.  Because I know she does love me, without understanding me very well.  She is one of the few that at least tries, and that is a gift worth accepting and remaining open to receive.

She is also one of the two people in my life that have managed to surprise me in a good way.  A Christmas gift that I had not picked out for myself or put on a list, one that was simple, not overwhelming, not in martyred self-sacrifice or hardship, one given without guile, one I would have picked for myself, from someone who has done the same kind of damage my Grandmother did.  The gift, the real gift.

That is what I held on to, with the other damage this person did.  A cherished memory from three years ago.  A moment of clear connection without drama.  Only joy and happiness.

So while I have fallen on my ass, and off the wagon, I am back up again.  Dealt with the memory of violent harshness- physical and emotional- within my head without causing harm.  And I am back to feeling the world can be better than it was yesterday.

 

Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 12 12

Okay.  So, what’s happening right now is- was half the point of starting this blog.  PTSD.   At the moment, I’m crashing and I’m so fucking proud of myself.  I actually feel hungry, so I’m making something nutritious to eat.  I’m not standing in a blistering hot shower.  I’m not overgrooming.  I’m not cutting into my skin.  I’m not running for a pack of smokes.  This is all good.  I’m frustrated and angry.

I’ve had several small good things happen lately.  I’ve been happy.   I may have another piece of the puzzle for when my brain chems go off.  Lack of folic acid.  I’ve had a medical condition for 10 years now.  Somewhat on the serious side.  I know where some of it stems from, family issues and shit from my past.  I had a severe vitamin D deficiency for a long time and I’m almost permanently anemic.  So, the folic acid issue is a pretty good bet.  So far, it’s been making a massive impact on my outlook.  Noticeably, like only two other treatments in the past 10 years.

My therapist, from when I was a teenager, was awesome.  As I’ve stated several times.  Same as the doctor I currently have for medical stuff.

That I am hungry at the same time as being royally angry right now is a good thing.  I actually feel hungry.

I know the person who tried to talk to me earlier meant well.  But let me tell you something.  When your voice has been muted repeatedly over the years when you say – “hey, I’m hurt and pissed off about something that I actually should be hurt and pissed off about” and the person you talk to tries to reason away what you feel, even though they mean well, it fucking sucks.

I’ve only said this a million times.

You learn in therapy how to tell the difference.  When you’re actually hurt.  Deep down hurt.  This was really fucking hard for me, coming from a whole damned family of psychologists and therapists.  They use logic (and yes, that is one of my red-bull red-flags waving in the air hot buttons) to explain, once again, that no, it’s not me and what happened has, yet again, nothing to do with me, but the lack within the other person.

So the fuck what?

Doesn’t change my pain.  Doesn’t mean I deserve to get treated like shit.  And the person who is telling me that there might be a reason the third person acted the way they did, while well meaning *another waving red flag*, yet again demonstrates that I don’t mean shit to them, either, because I’m being told, once again, that what I’m feeling isn’t anywhere near as important as the cause of the problem.  Gee.  Wonder why I’m numb half the time…

You know what?  I don’t deserve to be pushed aside because someone else is afraid.  ‘Cause if I can sit here, right now, and face down my worst fears and not do any of the bad habits I’ve done in the past, face down the pain threatening to take me over, face down the memories, face down the millions of times I’ve been verbally and psychologically been silenced by my so called adoring family, face down the sheer number of times when my own needs- not wants, not little pecadillos, not hey that would be cool- have been pushed aside because someone doesn’t get that while I don’t need much, I’m still not a fucking rock, face down not shutting down, face down the black hole I still feel inside no matter how whole and happy I can be, I don’t think there is a single person out there that has the right to tell me to suck it up simply because, yet again, it wasn’t personal.

And tomorrow, I will get back up, get out of bed, face the day, as though tonight never happened.  As though the person I spoke to tonight didn’t say those things that treated me, once again, as though I am less than human and don’t have the right to have my own feelings, which is why I was hurt in the first place.  The sarcasm is dripping in the back of my head- “thanks so much for compounding the problem.”

So, instead, I am going to be proud of myself for eating and not doing all sorts of fucked up shit to myself.  I am going to watch Tim Minchin’s graduation speech again.  Let it inspire me.  And anyone out there with PTSD?  You can get through it and be your own damned light.  If you haven’t ever seen this speech, WATCH it.  It’s become another one of my movie moments, healing up a lot of stupid, fucked up drama from my family.

Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 12 10

What an AMAZING day I’m having.

There’s only two things that could make this day any better.  And no, I’m not including the fairy god mother who could wave her wand and go: poof! with my entire house and get it reorganized.

I stopped into the store where Survival: Heaps has been on the shelf.  It’s been two weeks.  Three copies sold.

I want to throw up.  Really.

It’s been a drama week for me.  Full of heart break but these past twenty four hours?  I keep getting slammed in the forehead with good things.

I’m not a cryer.  I don’t have complex emotions.  Deep ones, yes.  What I feel, I feel completely.  I usually don’t feel much.  Not that I don’t let myself.  I just… don’t.  Last week, I took my balls in my hands and attempted to do something I just figured out.  While that didn’t work out so well, and I’m okay with that, I have that same “need to puke” feeling right now.  The same feeling when my first book sold and the entire circumstances around that.

I walked into Play the Game, Read the Story and saw that there was only one copy on the shelf.  One.  I had left four for sale.

This.  This is the moment.  Just like when my first book sold.  My heart is so damned full right now, I am on complete overload.

I woke up earlier this week knowing that, while I was in pain, my heart had finally healed from years of neglect from my ex.  I had an experience that blew me away and showed me that I am completely capable of being human again.

Today, I learn my game sold.

Today, I braved 690 in Syracuse, after my head was blown off at the store and got lost.  And for anyone that knows me, I get lost a lot while driving.  I made it through an entire construction zone at speed.

Today, I did get lost three times in Syracuse and made a lot of wrong turns.  But I found every store I was looking for without too much difficulty.  I made it to Natur-Thyme and bought my favorite roasting grounds.  I made it to Michael’s and found an adjustable stand for my counted-cross stitching so I can do my thread work.  My rooms upstairs are ready for building into my play and crafting rooms.   I saw a hawk on the power lines on my way home.

Again, for anyone who knows me, I have been teased for a long time for usually missing animal sightings from the car.  So this was a big deal for me.

Yesterday, someone who I care about and cares about me back took care not to hurt my feelings over something I am sensitive about.

I am shaking and happy and really, there’s only two things that could make this day any better.  So much that I probably will wind up puking by the time I try to go to bed.  So I am going to take this energy I’ve been blessed with and put it into the upstairs and keep going with the goodness…

Blessings, all!

Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 12 08

Love is…

Jana has been teasing me this week.  A lot!  She’s been such a blessing since I had an incredibly painful, ironic situation happen.  The details of that will remain private but it has shaken me awake even more.

I think one of the hardest parts of letting go is not knowing what to fill yourself with afterwards.  A lot of people feel that I think or worry too much.  I’d say that’s about half true.  The analyzing I do comes from four different sources inside myself.  One of the ones I have been, well… not analyzing, but allowing it to be in my consciousness has been a complex puzzle.  The general love I have for others.  For what is outside of myself.

I am smiling softly at memories that most would find to be either outrageous or completely outside mainstream.  Which, I would have to say, they are.  I am thinking about my pack.  How we lived, way back in the day, as they say.  It’s with fondness and affection.  I am also fully aware that I would not want to return to the chaos or drama of it.  Those memories are also alive and always in the background.

I have a handful of Billy Joel songs playing in my head as I think about them.  “Keeping the Faith” is one of them.

“Still I would not be here now; If I never had the hunger; And I’m not ashamed to say; The wild boys were my friends”   and   “You can linger too long; In your dreams; Say goodbye to the; Oldies but goodies; ‘Cause the good ole days weren’t; Always good; And tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems…”

I love those guys, despite the pain that I endured since.  I found forgiveness.  This is still a shock to me that I did.  The memories of my daughter passing isn’t as hard and the miscarriages of every child since then doesn’t seem so harsh.  I found a way to let go and still retain what I believe in.  That I can love someone, irregardless of the damage they cause.

There is a book I read once… Unfortunately I can’t remember the name of it, but it basically boiled down to: “My feelings of love for you have nothing to do with you.”  This was so freeing.  Like a brick to my head.

There’s been many, many moments I’ve had like that.  “My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend,” a movie, and, yes- definitely a chick flick, was one of them.  At the end, the hero of the story completely melts his girlfriend’s pain by telling her they could adopt.  It may have been a movie but I’ll tell you, watching that changed so much of my perspective on my long term relationship and what was wrong with it.  There were two children I had wanted to adopt back then.  And my ex and I had many intimacy issues after I lost the last child.  This movie fixed a lot of my broken heart.

I mention these because while I could, and have, sat and let my heartache bleed out, I can’t say I have many regrets.  I think that love, in all its wondrous forms, is part of why Life is worth living.  It’s not my ultimate but I can say that no matter what damage I’ve taken, being able to love and to feel is right up there.  And to hell with logic, which can be used to justify just about anything.  Logic isn’t about being alive.  I have loved the wrong people.  I have left myself open.  And, while I am deeply hurt in some pretty horrendous ways, I can’t say I regret.  The hurt is.  It just is.

I don’t regret loving the people who have done such tremendous damage.  I don’t regret loving my ex of 17 years.  The love I felt for this man was incredibly strong and was there because of who he was underneath.    What I do regret is stepping on myself and accepting that he chose to give so little.  What I regret is not walking away when I should have.  What I regret is accepting that the person he was remain buried and I stayed, constantly trying to communicate with someone who, ultimately, chose fear and to not hear me.  It was his choice, how he wanted to live that life.  It hurts, hearing that the life I had wanted to live with him is one that he chose to live with another.   That’s on him and I don’t own the pain of it anymore.

My “movie moments,” those experiences that mostly come from reading books or occasionally with people, they are the stuff of dreams and I hold them dearly.  Cherish them deeply.  Let them move me and heal me and feed me and touch deep within.  THAT is love.  That is Life.

I have returned to work, which is nice.  One of the things I missed about working was coming home.  I live in innocence, in many ways.  A soft bubble inside my home.  My cats greet me at the door.  Wake me.  Spend their days with me, as I do them.  I rush to get home from errands or being outside.  While most might find that annoying, I do not care.  I am loved.  Cherished. Wanted.  Sought out.  For being who I am.  After a lifetime of being pushed aside?  This is the love I seek.  Why should I push or fight to be within someone’s life that does not reach out for me?  I do not need to.  I have the shocking joy of waking from the cold nose of one my cats on my back.  I sleep to the memory of someone’s hands in my hair and their arms around me.  I dream of the love I have pulled into my life, even if it is no longer present, and cherish the love that is right in front of me.

I mention Jana’s teasing…  It is because one of the books I have written is solely for my own pleasure.  One I will not publish.  It was a way for me to say “goodbye” to my ex.  A way for me to find my own voice again.  My own perspective.  To define what I wish for my future.  Wrapped up in the love of someone who would not wait or hesitate or live in fear.  Wrapped up in the love of my pets.  Wrapped up in the comfort of my home.  Wrapped up in the love of knowing that, while whomever I let in will cause hurt and damage, if there is effort, the pain will lessen and the care between people can heal anything.

Loving this completely?  I am still capable of it.  I will still seek it.  I am not made of such stern stuff that I feel no pain.  It is that I know and accept that love, in any form, can be both painful and rewarding beyond any grief or hardship.  It is how I have always been.  What I will always be.  So, if I am caught up in thinking, it is mostly because I do not regret and do not wish to have regret.  I have loved and lived.  I love and live and I will not apologize or walk away from it ever again.  I will enjoy the rain storms and the snow and watch the flowers bloom.  I will love the people I love and accept that that is who I am, even if they can not.

Blessings, all.

 

Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 12 03

BOOM!

Today is another breaking normal.

This is product I worked on.  In a shelf.  In a store.

Right now, and this may seem angry sounding, but it isn’t; in my head, these are sort of images-  I’m thinking about:

the doctor who told me I would be in a wheelchair by the time I was 35.  I’m now 43.

the same doctor who told me I’d never walk in high heels again.

     

These are my five inch heels that I wore to the movies last night.

I’m thinking about the ex who told me I couldn’t do anything for MB6.  There is now product.  On shelf.  In a store.

I’m thinking about almost giving up on writing so many times.  The overbearing criticism by a well-meaning relative, the acerbic and cutting remarks by my grandmother, the derogatory remarks again made by that ex.  And I have two books in published print.

Yesterday, I ripped out the carpet in an entire room and I am getting it ready to become my quilting room.  Once I had it all bagged, I knew there’s only two smallish pieces of nasty carpet left in the entire house.

I had someone do something amazing for me a week ago.  After all the times I’ve been told I am unlovable or too difficult.

None of these are angry thoughts, the way they used to be.  They aren’t ego thoughts.

These are pieces of my life breaking.  Old hurts that are just MELTING away right now.

BREAK the normal and go BOOM!

You deserve it.

 

 

Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 11 27

Whew, this coming up for air deal is pretty weird.  After writing for nearly seven weeks straight, 14 hours a day, reality seems… strange.

Today was my first day at my new job.  Let me tell you, after directing conversation between horrified, angry people and resolving their conflicts, sometimes, having a face to face chat is a challenge.  I had trouble even answering the phone because I kept wanting to type out my “hello, how can I help you?”

I’m not saying the past couple of months have been reality free.  I think that may have been part of the reason for keeping my head in the books so much.  My cell, laptop, and car all had electrical issues all within a couple of weeks of each other.

And, I have a new mouse, too.  His (her?) name is Broke Butt.  Yes, my toothless cat caught this one.  Broke Butt has leg troubles but not from having a 15 pound cat catch him.  His back legs are slightly deformed.  If he was able to stand on his hind legs and walk, he’d basically look like a furry penguin.  I don’t want to pick this poor little one up too much to check on gender yet.  But, yes, I now have kitty TV #4.  And, yes, the cats are still watching kitty TV #3- the empty 55 gallon fish tank.  Still cracks me up.  They are also now watching the original kitty TV- my 25 gallon tank, which is also empty and not lit up.  I’m converting that one into a plant tank.

While I loved my gold fish, and loved having the tank, I’ve had fish for 20 years.  I still have two, a beta and a cory, in separate 1 gallons on my kitchen island.  But I think it’s time to give up on the larger tanks for a bit.  Do something else for a change.  Maybe actually have an indoor plant that doesn’t turn into kitty salad.

I am so looking forward to this season.  I have Christmas lights- white- that stay on two walls all year long, as gentle lighting.  The tree will be up soon.  That, to me, is Christmas.  Not presents.  Just the tree.  While it is bitter sweet, all the memories of my family long gone, I can still enjoy it with my sister.  And, while I miss him dearly, not having Sandy around anymore to ride the tree to the floor is somewhat a blessing.

My aunts, who I was unable to see very often for very personal reasons I will not be putting on a post, gave my sister and I Christmas ornaments in the mail every year when we were kids.  My great grandmother made ornaments out of felt.  I still have a great number of them, and they are older than I.  I hang  pine garland across the ceiling and nearly a hundred clear glass ornaments glitter.  So, each year, I either make or buy at least one new ornament.  I try to make them.  A couple of years ago, I started in July and made four counted cross stitch stockings- beautiful and helped me reconnect with those bittersweet memories.

This year, I bought.  And they are so awesome.  A cross between Granma’s hand made felt and the rustic charm of most of the others I have.  So glad I accidentally bumped into the shelf of them.  I was looking for completely clear glass globes for Halloween for next year.  I found a really cool design for floating eyeballs.  Okay, so that’s an odd thing to put into a Xmas post, but hey, those are my two favorites, so… DEAL!  (Yes, NBX!!!)

So, yeah.  Coming back to reality from starving people and a virus outbreak and corpses everywhere to Christmas, faulty electronics, and hey- what the heck happened to fall?  Odd.  Plus starting a new job.  Plus…

You know?  I think it’s time I got off the one “dating” website I’ve been on.  Or at least… well, here’s the thing.  It is a dating site.  But it does state, right on there, LOOKING FOR FRIENDS only.  And I did put right in my profile- I take my time getting to know people.  I know some of these places are just hook up sites.  This one’s a bit different.  Why I like it.  It doesn’t quite have that greasy, let’s go get smacking feel to it.  At least, it mostly doesn’t.  So I’ve started scaling back my profile.  A lot.  And I’ll probably cancel the account.  Even though I do enjoy the personalities I see.  Sometimes, it helps with writing, so maybe not.

But on happier news, SURVIVAL:HEAPS has been live released into a local game store.  That’s on MB6, if you want info on that.

Last night was the kicker of my week.  I had someone say just about one of the nicest things anyone ever has to me.  You know that feeling when you’re slightly chilled and you step into a hot shower, your body relaxes and your brain turns to goo?  It was like that.  And it’s stuck with me.  All day.  Been almost 24 hours and, despite the oddness of not getting up to spend all day writing and some unpleasant statements made by others and starting a new job, that “goo” feeling has stuck with me.  It’s going to stick with me for a very long time, and I feel almost completely at peace…

Katrin Greene’s Smashed Potatoes 2017 11 20

Wow.  Six weeks!  I am sorry I have not been more observant of the time.

For those of you who know about Kitty TV, yes, it is still working and we have a new channel.  My sister and I are both coming up with truly awful and trite names.  “As the Mouse Wheel Turns.”  “Days of our Mouse.”  There were about ten of these and unfortunately, I can’t remember them all.

As far as Novo: Ridge Lake is concerned, unfortunately, I believe I will be late in putting out Ash.  Jana is 7.5 months pregnant!  And very tired.  So, the cover art will need to wait until she’s ready.  I do not mind as her work is always stunning.

I have, however, nearly finished writing all of Books 5, 6, and 7.  I am starting to get a handle on book 8.   This is the main reason I have no idea what day it is or that it’s been 6 weeks since I put a post out.  (And yes, my eldest kitty did pass.  This is the other reason.)  Since my last post, I have been writing between 16-18 hours a day.  It’s only been a couple of days since I fully came up for air and holy cow, THANKSGIVING is this week.  I was aware of it, but not.  The last thing I remember it was 10 days to Halloween.  Then Halloween.  I am reminded of the old RPG’s when cyberpunk and shadowrun were all the rage.  I need a dataport jack so I can save my poor fingers!   I have been eating, breathing, sleeping in this world for so long, some of the slang I’ve come up with is starting to invade my everyday speech!

I have some funny new quotes and poor Jordan.  His nose gets pinched so much and there are escapades with chickens that I can not wait for people to read about.  And, of course, more insanity with Hell’s Bells.

I am a little disjointed this evening as half of me is in the real world and the other half is visiting Oak at the new hospital….  hmm… worlds of intrigue are developing as LaBrelle is making headway with Mert and Oak has quite a few personal demons to conquer…

As far as my other good news:  SURVIVAL: HEAPS the board game will be released November 26th.  Please come visit me at Play the Game, Read the Story, in Syracuse, NY, at the main store on Clinton Street.

Have an awesome evening!