so today yesterday was Hot, like the bureau said it would be. (or whoever, I think BoM was saying 31…they were wrong, and Weatherzone was giving a more correct reading at the time due to having more stations on its network, or whatever?) 37 degrees C in spring and stop, it’s time to stop, okay?! where are your parents?! caravan’s aircon could barely handle it, there was DEFINITELY no relaxing afternoon smoking going on — not even in the shade — and WHY does hot weather bring all the creepy-crawlies out after dark?! we started getting Christmas beetles back in September, ffs, enough’s enough! (that’s like…getting June bugs in March, basically. I think they’re almost precisely the same type of beetle, anyway?)

…if I was at home in my studio I wouldn’t even care, but if I think about that, I’ll cry, and that will make the headache worse. so. let’s talk about something else. anything else.

I’m…getting bored a lot. that’s more to do with all my stuff that I usually entertain myself being stuffed in boxes in the shed/Mum’s sewing room than the depression, which is good, I guess, but it doesn’t move any of my stuff into here, and there wouldn’t be enough room anyway. also, I’ve discovered that I’m hopeless with cupboards…if I can’t see a thing, I forget I have it and thus forget it’s an option to like…look at/listen to/decorate stuff with, so on. shelves, baby. gimme shelves. with cute gauzy curtains I can pull across the front if I want things to look tidier.

I know I (we, really) have to exorcise All That Shit and logicalise it and put it into its right steel boxes so we can shove it away and just live happily again, but it sucks doing so. I suppose it’s something now that I can state outright and completely truthfully that I have no intention of becoming a ‘published’ writer and no regrets about that, whatever they would believe. I’m still a writer, still a poet. the money would be nice, sure, but…it’s not even worth that. which doesn’t mean I devalue writing, it means that writing is actually more important than money. and I’m fucking Scottish, man.

tiredness creeping back in, so methinks I’ll creep back into bed. not sure if anything’s happening today (apart from paying bills, hooray for payday…’cept not, gimme more money, bastards!) but maybe the wigs I ordered for my latest Pullip girls (ALL under $100?! for CUSTOMS?! the artist didn’t get enough credit!) will arrive? hopefully I’ll be awake in time to put the aircon on at the proper moment, but eh, if I don’t, what can you do.

I’m alive. Just operating at a very low ebb, and I don’t know why. Chemicals, I guess, but what sets them off? What have or haven’t I done? Can’t work that one out to save myself. Weather changing? (It’s getting close to summer, after all.) Just regular exhaustion? Demonic possession?

TIL crying from relief is just as exhausting as crying from anything else. I’m gonna take the happiest nap.

No, things are not perfect now. But I’m looking forward to the good work we have to do to suck out this poison entirely. And hell yeah, we’ll do it. Hope is audacity, hope is rebellion, hope always wins.

I don’t know if I’ll pick up the white rose again. The next few months will be…fraught, to say the least. But I believe things will get better. If we work, we can heal.

Get on your boots!

Better times collide with now,
And better times are coming still.

“I was alive and I waited, waited,
I was alive and I waited for this — right here, right now, there is no other place I’d wanna be.
Right here, right now.
Watching the world wake up from history.”

Well, here goes nothing. Or everything. I don’t know. I don’t know what to say or think or do. I daren’t hope.

It has been a strange day…again, filled with an intense lethargy that meant very little got done (although I did clear out all the rubbish and recycling); I need to organise the lounge room (I moved the television out of my bedroom, as it was wasting valuable space) and do some baking…but I don’t have the strength to sit upright for very long, so everything that isn’t urgent is put on the backburner, so the important things get done, no matter what. I hate it, but until I know what’s causing it, there’s nothing I can really do to combat it…one would thinking sleeping would help, but it doesn’t seem to. Waking up tired is an awful feeling.

I rearranged the furniture in my studio & my bedroom last night, somewhat…most of my cube shelves are now in the studio (as seen in the background of this photo of the tiniest iron in the world), and the half-shelf that housed my makeup has been traded for the small table my grandfather made, and currently holds all my Pullips. It really is a less-than-ideal setup for them, as they’re organised in rows, and you can only see the dolls in front, so I’m hoping to somehow put them back on the large white shelf I had them on previously, and use that halfer for my crochet…somehow. I don’t have enough room anywhere for another full shelf in my studio, unless I can somehow manage to move my desk around, and that is close to impossible — it’s far, far too heavy. Also, given the fact that I have only ONE wall in the studio that has nothing to get in the way of furniture (no windows, light switches, wardrobes, and so on), it really would be a waste to move it…

Aah, my kingdom for a bigger studio…I dream of a 5×5 room with a wardrobe that stretches across an entire wall, and then wouldn’t have to worry about these wretched shelves at all…

I got my altar set up once again, which is a good thing. I need to throw myself into my magic and my spirituality as of late, not because I feel like I must (I am not pressured by my gods; I would not honour Them if I did), but because I  know that I need to. My soul needs to be nourished. This year has been…so, so strange. I feel like my spirit has been grazed on bitumen, not to the point where I’m seriously injured, but applying the witchy equivalent of Savlon would be a good idea, all the same. I’m not sure where I end or begin, and I don’t know where this whole strange, liminal time began or will end.

I miss the sea…

You can wake up with a migraine and still the world is a brilliant place.

My bestie is fucking brilliant. Because she’s there. Even if we’re not ‘connected’ all the time, she’s there. And I know she won’t just vanish like cherry blossoms. She’s a rose that can withstand any storm.

I don’t think I can say how precious that is.

To quote myself: “Holy CRAP…that’s uncanny!”

Sumeragi Subaru-precious and I have exactly the same zodiac trine — Pisces sun, Capricorn moon, Gemini rising. Our entire star charts are practically goddamn identical.

I have no idea why this makes me so absolutely ecstatically happy, as the Pisces-Cap-Gem trine is not particularly the best indicator of contentment in life.

STILL. ^—-^