I feel like all I’ve been doing so far in 2022 is falling on my ass. Get back up, fall back down. I’m not the only one, right? Right?
I feel like I’ve been working at things, but in spurts, in sporadic directions which, despite my efforts, don’t seem to coalescence into anything tangible. I write a [poem], I make a notebook, I experiment with video editing, I wait and wait and wait for clients to send me files so I can begin designing & making books again. Maybe it’s the waiting that’s so difficult, the looking forward that’s hard to avoid when all you see outside your window is snow, slush, snow again, slush again.
January was spent first avoiding my anxiety and then falling headlong into it. Forgetting entirely who I am, what I do… every time I heard or watched or read something, thinking: yes, that is what I am supposed to be doing, not this. Getting so lost. A good week there was spent just in survival mode, which left me exhausted but also incredibly grateful for any pockets of calm and for the support of my partner, Chris. Just like when I come out of a migraine attack—the cessation of pain is a kind of bliss.
And then, all of a sudden, we almost bought a house?? Chris and I have been looking to move to New Brunswick pretty much since we got together two years ago. A house we love which belonged to a friend of his for 18 years came on the market again after we passed on it a year ago, so we figured: here it is, a chance worth taking. We didn’t get it, of course (no one wants to give a mortgage to a couple of freelance writer/artist/artisans—who knew!) But we learned a ton through the whole hectic process—mainly that we don’t want a mortgage. It feels like one of our society’s greatest traps to have so many people carrying so much debt, and despite knowing that, we almost stepped right into it. So we’re back to our plans of just buying what we can with the money we have, building tiny houses from foraged materials, and eventually starting up a residency! But more on our utopian dreaming in a future newsletter…. (let me know in the comments below if you’d like to hear about that!)
In the midst of the spine-gripping menace that is putting an offer in on a house, a poem emerged, maybe the first poem I’ve ever written about money. (Ironic when I think of just how many poem-worthy emotions money brings up for me on the daily.) Head over to the Discord to hear me reading “Good Work” in all it’s unpolished glory.
Let me know what you think over on Discord, or right here in the comments below—have you been struggling this winter? (You’re not alone *hug*)
Some good goo that got me through the gross goo:
Re-watching Firefly for the nth time in a post-Whedon-Vulture-article era was really a trip, but damn if the charming friendship of the crew doesn’t pull me through every time.
I started re-listening to one of my favourite podcasts, Dames & Dragons, from the beginning and I really can’t recommend it enough. The mythology & storytelling is gorgeous and the voice actors are queer, neurodivergent, and entirely hilarious. A reminder to you and to me that you do not need to process your bad feelings 24/7. Escapism is a much needed rest and rests are fine & dandy.
A five minute techno dance party I came to rely on while in survival mode. Shake out your bads, bounce out your sads.
So it turns out Margaret Wise Brown, the woman who wrote Goodnight Moon, was an absolute gay badass into alternative pedagogies and I can’t get enough. (PS if you subscribe to The New Yorker, you can listen to recordings of a lot of their articles instead of reading them. So helpful! Am I the only one who struggles to read non-fiction on the page, even when I’m really into it?)
As I fall very much in love with weaving, I keep discovering amazing artists like Lenore Tawney! All I want to do is play with thread (+ everything else I want to do)
What do you do with a chance? You take it.
My go-to for years when I’m feeling down. Laughing makes you feel good!! Thank you, Tofu Chan.
A reminder that our time is now. We can do anything we put our heart to. Here in the morning of our lives.