Alexa Nichols's Blog, page 5

Making bricks with Mint 😭

First of all, a disclaimer: this post is going to be way more nerdish than usual. It’s also going to talk about an event that happened almost a month ago, an event I never intended to write about, but so many people still inquire that I decided I might as well. If computers don’t interest you, you might want to skip this entry altogether. Sorry. I’ll try to make the next entry extra non-techie to make up for this.

Still here?

Good!

OK, a few years ago I splurged and bought myself a dual boot tablet (a Chuwi Hi12), which runs both Windows 10 and Android. I also splurged on a fancy case for it, which I normally don’t do for… well, anything. It’s still in perfect condition, as I take immaculate care of the things I own.

Well, the outside is in immaculate condition, at least. The inside… not so much.

See, I’ve always had this weird fetish for Linux. I don’t know why. It all started years ago with Red Hat, then Fedora, then Ubuntu, and currently the love of my life is Mint. I was using Mint on a USB stick for the longest time, as I didn’t want to screw up my work computers by attempting to install it alongside Windows.

Then I had an idea. Why not install it alongside Windows on my tablet? What could the harm be? I don’t use my tablet for work, and if something went wrong I could just reverse the process, right? Right?

Fuck no.

I bricked the shit out of it, y’all. 😭 I tried installing Mint and it crashed halfway through, which severely messed up my boot record, which… the more I tried fixing it, the more it broke. By the time I was finished, it was basically a paperweight. There was no saving this thing. It was D-E-D. Dead.

After I finished sobbing uncontrollably (I love my tablet!), I researched my ass off and, ultimately, managed to wipe everything and install Mint over both Windows and Android, replacing them. So now it’s a full Mint tablet, with no touch-screen capabilities but otherwise functional. Annnnd I was without a tablet because if my mouse and keyboard aren’t attached, it’s basically unusable. And I was used to having a tablet. It started killing me.

So I splurged and bought myself a Samsung tablet, which is something I’ve wanted forever (since I already have a Samsung watch, earbuds, and phone), and… much like every other Samsung thing I’ve bought, has completely floored me. I never used to be a brand-whore, but Samsung converted me. My friend Corrine is a diehard Apple fangirl, will not let me live this down. And she shouldn’t, because I used to roast her at every opportunity for rabidly following Apple.

Just goes to show: instead of making fun of her, I should have investigated. Maybe I would have jumped on the bandwagon sooner, and maybe the life of a poor, defenseless dual boot tablet could have been saved. 😄

By the way, if any of you happen to know how to fix my dual boot Chuwi Hi12, please let me know! I will pay, yo!

Getting stabbed to death, and why I was beaten over cheesy 70s porn music…

So, there I was, working on the green revision of Devious Bitches (which means if you’re a member of my Patreon or Subscribestar.adult, you’ll be reading it soon! 🙌), rubbing my sore, beat up arm where my Baby Squirrel hit me repeatedly. For barely any reason at all. She hit me so hard I now have bruises! And every time I type, it flexes a bit, which makes it hurt. She’s abusive, y’all. And obviously racist towards redheads.



I mean, I suppose she had a reason to hit me…



See, I like to play practical jokes on the people I love. I’ve been like this since I was little(r), and I entirely blame my big brother for this. It all started when we were playing hide and seek, and I had the bright idea to hide in the dryer. There I was, feeling all smug after about five minutes because I could hear him going from room to room, searching for me… then all of a sudden, my world went ballistic.

He turned the dryer on. Even as I was tumbling, I vowed revenge. I was hell-bent determined to get his ass back.

I plotted for days, going back and forth on the best way to really shake him, to somehow break him down and get him to admit that I got him better than he got me. After hours of plotting, researching, and discussing with my friends, I came up with the perfect plan: I was going to kill myself.

It was a foolproof plan.

I made sure to come home earlier than him one day after school and ran to the kitchen, grabbing the biggest butcher knife I could find, then went to work.



Fast forward about 30 minutes.



Like I knew he would, my big brother walked in and went straight to the kitchen to get something to eat. And froze. There I was, on the kitchen floor, shirt torn, blood everywhere, with a butcher knife sticking out my chest.

I had my eyes closed, so I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I heard him gasp. I couldn’t hear him moving. He flipped out. I heard him make this weird gasping sound, then I was in his arms. He was shaking, freaking, and quickly elevated to crying.

I know this will sound evil as all hell, but I literally couldn’t stop myself from laughing. I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself, and my brother, alarmed, tossed me to the side and got to his feet, stunned. I had made a large batch of fake blood the night before, see, and made sure I slashed up one of my older t-shirts and… the rest is history. I got that motherfucker so good. He was pissed at me for a long time, but it was so worth it. 😄

You’re probably wondering why I told you all that. Well, see, I recently pissed off my Baby Squirrel (👶🐿) by changing her ringtone to something that sounded like cheesy 70s porn music (complete with sex sounds) and turning her ringtone volume all the way up. Then, while she was getting set up for her chemo treatment, I called her. While the nurse was hooking her up. Right next to her. The entire floor cracked up.

She looked right at me – me! – and smacked me hard. Like, why would she even think little angelic me would be the guilty party? She is such a redhead racist… anyway, here’s a quick recipe for fake blood I yanked from Epicurious.com:



YIELD: Makes about 1 cup



INGREDIENTS

3/4 cup corn syrup
1/4 cup water
1/2 teaspoon red food coloring
5 drops blue food coloring
2 drops green food coloring
1 tablespoon corn starch


PREPARATION

In a small bowl, whisk together the corn syrup and water. Add the red, blue, and green food colorings and whisk until well combined. Whisk in the corn starch and let the liquid sit for 10 minutes to thicken.



Have fun. 😏

Being disenchanted… and a devious bitch.

I tell my Patreon peeps a lot about the private things going on in my life, things I don’t usually share on social media because… well, private, and these people (whom I lovingly dub my #Alexaliens) are helping fund my dream of becoming a writer – so I consider them family, you know? That’s why I have all my social media notifications turned off except for theirs. I love them. 🥰

Anyway, I tell them a lot, and one of the things I told them a while back was how sick I was. See, I basically have the immune system of an alcoholic 90-year-old drug addict, and taking my Baby Squirrel to the hospital several times a week for breast cancer treatments means I’m constantly surrounded by sick people. It’s a recipe for disaster. Not that it’s going to stop me, of course, cause being there for her matters way more to me than my health, but still. It’s like walking over a field of landmines. Here’s a portion of the post that I sent to my beloved #Alexaliens a while back:

I’m not doing well.

I’ve been sick as hell recently, and I can’t seem to shake it, or put my finger on why. I tend to stay away from sites like WebMD because, you know, every symptom you have means you’re going to die, but from what I’ve learned on other more reputable sites, I may have bronchitis. I have all the symptoms: rattling chest, frequent coughing, extreme fatigue… I tried working at the beginning of the week but just couldn’t, so I took a few days off and tried attacking work again. So far I’ve been able to work in short bursts, but my motivation is so small that it’s kind of alarming.

I haven’t been very active on social media because, for some reason, I feel oddly disconnected from it. I look at some of the posts and they just seem inane, repetitive, and… well… stupid. The sole exception: Selina, my beautiful and talented eWife, who is absolutely killing Ko-fi and social media in general. Everything else just seems lame and dull.

I love socializing, but lately, I haven’t really seen a lot that inspires me to do so. So I’ve kind of been ghosting. I turned off all the notifications on every social media site except Patreon (cause I never want to miss a message from you guys!) and tried to rest as best as possible. Of course, I have many responsibilities, so it hasn’t been very easy to do. It seems I’m always having to get up/travel somewhere for something, and mentally/emotionally, I just feel exhausted.

This doesn’t mean I’m not writing. Or creating Patreon content. Or shucking any author responsibilities. I’m not. I’m just having to do them in bursts instead of the typical marathon sessions I’m used to.

So now you know. And before any of you asks, there’s nothing you can do, and nothing special I want: just keep me in your thoughts, and keep sending me all the love. Cause a loli needs it. I’ll keep you guys updated.

That pretty much sums everything up. Time has passed, I’ve been keeping myself doped up on Mucinex, and I’m slowly getting back to my social media groove… even though I have to admit most of the things I see lately just make me roll my eyes. At first I thought it was just me being sick, but the more I think about it, the more jaded I’ve become with the entire concept of social media in general. I mean, it’s almost like no one is trying to be truly original anymore; they’re just trying to either be a comedian or a bandwagon rider. Not everyone, but the majority, which is why I’ve started pruning the people I follow (and interact with) on a near-daily basis. I love intermingling online, but some of that shit is just inane, even by my standards.

I see people that seem to be constantly on social media, and I just don’t know how they do it. It’s amazing. I mean, don’t they get tired of seeing the same generic regurgitated shit over and over again?

This is why I’ve been focusing more on writing than socializing, a decision I’m having a lot of fun with. In fact, I just completely finished Devious Bitches, a story set to debut on January 1, 2022. I can’t wait for you guys to read it; it’s my most insane story yet. And that’s saying something. 😄

Thank you for reading this messy collection of thoughts, and don’t be afraid to comment on any of my entries. I love reading comments, and I try to always respond.

Be kinky.

More importantly, though, be yourself. There is literally no one else that can.

How Anne saved me from a pizza related death!

You know, as I sat down to write this, something occurred to me: lately, a lot of my Diary entries have been about my life almost being snuffed. Hopefully this isn’t a dark foreboding or something. 😁😭 Anyway, continuing the tales of the attempts on my life, I have another culprit to add: pizza. It almost killed me.

Dead serious, if it weren’t for my Baby Squirrel, I’d likely be in the hospital…



See, I was typing away furiously at Devious Bitches (second revision! 🙌) when Anne forced me to quit working and eat something. If you know anything about me, you know how I hate stopping mid-project – I get mouthy, violent, and generally just murderous. However, I was hungry, so I decided to throw something in my stomach real quick and jump back on writing.

So I settled for one of those small microwavable pizzas, the kind with the hard foil bottom that makes the bottom of the pizza crisp when you nuke it. I had it on a small microwavable heavy glass plate and set it for the suggested time. When it was finished, I let it cool for a minute (as the instructions suggested), then opened the microwave to retrieve it.

So far, so good, right?

Well, Anne asked me a question right before I grabbed the plate, so I stepped away to answer her, then stopped when I started hearing weird cracking sounds coming from the microwave.



I turned around, and the motherfucker exploded.



The plate the pizza was sitting on just… blew up. Shards went everywhere. Some even bounced off me. Had I grabbed it when I was going to, I would have been all messed up.

Life is strange like that, you know? Unexpected things can just happen in the blink of an eye that changes your life forever. And the biggest of these, the things that drastically change us, seem to happen when we are at our most unguarded, when we least expect it.

It’s humbling.

One of my friends informed me that this was gods way of sending me a message, of trying to illuminate me to the fragility of life. And to, apparently, scare me into believing in it.

She actually got mad when I laughed.

See, I’m not a Christian. Or any other religion. I’m not an atheist either. For the longest time I thought I was a nothing, but a close friend of mine came at me one day and informed me that he knew what I was: a Deist (because, you know, people just have to find a label for things otherwise they flip out).



In general, Deism refers to what can be called natural religion, the acceptance of a certain body of religious knowledge that is inborn in every person or that can be acquired by the use of reason and the rejection of religious knowledge when it is acquired through either revelation or the teaching of any church.



I have to admit, the shoe fits. Succinctly, I believe we were created by something, but mankind has no idea what. I refer to my mindset as comfortably ignorant: I don’t know, and I’m perfectly fine with that.

You would be surprised at how many people are offended by my beliefs for some reason. Which baffles me – I mean, why do people care enough to get emotional over what I believe? Do these same people get emo when they discover that I don’t like a food they favor, or my sense of humor (yes on both counts I found out recently)? Or a political… never mind. People get offended by that too. 🙄 In fact, not only have I lost Patreon members recently because of my political viewpoints (I am not a fan of Trump) but friends as well.

This is why I tweeted the following:







Now, if I could just get people to participate…

Anyway, sorry for the rant, but then this is my Diary entry after all. You knew what you were getting into when you clicked the link. 😁

My brother having a weak pullout game, Devious Bitches, and Beer-fi!

Dear Diary,

So my brother almost killed me today. Again. Last time it was with taco meat. This time? A Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion song…



(Law & Order clinking sound effects)



I finally got him to sit down and listen to WAP. I was dying to see his reaction to it, considering how straightlaced and stoic he usually is. I was nibbling on some fries, Anne was playing on her might-as-well-be surgically attached phone, and his model-ass bitch of a girlfriend was smirking, just as anxious to see his reaction as I was.

Partway through the song, he paused it and turned to his girlfriend and asked, straight-faced as all hell, “What’s a weak pullout game? Do I have one?”

Pandemonium erupted. I choked on my fries, Anne leaned forward and started laughing so hard she nearly dropped her phone, and his girlfriend’s face screwed up in this pretty little grimace before she alternated between laughing and trying to be serious. When she started womansplaining to him what that actually meant, he stopped her and said he already knew; he was just fucking with her.

I adore my brother, but I want to kill him sometimes. 😂



(Law & Order clinking sound effects)



As far as writing goes, I’m currently working on what was supposed to be a short story called Devious Bitches. The title pretty much sums it up. It takes place shortly after Phi Beta Pie and features several of my favorite characters (like Penny, Song, and Antonio) and a few new ones to boot (like Julie and Lori Marshall, Rachel Pritchet, and Peter). I finished the rough draft, and now I’m revising and flushing it out. It’s sitting at 42,900 words, but I have so many things to add that it will probably end up double that.

I’m not sorry. 🙌

Oh! Some exciting news! You might have heard already if you stalk me on social media, but if not: I just (re)launched my Ko-fi! If you don’t know what that is, it’s a place where you can buy a creator (like moi) a $3 cup of coffee. Or two. One beloved (who put their name as Somebody) actually bought me 18 cups! Love it! Although I love coffee, for me, this is more of a beer-fi (I’m not gonna lie!), but they wouldn’t let me call it that, so… anyway, do me a favor and check it out, and maybe buy me a beer coffee while you’re there! I would greatly appreciate it!

I also now have a Subscribestar.adult, which basically allows me much more creative (read: adult and mature) freedom than Patreon does. Not that I’m getting rid of Patreon, because I love it, but I want to be able to push the envelope a bit further occasionally, you know? I like creative freedom, and I’ve butted heads with Patreon a lot over it. Also, I’m planning on diversifying my portfolio a bit. Currently, I’m working like hell to catch my Subscribestar.adult up with my Patreon. It will take a while, but it will get there.

Anyway, that’s all that’s going on in my little world for now. Stay tuned, my beautiful #Alexaliens!

Do not inhale taco meat!

Do not inhale taco meat! I’m serious. Don’t try it. I speak from personal experience when I write that this is a painful, life-changing event. Interestingly enough, it can also be thought-provoking and introspective.

Let me rewind a bit.

I was switching back and forth between furiously typing away at the rough draft of my current project, Devious Bitches, and catching up on last month’s tasks when my big brother came into my office and announced that we were watching a movie. I raised my eyebrow and informed him that I was busy. He nodded, walked over, and picked me up from my chair and carried me to the couch, carefully sitting me down and grabbing a plate of tacos for me that he made for dinner. His girlfriend was already there, as was my pet squirrel.

Fast forward an hour.

There I was, sitting on the couch, sharing tacos with my pet squirrel next to my big brother. His girlfriend was sitting on the floor in-between his legs. She likes to sit on the floor for some reason; me, I refuse to even walk around barefoot. I will straight levitate if I somehow miss putting on my house slipper.

Anyway.

We were watching this weird little movie on Netflix called Cam about this cam girl that gets her identity stolen by some paranormal… you’re just going to have to watch it yourself. Shits weird, yo. Anyway, at one point in the movie the plot is revealed fully, and it’s sketchy as all hell – and makes almost no sense. My big brother, right as I was rolling my eyes and taking a bite of my taco, busted out with, “Get that 2020 shit out of here!”

I lost it. I laugh-snorted, which caused me to inhale taco meat, shoot it out my nostril straight bb gun style, and BOY. The pain! My pet squirrel went flying, I kneeled over and spilled my plate right on his girlfriend, my brother started pat-slamming my back like he was a chiropractor or something… I wasn’t at my sexiest, y’all. 😭

I understand where he’s coming from, though. 2020 Was a hell of a year, filled with chaos, drama, and heartache. So much so that I, and many of you, are dead set determined to not let this year be anything close to the previous.

I know, it started out a bit rocky, but just because something starts out bad doesn’t mean it will end that way. Personally, I can’t wait to see what the year holds. Sure it will have letdowns and drama, but that’s just Life. I expect it.

So here’s to a new year.

Keep your heads, hearts, and souls up.

There’s nowhere to go but up. 🙌

#Alexaliens

The 100 Things I Like About Selina

So Anne and I were out the other day running errands, risking our lives by riding public transit as bougie bitches like us are wont to do. She was completely oblivious of everything, as usual, while I was damn near dying over an intense smell of putridness that seemed to hang in the air. I was trying to ignore it, focusing on instead flushing out a quick, err, Quickies story while simultaneously drafting out my next Patreon post (see what I did?! I snuck in two plugs there!) until I finally had enough and decided to look around for the source of the stench.

Everyone was already staring at him. A homeless man slumped in his seat, looking to be completely unconscious, wearing raggedy soiled clothes and a nearly visible disgusting odor surrounding him. He got off abruptly at his stop, and the second he did, everyone started talking smack. This irritated me for several reasons.

Look. At one point in my life (and for several years), I’ve been homeless. I understand it, and I know what kind of programs exist out there for both men and women (especially in Dallas, where we were) to prevent people from degenerating like that. I’m still friends with several homeless today, and the lessons I learned on the streets I carry with me / apply in nearly everything I do. I understand the hustle. I literally do it every day. Which is how I know that there are so many ways a person can help themselves. No one has to live like that, especially not in Dallas. This means to get (and stay) in that state means two things are happening:

Instead of figuring out how to take care of your most basic of needs, you made an active decision not to, and

Not caring about yourself to the point where you not only see yourself as someone that should live like that but are comfortable living like that as well.

A life is a precious thing, people. So precious. Including yours. It’s also fleeting, something so many people take for granted until it’s at risk – or until someone they love loses theirs. People throw around the words life is precious like it’s some sort of trendy mantra, but those are serious, heavy words. So instead of just hearing them and nodding sagely like you understand what they really mean, try truly understanding them. Someone told me something that I hold dear to my heart: he who knows, but does not do, does not know. It’s a profound statement, one that deserves serious thought and introspection.

Look, I’ll keep it simple: try loving yourself, loving the fact that you are alive, hell – loving life period. And never see yourself as someone lesser than anyone else, because you’re not, in any way.

Self-respect is called self-respect for a reason. You never need the validation of others to respect yourself. Only you can do that. Only you can stop. Even if you’re an emotional bougie little hoodrat like me.

I remember having an emotional breakdown one day. I asked my big brother if he loved me. His response was classic J.C.: he stared at me stoically for several long moments (just long enough to make me feel six kinds of stupid for even asking), then walked away and said, “I don’t always like the things you do, but I always love you.”

Yeah, I melted.

And then spider monkeyed the shit out of him. 😆

Why did I just bring that up? Because you will let yourself down, you will get depressed, and you will fail at some of the things you do. All of that is perfectly natural. You’ll get mad, bummed out, and frustrated. That’s cool too. But that has nothing to do with who you are as a person, and everything to do with things happening around you. So that leaves you with two choices, choices that have become increasingly part of my reality as my best friend battles breast cancer:

1. Accept the fact that there are things beyond your control and try and make the best out of the things you can, or
2. Blame yourself for things that are completely out of your power to change and sink into a slump.

So, which is it going to be? 🤔

At least I tried

I’ve been an author for about five years now. I’ve taken December completely off from author-related tasks every one of those years – including writing and social media. Of course, back then, I had a full-time job and the occasional victim (I mean, lover) to deal with, but as of this year, I’ve streamlined my life.

I’m single (well, except for being married to Selina 🙄😂), and loving it.

I’m retired, and enjoying all the free time I have to pursue my creative endeavors.

In other words, I basically author full-time now.

So when December started to roll around, I found myself, for the first time ever, in a unique situation: what would I do with all my free time? I don’t have a job that stresses and drains me anymore. I don’t have a time-hogging lover to placate. And I already spend a ton of time with my friends and family, so much so that they get sick of me (my big brother stays getting spider monkeyed for the slightest offense). All playing aside, I’m proud to say I’ve learned to balance everything important to me.

So… what would I do with an entire month? Although technically my job now, writing is really something I do more out of passion than anything else, so could I go an entire month without writing anything? Without putting on my author hat even once?

The answer: no. I made it exactly three days.

At least I tried. 😂😭

I just get weirder…

I’m a weird person when I get angry. That, and I tend to get mad over the stupidest shit. I mean, when major problems come my way I tend to get cool, calculating, and analytical (like I mentioned in my previous Diary entry), but when the small stuff rolls around… like, let me misunderstand something someone says, and I’m liable to completely lose my shit.

True story.

Take a few days ago, for example. I had an errand to run that had nothing to do with Anne, so she was able to stay home and rest. Which she needs. That was the plan, at least. Strangely, she was hell-bent determined to come with me, which normally wouldn’t be that big of a deal but… you know, throwing up frequently due to chemo and her energy level and all that, I kind of wanted her to stay home and heal. Recuperate. She wouldn’t hear it.

So I spent the night at her place and the next morning – 6AM no less – we started getting ready. Sounds innocuous so far, right?

Well.

I was bopping around getting things situated like my usual hyperactive self. I started singing this weird little ditty, “do you wanna go night-night sucka?!” in my best imitation of the rapper DMX. Anne cried out (jokingly, but empathically) “Yes!”

I froze.

It was like an emotional tsunami of guilt just slammed into me. I told her to just stay at her place and I would be back in no time, because I could hear in her voice just how tired and physically exhausted she was, but her only response was to look at me like I was crazy. Which made me look at her like she was crazy for looking at me like I’m crazy even though I was standing there looking at her like she was crazy (have I lost you yet? 😅).

Somehow, things kind of snowballed from there, with most of the bougieness coming from my end. Towards the end of it I was sitting on her bed, my arms crossed, indignant loli attitude in full force, and she had to basically snatch me up and sit me on her lap and force me to use my big girl words. Once I started talking like a sane human we worked things out, but still…

I’m not perfect, y’all. I don’t even try to be. It’s funny how I can handle the big things without many issues, but the small stuff… the small stuff always seems to get me.

There’s a meme I frequently use to describe myself to people, and I think it’s eerily accurate:





To those of you that know me (especially if you’re a member of my Patreon!), you know it’s true. 😅😭

Still, let’s be real here: my imperfections are precisely what makes me perfect. The reality is I will never be perfect for anyone, as perfection is an imaginary and relative concept, but what’s important is how I view myself. I like the person I am. When all is said and done, that’s the only thing that truly matters. Opinions come, go, and change like the wind (for any number of reasons), but the way I see myself, the way I feel in my own skin, that’s what’s really important.

This doesn’t mean I’ll never do things I regret. It means I like who I am as a whole, and understand that my miscalculations and missteps are teachable moments, and that I should learn from them, not lament.

Think of how we were as babies. How we learned to walk, for example. We tried, fell, and without much mulling, immediately tried again. And eventually, we mastered that shit. I think somewhere down the line we quit being so tenacious and started obsessing over our failures… started quitting before we really gave ourselves a chance to succeed… you know, I think if we were more like babies sometimes, we would be so much happier with not only who we are but where we are in our lives.

Just a thought. 🥰

Until next time, Alexaliens…

I LOVE YOU!

Anne’s boobies, comfortable ignorance, and being a Terminator!

So a few days ago, I was sitting next to Anne while she was going through yet another chemo treatment, and, for some reason, I was more insightful (and emo) than usual. I had my laptop out with the intent to work but found myself having a difficult time concentrating. So, I sent out the following tweet:



I meant every word of it. The randomness and harshness of Life can truly be terrifying if you think about it too long. I mean, we only have so long on this earth, you know? And none of us knows when our time is up. It’s something I think about often, and is my one genuine fear: Death.

No, I’m not a Christian or any other religion. I have no idea why we’re here, where we’re going when we die, or where we came from. I am comfortably ignorant if that makes any sense. This is why Death gets to me sometimes. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not existing. One of my favorite expressions by Andrew Smith is, “People fear what they don’t understand and hate what they can’t conquer.” I can honestly say I both Fear and Hate Death. Logically I understand that all things must die, and I understand the benefits and logistics of this happening, but tell my heart that. Tell my heart that the woman I’m sitting next to might not be here tomorrow if she loses this fight, that she will simply not exist anymore.

And then tell me how that will be a good thing.

I mean, Anne’s not only one of my best friends, but I’ve known the girl for a little over 18 years. We’ve been through a lot together—more than I will ever publicly admit. Initially, when we found out she had breast cancer (about three months ago), I didn’t want to share the news with anyone, even though she said she didn’t mind. I relaxed a little and talked to my Patreon members about it, and it felt good. Refreshing, if that makes any sense.

Maybe I need to open up and talk about things more often. I dunno. That’s not something I usually do; in fact, when walloped by Life, I tend to clam up and get ridiculously analytical, almost machine-like in my focus to beat whatever it is that’s going against me. I call it Terminator mode. It’s served me well through the years. Except with something like this, where there’s abso-fucking-lutely nothing I can do. That is humbling as hell to someone like me, let me tell you…

Anyway, I know this is a bit overly introspective entry, but I am treating this like an actual diary, not a blog – hence the name. So deal with it, motherfuckers.

Oh yeah, and: I love you.

All of you.

And thank you for reading and being a part of my little digital world. 🥰