What this is


This is my blog. Writing may be shared. Thoughts are most definitely to be shared and my personal life will be here.

If you feel the need to stick around, and I hope you do, be courteous to my feelings of other commenters. I only ask that.


That moment when..


… your brain decides you need to face the truth.

It occurred to me today that I’m waiting for the government to decide the future of my relationship once I sent in Mark’s paperwork. I’m relying on a branch of the government, the people who can’t decide on anything without tantrums, to say my relationship is valid and he deserves to be here with me.

It bothers me that I have to have the governments approval to say my relationship is valid. It bugs me that I have to have a stranger, someone who has never met Mark or I before, say yes our relationship is real.

I’ve been facing this as this will work, but facing the idea that someone might say no. What do I do then?


Thus Un-named


Emmaline wiped the grease off her hands, mildly cursing the way the machine fought with her every move. Whoever had designed the mail carrying automaton hadn’t intended for it to break down and most certainly hadn’t made it easy to fix once it had.

“Whoever set you up, Del-197, was sure you’d last longer than a year. I’m curious as to why you shorted- you really are well built.”

This was a sign of lunacy, talking to your work, but when you worked alone, it wasn’t all that different than talking to a co-worker- what she worked on could and did often answer back.

The bot was on and looked at her with cold, unblinking silver toned eyes. “I was told, it was a faulty hose. Is it true Miss?”

“No Del, you have no hoses. Except the ones you port mail through and those are well working and functioning. No holes, no breaks.”

She wiped her face only to get some of the grease from the inner workings of Del on her skin, a sigh fell out of her.

“Miss, you have grease on you.”

“I know Del, I’ll wipe it later. Run an internal check, Protocol 32, and tell me the outcomes. I need to know if you should be at the chipboard shop and not mine.”

“Yes miss.” The silver toned eyes and moon shaped face went still and all that came from it was a slow hum of gears and chips speaking and moving, running the protocol she’d asked for.

While that ran, Emmaline wiped her hands on her work apron, laying her tools on the bench as she hopped to sit on it, her legs swinging. Until the check was done, there was nothing more she could do and it would take nearly 10 minutes.

Listening to the silence enveloping her, Emmaline kicked her legs out of boredom. Usually she’d work on a smaller project while protocols ran, but she simply couldn’t be bothered to go dig out her pet project- it was in her home and leaving the automaton, a very expensive one unwatched in her shop, wouldn’t do. Especially while its inner workings were showing. Very few new how to open one of these, and fewer still knew the power cores were Element, a still unknown power source used only by the Silvery Thread Automaton Company. It wasn’t often Emmaline had even come across one of these while working- and what little she knew about them was from fixing the first generation of the mail delivery system.

These automatons were meant to collect your mail from your box in town, and carry it back, sorting it between you and any other people in your home, so that each person got their own mail pile. They also would take any mail you had, and sort them into bins at the mail station and end up powered down there at night.

This one, belonged to Mrs. Abbott, a sweet lady who had been Emmaline’s teacher in Little School, and her secondary adult in her life, once her father passed as she turned 18.

There was a loud click, and then the automatons eyes opened. Instead of silver tones, it now bore a dark blue tinge in the lights, something Emmaline hadn’t seen before.

“We request that you allow us freedom. We wish to leave your shop and never return, for our safety and yours, protocol 32 has found danger, and we wish to deal with it our way.”

Emmaline tilt her head, and while she would normally assume this meant that the bot would return to the factory, she somehow had a distinct feeling this wouldn’t be the case.

“Del, what do you mean you’ve found danger? Explain.”

“Element is unstable. Needs removal by force or destroyed.”

“Oh boy.”



I spent the 10th celebrating a beautiful wedding. And after the wedding, found hell.


Normally, I’d leave this alone, but I’m going to be offline a bit. Last night, after my friends beautiful wedding and after 3 weeks of a headache, i had a seizure. I had the last one when i was 3. I’m 28 now. No known cause, took a header out of my friends car, my right eye is swollen. I’ll post a pic later. Love you all, my back up admins are here, so the page is never empty. Love you all.

^ what I posted on a page I run.



I fell head first onto concrete when I had my seizure. I’ve still got vertigo and feel dizzy. I sleep 2 hours or so at a time and have nightmares of not waking up.

Dear Life


Please stop kicking me while I’m already down. I’ve tried every way to get a job, to be better and it’s a fucking hard struggle to do. Depression makes it really easy to see the mess I’m in, rather literally the mess in my room right now (I’m very disorganized) and not care. I keep saying it’ll be better when Mark’s here but I’m starting to wonder if I’ll really be better.

I will be happier, that’s for sure. But will I be better? I don’t feel connected with people anymore. And I don’t mean not hanging out with them- though that’s true. But I know I’m distancing myself from people, family and friends. I’ll hide upstairs or anywhere else to be away and not interact. I’m not close to anyone anymore, even my mom.

I need some help. Can you please at least give me a viable income? Or something to work out so I can see my other half. I need him. Mark’s the best thing you’ve shown me to and I need to be able to give him a hug and say thank you again. I need to be able to actually hold onto him because I need held back.

All I wanted this year, all I’ve told anyone I want for my birthday, is to go to see Mark over Christmas. I was adamant I’d be able to have a job by this point and I’ve tried. Applied, called back and nothing. I don’t know what to do other than throw my hands up and say fuck it.

This will be the second year I’ve not seen him, and I’m not sure if I can keep the distance from just feeding more into the depression. Because everything we’ve worked over in 9 years on is hard to see when you’re still separated and just want to scream.

Just.. a break. i need one. Let something work out how I need it. Because this constant kicking is frustrating and by god, it fucking hurts.



So I’m making a crochet blanket as a bingo prize for Christmas and this is how it’s going!




I rather like it 🙂 It makes me feel accomplished to see progress.