I gave one of my cats a bath today. She’s got some butt problems, and tends to wreck me when I try scrubbing her down, but today was a success. That’s pretty much the highlight of my day, except for stopping by the craft store to grab some glow-in-the-dark Sculpey.
If you’re reading this, holy shit. A person. Hello, what are you doing here?
It’s fine, I don’t know what I’m doing here either.
I’ve lost whatever made me…me? I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing here–on this site, or in general. Posting here makes my thoughts seem real somehow.
I’m moving to Germany soon, in the Summer. I’m worried about how I’m going to bring my cats along, especially my blind kid. I need him in my life. He makes everything better.
This should probably be a journal entry, somewhere in a private book. I don’t know. But then that would just me, internalizing all my problems. Here, maybe someone like me will hear. Maybe we can figure things out together. Maybe I need to stop being afraid of this world and just take that first step.
I am a real person. It might not seem like it, and sometimes I don’t think I’m real either. But I do exist. I do want to write, and draw, and tell you guys the rest of my stories. But I just can’t. I can’t get through this fog, I can’t make any of it stop. I don’t know what to do anymore. I published Spectral at the start of 2016. It’s been two years and I have almost nothing to give you. I’m so sorry. I wish I had something in me.