That was my main Hallowe’en costume I wore for the last couple of days on SL.  SL is having login issues again, so I’m not even trying to get on this morning.

I sat on the edge of the bed of the hotel room, nervously waiting for her, reading and rereading the last message she had sent me about twelve hours earlier.  The hotel staff had been instructed to let me in, and I was expected to wait for her, naked, on the edge of the bed. I kicked my feet back and forth, like a child, waiting.  Five minutes. Ten. An hour. Her plane had disembarked, and her luggage was here, but she wasn’t.

After an hour of fidgeting and making sure everything was perfect, I snuck off to the bathroom for a quick moment.  I washed my hands, ran my fingers through my recently cut short hair, and checked my smile. My body had the marks of a long life, but I felt giddy as a teenager.

I started Nanowrimo early, by about two weeks. I have about 7,600 words already written, based on a dream I had over a year ago.

Spitfire told me about her potential origin story, and yes, I told her she had to do Nanowrimo.  No ifs ands or buts about it.  She had a good synopsis and I wanted to see it expanded on.  “Unchosen” is a good idea for a story.

“Well, this morning is turning into a write-off. Got no inspiration whatsoever.”

I groaned when I looked at the text from Spitfire first thing this morning.  I don’t think she realized she made a pun, because I was thinking of Nanowrimo this morning.

Without another word, they were gone, and I was alone.

I was alone.

I fell to my knees and sobbed.

I don’t know if I cried out of sorrow, or if it was from relief, but I cried.  After an indeterminate time, I sat on the floor and tried to make sense of it all.

“I’ve no idea when I’ll have time to write.”

I groaned again, not because of another pun, but because of her inability to see time to write.  She’s currently working on something for a client that she has used me as a consultant for, and is fretting over it. Devil’s in the details, and I gave her my ideas, not that they were any real help.

I’m overthinking things again,” she tells me. “Instead of seeing huge tasks and wanting to give up, I should break them down into manageable steps, do those, then put them together. Not worry about getting it perfect, because it will need some changes, but hopefully not many.


I roll my eyes at this.  I’m too busy in mom mode to help her right then and there, and I can’t give her any advice immediately, but the thought of this blog post starts up.  I had read hers and replied this morning, but I had come to the realization that she needed more than the little comment I gave her.  She needs some inspiration for finding time to write.

I have been playing with my avatar’s skin and more recently.  I got the purple skin from the Fallen Gods hunt.  It was free, and I love it so much more than the stuff I got in the Powder Pack for LAQ I got yesterday too.  I feel as if I didn’t get anything near my money’s worth from the blind box, but got more than my time was worth from the Fallen Gods hunt.  I still haven’t gone through all the boxes.  Spitfire is fine with whatever I do with my avatar and has given me too much freedom to do with it as I please.  This is the result on the left.  Amethyst skin.  I kinda like it, and I have a rainbow tattoo I can wear too.

I got home from being a magic school bus and started to chew the cud over this blog post.

I read updates from a private group chat, added to the roleplay there (poor puppy – he doesn’t know what a treecat can do), and read up on the Whip group chat.  The SL login issues are worse and people are finding that they can’t log back in at all.  So, I write about another 100 words and then started on this blog post.

“I’ve no idea when I’ll have time to write.”

I don’t find the time to write. I make the time.  I take a minute here and a minute there, and add something to what I’m writing.  I bring my tablet with me when I’m working, and during slow moments, I write then, firing up my Google Docs to add to whatever story I want to work on.

If I don’t have access to my tech, I jot stuff down.  I have joined the Bujo/Bullet Journal fad that has been going on for a while, and I have blank pages in my Bujo specifically for story ideas.  I love my Bujo.  I used to journal as a teen until a huge violation of my privacy happened, and I stopped journaling, but I never stopped writing.  Instead of journaling, I would write stories about my friends and having adventures.  I guess I was a sort of games master by doing that.

I found that I had time to write on the awful bus ride home on the city bus I had to take every day until the end of grade 9.  So I found time to write in the quiet then.  Or during “downtime” moments.  Instead of meditating or reading, I wrote.  I wrote about the strange Canadian teenager who chased after Romana and the Doctor.  Or the girl who rode in Optimus Prime’s cab.  Or the kids who found out that they were mutants and refused to go to Professor X’s school.  Or the kid who found herself in the 24th century who was confused by all the technology around her.

I found time to write because it was my escape.  It was a way for me to walk away from my home when my parental unit was in a fit.  It was a way for me to ignore the bullies at school.  It was a way for me to verbalise my feelings and let what I was thinking and feeling come out, without actually writing a journal.

Spitfire has been instrumental in getting me to journal again.  Unlike her, I’m not able to do day to day journaling.  I can go into my past and bring a memory up and write about it, to get rid of all the emotions that are still hooked into it.  If I write about a memory, it becomes a full memory – no more body memories, or emotional dumps from it.  Day to day is still too hard for me, but there might be a phrase or two in my Bujo about my day, something key I want to remember. I have month overviews, week overviews, and pages for every day.  I have pages for goals and other things I want to keep track of.  I can’t seem to get into the habit of writing about my day but reviewing my day, that I can do.  It might only be a phrase, but it’s a start.

What I do like about Bujos is their ability… no, that’s not the right word.  Your ability to make them what you want to make them to be.

“None of that, mine.  I wouldn’t want you to damage your teeth.”

I frowned, and stuck it right back in my mouth, moving it so that I was teething the ribbon.  It was a bad habit, but gnawing on my necklaces calmed me when I was stressed. She laughed at my antics, and lifted my chin with the same hand I dropped the key into.  She let it fall to hang around my neck.

“Your task, mine,” she began again, “is to keep this key around your neck in case of an emergency.”

Do you want your Bujo to track just weekly things?  Go for it.  Do you want to have an artistic cover for the month? Go for it.  Do you want to make it into a journal? Or a scrapbook type book? Or a hybrid of different styles of books?  It’s your Bujo, make it what you want it to be.

Both Instagram and Pinterest have a ton of ideas of what to do for spreads and more.  #bulletjournal and #bujo are good places to start.  I like #bujoinspiration.

I needed permission to write in my Bujo, and I found a webpage that gave me that.  I found inspirations and ideas on what to do with mine.  I track child support payments, bills being paid, and when and what money comes in.  I haven’t started to track money going out yet, but maybe I should do that.  I tried a sleep tracker, but the one I was doing wasn’t helpful to me, so I’m thinking about trying another type of sleep tracker.

Why have I gone analogue when I’m so very digital?  The only reason I can think of is that analogue doesn’t need batteries.  I even have the book from Ryder Carroll – collector’s edition with the black Leuchtturm1917.  That was my splurge on myself last month.

Spitfire and I are conversing about her story even as I work on this blog.  She texts me that she has no clue where to start.

“…presuppose having some overall idea. At the moment I don’t even have that.”

So I give her a few ideas.  She bounces a few more off of me.  I throw a few more at her.

“No, that’s not what I want to write.”  Spitfire’s stubbornness is showing.

I give her the one piece of advice I have about writing: “want to write” and “comes out in the writing” are not necessarily the same thing.

She’s silent now.  I have chores to do.  More importantly, I find out in a few hours what my treatment plan for my panniculitis is.  The biopsy wound got infected.  From what I understand, it’s a benign form – non-cancerous, but that doesn’t mean I won’t end up with chemo to knock my immune system into compliance, to get rid of and heal the panniculitis.

Time to write.  Time to support Spitfire in her writing.  Time to be a mother.

I have one question: when do I get time to be me?

Oh right – Saturday, when the kids are visiting their father again, and I’m not working.

The only bad news I have is that my Xaara set is ending on Monday.  Nothing I did, but that the organizer is wanting to do something else for a while.  She’s suffering from extreme burnout from building and running it for over a year and a half.  I got told in no uncertain terms that she wants to keep me as HER DJ and Spitfire as my backup.  We’re the only DJs she listens to, and the only ones she wants playing for her, and for the group.  The owner of the group concurs, so we’re sticking around.

I got told during one of the last Whip staff meetings, that there are people who tune in specifically for my sets on Sundays.  That makes me very happy, and I know it gives Spitfire a bit of pride too.

Time to get back to writing.

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