When will you get to meet Jace? I wish I had an answer.
In the grand scheme of things, I don’t have a lot to complain about. I sometimes feel guilty for even thinking I’ve got it tough because an many people have it so much worse. But I’m kinda crazy. And not crazy like, “Oh man, she’s so fun! She’s crazy!” More like my brain is kinda fucked and I’m a bit of an emotional wimp. I’ve been treated for depression from the time I was sixteen years old.
I recently started making bath bombs, initially because I’m a cheap fucker who doesn’t want to pay what they cost in stores, but now they’ve become something that’s kinda soothing. Therapeutic. Like I told my Shell, it’s like playing in the sand, but it smells pretty and makes your hands feel nice. So every weekend there I am, up to my elbows in coconut oil and Epsom salts. I’ve got Kings of Leon crooning about Walls coming down and Thirty Seconds to Mars (OH EM GEE! New Jared music!) singing about a One Track Mind. It puts me in a happy place. It makes the need to write pure fierce.
Then I go to work on Monday and work stress beats me upside the head until I’m just mentally and physically exhausted. As much as I can, I still listen to my playlist, allowing the smallest bits and pieces to come to me. Those little smidges of story still materialize, and I makes notes on my iPhone as I’m able.
So it’s coming. Very slowly, but the story is taking shape. Eventually it’ll get there. Fucked if I know when, but hopefully sooner rather than later.