I’ve forgotten how to blog. I can write comments on everyone else’s blogs, but I’ve forgotten how to write. But here we go. An update, of sorts, for anyone who might maybe stumble into Renlish land again. I keep intending to write and it never really happens. Though to be fair, this past 18 months or so has been somewhat distracting.

Back-track right to May 2017… that was the month my uterus was evicted. FUN TIMES! There’s a post somewhere on this here blog about that experience. Feel free to read it. Should I link it? My SEO plugin thingimabob thinks I should link it. Ok… so here is that link; my Game of Thrones themed hysterectomy story. It was going to be a multipart series, though to be honest, it was a little traumatic, even though I make fun of it and I never really got around to writing about the healing process. 2017 was basically spent in recovery mode from that. It wasn’t a lot of fun. I ended up back in hospital and the doctors once or twice. I’m better now, though! So… YAY!

A few months later, around August, I had a “FUCK IT!” moment, and bought a couple tickets to DragonCon 2018 for the Man and I. And then I spent several more thousand dollars on hotel rooms and airfares and car hire and… Basically I spent $10K on a five-day trip. Worth it. Because THIS happened 12 months later…

Yeah, that’s a picture of the man and I… WITH JOHN FUCKING BARROWMAN. IN ATLANTA.

I will do a separate blog about that, I think. It’s a tale worth telling. Everything from AN UNMENTIONABLE AIRLINE taking us off our flights causing us to get to DragonCon a full day late, to the very Christian taxi driver who preached at us for a solid 25 minutes… and then conveniently didn’t have change for a $50. And us Catholics should be ashamed? Really? REALLY? Anyway.

And then, around my birthday in December, the unit a couple doors down from my mother’s house went up for sale and I tried desperately to buy it for myself. Unfortunately the agents in charge of that sale were… Let’s just call them turds, because that’s what they were. I could write the saga of trying to buy the unit but it still upsets me, even a year later. Needless to say, I am still less of a home to call my own.

And then in January this year… Bindi (aka That Fucking Cat, aka Bindipuss, aka my little heart kitty) got sick. Really sick. Very sick. It turns out that she’d only had one functioning kidney and had been in that condition for quite some time. Unfortunately she had developed some abscesses on the one working kidney. It meant a week in hospital on medication and a small procedure to drain the kidney, followed by a few more months of medication and worrying and trying to get her to eat. I wasn’t ready in January to let her go but it was clear by May that she needed to go. She was getting sicker and her apetite dropped down to zero. When we realised we’d been keeping her going on nothing but those Dine treat tubes for a couple of weeks, it was clear that we had to let go. So now she sits on my shelf, a pretty gold-flecked green glass dome created by Memorial Glass.

Since May it’s basically been me travelling between my mum’s house where I have a room (but not MY old room because the witch has turned that into her craft room) to my boyfriend’s share house where he has a room… Doing what I can to stay sane in an insane world. The black dog is ever-present. I don’t see my friends nearly as often as I like, in fact I have minded the house of some of my closest friends and seen their cats more than I have seen them.

I still spend an obscene amount of money on nail polish and colouring books and art supplies.

SPEAKING OF COLOURING…

That’s still very much a thing that I intend of sharing lots of soon.

And most recently, I turned 40 this year.

40.

How the fuck did that happen?