The Guilt Is Real

Or, “why the author hasn’t been saying anything for a while.”

Occasionally, I have an outbreak of social media. Spending far too much time on various places (if you know me, you know where, if not…), and often to the detriment of my writing. It’s usually when things get bad in terms of lack of social contact and being unable to really interact with people. My need for human interaction tends to work in bursts-I can be alone or not have a lot of people around or I need to be around for the longest periods of time, but when I need people, I REALLY need people. And, physical contact, lots of that, and different kinds of people and different interactions.

And, on that?

(Laughs in COVID-19.)

My last convention was a gaming one about a year ago, just as there was this weird cold-like disease going around Wuhan, China. No worries, but something to keep an eye on, just in case.

That “just in case” became losing my job, going on unemployment, probably losing about twenty pounds I definitely should have, publishing my first novel, getting better health care through Covered California, completely sick of being stuck with who I am and where I am.

I’ve missed about six or eight conventions that I wanted to go to.

I haven’t seen most of my friends in a year, and Zoom chat doesn’t count.

I have more savings that I expected, and I’m slowly working through the “need to do when I can” list.

But, I miss conventions.

I miss my friends.

I miss physical affection (and, yes, sex-but that’s in the queue after affection).

And, I miss the world at least pretending to be sane.

I know that I’ve managed to get some of the storm-clouds of desire out of the way, and I’ll be writing again-school permitting.

Fingers crossed.