#bethanysrantingagain

[bethabunnywrites]

Some IRL stuff and I guess an announcement?

(Apologies in advance for formatting, I’m on mobile)

Hey peeps, it’s been a minute, huh?

I haven’t RPed in gods know how long. I got divorced last year, my chronic pain was kind of out of control at the beginning of this year, and then at the end of February I injured my shoulder at work, and have been out on medical leave since the end of March. Whew.

The way that I hurt my shoulder makes it quite difficult to game, plus I got to where I was only really playing WoW with my boyfriend, so I’ve dedicated most of my “pain vacation” to reading and trying to get some honest to goodness REST.

What I’m trying to get at here, I suppose, is that I will probably make some changes to this blog. I’ll keep all of the old content around, but I may post some new writing unrelated to the RP stuff I made this blog to hold.

I don’t know if it will be any good. I don’t know how often I’ll post. I don’t know if the physical therapy I started today will make me a grumpy asshole. But I’m gonna try to do something, because I’m reading “On Writing” by Stephen King, and it’s inspiring.

So, that’s that.

If you have any ideas for a new blog name, let me know!

[bethabunnywrites]

Getting My Fingers Moving

Well folks, this is a writing blog, and I’ve got writing anxiety.  I’m going to make an attempt at remedying this by making a longer, more detailed update post. This month makes about a year since I last roleplayed.  I know this, because it’s been just over a year since I separated from my now ex-husband.  Let’s unpack that a bit. I was blindsided by the divorce.  I asked him to do counseling, to try a break instead, et cetera, but after he had been gone a week or so I began to realize how relieved I was.  Things hadn’t been going well between us for a couple of years, really, and he hadn’t been faithful (the entire reason we dabbled in polyamory was an ill-advised attempt on my part to make it “okay” by putting rules to it).  During that time, I shrunk into myself.  I lost what self confidence I had left, I burnt some bridges and allowed others to crumble, and I had no idea what to do with myself. I will say, looking back, that when I needed love and acceptance the most, some people weren’t in a place to give it to me.  It felt as if I had been rejected by my husband and nearly everyone else, but that’s not necessarily anyone’s fault.  Self love and care should be important above all else, but at the time all I saw was a lack of notifications, and dead chats.  I have some regrets, but this isn’t the place for them.

I was fortunate that an IRL friend reached out to me, and invited me out to see Wonder Woman with her and her wife.  I felt like I ruined their date night with my timid jokes and trembling hands, but I walked out of that theater later that night with more than just our friendship renewed. I was in love with Gal Gadot, with GIRL POWER, with doing things without feeling guilty that I hadn’t brought my ex along.  I’m not saying I was a perfect wife, or even a great one, but divorce changed me in the most beautiful way.  I’m blossoming, and not even ashamed of using that poor, worn out flower metaphor. Then came my adventures in online dating.  Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else, it does not matter what custom gender you type into that blank - if you have breasts and point out that you’re playing Fallout 3 for the thousandth time, you will get stereotypical Gamer Girl messages.  One not-exactly-lovely gentleman said something along the lines of, “Goth and a gamer?! Splooge!”  Yeah. Surprisingly, I didn’t receive a whole lot of the bi/pansexual messages.  Sure, a fireman asked me if I was into “bi bottom guys,” but not much talk of threesomes.  So, I guess I have that going for me. Somewhere along the lines I friendzoned a tall, charming, blue-eyed dork who asked me out to the Renaissance Festival several months early.  He lives two hours away, but said he liked driving.  Aight.  Long story a bit shorter, he’s a pretty great boyfriend and we play co-op games when we can.  He preferred the juggling acts to my Spoonerisms, but what can you do? I still work as a shift lead for a Big Chain Retail Pharmacy, but I’ve been out on medical leave since March because of a shoulder injury from a fateful truck day at the end of February.  My rotator cuff is finally starting to give a bit, so maybe I’ll be better eventually.  My physical therapist is quite hopeful. So, there’s your big ol’ Bethany/bethabunny/Hura update.  It’s been quite a year, but I’ve learned a lot, and I’m overall a lot happier and healthier than I was.  Grats if you read the entire thing.

[bethabunnywrites]

Screaming Like a Banshee

I always had a fear of tornado sirens. The wailing like a banshee, the way the air around me seems thicker and full of tension, as if the atmosphere itself is anxious. I was never particularly afraid of tornadoes, though.  I grew up on the coast of the southeastern US, after all, with hurricane season as normal to me as the harvest is for a farmer.  The power would go out, the winds would howl, and a tree would fall here and there, but I always felt a strange calm as the storm swirled around me.  I suppose I never really feared death. I do fear suffering, I suppose.  And tornado sirens. The problem, I think, isn’t the tornado sirens at all.  Sure, they come with a sense of doom looming on the horizon, dropping out of the sky and literally tearing your life apart in a matter of minutes, but that’s not the problem. The problem, I think, is related much more closely to the fact that I have consistently called them by the wrong name for as long as I can remember. The problem, I think, is that every cell in my body is of the unwavering belief that they are air raid sirens. Now, I’m no expert.  I majored in History, but dropped out, so the most I can manage is some interesting trivia after a few swallows of bourbon.  So, perhaps air raid sirens and tornado sirens sound nothing alike.  You can’t hear them in many video clips of the war, you know, and Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” is nothing to base belief upon. Or terror. My short term memory has always been shit, and yet it feels that my long term memory reaches back to WWII. I’m only 26. Perhaps it’s one of those mortal fears that have been bred into us - that have embedded themselves into our very DNA.  Things that go bump in the night.  Things with teeth long and sharp.  Things with eyes black as night.  Air raid sirens.  That could be it, right? Right?