I think we’ve had enough of it plastered across every headline, conversation, text message, social media post, blog post, lamppost, fencepost, whipping post, and every other post in existence.
Friends, I come bearing glad tidings of joy in these troubled times: Believe it or not, I am one of those rare people who actually knows how to speak about things other than the coronavirus, and this blog will not be sullied by its putrid name.
*awkwardly waves* It’s been a while.
(“FOUR MONTHS AND SEVEN DAYS, TO BE EXACT,” screeches my sister from her pedestal of familial condemnation. “I COULD ADD IN HOURS AND MINUTES, TOO, BUT I WON’T BECAUSE I’M MERCIFUL.”)
(Folks, let’s give Anna a round of applause for her abundant mercy.)
During these last few months, I sometimes wonder if my creativity was eaten by a gelatinous cube of chaos. Even now, sitting down to write this, I’m not… completely… sure… I remember how to write this. How do people blog? How did I blog? My posts were usually pretty pointless, weren’t they? I guess that’s a place to start. Pointless, probably rambly, with the occasional “FORTH EORLINGAS!!!” thrown in for good measure.
(Note: I have never, to my knowledge, used “FORTH EORLINGAS!!!” in one of my posts. I just wanted an excuse to say it.)
(And now I’ve gotten away with saying it twice, so who’s the real winner here?)
So far, I think I’m succeeding at the “rambly” part of things.
Anyway, as I attempt to excavate the part of my brain that was good at this from the rubble left by the gelatinous cube, let’s talk about random pointless things of no consequence — silly, stupid, happy things that don’t involve a p*ndemic.
Like how Anna got up one morning and couldn’t locate her car keys. (Not an unusual occurrence for Anna, but it was especially bad that day because she had to leave for work in five minutes.) This resulted in the whole house being turned upside down as her family tried to
escape her wrath find those keys. We didn’t, but we found a spare set, and off she went, still disgruntled but somewhat placated.
Well. Life continued. We finished eating breakfast. Mom went to wash the dishes, and…
I repeat: HOW.
Speaking of Anna, do you know where that little stinker is right now?
My aunt (who lives there) is in the midst of renovating a house, and dad, being the handyman wiz of the family, went down to help, bringing Anna along for good measure. So while I‘m stuck (to be fair, it is by choice) in the ice encrusted frozen wastelands of
Hoth Michigan, she’s living it up under palm trees and the like.
Every once in a while she’ll send me a picture like this and pretend she’s miserable because it’s “slightly chilly” — which translates into “it’s 78 degrees and life is literal sunshine and rainbows.” Meanwhile, in Michigan…
Still, there are perks to having half my family gone. For the past two months, Mom and I have behaved like little kids when their parents aren’t in the room. While Dad and Anna have been on a strict vegan diet down in Florida, mom and I have been living our best life and existing solely on this.
In other unrelated news, guess whose bloggiversary it is??
Correction: Guess whose bloggiversary it was four months ago, but was too preoccupied with lame excuses like “writers’ block,” and “physical exhaustion,” and “gelatinous cube” to notice?
(Yep, I’m running that gelatinous cube thing into the ground. I definitely have not watched Onward recently.)
ME! IT IS WAS MY BLOGGIVERSARY!!
Three years, baby.
A couple months ago (read: before the q**rantine) I went to Ohio and spent a couple days with my friends. (Did friends exist before the q**rantine? Apparently so.) I would love to say we did lots of productive things while I was there, but the most productive thing I can think of was sitting on the floor and mindlessly debating the relativity of existence.
And then, of course, there was the time when Kate tried to indoctrinate me into enjoying her INFP ways of torture:
Overall, a wonderful time was had by all.
I have found a new superpower:
Specifically, in public.
You should try it sometime. Lines disintegrate. Crowds scatter. Bystanders flee in terror. Grandmothers weep at your feet. Grocery store employees look mildly amused.
I FINALLY GOT A BOOKSHELF.
Gone are the days of my children being forsaken in a stack of boxes in my closet. A new golden age has begun.
I would like everyone to be aware that places like this exist in Michigan and they are my favorite thing.
Oh to be as photogenic as the lake…
I have a friend who is very into color theory and all the implications therein, namely, how it pertains to one’s skin tone. Apparently, I have a Spring skin tone. Apparently, I am light and dainty and look fabulous in pastel pink.
Apparently, I am not allowed to dress like a black goth horror queen.
Every fiber of my soul was prepared to blatantly disregard this fact, until she (in an attempt to rub my misery in my face) drew me an aesthetic.
This… this I could get behind. The pointy teeth especially.
My cat decided writing time was the very best time to sit on my arm and be clingy.
You guys know how the protagonist of my novel is an arrogant stick-in-the-mud perfectionist named Liriel? Recently, I got it into my head to google the name and see if it actually existed somewhere in a different language.
Newsflash: It does.
I would love to say I was an Organized writer who had deep subtextual meanings behind all her characters’ names, but I can honestly say the way I came up with “Liriel” was by sticking a bunch of prefixes and suffixes together until it sounded cool.
And yet it’s somehow literally perfect for her. Literally.
My mind is blown.
Our Walmart now only lets in 100 people at a time, which means no more crowded aisles, no more social anxiety, and long empty stretches to ride the cart down.
The other day I did a shopping cart race across the store. My poor mother was so embarrassed.
N. D. WILSON IS WRITING THE FOURTH ASHTOWN BURIALS BOOK.
And not only that, but he’s doing it as a super cool serial story that gets delivered to your physical mailbox each week.
I have been waiting for this my entire life.
Or at least, four years of my life.
*gently shoos you away* Go sign up for it. Now.
*loses the gentleness* Go.
Since I obviously didn’t have far too much on my plate and definitely wasn’t drowning beneath the weight of it all (*chokes*), I decided to sign up for an online scriptwriting course provided through a Christian arts college I like. They were providing several different other classes like acting and set-design, which intrigued me, but no. First and foremost, I am a writer. So I happily betook myself off to sign up for scriptwriting, noting with a few qualms that it was a live class through Zoom.
My nerves didn’t stop me, because the next day when the class started, there I was, joining 30 other peeps on the internet. There was one wee problem though:
“Welcome to the acting class!” the instructor said.
It was then I realized I’d made a fatal error.
“We sent out your scripts, and you should start memorizing them as soon as you can!!”
By the looks of excitement and glee on my classmates’ faces, I knew I was the only one here who thought it was a scriptwriting class.
“Also, I’d like to mention that this is a non-refundable class!!!”
And that, friends, is how I became an actor.
It was actually pretty fun.
Still no context.
Anna, randomly during a long phone conversation: “Sarah, if you spontaneously wanted to buy me something, I would be okay with that.”
Mom found a litter of newborn kittens in our woodshed, half frozen as their idiot mother stood by and purred. Two were so stiff and cold we were convinced they were dead, but knowing absolutely nothing about dead animals and determined not to have the guilt of burying them alive hanging over me for the rest of my life, I insisted we bring them inside and see if we couldn’t coax some breath back into their lungs.
The only bit of veterinary wisdom either of us possessed was that one scene from 101 Dalmatians–
–so we harkened to the advice of our sage inspiration, Roger, and we rubbed those kittens within an inch of their lives.
Lo and behold.
It actually worked.
They were not dead.
I didn’t have to bury either of them alive.
And now I’ve given up everything to pursue my true passion and life-calling: Photographing yawning kittens.
Face it, 70% of this blog post is cat spam. I’m not sorry in the least.
And then there’s THAT friend sending THOSE memes.
Anna texted me this old picture of myself with the caption:
Introverts during the quarantine.
She’s… she’s not wrong.
Well, was that pointless and random enough for you? Shades of my old self? Did I do good?
(Not that I care one way or another, as you can see by the fact that you’re reading it now.)
Life has been chaotic — I’ve been busy and stressed and tired, and work is a nightmare these days because of… well, you know why. But God still exists, life is still good, and the Sarcastic Elf is alive and kicking. (Barely.) Thanks for hanging in there, guys. Things are finally settling down for me, and as my creativity returns, I’m trying to get back into this zone. I’ll be honest though — I’m still struggling with burnout, and my mind is blank when it comes to post ideas. I plan on doing a Q&A sometime in the near future, but other than that, well…
Therefore, I have devised a way of cheating. Namely, what are YOUR ideas? Anything helps, really. What are your favorite kind of posts? What would you like to see more of on here? Anything new you think would be fun? Doesn’t matter how weird it is — in fact, the weirder the better.
Here. Go. Click. Ask questions. Share ideas. Drink smoothies.
Thanks, friends. I missed you guys. But hey, I’m back! Hopefully for a while! Arise, and fear no darkness!