My New Bundle Of Sleep Deprivation


Taken 10/3/15, before she came into my apartment

October 8 2015, 9:20pm: Dent arrives to the apartment. We cuddle for a few minutes and then she is settled in the bathroom to get used to a smaller area of the apartment. Baird and I go to the bar with Dani and Patchree.
11:45pm: Baird and I return. Dent is huddled in a corner behind the toilet. I pee, flush and her eyes go anime wide. I pick her up and try to soothe her. Obviously she fears I am going to devour her. I fear I will dissolve her with kisses.

October 9 2015, Some ungodly time in the morning: Dent is crying every time the backup fan kicks in. I bring a light in that does not make a sound. 
5:44am: Dent has been crying in the bathroom for the last 45 minutes. I went in to sit with her, but she hid behind the toilet and stared at me. I returned to bed and she had learned that mini mew cries sound much more heart-wrenching when she shoved her face close to the bottom of the door.

I will never sleep again.


Update: 6:51am: SERIOUSLY?!?!?!

My New Bundle Of Sleep Deprivation


Taken 10/3/15, before she came into my apartment

October 8 2015, 9:20pm: Dent arrives to the apartment. We cuddle for a few minutes and then she is settled in the bathroom to get used to a smaller area of the apartment.

Baird and I go to the bar with Dani and Patchree.
11:45pm: Baird and I return. Dent is huddled in a corner behind the toilet. I pee, flush and her eyes go anime wide. I pick her up and try to soothe her. Obviously she fears I am going to devour her. I fear I will dissolve her with kisses.

October 9 2015, Some ungodly time in the morning: Dent is crying every time the backup fan kicks in. I bring a light in that does not make a sound. 
5:44am: Dent has been crying in the bathroom for the last 45 minutes. I went in to sit with her, but she hid behind the toilet and stared at me. I returned to bed and she had learned that mini mew cries sound much more heart-wrenching when she shoved her face close to the bottom of the door.

I will never sleep again.


I Am Now On Patreon!

Yeah, that’s right. I finally caved in and started a page.

But what is Patreon exactly? 

I am going to continue to post free content all over the internet, but as a Patreon backer, you will have access to novels that I am looking to complete and publish to sell on Kindle and Nook.

If you’re able to, please take a look and see if you’d be interested in getting access to stuff! Secrets! Intrigue! Pants (ha, just kidding. Fuck pants.)


Why Bro and I Can’t Have Nice Things


Wednesday July 1, 2015

( I promise I will get a recap of the other days up, but this was crazy bizarre and I had to record it all first so I didn’t forget it)

It was Brian’s last day visiting me and due to it being so hot I had put off downtown because that just felt like an invitation for passing out. So I figured we would hit Pittock, the Rose Test Garden, park at Cascade and then MAX to downtown, AKA the BEST plan ever. Or so I thought (Spoiler alert? It wasn’t)…


Pittock Mansion – I know it seems trite, but when I moved out here my mom and I went to Pittock Mansion and I stood under the Weeping Willow and started crying because I was so happy I was finally home. So whenever someone visits, or whenever I have a choice of somewhere I want to visit, I always mention the Pittock Mansion. I took Brian there and we walked around for a little bit. I happened to have two quarters that I gave to a little girl that was visiting from California to put in the binoculars and of course they got stuck and didn’t work. It was a short visit, but a good one nonetheless.

The Rose Test Garden – Brian and I spent a surprisingly decent amount of time here, considering it was 86 degrees out and we were already covered in a coating of sweat. We ambled through the rows of fragrant and vividly colored hybrids before finally giving in to the desire to be back in an air conditioned car.

Cascade Station – I completely overshot the airport because I wasn’t paying attention and we ended up in Vancouver for a little bit. We waved to everyone I know in Washington. You’re welcome. Then we got to Cascade Station and parked in a nearby area. Getting unto the MAX wasn’t difficult at all and we enjoyed each other’s company before getting off at 10th.

Powells – Obviously, this is something you have to take a friend to. Especially if they enjoy reading and mentioned they needed something to feed their eyes on the plane ride. We spent a little bit of time in there before walking around aimlessly. Originally, we planned on stopping for Indian, Lebanese, or Asian food, but we ended up somewhere else.

Mi Mero Mole – I originally found this place with Kat when Jon was touring with TMBG in May. We liked it so much, we went BACK to it the same evening to have a full meal. Brian and I ordered food. He underestimated the amount of food that would be in the burrito. I was almost proud that he was able to finish it and the taco he ordered.

Waterfront – We headed over to the Waterfront and I mentioned that I was potentially interested in visiting the Whiskey Bar near Skidmore Fountain. While we rested on the grass, I tried to find out when they open. I even went as far as calling the line Google had listed and had a fantastic conversation with a fax machine, that is, until it called my mother a whore. Then we became enemies. Nobody talks bad about my Mamalyn. Not even my Mamalyn. So I looked up where the Multnomah Whiskey Library was located and we hopped on the MAX. As soon as it left the stop, Brian realized that his books fell out of his pocket. So we got off at the next stop, walked over, and the books miraculously were still there.

On our second attempt, there were these adorable little girls talking to one of the Sheriffs on the train. He had given them all stickers and they were asking him questions and he was patient and kind. I could see the faces of the adults around him and they all had genuine smiles on their faces.

Multnomah Whiskey Library – We entered and were immediately told it would be 10 minutes before we would be seated, so since we were cutting it close I requested a menu. After seeing a glass of Whistlepig priced at $55, we both decided to try elsewhere.

Rock Bottom Brewery – Because it’s so close to the MAX, it was ideal for us to finish off the trip with a bourbon and a scotch. I asked for a 10oz cider afterwards and the bartender said that the 8oz beer backs were free with our orders, so that was awesome. We finished up and headed to the Eastbound side of things.

Yamhill/3rd MAX Station – While it’s not in the most promising looking areas, I’ve never really had a problem with this stop. However, when TWO Blue line trains come through and no reds come through (and Google Maps keeps telling you another one will be there in minutes), I started to get worried. I figured it would just be easier to grab whatever was next. So we hopped on the next MAX (another blue line) and they announced that they would be stopping due to issues with Gateway. As Gateway was the last Red/Blue stop before the split, I got a little nervous.

The train would reach a stop and stay there for 10 minutes. After looking at the map, I determined that it would take 120 minutes at that rate and Brian needed to be at the airport in 30 minutes. So I sucked in a deep breath and ordered a Radio Cab to meet us at the Convention Center. It was at this point that Brian realized that his wallet had fallen out of his pants. His stupid, treacherous pants. He said he had his passport in his suitcase, so I sighed and told him he wouldn’t make his flight if we went back. We got into the cab and $40 later got to my car.

I stopped quickly to grab some cash for him to have for checking his bag and getting something to eat if needed before dropping him off. Originally, I was planning to wait until he got through TSA before leaving, but I figured I would try looking for the wallet. I called Rock Bottom and they scoured their bar area for us as I drove into the city.

Yamhill/3rd MAX Station – Dag, that stop is well-lit. I did a walk around and even circled the block to see if someone grabbed the cash and threw the wallet (yes, I even went in the garbage, so obviously I have hepatitis now). Sadly nothing was there. So I headed home and made sure Brian successfully cancelled his credit cards before getting on the plane.


There was, however, a happy ending. The following morning I received a text from a woman named Julie who had found his wallet and found him on Facebook. We arranged a time to pick up the wallet and when I met up with her, I offered to pay for their admission to the Japanese Garden.  Her brother Brian also met me there. He originally spotted the wallet at the MAX station. She declined with a smile and said to use the money to send his wallet Express back to the east coast. She only asked that I pay it forward.


Nutshelling 2014

My life has been in a regular state of flux for the last two months… Well, the year, really.

I began 2014 unemployed and lost. I formed relationships (both friendships and romantic entanglements) and after a series of unfortunate events some of them ended. I lost a very dear woman in my life very close to my birthday and it’s going to hurt forever. Luckily, we get to laugh about the stupid things we all did.

I found out that I’m going to be an Auntie in 2015.

I got a job with a good company and can see myself here until I retire.

And a few weeks ago, I called out someone I cared about for using me for financial/product gain. Their reply was to shut me out completely.

My words were “I enjoy the pleasure of your company. However, I know you’ll stop contacting me when you have your own [item], because your request was for [item] – not for my company. Send a text when you’d actually like to hang out.” The end result was a moratorium of communication with someone I deemed to be my closest friend on this coast. This person saw all of the wrinkles, the scars, the wounds that would not heal. They allowed me the ability of complete disclosure. Sharing the worst and best of myself, I found my affection had grown to a level that I wasn’t accustomed to or prepared for. To have them just cease all forms of communication was jarring.

Unfriending me on Facebook, removing me from their PSN friends… It hurt.

A deep dedication to my own pride prevented me from eating crow until recently I saw that person on a rare visit to a mutual friends house. While I was never acknowledged by name or even nod, the fact that I felt included in the conversation instigated a text.

I wished them and theirs a happy holiday. Their reply was “who is this?” meaning that they A: Actively deleted me from their phone or B: maybe lost my number?

So, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and asked if they had gotten a new phone. With that affirmation I confirmed who I was and asked if our friendship was “officially” over.

They said that it was for them. Apparently, my words actually encouraged them to take a look at how they were living their life a few months ago and they realized that they weren’t making time for me because of who I was, but because of what I could provide to them.

While that would have hurt me two months ago, I found myself relatively unfazed by that. I was muddled as to my feelings over this person’s apparent dismissal of our friendship, which had meant a lot to me when it was happening. I had suffered countless slings, arrows and INTENTIONAL barbs from people that I respected because I felt that the friendship was worth having – and they had absolutely no insight as to that which had progressed in the friendship.

Yes, this person had baggage, but so did I, and for a moment we carried the same luggage (to completely butcher a phrase). To have that discarded so carelessly hurt a few months ago. To be fully transparent… it stings still, but I find that now it is much more manageable than when I was consumed with the idea that WE were fighting the fight.

So, a few weeks ago, I was told by this person to give up the fight. To realize that, regardless of how many facets that exist in this gorgeous gem that is my friend, the adjacent sides had different perspectives… And THAT actually granted me a moment of catharsis.

While I cried a bit over losing something I valued, it made me feel better… Lighter, even. It’s a shallow wound now, whereas two months ago I would’ve required triage.

I do not blame this person for the end result. With them, it was tumultuous drama. The moments of great felt like it would be worthwhile to continue a friendship, but I’m no longer sacrificing my potential happiness for anything unworthy. It now feels as if it is more a measure of growing up to let go.

So yes, this year has been an enormous learning experience.

In Regards to My Recent Sadness… (A Thank You)

I have been incredibly relaxed about posting to my blog for quite some time. The truth is, things have really been rough. I was laid off at Christmas, had to admit defeat and ask for financial help, have not been able to do much as I am broke, and have had some falling out with people that I believed were friends.


To be honest, it has felt like one cosmic c**t punt after the next.


However, through all of it, my heart is still happy with my choice to move to Oregon.


Yesterday, I found out that someone back east that I knew had killed themselves on Monday. They didn’t leave a note. They didn’t seem like they were having a rough time. They dispatched themselves in a place of sadness and reverence. While I choose not to go into detail about the situation, it hurt more than I expected. Please understand I am not looking for sympathy.


If you offer it, thank you. It is appreciated, but mostly I am angry and confused about the entire situation. I am lucky that I have friends that I can go to for a hug. When I completely lose it and bawl to the point of not being able to breathe, they are there to hold my hand, hand me tea, let me vent, and then let me sit quietly with them for an hour after I said I didn’t want to talk.


Last night, I got home and was haunted by sadness for the family left behind. My chosen family. May is a hard month for us all, because we lost someone we loved very much on 5/16/09. To lose someone in that circle of friends/family so close to the anniversary that hurts a lot for me. It feels deliberate.


To get my mind off of it, I posted to my personal facebook page “I could use a little happiness. Please tell me something about your life that you are happy about. It would help me greatly.” To my surprise, there were 79 comments. Some mentioning that they were happy I was in their life (appreciated, but I wasn’t fishing, really). Some posted pictures of a slow loris. Some mentioned that they had friends visiting and some have had some amazing things happen in their lives, and it really helped.


It helped so much.


To all who posted to my facebook thread, Thank you. If ever you are feeling low or sad, remember that there is so much happiness in the world and there is always the opportunity for future happiness.


Do not give up. Do not give up. Do not give up.


Yes… My life isn’t perfect. But it’s mine and I am not about to give it up without a fight.

A Friend’s Perspective On Being An Artist

When I was back on the east coast, Patrick and I used to read stories to each other. They were never stories written by other people. They were our own tales set in lands we controlled with characters we fashioned and honed. I can recall evenings where we would sit on his back porch, absorb the starlight, and talk about our characters/worlds and discuss possibilities.

I remember Patrick talking fondly about this man whose life was fraught with challenges. His name is one that very few have heard as of this minute, but hopefully that will change.

When Patrick posted this to Facebook, I wanted to share it with everyone I possibly could. Please… Spread this like wildfire. We, after all, are the media.



“It takes a special kind of courage to be an artist.

A courage that sees you working in the dark, separated from the world by an invisible barrier that is at once as ephemeral as shadow and deep as the chasm between worlds.

I know what you may think of me, and people like me. I know what you may think of the under-fed over-bearded guy standing on the sidewalk strumming his six-string for pocket change. I expect you wonder when he’ll get a real job. I expect you wonder when I will.

Working a real job, particularly a job you really don’t like isn’t something one ought necessarily be proud of, says this guy. Doesn’t take much courage to surrender to idolatry of consumerism – two weeks of vacations a year, two car garages, black Friday shopping extravaganzas, and quadruple bypasses.

What takes courage is holding that small and proud dream, a tiny seed of hope you pray may one day flower, in your hand for years, willing it to grow while you try to manage the daily affairs of the rest of your life with your one unencumbered hand.

I’ll tell you something – I don’t want to be the one of the millions punching the clock and keeping his head down, never asking questions, never looking up, never realizing there’s an Universe full of the kind of stupefying wonder that can cement the most weakened of resolves, glue together the most broken of hearts. And to paraphrase John Lennon, I’ve got a feeling that I’m not the only one.

Perhaps you’ve dared to look in the deep mysteries of the world and wondered. Perhaps you’ve dared to look in black and unrealized reaches of the human psyche. Perhaps you’ve felt the invisible teeth of a nameless fear in the bloom night, and perhaps you feel that an answer awaits you somewhere down a road you could never quite find.

Well, I don’t pretend to have answers for you, dear compatriot. I’m a writer. It’s not my job to answer questions but to ask them.

But I know a guy that’s walked a bit down that road. His name is Elias Duana. I found him on his knees, half dead and half crazed, outside a ruined house in Tennessee. He looked more spectre than man. Still, I followed this ghost, and I’ve told his story.

I know what you may think of me, but perhaps it’s time that you see what I’m made of. You judge where I belong on a bookshelf, or if I belong in the trash bucket. I won’t take offense either way, for if you choose the latter you will be in good company. Fifty rejection letters might agree with you, so my skin has thickened enough to risk it. I’m ready for the Pepsi challenge because I’m pretty damn well sure that I can best 50 Shades of Grey and Twilight on an even field of battle.

I keep those fifty rejection letters in my bedside nightstand and I look at them every night before I go to bed. I feel the weight of them press into my hand. Sometimes I roll them into a scroll, or shuffle them, or worry them with my hands. But I never fold them or dare to endeavor to tear them even little. I want them to keep well, you see. When I’ve crested the proverbial hill I want to remember all of the times I fell on my journey, dusted myself off, and got back up.

As I perform my nightly ritual with all the gravity of a religious ceremony I often think of one my favorite poems in which E. E. Cummings asks, what happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun…or, does it explode?

You tell me. It’ll only cost you a measly three bucks to find out. Book two will cost you four. What can I say, I’m optimistic.

Patrick Siana


Find The Empyrean Chronicle on Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble Nook
Book I – Reckoning Buy now on Kindle! Buy now on Nook! (link pending)
Book II – Empyrean Chronicle Buy now on Kindle! Buy now on Nook! (link pending)

I hope you like ramen, bitch!!!

One of the things that no one is going to tell you, because it all sounds really bleak, is that life is going to continuously kick you. Feeling down? Have another boot to the psyche! Feeling stressed? Surprise! You totally forgot about that annual bill and it just over drafted your account! Hope you like ramen, bitch!

While the whole prospect of it is incredibly daunting, people still go through massive amounts of sad. Sometimes when everything feels like it’s never going to get better, people often wonder why they even bother.

But you know what? Things improve and give you a moments respite from the dark walls of depression. Maybe it’s a hug from a friend, maybe it’s a baby using you as a jungle gym and then a place for vomit. Maybe it’s dressing like a pirate and blockading a Krispy Kreme to get some free doughnuts.

Sadness is real. It is the yang to the yin that is happiness. What is so hard to remember when it feels like you’re drowning is that there will eventually be a breath of fresh air.

The difference between those that give up and those that soldier through it is hope. Or stubbornness. Either way, there is a phenomenal sense of accomplishment when you make it through. While my initial mindset is to be pessimistic, there is optimism somewhere inside me telling me that there is so much more I need to experience while I can. So yeah. Hope. That’s awesome.

Today, I wrote for the first time in a year. A YEAR. I’m not talking about blog posts as you get those every now and again like lovely little reminders that I’m not dead yet. I mean that I started writing something for a story I wanted to start writing. Confused? GREAT!

I got the biggest complement when a coworker offered to read it. I sent her something completely fictional and her reply was “I’m confused. The email you sent me sounds like it’s a news article.” That is EXACTLY how I wanted it to read and it gave me such a sense of accomplishment. I had forgotten how much I love writing.

I think I stopped due to the fact that I have been doing all of the things during the beautiful season in Oregon. I’ve also succumbed to the wanderlust and am murdering my summer with travel.

In two weeks I will be headed to California to see a bunch of friends and have every intention of murdering live band karaoke. Any requests?

Sorry for the strange update. That’s all I have for the moment.

How I’m Feeling Right Now, aka Who You Gonna Call?

Have you ever played the game “Telephone”?

A phrase is uttered, and then it is passed through a circle of people until it is returned to you. What typically returns is warped, twisted, and not at all close to what it originally was. It is a lesson in finding out if people are actually hearing when you speak. It is often translated by their own thought process and is altered to make sense to them. Sometimes it is just tweaked because someone has their own agenda. Maybe they don’t like the person that started the round or they think it’s boring and want to spice it up. There are so many variables that result in the alteration of the phrase. As a game, it is a lot of fun.

Through listening, I have learned that a lot of my life has been passed around my friends like a game of telephone. While some of it is amazing to hear (ie. The story of Elfie and I running from a bear morphing into me cage fighting a black bear, or the time I stabbed myself turning into me removing my whole hand), there are things that have recently happened in my life that I really didn’t want to talk about. Things that really friggin hurt. Things that I needed to contemplate. Those that I needed while it was happening were most definitely spoken to. But they know that I’m not about to start a game of telephone that would affect someone else.

The best part about my friends is that when the “telephone phrase” reaches them, they genuinely want to know what was originally said/done/thought. I have so many amazing people in my life. The fact that they all feel comfortable coming to me for clarification, even when they may not even be a part of something, is a good thing. I’d much rather clear up any confusion than let something continue to escalate into something that it isn’t.

So, if you happen to read this and have any questions about something going on in my life, ask me. Taking the word of someone not vacationing in my head will result in misinformation.

I don’t broadcast everything that I do because
1. I lead a very busy (albeit interesting) life
2. Often my thoughts/feelings are fleeting
3. I am not the only person involved.

I don’t just walk up to friends and unload everything onto them. I am a relatively guarded person (regardless of what you see on the internet. That is me being reserved.) Those that I go to during tough times are people that have at one point or another asked me about a situation prior to coming to a conclusion about my character.