Apparently I Have a Blog

At some point, I started a blog.

Then, in true me fashion, I apparently decided the best way to maintain said blog was to completely fucking forget it existed.

So. Hi.

I’m alive.

Technically.

In my defense, life has been doing that thing where twelve mildly inconvenient things pile on top of each other until suddenly you’re standing in your kitchen wondering which minor inconvenience is finally going to make you snap and disappear into the woods.

The last few weeks have consisted of bills, broken shit, things leaking that absolutely should not be leaking, packages entering mysterious shipping dimensions, customer service chats that have probably shortened my lifespan, children, cats, approximately nine thousand loads of laundry, and the general administrative nightmare that is keeping an entire household of humans and animals alive.

You know. Summer.

There have been good things tucked inside the chaos, too.

I’ve made things. I’ve rearranged things. I’ve cooked meals that made everyone shut up for five consecutive minutes because they were too busy eating. I’ve watched my house slowly become a little more ours, even if half of my decorating philosophy can currently be described as “What if I put ivy on it?”

I’ve cleaned spaces I’d been avoiding.

I’ve started projects.

I’ve finished some of them.

We’re not discussing the others.

I’ve laughed until my stomach hurt. I’ve been so overwhelmed I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. I’ve worried about money. I’ve worried about my kids. I’ve worried about things I cannot control and then, for a fun little change of pace, worried about worrying too much.

My cats continue to contribute absolutely nothing financially despite living here rent-free.

Rude.

And somewhere in all of that, this blog quietly collected dust.

The funny thing is, this is exactly what I wanted A Feral Kind of Life to be about.

Not a perfectly curated life where every hardship becomes a beautiful lesson and every chaotic season ends with some profound realization about growth.

Sometimes shit just sucks.

Sometimes you survive the week fueled by iced coffee, spite, and whatever dinner can be assembled without requiring another trip to the store.

Sometimes you spend hours making an incredible homemade dinner.

Sometimes your dinner disappears somewhere between Walmart and your front door and you end up eating a waffle sandwich while nursing a migraine and contemplating arson.

Metaphorical arson, obviously.

Probably.

Life isn’t always a transformation montage.

Sometimes it’s just Tuesday.

But I think there’s something worth documenting in that, too.

Because despite everything, there have been these tiny little moments lately that I know I’ll miss someday.

A kid telling me dinner was really good.

My partner proudly handing me the food he made because he wanted to take care of me.

A cat materializing from another dimension the second someone opens a soft blanket.

Standing back after cleaning or decorating something and thinking, Okay. That actually looks really fucking good.

Making something with my hands and being ridiculously proud of it.

Watching my kids grow into increasingly weird little people.

Those moments don’t fix the hard shit.

They just exist beside it.

Maybe that’s what this blog is actually supposed to be.

Not advice.

Not inspiration.

Not me pretending I have anything figured out.

Just a record of this weird, exhausting, funny, occasionally devastating little life I’m living.

The projects.

The kids.

The animals.

The money struggles.

The things I make.

The things I break.

The things that break completely on their own but somehow still become my problem.

The grief.

The rage.

The ridiculous shit.

The really fucking good shit.

All of it.

So consider this my official crawling-out-of-the-blogging-grave post.

I cannot promise a consistent posting schedule because I know myself, and lying to you this early in our renewed relationship feels inappropriate.

But I’m still here.

Still making things.

Still raising kids.

Still collecting animals like I’m assembling some deeply dysfunctional Disney princess entourage.

Still trying to make this house feel like home.

Still figuring shit out as I go.

Still feral.

And apparently…

still a blogger.