books, personal

hello, it’s me (back from the dead)

Thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for me to post again; my fiance and I have been in the process of finding an apartment, packing all of our shit, and moving said shit for the past two months.

I have a lot to catch you guys up on. I have two new tattoos – a thestral and a crown of thorns. We live in a brand new place, and so far, I absolutely love it. Jay graduated so we’ve been navigating that. My car broke down on the day we moved all of our furniture – so we’ve been carpooling ever since. I have a fuck ton of pictures to show you guys. But first, I wanted to tell you why I didn’t write while we were moving. Firstly, I work a shit ton. Spare hours are hard to come by and I was basically managing every aspect of our transport by myself so Jason could finish his classes in peace. There were not a lot of free seconds to devote to writing, unfortunately. Secondly. my space is so crucial to my sanity. I’m an introvert, an INTJ on some days, and an INFJ on others. I am an autumnal spirit who needs solitude and peace before I can function like a person. I also have OCD and anxiety, so everything must be in its proper place. (When I say I have OCD, I don’t mean that I’m afraid of germs and dirt. I mean that I have a little voice inside my head that the psychiatrist I went to actual said “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? You have classic Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and no one has ever diagnosed you properly, so that sucks”) My personal space is so fucking crucial to my mental health. My home is where I go to recharge, it’s my witch’s cottage, my castle. Don’t fuck with my home or the inhabitants.)

I strongly believe my first home was a song. Maybe it’s because I was raised under the wings of two Cancers but “home” is a very fluid term for me. Maybe it’s because I spend so much time trying to reign in the fireworks under my skin that “home” has shifted from person to object to lyric so frequently.

Anyway, my first home was a song. It was the only thing that held a glimmer of safety and I tucked myself under the lyrics and stayed there until I was strong enough to be my own crescendo. That song was “Skinny Love” by Bob Iver. I know! You were expecting something by Johnny Cash, hang on, it’s coming. Wait for your fucking turn. You can tell me forty thousand times that Skinny Love is about unrequited love, which, for some, it might be. For me, Skinny Love has always been about suicide and depression.

I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s not so much a secret now because the shame is wearing off and replacing itself with something more vicious.

The years between my thirteenth and nineteenth years of my life saw NINE suicide attempts. You read that right, fuck off. I don’t really want to talk about them but they were never supposed to not work so let’s just leave it at this: I’m really horrible at committing suicide. Kind of like how I’m horrible at communication or not using “fuck” as a filler word. I can point out the lines in Skinny Love that helped me recover the next morning after I downed a bottle of narcotic pain pills. I can point out the lines that I sang along to with red-rimmed eyes and panic attacks crawling under my skin. This sucks to talk about so let’s finish on a high note – Skinny Love was something that I always thought was written for me. Not in an egotistical, people-are-writing-songs-about-me way but in “Listen, you sad little bitch, the universe is trying to tell you something”

Hence, my latest tattoo. When I got my thestral patronus, I thought “Fucking perfect, I’m a morbid piece of shit with a death pony as a spirit animal. Who could love that?” Who will love you, who will fight? This leads me into a brief discussion of my second home: myself. I never really cared for myself as an object of permanence until I started decorating the walls. I think my partial sleeves actually started my journey into self-acceptance. Not self-love, that’s a work in progress.  I have all these pieces of my soul etched on my skin and it gives me great comfort to know it’s giving everyone a forewarning before they talk to me.

The other tattoo I got, my crown of thorns, lives ever-so-happily on my middle finger of my right hand. It’s a homage to two things – Johnny Cash’s cover of Hurt and my Catholic upbringing. I’ve always felt like us reformed Catholics wear a crown of thorns. My crown is formed of guilt and grief. I’m sure there are other ties that bind us to our thrones, but those are mine.

Thirdly, as you can probably guess, I find a home in the books that I love. They become part of me, so I cover myself in them. I cover my shelves with them, my bathtub is lined with them. If I ever saw someone trying to hurt one of my books, they would get a right hook to the jaw.  Harry Potter, Wicked Lovely, Looking for Alaska, and the Raven Cycle are series that I consider to be especially comfortable.

Lastly, I find my home in other people. Before you get all judgy and start accusing of being a false prophet of introversion,  let me tell you something – I am very particular with the people that I settle into. Above all things that I am proud of, I am most proud of the fact that when I decide to love something or someone, I love them with all that I have. I made a home for myself within the confines of maybe four or five people, tops. One of them is my sister and one of them is Jason. Jason is a very interesting choice of residence, as I am always so sure that we could break each other entirely.  My OCD makes me think I am the catalyst to his destruction, my tarot cards say I am the catalyst for his resurrection.

By the way, my sister gave birth to my goddaughter on June 2nd. Little Annabelle Jade, my little Gemini trickster queen.

So now Jason and I have a tiny 900 square foot fortress and in turn, I have other dwelling places within that home.

I feel as if a home has a different definition to every individual, but I always think of it as a place where I can tell the truth of myself without judgment, a place where I can let my magic reign free with no fear of consequence.

Here are some pictures of my tiny home

deskliving roomravenwitch

Yes, that IS a Ronan Lynch quote above my witchcraft station. Call me morbid but I thought “Not death but his brother, sleep” was a perfect addition to my bedroom. Fight me, I dare you. Did I happen to mention that I got my DNA test back? Guess who is 65% Irish with a Russian and Bulgarian twist. It explains my kinship to the Lynches and Kavinsky.  It also explains my intolerance to the sun, weather above 60 degrees, the spectrum of human emotion, and my love of Jameson.

Speaking of books, I finished Labryth Lost and it was surprisingly really good.  The lore was interesting to read about and I appreciated the way the main character was written. I was surprised by the romantic twist but it was one of my favorite LBGT moments thus far in a book. I also read Diary of a Haunting and it was an easy read but the ending actually snuck up on me a bit. I am having a super hard time getting into A Court of Wings and Ruin, I think because I honestly prefer the Throne of Glass series and I think Aelin and Rowan could kick Feyre and Rhys’ ass. Fun fact: I like slow burn books IF YOU COULDN’T ALREADY TELL.

While we’re on the topic of my favorite literary couples, can we have a moment of silence for all the Dreamer trilogy niblets that Maggie keeps dropping? Not going to lie, I cry when I see them. I save them to my phone and look at them when I need a moment of cathartic release.

I’m currently listening to The Song of Achilles on Audible and reading a physical copy of  My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry and I have already picked out which quotes I’m going to get added to my Book Sleeve. These books are going to destroy me, I can sense it.

I will start blogging more often, I promise. I’ll have to give reviews of the books I’m reading now and keep updating everyone on my domestic bullshit. I’m back in business for tarot readings since I have more privacy, so tell your friends.

That’s all there is,

The Book Witch

Advertisements
Standard
books

Young Wives’ Club Review & Tattoo Updates

Hello, loves.

Part of my crumbled, decaying soul settled yesterday. I got my Raven Cycle tattoo and it was a really amazing experience. I love, adore, and appreciate my artist. If you’re in the Reno area, I would strongly recommend going to Nichole at South Town Tattoo Collective. She’s amazing; I love how she talked to me the entire session. I could’ve told her anything about my life and felt like the information would’ve been safe and wrapped away for later. She said “I’m in love with this tattoo” and a part of my heart filled with joy. It was such a  strange cacophony of emotions; I was sad that I could never experience the magic of the Raven Cycle for myself, I was proud because she had told me that she loved doing my tattoos.  The universe created a strange synchronization where it played Blink-182 over the loud speaker and I’d like to think it was because I was wearing my favorite shirt. So maybe I did actually experience a bit of Cabeswater in that small corner of sketched goddesses and blood. I told her about my next idea and then asked if she was down to tattoo my knuckles. We plotted the designs together and I mentioned that my family wasn’t stoked about me covering my skin. I told her “You can’t raise someone to practice witchcraft and then  expect them to live a mundane existence”

She asked me about the Raven Cycle and what it was about and I panicked. “Uhhh, it’s about this girl who can’t kiss this guy but she sees him on this Corpse Road, which is on the ley lines and the guy is searching for a dead Welsh king. You might wonder ‘Why is he searching for a dead Welsh king? That’s extremely specific.’ Well, the answer is also extremely specific. Ronan Lynch is there and I care so much about Ronan that it fucking scares me. I also care a lot about Joseph Kavinsky and I don’t give a fuck what Gansey says, Joseph Kavinsky matters to me. Ronan is in love with Adam, who made a deal with a forest called Cabeswater. Joseph Kavinksy is in love with Ronan but he dies because, like me, he makes very poor decisions. Good old, Joey K. They’re all a little bit in love with each other, actually. Oh, and Ronan can pull shit from his dreams and he has a pet raven. There’s a houseful of psychics and their roommate is dead, man. This series changed me from a moderate car crash to absolute fucking train wreck. You need to read it.” We talked about cars and wedding plans and conventions because I can’t actually summarize books without having a meltdown, apparently.

Anyway, here’s a picture of my tattoo.

raven tattoo

My sister also got me a signed copy of The Raven King for my upcoming birthday because she’s an enabler. Just kidding, my sister is fucking rad. I wrote a sappy post about it and then I re-read the last chapters of TRK, cried, had a drink, and went to bed holding the aforementioned copy of TRK. Here we are, being nerds. Her with her normal person hair and my purple bob.

sister.jpg

My “Joseph Kavinsky Matters” bag arrived aaaaaannnnd I ordered more stickers. Don’t judge me. I love my sisters. Look, my laptop has its own JKM sticker, too!

kavinskykavinsky.jpg2

Fuck off, I don’t have a problem.

In other less-obsessive news, I finished The Young Wives Club. 

Honestly, it was pretty disappointing. I would give it 2/10 stars and here’s why:

I definitely need to stick with creepy / darker books if I want to enjoy my experiences. I would recommend it to someone who wants something mindless and fluffy. The people in the story are not very smart and I wasn’t attached to them at all. Even during a death scene, not a major character, I was like meh, deserved it. I could predict everything they did and that’s not a good indicator of writing since I am slower than a sloth when it comes to plot twists. I was really excited for this book and I’m disappointed with how much I loathed the characters and the story. The ending was the only redeeming point – it was very Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants-esque and it almost (I say “almost” in the loosest way possible) seemed like some of them had learned their lessons. Very bland characters, very generic plot. Again, I would say that if you know you like literature with bite, just stick to it.

I have another book review coming to you this week! I’m looking for something amazing to read. I have some in my queue that I’m so excited to start. I tried to get into the Truthwitch but its falling short after reading Throne of Glass. I’m also attempting to finish Anna Kendrick’s memoir, Scrappy Little Nobody. It’s very lighthearted and sweet but I have a huge crush on her, so I’m enjoying it.

I will talk to you all later.

That’s all there is,

The Book Witch

Standard