Hello, my old friend

It has been more than a year since I last posted. And what a year it has been. That sentence is misleading -- it suggests that a lot has happened, when very little has happened. But what has happened has brought me back to the thing that has always kept me sane (or at least jumping willingly into the volcano of insanity as a sacrifice): stories. Many people immerse themselves in stories when they are feeling ... challenged, but I have turned stories into my religion. This will make sense to people who know me well; to others, it may seem like hyperbole.

I organise my life into what I was reading or watching at the time. Stories form a mental and emotional timeline of my experience. They are also where I retreat to when I feel overwhelmed or misunderstood. They stand in for my friends and family, providing comfort, a space where I feel accepted. They aren't real, you say? I know that. I don't care. I have tried living without stories and I hated it. So I would rather be happily dysfunctional, than functionally unhappy.

I wasn't planning on disclosing so much: my plan was to promise you a post soon. I have promised many posts over the years, but this one may be a little niche: post-apocalyptic fiction and why it appeals to my seething soul. It's an obvious one, but I may have something to add. If not, you can just choose not to read it, you!