AMBER LOVE 31-DEC-2015 Tis the day when social media feeds and blogs are filled with devotions about ways people want to improve themselves in 2016. You can also find lists of wishes and most notable memories of the last 12 months. I couldn’t let the year go without some tips and advice from this year and for surviving the calendar flipping moment into the next.


Most of my 2015 was a fucking horror show. I didn’t sleep for over 6 months and my skin was blistered from an itchy contagion-like plague. I tried to smile in public on the rare occasions when I would even leave my bedroom. I got adept at photo filters and clever cropping.


With a couple of friends to encourage me, I got through revising my first mystery novel and drafting the second. And had the added bonus of Thomas Boatwright making me a cover.


Most of my days were spent with the cat and we pretty much looked like Jabba the Hut.


Speaking of which, the new Star Wars came out and I still haven’t seen it. Should be tomorrow.


The US political scene was goddamn terrifying in 2015 and it’s only going to get worse. The Presidential bullshit is going to be fucking unbearable this year.


It’s a fact that I’m 100% not emotionally stable enough to handle perimenopause and feel like I’m navigating these tumultuous seas alone with one oar.


Along those lines, I’m not aging well. In fact, I’d bet that I’m aging WORSE than Carrie Fisher who could likely kick my ass – plus she can afford trainers and surgeons and good drugs.


There are finally older women who are allowed to be role models. I hope for more of this diversity for 2016. Fat women. Old women. Transwomen. WoC. Women without full physical abilities. Women with children and Women who don’t ever want children. A moratorium on silicone and Botox. I’m all for feeling pretty and boosting self esteem. I’m against pressures to conform to what someone else’s definitions of beautiful and relevance are.


I’ve also accepted that I can’t stop feelings. I’ve spent the year working hard on pausing to identify what the hell my feelings are and how to express them. I’ve failed miserably at the explaining part of that, but I’m doing it anyway. Maybe 2016 will present me with an eloquent vocabulary. When I’m stressed, I basically turn into “fire bad, tree pretty.”


Be sexy. Be safe.

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