Day 6001 of Quarantine: Created a serial killer in my Sims game to take out all the townies who wear that stupid eyeball ring, alphabetized my spice rack, and organized a slumber party for some stuffed animals.

Okay, one of those is a lie. I have never alphabetized a spice rack in my life.

I hope everyone’s staying safe out there. I appreciate all your happy thoughts and well-wishing. So far, my family and I are all doing well. We’re taking care of ourselves, washing our hands, self-isolating (or just living normally, if you’re me) and doing everything we can to protect ourselves and our community. It has really made me think, though. Last year, I embarked on the first leg of my epic quest to improve my health by, among other things, changing my diet, which meant learning how to cook more meals from scratch, meal-planning, and freezer-prepping. As a result, when the COVID hit the fan, my freezer was full of casseroles and I actually knew how to turn the random components in my pantry into real food. Quarantine isn’t fun for anyone, but I have to admit I’m having a much less difficult time than I would be having, if I hadn’t had a year to hone those skills.

I said in my last post that I wanted to use this time to improve myself in some fashion and I have actually been working at that, decluttering the house and tackling some of those little to-do tasks that pile up in the corners of all houses. I haven’t gotten as far as setting up an exercise routine yet, and I really need to, because I’m one of those people who bake away my anxieties, which would be fine if that was all I did, but then I’m trapped in quarantine in a house full of delicious baked goods, so…yeah, I need to stop using the treadmill as a hat-rack and use it as, ya know, a treadmill. I’ve also done some painting along with The Art Sherpa‘s free tutorials on YouTube (I encourage everyone who’s ever wanted to paint to click that link), reread some of my favorite books (including The Stand by Stephen King, because irony, and also Tiffany Roberts‘ always delightful Kraken series), and watching way too much Netflix. What are you all binging on these days?

And yes, I’m writing. I’m so close to the end of Part IV of my FNAF fanfic, and I know I’ve been saying that for 200 pages now, but I’m 200 pages closer and that’s pretty dang close to the end. I’m going to take a quick break before I start Part V so that I can write something else real quick (HA! Remember when I thought this fanfic series was going to take one year to complete? Ohhh, me and ‘real quick’ have about the same relationship as me and ‘real short’) but then I’ll be back at it. It’s the age-old problem: so many books, so little time.

But for now, I have a new chapter up on archiveofourown.org and fanfiction.net, so if you’re reading my fanfic, Everything Is All Right, follow the link of your choice to check out the freshness.

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Foxy spent the night in a bad mood, for which his own arse-headedness was only partly to blame. Cards had just not been a good idea. On the rare occasion that they played back at the pizzeria, whichever pizzeria that was, Freddy was always dealer (and, coincidentally, always won). His absence now cast a gloom over the good time they were supposed to be having. They didn’t fight, exactly, but there was some bickering over rules, sore losers and sore winners, and a lot of silence.

The quiet made it possible to listen through the thin walls that separated Yoshi’s workshop from the office where Ana thrashed and moaned in her sleep. Foxy was no expert, having only sat up with Ana on two previous occasions, but it didn’t take an expert to know that she was having a bad time of it tonight. Worse than usual? He didn’t know. It seemed to him that she’d done some twitching and mewing the other times, but she hadn’t exactly been sober then either. Maybe it was something to do with the smoking, maybe not. He didn’t know enough about Ana’s sleeping habits—or anyone’s sleeping habits—to have any kind of intelligent opinion on the reasons or wherefores. He only knew it was hard to listen to, and worse even than that was knowing Bon was listening too, and taking it just as hard. Maybe harder. Just like he had some kind of personal stake in the girl’s well-being.

“Just friends, me fuzzy arse,” Foxy muttered and tossed a few bolts in the poker pot.