For the many cool factoids about raccoons, their hibernation patterns are not one.

They don’t. They don’t hibernate. As far as I can discern, there is nothing remotely remarkable about their sleep patterns.

I ask the question as I set up this blog late last year then immediately retreated into hibernation. Radio silence. Not a thing to say.

We’re here together now, on a blog I set up in December and audaciously felt at the time I could maintain. 
So far I’ve spent 47 minutes late one Wednesday night in a raccoon hole.

The scene: it’s near midnight (I’m a terrible sleeper – raccoon-like).

I have a lot on my mind and yet not much at all really.

My desk is strewn with pages of a legal pad. Messy, illegible, incongruent notes (why are legal pads yellow? Why are talk show host’s notes always blue? What was I so passionate about on 1 November?)  

My laptop from a day of working from home.  

A lovely gift from my BFF of a raccoon calendar: unopened or used, much adored though.

What will I even do with this blog?  

I clearly don’t know and there are no promises here, which is conveniently met by no audience or expectations.

I can say that I enjoy writing when the mood strikes, it’s therapy. 

I do have a few issues and themes that often occupy my mind.

Perhaps least endearing of which is politics, especially American politics. Gross, I know. 
As if what the world needs now is another asshole with a political opinion. 

No prizes for guessing I’m of the pinko-commy-leftist-woke agenda. (Proudly so). 

To that end, I really do try to consume a balanced media diet to keep my biases in check.  
Sometimes I overcorrect: I’ve force fed myself some 3 hour Joe Rogan podcasts, Piers Morgan interviewing Andrew Tate, Tucker Carlson’s Russian sojourn, US Fox news headlines; all in the name of balance.

(Spoiler alert: these attempts only serve to root my leanings more deeply). 

I care and think a lot about mental health. 

I’m not so much of an out-and-proud-flag-waving advocate as much as I’d like to – and feel – I should be. 
I’ll bury the lede right here in the sixth or seventh paragraph of an unread blog, I have bipolar disorder. 
My mother has it. Her father had it. It’s kind of one of our things, our brand. 
Bipolar II specifically for DSM enthusiasts.  

Depression is also a longstanding bedfellow of Robbie’s and mine. 

I’m also working with ADHD, a shock to absolutely no one. 

With my family and genetics mentioned, another matter I think a lot about: family and identity. 
I am (I was?) adopted.  
I have one of the most best adoptions stories I know of – if I do say so myself. 

Yeah.  
Yeah I think that’s what I’m going to do with this space. 
Or drop out and hibernate again and just not: equal possibilities. 
Whatever happens, if you’re here at my last line, thanks hey.

It strikes me as very generous of your time and attention in a day where time and attention are our most valuable commodities.