Looking for a Friend for the End of the World (And Other Things)

I have a lot of weird talents, and even more obscure skills. It's not entirely unknown for people to ask me what on earth links all these things-- why are you doing this? they beg as I start to ramble at length about my hypothetical beehives. The answer to this is super simple, but mostly I get looks like I'm insane. 

I'm preparing for the end of the world. 

I know, I know. I certainly don't look like a survivalist. Blue hair? Slight build? An almost excessive love of ruffles? Not what you would picture for someone with a bugout bag. But the truth is that life has rarely been kind to me, and the apocalypse seems perpetually nigh. And for real, I want to be one of the survivors. Who wouldn't? 

My driving force is one simple thought: 'Is this skill useful in a world without infrastructure?' Bees? Hella. Baking bread? You bet. Being able to run for long distances without (figuratively) dying? Well, duh. 

Inconvenience

First of all, I am a terrible human being. As my husband likes to call me, I am Trash Trash. I used to think of myself as Murphy, Grand High Trash Lord. But I've spent too much to me banging my head against walls. I'm thinking about embroidering it on a dice bag. Or possibly a purse.
You know, embrace the image you have. All that jazz.
SO. GERMANY.
I currently reside half an hour or outside of Regensberg, or if that's not explanation, it's kinda close to Munich. WOO BAVARIA. You are the Texas of Germany.
I'm not necessarily opposed to living in the Texas of Germany. But I never liked spending time in regular Texas. Throw in a distinct lack of jobs for English speakers and my... let's call them skills, shall we?-- and I am looking at three years of unemployment.
There are worse things I guess? I'm attempting the whole stable-mental-health thing that the kids are doing these days. It should make me more regular about updates I guess? I'm super fucked up, guys.
Now, I hope you all realise that as writer, I'm also a pretty voracious reader. And sometimes I read shit and cannot shut up about it. This is not one of those times, but I am going to reference one of those times I have had previously. Jen Lancaster is one of my favorite memiorists (if that's a thing). and it was during one of these books that Jen was 'laid off' and took the time to invest in her writing. And now, the time has come for me to do the same thing.

Cheers darlings,
Murphy

Bureaucracy

Ah, my friends. Maybe. Yes, it is I, Murphy. Have I got a story for you.

My name is no coincidence. Everybody calls me Murphy because bad things happen to me. Sometimes it's totally my fault-- my decision-making skills are not the best, which I believe is partially blameable on depression and partially on a definite lack of self-control. Sometimes it totally fucking isn't.

Regardless of why the bad things happen, they do, a lot, to me.

For example. A couple days before I was supposed to leave, my car was broken into in downtown Spokane--my purse was stolen, and along with it, my passport (as well as most of my other ID cards). Now, I'll definitely take some of this blame--I left my purse in my car, obviously. Ironically, because I didn't want it to get stolen at the bar where I went to specifically go dancing. And I had the passport in my bag so I wouldn't lose it--I was only a couple days out from leaving. But still, shit got stolen.

So I languished in Spokane to await the replacement. And now here we are, about a month and a half later, with a new date and a new ticket.

Concerning Adventure

I have, until this point in my life, lived quite adventurously.

As the world turns right now, I, Murphy Delaney, am twenty-two years old. I have lived in more US states than many people visit in their lifetimes. I have shoes that have seen more countries than your average human being (And will see more yet).

And now, I think the time has come to detail the adventurous minutiae of my terribly, terribly exciting life. Before the internet, I would have done so in the form of the inevitable memoir, which people tell me I should do anyway. But maybe later. After all, you're just as likely to ignore me in the bookstore as you are on the internet, eh wot?

So perhaps, my potential readers (maybe you will be my dear readers some day) I'll tell you a little about me, and then, if you feel like it, you can tell me a little about you. I know how much people love to talk (Especially about themselves, I am obviously not exempt) and I do so honestly love to hear what people say about themselves, especially when there's anonymity involved.

So. I am twenty-two years old. I am medium-tall, a bit too thin, and I have blue hair. Blue hair, you say? Yes. I like blue, and I think it makes me look nice. Blue is also the color assigned to Ravenclaws, of which I am one. (Obviously I know my Hogwarts House.) I wear too much jewelry--because  I want to look like a pirate--and I like wearing steampunk clothes.

I like reading--satire fantasy is a particular favorite of mine--and a little bit of writing. I hope someday to turn it into a lot of writing--you know, for money. I'm am also, unquestionably, a crafter. Possibly of the crazy variety. I have a link to my store on the sidebar, and I am also in the process of designing and then creating bomb-ass clothing. Because making beautiful things is a favorite of mine. I also bake--compulsively. I will undoubtedly share a few of my more treasured recipes on this journey, for your sake as much as mine. Have you any idea how convenient it is to have your favorite recipe with your favorite alterations available to you at all times?

When I'm not engaging in literary arts or makin' shit, I'm usually either on tumblr, playing video games or playing with my dog, Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Malcolm is about four years old, somewhat deaf, and gives fresh meaning to dogs obessively shadowing their owners. This is mostly cute, and I call him my brindle shadow (brindle being the lovely tiger-striping coat).

For absolute clarity, I will say this now: I have no idea what Malcolm is. Part lab, I believe. But anything else is a crapshoot. I believe in rescue dogs, whole heartedly, unreservedly, and usually while trying not to cry. For real, I will almost always lose my shit when I read sad puppy stories on tumblr. Legit weeping, yo.

So just remember that, if I'm telling you something sad about a dog. I am unquestionably sobbing and possibly also enraged. Because I love dogs SO. MUCH.

Concerning adventure though, is the reason why I decided to start documenting my 'exciting' life. In two days, I'll be departing from Tennessee to Washington (where most of my things are, awaiting to be packed), and from there (after some paperwork sorting out) I'll be going to live in Germany for several years!

And as this time I will be an adult with an adult's vocabulary, an adult's understanding of metros and cameras, and an adult with adult money that I can spend like an adult (ie: SO MUCH CHOCOLATE), living in Germany now will be a far department from when I was five-six-seven.

So, potential friends (there, that feels cozier than readers) I will probably fill you in on the wretched car ride across the US in possibly a week.

I don't want to seem too needy.