Hey guys. 

First, let me get this out of the way — I’m okay. But I am recovering from surgery and it’s been a little harder than expected or promised. Nothing too major so again so don’t worry because, I repeat: I’m okay — but the lead up to this has been a lot of pain that’s been difficult to manage for the better part of a year.

And that’s slowed me down, way, way down… on so many things.

Couple my health issues with a cross-country move to a new city and being separated from the cast and my primary creative team by about 2500 miles and you have an EOS 10 hiatus that’s become much longer than I’d really hoped. You guys are so patient, and so awesome. I appreciate it.

Here’s what I can tell you right now. Since moving to LA, I’ve connected with a bunch of audio drama creators, particularly the teams behind the wonderful @arsparadoxica and @thebrightsessions. They’re great people, and if you’re not listening to their fantastic shows, you should be. I’m working on some of them with, what I’ll just say right now is a collaborative EOS 10 project that you’re going to get this fall, if it means I have to give up sleeping to see that it’s completed. I also have large swaths of season three written and they’re shaping up to be my favorites of everything we’ve done so far. It’s a more daring story line than we’ve attempted before and I’m fully prepared for most of you to hate me as it unfolds :) But in a good way. And hopefully the hate will only be temporary.

In the meantime, thank you so much for your support. Thank you for listening and sharing and creating (the artistic skill some of you have never ceases to amaze me). It really all means the world to me. It really does. 

I’m home from the hospital and there is nothing to write about except the pain so I’m not writing. my face is covered in bruises and I can feel the stitches pull every time I move. I am worried my niece will be scared of what I look like but she touches my skin softly and asks when I’m going to feel better. my little sister brings me ice and medicine and makes sure I’m eating dinner. my mother brushes my hair and pulls it back from my face. my father presses cream into the black around my eyes and promises I’ll be okay. he talks about a marathon, about this being the last mile, about the pain being close to over. my boyfriend compares me to a boxer, says he’s never seen anyone fight like this, promises I’m still beautiful. my older sister holds an ice pack to my face and reminds me to breathe. I avoid every mirror and stay as still as I can. I sleep. I touch the stitches. I try not to look at anyone. even when survival isn’t beautiful, it’s still survival. look at these scars, these bruises, these stitches. I’m still surviving.