🐉 MONDAY: Wyrm Workbench- The Week the Words Stayed Still

Growing Where We’re Planted

Content Note

Chronic illness flare, pain, migraines, brief mention of grief/loss (Bear)

Welcome to the Workbench

Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid.
Disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and survival without the performance.

If you’re new here, hi. I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid.
Unwilling amateur cyborg.
Occasional chronic illness and disability advocate.

Medically complex enough to make my chart a jump scare. I cope with sarcasm, snacks… and an ever-growing pile of drafts.

Most days are lived in a haunted meat suit with a highly questionable warranty and a long-standing feud with my nervous system.
Some days, though, we make things anyway.

Stories.
Worlds.
Half-finished sentences that glare at me from across the room.

The Support Party

I spend a lot of time in Bed Jail™, writing between symptoms, breaks, and whatever chaos my body is serving that day.

I’m rarely alone.

There’s Luna.
My medical alert service dog.
Guardian. Enforcer. Service Dingo™.
Official “you’ve been typing too long, fix it” supervisor.

The one who goes from “Mama” to “Mumther, we are absolutely not arguing about your bad decision-making skills today, it’s time to take a break” in about 3.5 seconds flat when she senses a flare creeping in.

And then there’s M&M.
My Player 2. My soft place to land.

The one who asks how the writing is going, reminds me to hydrate, and gently bullies me into finishing things…
Or, more often, bullies me into Bed Jail™ when I’m burning out and pretending I’m not human.

Which, unfortunately, is a recurring character flaw of mine.
It’s a learned behavior, but we’re working on breaking me of that habit. I promise.

What This Space Is (And Isn’t)

This space is for chronic illness without inspiration porn.
Disability without apologies.
And creativity that exists anyway. Messy. Nonlinear. Real.

If you’ve been here before, welcome back.
If you’re new, you’ll find your footing.

Welcome to the Wyrm Workbench.
Where we track word counts, chase ideas, and occasionally wrestle a story into existence.

On today’s workbench:
Word counts, writing goals, research rabbit holes, and whatever narrative gremlin currently has me in a chokehold.

I hope you brought something caffeinated, something hydrating, and sour candy. The holy trinity of storytelling.

Today, your ghoul is working with Yellowstone caramel oatmeal light roast coffee, peach Liquid I.V. electrolytes, and a chicken patty sandwich with tater tots courtesy of the Yard Yeti, patron saint of feeding the chronically ill.

And Lord of the Air Fryer Potatoes, if you didn’t know.

Writing… or Not?

You’ve seen that I’ve been writing this week.
Posts went up. Friday. Luna’s Takeover. Saturday health update… even if it sucked.

But today we’re talking about a different kind of writing.

The kind that means the most to me.
The story kind.

The kind Folklore Wednesdays are made of.
The kind my novels are made of.
The kind that might, possibly, turn into a children’s book about Luna Bean someday.

And the truth?

The word count hasn’t moved.

Not in the way that feels “real.”
Not in the way that feels measurable. Not in the way that feels like progress when you’re staring at it.

That doesn’t mean nothing happened.

There are notes.
Fragments.
5am thoughts scribbled down while thunderclap headaches said, “absolutely not, you don’t get to sleep.”

But the “important” words?
Drafts. Outlines. Character work.

The things I can point to and say, look, I made this.

Those didn’t happen this week.

But thinking is work.
Noticing is work.
Surviving long enough to come back to the page is work.

🧪 Workbench Debris

• Jotted down ideas at 5am like a sleep-deprived goblin
• Opened documents. Stared at them. Closed them with emotional significance
• Thought about writing. Intensely. Repeatedly.

The Reality Check

So, let’s be honest.

When I started this post, my word count was:
12,795

The same place it was at the beginning of the week.
And it will probably still be there when this goes live.

Because right now, I’m in a flare.

Not a gentle one.
Not a “push through it” one.

The kind that sweeps in and devours everything.

Moving too much makes my head throb.
Thinking too hard makes it worse.
Existing is currently… a full-contact sport.

And before you ask, yes. I went to the ER for it last Wednesday.
They hit me with a migraine cocktail and sent me on my way.
You might’ve seen me mention that in the Saturday health update, and no, I’m not doing better since then.

And I know this isn’t Saturday.
This isn’t the usual day for health updates.

But I want to give you a why.

Because I want to stick to this schedule.
I care about this space.

My body is just… in the red zone right now.

This is me learning the difference between a routine and a rigid expectation.
One bends. The other breaks me.

This might not be growth you can measure.
But it’s still growth.

Luna Bean Appreciation Interlude 🐾

Which means Luna is currently operating at Stage 22 Clinger Mode.

Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, she climbed onto my chest, tucked herself in, and started snoring like a tiny jet engine.

And then she synced with my heartbeat.

And for a little while, everything got quiet.

That’s what she does best.
She settles me. Grounds me. Keeps me here.

So today, we raise whatever we’re holding, coffee, water, electrolyte chaos, to Luna Bean.

For almost two years of being very, very good at her job.

(Yeah. That hit me too.)

🐾 Luna Status: On duty. Overachieving. Would absolutely file a complaint about my life choices if she had thumbs.

And Always, Bear

And just because Bear is gone doesn’t mean he’s not here.

April 14th is still his day.
We will still celebrate him.

Because he’s part of the foundation of this home.
Of us.

And that doesn’t go away.

But realizing that we’re here, at the end of March… that hit harder than I expected.

Because when I think about finally writing his post, the “Adoptiversary Post” and he’s not here for it… that just breaks me.

So… Did We Fail?

We’re still at 12,795.

And you know what?

I think we’re still okay.

A Softer Truth

Be gentle with your brain today.

Stories grow better in safe environments.

Even when the numbers don’t move, something else is.

Even if we didn’t hit every goal, we deserve kindness.
We tried. That matters.

If you’ve ever stared down a blank page and felt it stare back… you’re not alone.

If your progress is slow, messy, inconsistent, or invisible…

It still counts.

We build what we can, when we can.

That’s enough.

Love you. Say it back.
-Sky

© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(Maybe a few unfinished drafts, half-finished coffee, and a little dog fur.)

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

There’s never pressure to donate. Reading, sharing, or simply staying is more than enough.

If you’d like to support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and still creating:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility