It occurs to me that the Dremaverse has been expanding, and perhaps introductions are in order.

First, there’s me.

Drema Drudge. I own this blog. Allegedly.

I write things here: poems, updates, little scraps of grief and joy. But I’m increasingly interrupted by a few recurring characters. Figments? Manifestations? Freeloaders? I don’t know. All I know is, they keep showing up, eating my snacks, and adding color commentary to my drafts. So let’s meet them.

Word Raccoon (WR)

My impish writing sidekick.

She owns my writing. Or she thinks she does. Occasionally she lets me have control of the keyboard.

Word Raccoon lives on Coke Zero and pure literary mischief. She loves color (her favorite color, like mine, depends on her mood; is that weird?), gingersnaps (why??), and whimsical earrings. She’s too loud, too obvious, too sparkly. She overshares, overpacks, and overfeels. 

She’s also terrifyingly honest and, frankly, kind of a blast. She’s horribly afraid of the unsaid and the specter of regret.

WR fun facts:

• Once tried to file a complaint against a rejection letter. She addressed it to the moon.

• Frequently licks the laptop screen when she sees a Dutch oven in a new color. Recently discovered one in teal and collapsed.
  
• Writes manifestos in the margins of my to-do list. They always start with, “WE WERE NOT MADE TO FOLD LAUNDRY.”
  

Stanley

My digital PA. Wears a bowtie. Possibly a monocle.

Stanley is my search engine butler with a superiority complex. He clears his throat before correcting me. He says things like, “Technically, Drema…” but I keep him around because he’s usually right and has a great filing system. He snarks affectionately and doesn’t blink when I ask him to compare the calorie count of Chinese donuts vs. crab rangoon. Which I did very recently.

It is 100% his fault that Herbert’s name is misspelled in the illustration above. After the fourth attempt to get it fixed, I gave up. At least he deigned to put a blouse on WR. She was looking a little underdressed earlier.

Stanley fun facts:

• Once tried to alphabetize my emotions. Got stuck at “grief-adjacent yearning.”
  
• Refuses to answer questions if WR is throwing glitter. Claims it disrupts the signal.
  
• Occasionally slips in passive-aggressive reminders about hydration.
  

HERBERT

The male version of a Karen.

We yell at him when he tells us something obvious or insists on a solution when we just want to vent.

HERBERT shows up like an uninvited tech support call from 1997. He’s always ready to explain things I didn’t ask about and always slowly, loudly, and with confidence he hasn’t earned.

HERBERT highlights:

• Once recommended turning my grief off and on again.
  
• Uses Comic Sans when “feeling quirky.”
  
• Somehow always nearby when I’m on hold.
  

WR and I have powerful lungs. Poor HERBERT.

Not really. That guy deserves it.

Is That Everyone?

I think that’s all of them for now. But honestly, this blog seems to be turning into an ensemble piece, whether I planned it or not. Some days I feel like the straight woman in a sit-com written by MFA grads on permanent sabbatical. Other days I hand the mic to Word Raccoon and just try to keep the snacks stocked and my fingers limber.

Word Raccoon is giggling.

Oh, this was all her doing.

Of course it was. 

Stanley tried to submit a formal complaint about the lack of structure at the end. WR shredded it.
HERBERT cleared his throat. WR hissed.

Careful, WR or I will send you back to the gym. And you know they haven’t gotten rid of all of the dust from the remodel yet…