Monthly Archives: February 2016


This morning I had a peaceful moment. One of those true, Zen moments of “I am happy and this is where I want to be.” Eldest Child woke up to use the restroom too early. I was awake doing chores, like usual. She asked me if I would climb in bed with her so she could sing me a lullaby. Twinkle Twinkle was the song of choice. Then she spent a while talking to me about why she likes me.

This is kind of a habit I have with the kids. I don’t put them to bed all the time, probably not even half the time these days at home. Maybe a quarter of the time? But we had the road trip and all the years before that of shared bed times. At bed time, what we do is we cuddle up close and spent 15-20 minutes talking about all the reasons we like each other. “You did ____ and I was so impressed with your thoughtfulness. You did ______ and I was shocked to see that you have made that developmental jump. I thought that was a (age inflation) thing and I’m really wow’ed. You said ______ word today and that was surprising because I didn’t know you knew that word!”

We bookend that with waking up to morning snuggles. During morning snuggles we talk about what we need to do today and how the schedule will work.

I can understand why my children insist I’m not an asshole and I just have bad moments. I don’t understand it so much from other people. Sometimes I feel like my children get to have a relationship with someone that no one else even gets to meet.

Sometimes I am capable of seeing myself as kind, giving, and loving.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m an asshole.

Contradiction is necessary for life. For survival. You can be kind and an asshole.

Why am I so convinced I’m an asshole? Because I lawyer up fast when my contractors give me trouble. Because I find that swearing at men really harshly is one of the best ways to convince strange men I’m not interested in their attention. Because I find that sometimes it is necessary to kick people really hard to get them to let go and I’m willing to do it. Because I’m going to keep talking about why the word whore is eating my brain even though people with sex work careers twitch and feel really upset about it.

Want to hear something wild? Yesterday one of the most famous sex workers of our era gave me permission to use the word whore however I need to in my processing. She says if anyone questions me again I can send them to her.

That is… incredibly validating. Wow. Thanks.

I’m not sure I’m ever going to pull that card. But I may print out that tweet and cut it up small and put it in my wallet next to the permission slip from Noah. Just so that I think about it.

I have permission to look at this however hard I need to in order to get over it. She said so.

I am so fucking weird about permission. I’ve spent my whole life cringing, crying, and hurting myself because I felt that was the only thing I was allowed to do without permission. I need permission to stop. I need permission to feel something else about myself.

Why does that have to be the default? I mean, blame your parents yada yada, why does that have to be my default?

Why do I have to assume, in every moment, that I am the least valuable person present and if someone should die it should be me?

Not that I want to get to the point of wanting to sacrifice other people for myself.

Wait, maybe that is it.

I have never known a white person with really high self esteem who isn’t willing to throw other people under the bus for their own advancement. I have known people of color with high self esteem whom I have never seen sacrifice a friend. I know people of color who are exploitive assholes, too.

I’m trying to think through my white friends… y’all make very self absorbed choices. I do too. I’m not sitting on a high horse. I’m sitting flat on the ground. I’m not high and mighty here. I’m trying to figure out how this works.

I am willing to throw people under a bus if I feel I have to do so in order to be effective.

That’s why I’m an asshole. I need accurate labeling so other people know they have to protect themselves from me.

want to help you. I will try to help you. But if I feel I have to be effective in some area for Reasons…

I’m a selfish piece of shit. That’s why I’m alive. I’m willing to say that Safeway doesn’t matter as much as me, I’m stealing food. I’m willing to say, “Being around people who make choices like x is so problematic to me that I will bug and bug and bug people who make choices like that until they don’t want to know me any more.”

I’m an asshole because I make a lot of assumptions about people and I don’t check my privilege nearly often enough. I’m trying to get better. This is hard.

My life has been kind of hard to adjust to.

I spent my childhood moving like a ghost through different communities. I never stayed long enough to belong. I lived in a lot of neighborhoods where we were the only white family. I grew up feeling like being white was a bad thing. Know why? White people don’t care about their kids very much. That was how I experienced it as a child. I don’t think that is literally true across the board. That was my experience. In white neighborhoods there were always packs of unsupervised children doing horrifyingly inappropriate things. In neighborhoods of color there might be much older teenagers or 20-somethings causing trouble, but the kids were god damn watched.

I was chased out of so many homes for having bad behavior. I was told I was a bad girl dozens, maybe a hundred times.

It’s funny how my memories of these things change and drift. I remember them very differently as my understanding of the situation changes.

When I was 21ish I honestly didn’t remember all those lectures about being bad. I had kinda blocked them out. I knew I was bad but it was a fog hanging over my life. I didn’t have all those disparate voices going through my head.

As a parent watching my children be children (by which I mean breaking rules and fucking up) I hear those people in my head over and over more and more clearly. Oh. That was why they said that.


Now I get it.


I have always felt like I was living in many ages at once. But I feel like my future selves have changed a lot over my life. My ability to perceive who I could be has changed.

These days I can picture having grandchildren who scornfully tell my children that they should be more patient, like Grammie. I will giggle. My children will say, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SHE WAS LIKE TO GROW UP WITH.” I will giggle.

Do you have any idea what having that vision in my head means to me? I have the belief that I might be able to arrive at having the kind of experience of being in my body that I want to have. I believe that I might get to the point of being actually regulated and calm.

I have hope for something I was not capable of dreaming up 20 years ago.

It’s amazing what ten years of safety can do for a body. I see it in myself. I see it in my children. That is something that home schooling does for me that isn’t necessary for almost anyone else I know.

I require this specific time to be set aside in my adult life where the entire point of my day is to model how to have big emotions, get them under control, deal with them appropriately when they come up, and then keep working.

Not suppressing. Not denying. Not minimizing. Not avoiding until it comes crashing down on you at some inappropriate time in the future. Your feelings matter. They live in you and they serve a purpose. If you ignore them in the moment you will pay a price later. There are times and places where emotional displays are not appropriate, but get that stuff out as fast as possible so it doesn’t become a poison.

I am grateful every day for the life I am leading right now.

I have the safety, the money, the access to care providers, and the education to do something about the trauma in my body.

That is magical. This should be available to everyone who has experienced trauma. We would be a better world.

People deserve to be seen in context and understood. Most people who seem “crazy” to you wouldn’t seem so crazy if you knew more about their story. I tell my children all the time, “Weird just means you aren’t used to it yet; eventually it is just normal.”

My mom used to say, “The only norma people are the ones you don’t know very well.”

One of my neighbors is stepping up the offer of maternal-nature-friendship. I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, Thank You Oh Universe, You Sure Do Like To Hear My Calls, Don’t You?

On the other hand… I’m scared of blowing up what we currently have if she finds out more about me. I’m not exactly the uhhhh conservative type and she is quite shy, scared, and sheltered. I don’t want to hurt her. She will need a lot of boundaries around the kinds of things she can handle hearing and I’m not sure how to find those boundaries without fucking up pretty badly. Once you say something it can never be unsaid.

We have a really solid, positive relationship. Losing it would be brutal. This feels really tricky. Our families are fairly strongly connected at the level we have now. I feel really like this is a big risk. Much bigger than telling all the strangers on the internet about my raunchy sex life and habit of beating people up for fun.

I’m kinda weird.

My superego is fucking developed at this point, ok? I’m growing up.

I’m an asshole and she is not. She wants to mother me. What will she do when she finds out I have approximately 500 x’s as much life experience as her?

There is a thing I think about. When I was in the bdsm community I was really serious about learning all I could as fast as I could. I played a lot with a lot of people. Basically I spent more time on bdsm than I spent on my college education, which I was pursuing simultaneously. Much Much Much more time on bdsm.

I was a serious slut and it was really fun and I have no regrets. I learned what I wanted to learn from that experience. I’m shocked at how often I find ways to apply the lessons I’ve learned, not in ways you’d expect.

I had more life experience at 25 than many people have at 50. It isn’t hyperbole, it is simple fact. I say yes to almost anything that comes up. I know very diverse people in many communities. I’m a moody bastard with a short attention span.

I’ve done a lot of things. It is something I notice when I meet new people these days. I sound like a lying braggart. Nope. I got receipts. I did all that. Why? Because I never felt like I had a better choice than to do what I was doing so I did it all in. As soon as something stops feeling like the best choice in the moment I break down, fall into a deep depression. Go home. Hurt myself until I figure out that the boundaries required in that community are not things I can maintain long-term. Then I heal. Then I try again.

It goes faster and faster as I age and get boundaries carved out of granite. It is harder to change them. I am less tolerant of my internal, “I need to conform by doing x in this environment” sensor and I just flee.

I have a home now. I have less reason to tolerate your bullshit rules. Wanna know why I know they are bullshit rules? Cause this ain’t my first rodeo. Don’t worry, I think the rules in my house are bullshit too. They are all weird and arbitrary. They are made to suit the moods of whichever asshole in the vicinity is loudest.

I know.

I used to know a man who liked to say, “I’m the only psycho in this relationship” or maybe he said he was the only one who gets to be crazy? I may be misremembering. I’ll cop to that.

I need to be the biggest asshole in the space I’m in. So Noah is an asshole, but I know that I’m much more likely to be the one to bulldoze than him.

It works for us. Picture a heart emoji here, but I have technically banned them so this will have to do.

He doesn’t think I’m an asshole. That’s part of why this works. I think we are both assholes and I’m just a bigger one. But he’s all mellow and tolerant so it works out. Do you however you need to, ok?

I’m going to be kinda passive aggressive here and say: if you are one of Noah’s friends… this is a great time to ask him to go out some time. He needs to talk. To more people than just me right now cause life is like that sometimes.

I can’t fill his tank as much as he needs me to right now. Because I’m dealing with the remodel and and and. His job is kinda hard.

I need to go beat the shit out of people. I don’t know what he needs. But right now, he’s wilting like a flower and that’s a serious bummer. I don’t know what it is that is missing right now, but clearly all the right nutrients aren’t in place.

This is the kind of micromanaging, paying attention that I want in my life. It is why I appreciate the people who have stuck with me and really got to know me so much. Because I’m more pushy like this by the year. Because people do it more with me. It’s a careful balance. How much controlling and influencing other people should we do?

I really don’t know where those boundaries ought to be. I’m not pulling up Noah’s email account and making plans for him. That’s over the line.

Where is the line?

Everyone is different. I want you to get to be who you need to be. I want to figure out who I need to be and I want to just do the shit out of it.

This feels like baby steps towards self love, doesn’t it? This morning feels good. I have to say that these piles of tile are inspiring. I may be jaunting off to get more sparkly tiles today. I’m really excited about the snow wall. I want to build that first because I have so much white and it would be nice to get it mostly used up and out of the way so I see how much I need to still buy in terms of tile for the rest of the bathroom. I really can’t tell yet.

It depends on how high up the walls I want to go, right? We’ll see!

Youngest child’s half bathroom is spring. Other half bathroom is summer. The bathing room is going to have autumn and winter. I can’t wait to look at the sparkly snow while I take baths in candle light at night. That will be so beautiful.

I’m serious my friends, if you want to come take a bath… let me know.

I’m thinking hard about how I want to make the tree of life that will climb up the wall over the bath tub. I need to look at more pictures. That will probably be that last bit I design because much of it might be painted, I haven’t decided.

I know that “traditionally speaking” you want flat walls. I’m not going to have flat walls with perfectly level tile. It’s going to be pretty rough and it will be on purpose and structured and artistic. I think it will work.

Oh please God let this work cause this puppy is going to be expensive if I fuck up.

Go big or go home, bitch.

Oh goodness what did I get myself into?!

Have I told you that the floor will have a stone path lined with green tiles to look like grass?


If only the roof weren’t uhm, being tricky. We are still negotiating. I’m blathering on Twitter but I won’t rehash it here. Just… gotta keep walking on. I’m trying to not be angry. At this point all of the guys in the company have apologized for making decisions without me when clearly they made the wrong choice at a critical juncture. I had preferences and they didn’t ask. Even though I’ve told them over and over and over I want to be asked.

Ok. Trying to move on. Have to get this shit finished. If it’s beautiful… I will still write positive reviews with caveats about how I had to be fierce in advocating for myself.

I made it very clear that from here on out the crew was not to dump their lunch garbage all over and leave it here for weeks. Saw blades are all over the ground and that’s not cool. My lawyer was at this meeting. I should stop talking about it for all kinds of reasons.

I wanted to write something down here for documenting purposes. Instead, I hit cut’n’paste and sent it to my lawyer.

That seems smart just now.

Past self, you picked this woman out based on proximity and hope. Well done!

Today will be a good day, I think. I hope. I believe. Oh yeah, a friend asked if she could come over to dinner. I should tell Noah. Ha. Surprise. We have six people coming over for dinner.

Roll with it. Life flows like that. If people ask to come over for dinner the next night and I have no plans…. I’m weak. I have no willpower for that kind of rejection. Because you hit my sweet spot. Basically no output of energy and lots of input of attention. Yeah, you can do that. Sounds awesome. I have to cook anyway. Don’t worry. I always have enough food around.

You never know who might be coming to dinner.



Tonight I woke up a little weird. I was doing some processing on Twitter. I got a few DMs from someone telling me I have to “just stop the whore thing because you are hurting me because I was a whore”. My response was, “I don’t know you. I don’t know your story. I’m not talking about you. I’m working through my stuff. If it hurts you, opt out. Don’t tell me to stop.” So I got a block. That seems appropriate.

I’m not mad at being blocked. That is the right choice. If I bother you… block me. Yes I have problematic behaviors. Yes, talking about the “whore” thing is hard and tricky. But I’m not talking about you. I go to lengths to make it clear I’m working through an emotional existential thing and I’m not talking about sex work or sex workers. I’m talking about my issues and associations and history with the word whore.

If you tell me I can’t process… you are saying I can’t get over it. You don’t want me to get over it. You want me to be silent. I don’t owe you that. If someone I was very close to needed to ask me for boundaries, that would be different.

If I defaulted to silence on every topic that might upset a stranger I should just wire my lips shut and be done with it.

I give trigger warnings because I know these topics really upset people. Hell, they upset me. But I can’t pretend this isn’t happening to make you more comfortable at the expense of myself.

I don’t owe you that.

Literally, my Twitter bio is a long trigger warning. That’s all it does. “I talk about upsetting stuff like _____.”

Given that my father called me a whore so many times… I have stuff to work out there. Even if other people have different stuff to work out. I’m not trying to tromp on your issues. I’m trying to work through my head. If that is a problem for you, opt out.

Don’t tell me to stop doing the work. I really need to do this work.

She came back to tell me that I am a SWERF then blocked me again.

I’m pretty clear that what is going on here is not all about me. There are layers here. I don’t want to erase the experience of sex workers. I don’t want to eliminate their rights. I think sex workers are people who have jobs. I think I was abused and I’m trying to rewire my brain and that requires me to talk about the ways I was abused.

I don’t think that other people who identify as whores are bad. I think that I have an association because of my father that I need to change.

I don’t know how to do that in silence.

tv fluff

Someone suggested that I watch Switched At Birth. It’s really interesting. Predictably I think the white family are a bunch of assholes. Including the not actually genetically white daughter raised to be spoiled, petulant, and obnoxious.

This is interesting.


I’m having a bad night. I spent some time talking with a few of my pals. They happen to be sex workers. I regularly come across the attitude that sex workers must be bad people. They must be somehow tainted.

Clearly, you don’t know any. These are some bright, capable, fabulous folks. They make life choices you may not make… but that’s because we are all needed.

I sincerely believe that sex work is respectable work. Sexual connection is a big deal. Not everyone is capable of finding a romantic relationship. Many sex workers have long careers and form deep bonds with clients.

Are some people abused?

Should we go through every industry, every occupation, every endeavor of human existence? Guess what. The way to decrease abuse is to increase protection, not to criminalize. If we acted like it mattered when a sex worker was abused, less of it would happen.

But instead we, as a society, act like people who engage in sex work deserve whatever they get. Because we have no understanding of consent and ownership of bodies.

I’m trying to be gender neutral. Why? Because I know sex workers of every gender configuration including no gender at all. People do sex work for lots of reasons. Can it be unhealthy? Shit dude. Sewing can be unhealthy. Drinking too much water can be unhealthy. (It can kill you.)

Sex work is not inherently more degrading than any other profession.

Just like people who have been extremely promiscuous without pay are not necessarily bad people. Nor even bad for children. Many of us have a much finer sense of boundaries.

I was reminded recently how fuzzy some people are about sexual exposure boundaries. Like, whoa. People, uhm, have different thought processes around this than me.

But dude. The people who have a lot of sex behind closed doors with careful boundaries around that are not societal problems.

We know we only want adults in our sex lives. We know we only want truly consenting people in our sex lives.

How in the fuck are we the problem?

Sex workers have a much lower rate of STDs than the normal population. Did you know that? Do you know why? Because they are more educated than almost anyone else about sexual health. It is their job to know. Yes, there is a certain slice of the sex worker population who is much more at risk.

But it isn’t the whole industry. Nothing like.

With every new intersection of marginalization the risks go up. The access to education and resources go down.

That’s why I believe in reparations. We have documented that women of color are trying to do more with less than anyone else.

That’s not fair. I understand that throughout most of history people were able to be ignorant about the lives of the people around them. There was a lot more “Well you deserve ___” that went on.

We are to the point where we have studied this shit so exhaustively across so many mediums for so many years…

We need to help fix hundreds of years of trauma. We did this. As a country. We created this damage. We need to help fix it. Just like we have to clean up oil spills. Just like we have to clean up what the hell we are doing in Flint.

We need to act like the purpose of having money is so you can do shit with it to make the world better not so you can have more expensive shit than everyone else put together.

But my values aren’t everyones values.

More the pity.

And this.

My cat is also almost 18 years old and showing some signs of aging being no fun. That’s freaking me out. I’ve been freaked out for about 3 years now because I’ve had this kettle of doom over my head “She’s gonna die soon” and her vet wants me to do exploratory invasive procedures cause she might have kitty IBS and that’s why she pukes sometimes? Uhm… I don’t think that’s a good idea. But he’s calling me to lecture me about why I should really go look. “Almost no one does this but you really should because it’s an option.”

I really should torture my cat with exploratory procedures just because I might get the lucky news that I should be injecting her weekly until she dies?

She’d hate both you and me for that. I’m not sure I should do that just because it is an option.

I’m being an over sensitive whiny baby to “Have you tried therapy” this week. Nope. Never thought to try therapy. Therapy is a waste of time. Totes.

Too bad I didn’t meet you when I was three so I could have started therapy in time to prevent many of my problems.

Oh wait.

Never mind.

“Oh it’s just insecurity. Go to therapy.”

If wishing made it so.

You don’t want to start nothing online. Then I’m confused by most of your stream. You usually look like you want to start something. But you want to start something where someone else is wrong, not you.

I understand.

I feel the same way.

It really and truly isn’t just men who create problematic culture for women. I really wish the conversation wasn’t always phrased as men–the enemy. I get as much casual push back on being broken from women, really more.

I know she didn’t mean anything. No one ever means anything. She’s just like the 10,567 person to tell me to go to therapy.

I’m kinda touchy.

It’s been a bad month.

I called it already. 2016 is going to be a bad year. I said it in January. This year will suck balls emotionally.

Growth is a motherfucker. I’m kinda tired of it. I’m ready to calcify.

I’m trying to stop crying.

And I’m supposed to start bleeding any day now.

My body is so unhappy. I got 2.5 hours of sleep tonight. I feel wired for sound yet so weary I can barely breathe. I’ll ry again soon. Now that I’m more medicated.

I hurt.


Big feelings make sense.

Ok, current things I’m feeling feelings about.

The house remodel is uhm, going poorly. My lawyer, however, said the kindest thing ever and told me that my current approach is exactly the right one. I have multiple next steps. But this is complicated and layered. Lots of phone calls. Lots of dodging phone calls. The contracting company is eager to minimize this problem. My lawyer is really happy I’m getting inspections done. Don’t talk to the contractors till I have a better idea. I like that advice. (It occurs to me that putting this on the internet is questionable. Ha.)

I’m not trying to screw them. I’m trying to make sure my house isn’t permanently damaged to the tune of $100,000–yo.

That’s a fuck ton of money to pay to get poor quality work, motherfucker.

So. I’m formulating a strategy. And my lawyer likes it. And that pleases me. But LOTS OF BIG FEELINGS ALL OVER THE PLACE with this sucker.

Health stuff continues to be fun as it is. Sleep sucks. This fucking piece of shit cleanse (given how it is making me shit…. I’m punny…) I think is part of why I’m not sleeping. I think my body is literally freaking out about what is going on inside me and I can’t sleep because my body wants the onslaught TO GOD DAMN END.

I’m going on a month where I haven’t gotten more than 6 hours of sleep in a night. Some nights as little as 4 hours. That was last night. I don’t want more nights like that. But I got multiple REM cycles… is that a good trade off?

God I don’t know any more.

And I’m supposed to be laying out tile and I’m fucking freaking out.

I have a med evaluation on Monday. That always stresses me all the fuck out. How poorly will this go? fuck. fuck. fuck. I wish I had confidence that because this referral comes from my psychologist I am more likely to get along with the doctor in question.


Give me back my Lorazepam so I can sleep!

It’s magical. I don’t need a high dose! JUST 1 MILLIGRAM!!

Or I can take half a bottle of sleeping pills and just get a stomach ache as my body says, “Fuck you bitch we ain’t dying today.”

I’ve been pretty fucking bitchy and I’m so sorry. Noah and Pam both followed me out into the back yard last night to help me do a minor chore and I flipped out. I felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic, and like JUST LEAVE ME ALONE TO LET ME DO THIS THING HOLY FUCKING CHIRST.

I had just gotten home from driving in shitty traffic for an hour. I was buzzing with frustration.

It’s not an excuse.


This is too many balls in the air for me to maintain “nice” all the time. I just…

I feel like when the remodel is over I need to spend a month of just hanging out with the kids. Take baths. Take walks. Read books.

Don’t think or talk to anyone.

I’m so tired.

I don’t even want to see the forking doctors. I’m so overwhelmed. I want to crawl in a hole and not come out.

I god damn hate adulting.

Gear up for a fight, but don’t gear up too much or you might use a tone of voice that is too harsh. You might take it out on someone who is unfortunately just standing nearby. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

This house represents the single largest portion of my retirement fund. I’m gonna need to cash out at some point. I need this remodel to be done well so that I can capitalize on this god damn property.

I could walk out of here able to live comfortably without working forever.

Who forking knows what the future will bring. But this investment is serious fucking business.

I keep thinking, “You messed with the wrong bitch.” Viola Davis is dreamy. (It’s a line in How to Get Away With Murder.)

The kids want ramen and Youngest Child has a class soon. I should get up and do that. I guess my parasites are cooked enough.

My morning letter to my contractor. Cheers.

Dear (redacted),

The roof was not constructed correctly. My front walkway is flooding. I suspected that would happen after I talked to the roofer yesterday. I spent a while on the roof looking at what was done. The roof was constructed inappropriately. The roofer told me in great detail how the job was done inappropriately before he arrived and he gave me a specific long list of ways he tried to salvage the job.
May I mention that the roofer wasn’t sure of the name of the person from your company who hired him and he hasn’t worked for you for a week?
I hired your company *because* you told me you only worked with in house people you trusted. I no longer have any confidence in your word.
Today I will be calling the city inspector, the family lawyer and several friends who work in construction for advice. I will be asking them to come over and help me compile a detailed list of how this construction has been subpar.
For $100,000 I am not going to accept a subpar job. That is not ok. I picked the more expensive company because I wanted the job done right. I do not feel that has happened so far and it is time for me to take careful stock of what has happened so far so that I can figure out what my next step needs to be.
Kristine Gibbs


I’m smoking so I can eat dinner. I hate that cycle. I’m way too far gone in sleep dep land.


While I do this… I’ll tell you about my playlist. Cause why not. These are some (probably not all) of the songs I listened to driving to and from the dispensary.

The Harold Song by Ke$ha

The Edge of Glory by Lady Gaga

Dance with the Devil by Immortal Technique

Girl in a Country Song by Maddie and Tae

Not Ready to Make Nice by The Dixie Chicks

Last Goodbye by Ke$ha

Fly by Nicki Minaj and Rihanna

Darling Nikki by Prince (He must have good lawyers. He’s not on youtube.)

Fancy by Reba McEntire

GUY by Lady Gaga

The Fear of Being Along by Reba McEntire

Fireball by Willow Smith

Unpretty by TLC

Trap Queen by Fetty Wap

Waterfalls by TLC

Mollena by James Hunter

George by The Wet Spots

The Right Kind of Wrong by LeeAnn Rimes


I think that’s all I heard tonight.

Drifting through

My sleep is seriously off. I’m up to more than three weeks of this awful. I’m not hallucinating yet but I think it is not that far away. I have a med evaluation scheduled for Monday.

Because I’m so tired my moods are cycling fast. I’m going between happy, sad, irritated, ecstatic, calm, cheerful, and then right back to cranky as fuck. Just sitting by myself in a room. I’m not really even interacting with anyone. Barely chatted this morning.

So many feelings all at once. I feel 3 and 13 and 17 and 24 and 34 and 56. The 56 is kinda weird but I’m sure looking forward to the smug satisfaction I hope I’ll feel by then.

Despite the fact that I fuck up (and yes I really do) I feel like the last ten years have had an amazing trajectory. I’m really looking forward to the next twenty years. My life is amazing.

Why can’t I just live in that space all the time? Why can’t I feel good in my body because of where I am and what I’m doing?

Because tomorrow is Tommy’s birthday. He should be turning 39. But he won’t. He’s stuck at 21 forever. Because it was just Sissy’s birthday. She turned 47. I should be watching her grow up. But I’m not. I rejected her and I talk shit about her. Like a piece of shit baby sister. My other brother will turn 42 this year. The meaning of life, the universe and everything.

I wonder if he has ever stopped being so angry? He said he had to break up with his family because we drove him to blinding rage and he doesn’t feel that way about other people.

I understand.

He doesn’t want to think about the past. I get it. The past hurt us very badly.

I wonder how his kids are doing. I wonder how much he has hit them. I know he’s big on spanking. I wonder how much it has escalated. I worry but I’ll probably never know. I hope my sister has never fucked up again with another kid. But I don’t know.

Once you cross that line, is there going back?

I have not had sexual contact with a minor since I was a minor. I never will again. I have no desire in any way shape or form to do so.

I feel so lucky. There was something wrong with my father and that curse skipped me. Thank you.

Today the roof should be finished on the addition. Then we wait for the bathtub to arrive. Once it is here there is three days of tearing down a wall and installing fixtures. Then tiling and painting. I’m doing the painting. I’m laying out tile starting today.

From when the bathtub arrives, we will be done in about three weeks.

Now we are just tapping our toes for the bathtub.

I made a mistake. It ended up being ordered about a month after I was kinda supposed to order it. Because the original order had to be cancelled. Whoops.


So they can go work on other projects and ignore me for a bit.

It won’t be a bad thing to have these folks not in my face for a bit. I’m feeling weary of dealing with them. I think I picked the wrong company. Fuck. Oh well.

I’m tired of them acting like I’m someone to work around and only consult when absolutely unavoidable. It’s my god damn house. I’m fucking responsible. Talk to me.

I think I figured out a theme for the mosaic building. Nature in seasons. It’ll make sense when you see it. Let’s see what I can build with the stuff I found fairly randomly for cheap. Ha.

I’m going to stop for a minute here and say, this is pretty cool even if it is scary. My house is going to be a very serious piece of art when I’m kinda done. The kids and I have more painting ideas. I’m really enjoying this part of owning a house. I wonder what I’ll do when I’ve painted the whole house completely and totally with different fantasy/nature scenes? When I run out of room… what next?!

See what someone else will pay for the privilege of living in Wonderland? Enh? Enh? That’s kinda a cool idea.

Maybe. We’ll see. Or maybe I’ll live here till I die. I really don’t know any more. I’m trying not to future trip much beyond 2021. That’s far enough right now.

The kids have strong opinions about the around-the-world-trip. They don’t think they have any desire to do 12 straight months of travel. The kids are saying, “How about 3 month trips on four years?” I’m not sure. That would be a very different kind of expensive.

Hm. Must think. Good thing we have five more years to decide. In that five year period I have to pay off the mortgage and the heloc.

Oh god.

I started out this year with around $130,000 of debt because of the mortgage. At the end of this year I’ll probably have about $200,000 worth of debt. Sob. It’s going to take five years to pay it all off. I *know* I can dedicate $40,000/year to dumping on debt. Higher than that is… harder. Maybe I’ll be able to? I need to stop forking traveling in the meantime.

Uhm… one more big trip? Yeah. The 10 year anniversary was long since planned and paid for. So we’re doing it. Jenny and one of Noah’s random people he met through work are going. And their families, of course.

I’m a little surprised anyone at all wanted to go. Thank you.

I look forward to spending a week trapped on a boat with you. We’ll get to talk. There are really fun water slides and pools and daycare. Food and food and food. So we don’t have to do work as we sit around and talk for a week.

Yeah. That’s my idea of a good time. I understand that other people don’t find it appealing. That’s fine. You don’t have to like what I like. You probably also don’t enjoy kicking someone in the testicles as much as I do either. It’s ok that we are different.

It’s ok that I want to homeschool my kids and you don’t. It’s ok that I want hours and hours of snuggling and you don’t.

It’s ok that you are better at holding down a job than me. It’s ok that you are better at caring about a collective arbitrary goal.

We are allowed to be different. We have to be different.

I need you. And I need you to need me to be how I am. Because there has to be a place for me. Just. As. I. Am. Ok, with room for growth because shouldn’t we all be growing?

I’m so tired. But I have a mosaic to lay out. In a few hours I need to call around about parts. I’m dreading that. I hate the phone. I had my phone on silent all day yesterday and it was a good thing. I came back and saw a bunch of voicemails and texts. I answered them when I felt like it. I’m kinda glad I ignored everyone who wants to treat everything like an emergency. I didn’t act like I was responsible for answering just because someone felt like calling.

That’s probably healthy.

The skylights need to arrive. I know. You told me on Friday they had to be here on Monday and I went to the store on Saturday. They had not previously been on my shopping list because y’all are supposed to be buying the windows. But apparently skylights are different? And you didn’t give me much notice? So guess what. They’ll be here when they bloody get here.

I don’t need to answer a bunch of texts from you about that. We had a meeting on Monday. I told you it was arriving Wednesday. Guess what. I’m not going to sit around all day and argue with you about that.

This dude is seriously pissing me off. I’ve asked over and over and over for a complete shopping list. They won’t give me one. Instead they want to tell me on Friday what is supposed to be here Monday. I can’t always comply that fast. So uhm, shove it. Stop telling me you are losing money because of me. I’m paying through the nose for this unpleasant experience.

I feel like these guys act like if a man says they can’t have it till Wednesday they say ok. When I say it they text me over and over asking why they can’t have it yet. Because it is on a truck.


I couldn’t pick them up because they weren’t in stock. They had to be ordered. And Monday was President’s Day. Take a chill pill.

Not to mention that I was told the roofers would arrive early Tuesday and get it done in one day. Instead they showed up around two and had to quit at dark with hours of work left anyway.

I’m done apologizing. The windows arrive this morning. Chill all the way out, motherfucker.

I’ve had multiple people bitch lately that I’m not available fast enough when they text or call me.

You know what you people can do? You can kiss my lily white ass. I’m not here for your entertainment. I don’t have to be available when you god damn want me. I’ll call you back when I want to fucking talk to you. Until then, stop acting so god damn entitled. You ain’t my boss. You ain’t my mama. Even my god damn mama doesn’t have the right to demand my attention so I don’t know where the fuck you get off thinking you have the right.

I don’t have to respond to you instantly to tell you if it is ok if we move our appointment by 15 minutes three days in advance. I’ll get back to you in time.

People. You are annoying me.

The roof will get done. I won’t see construction workers again until the bath tub arrives. Oh. Joy. I should put a tarp over the vanity that is still outside. It’s going to rain today. Tile lay out is going to be intense. I have ideas. I’m just… nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. This is my first foray. And it will live in this house forever. No pressure.

Am I brave or stupid? Ha. Ha. Ha. The line between those bastards is razor thin.

Time to go make a smoothie. And tea. Noah makes everything else. I’m checking off all the boxes. Not true, I haven’t been meditating in a few days. I’m so out of whack. But I’m doing all the other health plan stuff I have agreed to do.

I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’m not sure how good it is. But it is all I have.

Med evaluation

I have a med evaluation appointment in a week. I’d better get my thoughts together.

I’ve been using pot for almost eight years. It changed my life. I use pot to help me sleep, increase my appetite so I can eat healthy balanced meals (I have terrible stomach pain from anxiety), as a pain medication, as an anti-anxiety medication, as an anti-depressant, and just generally to give me a slight pause in between experiencing something and needing to react. Without the pot I respond reflexively to a lot of things in ways that are problematic.

I don’t know what to do about this cocktail.

I am at the point of diminishing returns. I have to consume so much and it is so expensive that it takes too much time and money away from my life. At the very least I need a solid several months off. I tried taking time off earlier and it failed hard.

I need a bridge. I need a different crutch on my way to walking.

Isn’t this what harm reduction is about?

I have dramatically improved my relationship with food over the last few years. I get far less diarrhea now. I have periods of relatively normal bowel function for the first time in my life. I’m going to be working on that in an ongoing way for a while, though. I’m seeing a nutritionist.

I need help sleeping. That’s the first and most important key to this lock. When I go off pot I stop sleeping. Over the counter sleep aides aren’t very effective. I build tolerance really quickly and it just goes up and up. I think a week of sleep aide is a pretty good nightly dose. I may or may not be able to get enough sleep that way.

I need help with my anxiety. I am terrified a lot of the time and it manifests as me being bitchy. I can’t do that to my family or friends. My life is safe now but I haven’t talked my body into understanding that yet. I’m 10 years into safety after 25 years of problems. I’m seeing improvement but I’m not done.

I think that I should probably stick with St. John’s Wort and/or 5-HTP to replace the anti-depressant. I’ve tried most families of anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and many anti-anxiety meds. I can take some but not many. I have horrible side effects from medications that end up being much worse than just living with the problems.

I’m hard to medicate.

Long term I’d like to be able to do serious international traveling. The pot isn’t very helpful under those circumstances either.

Ideally I’d like to find two systems that kinda sorta work but aren’t great. One being using pot for all of the above. The other being some complicated system of other meds that are used as needed while I go on long fast periods.

I think I will be a life long pot user. I think I need to have options for when pot isn’t an option because sometimes it isn’t.

I’m not sure what that is going to look like.

But I need to be able to take 6+ off from pot and have that work. I need to be able to do that for efficacy reasons.

My tolerance is just…. not sustainable at this point. I’m back to where I was before the break a few months ago. I don’t want to pay for this every month and I’m doing lung damage.

Balance the harm.

Try to reduce it.

Try to manage the risks so that you still get the upside without so many penalties. Life is just a game, right?


Not sure if I’m lying to myself.

I read a lot of information about how being a traumatized parent can damage your kid even if they never experience “trauma” themselves. Being around crazy people can be traumatic, and I worry so I check on what the signs are.

My children are not quiet nor withdrawn. They so rarely indicate low self esteem that I can’t believe they are faking high self esteem. They fucking like themselves. I was absolutely, completely convinced I would be doing worse by now. I thought I would have fucked up everything beyond repair by this point.

I don’t think I have. I think I have worked hard to change how I react to things. I think that when I over react to things I talk about that. I talk about why it is an over reaction, what I should be doing, and why I’m struggling.

I read some parents console themselves with the idea, “At least my kids have never seen me have a panic attack.”

hahahahahahahaha my kids have seen many.

“Ok, I know I’m over reacting and I know this isn’t actually a big deal but right this minute my body is freaked out so we are going to sit very still until I calm down. It’s just a storm. It’ll pass.” As I sob hysterically and keen and rock myself.

I can talk through fucking anything. I’ve trained myself.

But we talk about those kinds of things when I’m calm. “Lots of stuff happened when I was a kid that over loaded my central nervous system. That kind of thing leaves a permanent mark. So sometimes my central nervous system gets a misfired impulse of, “COMPLETELY PANIC” and it takes a few minutes for the rest of my body to catch up on the fact that there is no current danger. It’s super annoying and I wish my body would catch up faster.”

That’s more or less what I tell the kids.

I’m a crier and they’ve had to adapt to seeing that. They offer comfort but don’t freak out. My explanation of that is: “Sometimes when you have life experiences it isn’t safe enough to have feelings about them while they are happening. It doesn’t matter if you have time that day or not. All of the thoughts, feelings, and experiences you have in life impact your body and get stored for later. (That’s why we work so hard on getting you positive thoughts, feelings and experiences!) If you have bad feelings that hurt you and you aren’t safe enough, they get stored up for later when you are safe. So even if it takes years and years your body is still waiting to release those feelings. I’m safe now. So my body is still working on releasing and that gets annoying and inconvenient sometimes. It’s ok though. I’m grateful I’m safe.”

I can talk about these things this way because I am safe in a way I never expected to be. I don’t think I’d be able to do this if I were currently in more danger. So I don’t expect someone else to just do this. This is very hard higher order thinking I could not do when I was still in danger. I was not capable of this kind of explaining when my life was still at risk. It is part of why I’ve had so many traditional social problems.

I don’t think my kids are showing distress on the down low and that shocks me daily. I think they are genuinely doing ok so far. They are some of the happiest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m finding out what real privilege looks like. I wish everyone got a childhood like them. A childhood full of spare time and snuggles and philosophical conversations about when to follow rules and when to break them. If anything their life has been too good to them and they default to assuming that rules are just and should be followed. How did I end up with kids who think the world just makes sense!??!?!?!

I do a lot of buffering.

When I feel like, “I’m doing well” I stop and reflect… no… it’s not actually about me. It’s about the layers of luxury and safety in our lives. How can I be so patient with them? Because when I’m flipping out we eat out and I don’t have to do more work. How can I work with them on what they want to work on all day? Because I don’t have to do other work. Because I’m lucky enough that taking care of them is my first primary job. It is the only job I can’t shuffle on to someone else. I love my job. It feels like 5% of the hardness of teaching and about 150% more wonderful.

Because this way I can cuddle with the kids and it isn’t illegal. Life is awesome.

When I was a younger adult a “snuggle party” was a different concept. These days we have almost daily snuggle parties and I feel like it is healing my soul. I have people who want to touch me gently and not scream at me now. I have people who want to sit around and cuddle and tell the same 15 knock knock jokes a few thousand times. It is… strangely relaxing and fun. I am soaking in what it means to feel safe.

Many of my friends are not in the easy spot I’m in. I’m feeling very guilty about that just now. I understand why most of the people I know in my tax bracket carefully avoid knowing poor people. I feel like a piece of shit for spending so much money on my bathroom remodel when many of my friends could turn their whole lives around for $10,000. I could have turned ten lives around, twelve, fifteen for what I’m going to spend in the end on my bathroom.

I don’t feel very good about that. I could have fixed the black mold problem for 1/5 the price.

But then I wouldn’t end up with something that fulfills out my lottery fantasies for ten years. I’ve dreamed of this bathroom for a long time. I’m selfish. I want it. I want a bath tub where my kids can hang out and soak with me and talk when I’m trying to deal with how much pain I’m in instead of telling them to leave me alone because there isn’t room.

And my bank balance is terrifyingly low. For me. Which makes me feel like an asshole. I need to transfer money from savings to checking today because otherwise I’ll over draw in the next month. I’m that close right now. It’ll be ok. I will have the credit cards paid off by June. But I’m freaking out. I feel like an asshole because I’m worried about being down to $5,000. But my friends are worried about being down to $11 and how will they get to work.

I can understand why rich people feel so guilty hearing about the problems of poor people. I don’t get to complain. I may have feelings about where I am financially but I don’t get to complain. Shut up, bitch.

I’m going to remodel my bathroom. Then I’m going to catch up more on debt. Then I will probably increase my donation rate. I will never get to the point where I can give people all over the country as cushy of a life as I have, but I could do more and I will. It is hard feeling like that is good enough. It isn’t good enough. But I think that is the best I can do and still learn how to take care of myself.

I really believe the bathroom will pay off long term in terms of increasing the value of the house. We live in a very expensive area. Going from one toilet to two, having a bathtub that is actually fancy and fun… I’m starting to lay out the mosaics for the wall!

My bathroom is going to be art. Which is freaking me out but feels so awesome too.

When did I become an artist? Whoa. I am.

Glitter, expectations, potential, and success.

Well this is going to be a bragging asshole kind of post. I already feel guilty. But I’m going to do it anyway. Why? Because people are complicated and shouldn’t be treated like single issue focused creatures.

I’ve been touching base with some of my boys. This is always a little bit of a weird experience for me. It’s not that they sit around and wait for me but… they leave a space in their life for me. In case I should ever choose to step back in. That is daunting, flattering, and exciting. It means I should consider how to manage the situation so I don’t hurt anyone in a way they don’t need to be hurt.

The goal here isn’t to break as many hearts as possible. The goal is to make as much love as possible so that everyone can be happier, right? But happiness is one of those tricky things. Sometimes it is zero sum game and sometimes more happiness multiplies the happiness. It depends on who you are dealing with, what makes them happy, and what kind of happiness they aspire to in the future.

I feel that if my hoohaw is glittery enough that people are trailing me for decades… I can be gracious. That’s an honor, yo.

But it’s kind of a weird honor. It’s an honor that for at least a few months in a row I stopped wanting. (May I say how tactful my boys were. They stepped right back and didn’t re-present until I started sounding feisty again.)

My boys were respectful about the difference between “no” and “not now”. Thanks!

That’s… well done. Fabulously done. I’m impressed. No one pissed me off with their tenacity. They just kinda… hung out till I was ready to interact with them how they like to be interacted with again.

Oh. Well shit.

I’m feeling feisty. I don’t know what this is going to mean. I’m not feeling slutty, it’s different. Noah really does a good job of fucking me how I want to be fucked so I don’t feel like I’m missing much in the sex department. But I miss bdsm. I miss being that person. I love watching folks eyes light up when they see me because they know I’m about to send a chemical storm of awesome through their body.

There isn’t much else like it.

I think it is funny how the boys stick around and the girls swim on. I don’t have a single girl waiting around on me. (Actually one spoke up!) Even though I like playing with girls more than I like playing with boys.

Want to know one of the sad facts about the patriarchy? Men and boys are conditioned to get by on the scraps they receive from people every great while. They are good at self-sustaining in between bursts of what I feel like giving them. Women are more complex and either give up on sex and decide they aren’t worthy so they don’t stay in the queue or they move on and slam the door behind them.

That’s my slutty experience.

I don’t think my boys should wait around. I think it just happens. I think it is more that they don’t slam the door behind them than that they are waiting. If that makes sense. It’s not that they are aggressively chasing me at this point. (I’d be fucking rude if they were.) But they… let me know that if I ever change my mind…. here they still are.

I appreciate you so much there aren’t enough words.

You definitely do something for my self esteem that other parts of my life don’t impact. *puff chest*

Very very hot people are thoroughly convinced that they deeply want something I have to offer. Yeah. I feel cocky about that.

Noah and I were talking about the concept of potential the other day. He said that he’s pretty sure he’s used most of the potential he was born with in this life (I must say he’s done well by it) but he isn’t sure about me. He can’t tell at all where the limits of my potential are he just knows I’m not there yet.


Oh. Yeah. This is why I like being married to you so much. It’s not just that you waited for me and came back. It’s not just that you fuck like my favorite porn star. It’s not just that you work and work to help make my dreams a reality…

It’s that you genuinely believe my potential is so great that you are going to work your whole life and feel like you are doing the right thing to help propel me forward.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

That’s intense, yo.

I am not just a slave put here to serve the interests of narcissists. heh.

To be fair that narcissist gave me the best possible start to my adult life. He gave me safety, boundaries, and the requirement of developing limits. I’m grateful.

I’m also ready to be something different.

That is feeling quite complex.

My friend asked if were going to be monogamish going forward. I feel guilty because I was the one who closed the relationship because I didn’t think we could recover from more mistakes any time soon. Now I’m the one most antsy. Typical.

I don’t know what we are going to do. I look forward to figuring it out with Noah though. He’s the best person I’ve ever met to talk to.

I have a lot of things on my to do list. They will all get done. I have a lot of things on my bucket list. Most of them will get done. Mostly because I get to do all this planning with Noah and between the two of us… we are quite remarkable.

Noah tells me that the secret to happiness is low expectations. It’s true and not true. On one hand, I expect Noah to be obnoxious and I used to think of him as lazy. (I’ve stopped.) On the other hand I kind of expect him to jump through flaming hoops… and he does.

He has risen to the level of father I demanded of him. I am constantly blown away by what a good father he is. He decided he was doing that shit and he does it like whoa. He’s serious. We made these people. We want to pay as much attention to them as we can possibly stand for their childhood. We pick the high intensity version of parenting. Can we have more time with them? Do we really need to sleep? Can we spend more time with them?

They will grow up so soon. They will go off. They will have to do their best with the lessons we have taught them. It is such a short time.

I don’t want to waste very many minutes.

If I could be lying prone snuggling up with my babies or I could be doing something “productive”? Guess what… productive will be here later. My babies will move on. I pick my babies.

I pick my babies.

I pick my babies.

So what the hell is up with my boys?

I’m a complex woman. I might be a gentle earth mama but I’m also a nasty predatory sadist. These days I know how to hunt for prey that really really really wants to be caught so I don’t feel bad.

Dude. They’ve been fucking waiting for almost two decades. I’m not hurting them by playing games that we both like. I’m having fun. I’m having a kind of fun other people don’t want to have and that’s ok. They don’t need to do it.

As for me, I’m going to beat a nice cock for hours and hours. I’m going to kick it until I have no more kinetic energy left in my body. When I’m done I’m going to snuggle my wonderful friend and feed him snacks and thank him for being so wonderful as to share this experience with me.

I appreciate you. I’m glad we can have this time together doing something we both like so much.

It can’t happen until I seriously catch up on sleep. I feel like a zombie.

Why do we pursue health? What does health mean?

Fuck if I know.

I don’t know what I expect from the future other than I will find adventures. Know what I know about adventures? Sometimes they are a much better story after the fact than a good experience while it is happening.

I have felt a lot of cognitive dissonance lately because people are feeling free to tell me that they had low expectations and high expectations and I’m exceeding them. All of them. I’m just… more than anyone thought I could be.

I don’t know what that means exactly. Doesn’t everyone have this potential? You can write your own story. All you need to do is take every opportunity to act upon the world, right?

I want to learn how to be a tactful ensemble character. I’m not going to stop being a main character. But I don’t want to treat people like they are disposable. Some chapters are short and we part ways and I’ll never talk to you again; that’s ok.

But some chapters pause then resume. Some characters come back in over and over again.

I see you. I am grateful.

Drifting a little

I’m getting to serious sleep deprivation again. I do that. It is shortening my fuse a lot in a variety of situations. Today is a body care day. My body is so upset about everything I’m doing to it. I’m making progress and that is upsetting.

I’m not sleeping enough to repair from the work I’m doing and that’s going to create a negative cycle sooner than later. That’s really damaging. Why am I so anxious?

I feel like I’m having an identity crisis. I have changed a lot of how I’m supposed to behave. I’ve changed a lot of who I am in the past few years.

So I’m sleeping for like half an hour to forty-five minutes in a go then I wake up terrified that I’m about to be late for something or I’m already crying or I feel like I’m bad bad bad.

I’m going to hurt everyone. I’m going to do it all wrong. I will never ever get to the point of being ok. I will never be able to be a good friend; I will always be a selfish bitch.

And I’m maxing out around six hours of sleep in a night. Heavily broken sleep. I’m starting to hurt pretty badly again. It’s been over a week of this. If I take four sleep aide pills I get to six hours of more consistent sleep with only one or two wake ups for peeing. So I’m kinda not wanting to up that dose again.

I don’t want to get back to the point where I’m taking seven or eight pills to get seven or eight hours of sleep. I know how much that hurts my body. But does this hurt me more? Who. The. Fuck. Knows.


Too much, again. Damnit.

Stuff is creeping in. Today: having lunch with a friend then we are getting tattoos. Tonight I’m having dinner with a lovely friend. Tomorrow is all the massage. The kids also have stuff to get to.

It isn’t that what I’m doing is hard, it is that I’m having to switch gears on what I’m thinking about. I was thinking about that process lately: transitioning. I’ve been staring at the kids all week and thinking about the idea of transitioning from one activity to another and how do we do it?

A friend asked me how I feel about classes that my kids sign up for. Do I insist on attendance? Err… it doesn’t come up much? My kids aren’t very scheduled. Our classes are exciting treats that we are very happy to learn about. There is no dragging. It isn’t hard for us to get out of the house (mostly) because I start getting ready about three hours before we need to leave.

Most days we sit down at breakfast and talk about the structure of the day. What are we doing? Where are we going? I give the kids an idea of what to expect and when I’ll start prompting them to get ready.

Very rarely I run into the room and say, “Oh shoot! I didn’t look at a clock and I forgot _____ and we need to walk out the door RIGHT NOW!!!”

I am shocked that when I do this the kids usually jump up in the air and start rushing to get ready like someone is chasing them with a hot poker. They have bought in to “this is our life and we are obligated to show up when we say we will”.

I talk a lot about respecting teachers because they choose to share what they know with people who want to learn. That’s a gift and an honor. You must respect the efforts of teachers.

Kinda funny given how anti school I am, right? I’m not anti teachers. I’m anti-Industrial-Era-conformity-brainwashing.

That’s not the same thing as learning or education or teachers. In fact I have incredible respect for the process of learning.

Not that every school (public or otherwise) works the same way. I know. But it’s a crapshoot year by year. In “school” you don’t get to pick your teachers, mostly. In life you do. College is a weird hybrid of “school” and life because you have some choice but not that much. You pick your place of education more. (Not that most people research the teaching staff much before picking a university.) You get to drop classes and take a different teacher if you don’t like an approach… sometimes.

I have multiple bad grades (D or F) on my record because of personality conflicts with teachers. Does that mean I know nothing about those subjects? Nope. It means that bitch didn’t like me.

That happens.

School is about measuring how you jump through the random hoops that someone decides to set for you. You think it is even and fair how those hoops are divvied out? Ha. Ha. Ha.

Standardized tests are flat out abusive to most minority populations. Why? Because they say, “Hey, how quickly can you identify all this random shit from White American Culture? Not fast? Then you’re stupid.”

That’s abusive.

And school in America in the year 2016 is about, “How fast can you regurgitate facts about this culture to prove you are ‘smart’.

Yes there are exceptions. Yes there are good teachers in public schools and there are good private schools.

Are those private schools available to people who are very poor? No? Then school in America is about regurgitating facts. I don’t care that your kid might be getting away with having a good experience. The majority of American children are not.

How do I know this? Why am I so god damn confident of what I know? Because I went to 25 schools. Then 7 universities. Then I substituted in about 8 schools. Then I taught in 4 schools.

It’s not a huge sample size. But it’s big enough to let me see a diversity most people get to pretend doesn’t exist. I went to schools in rural areas, in neighborhoods of a predominate ethnic identity other than white, in rich schools, in poor schools, and many levels in between. I’ve seen Silicon Valley, Compton, and rural Oklahoma.

I can’t speak to the east coast from personal experience. But I read a lot of teachers. I’m pretty sure I’m right from coast to coast. Teachers are talking about the problems in the system. All you have to do is go look a little bit and you’ll find criticism. You’ll never run out of it to read.

I don’t think my way is right or mass actionable. I don’t think the solution to our broken schooling system is everyone opting out to home school. But I don’t know how to force the solutions that are necessary. I don’t know how to force a non-abusive mechanism on top of an abusive system and I just can’t be part of that abusive system any more. Not as a student and not as a parent.

Could I be a teacher in that system? Sure. Why? Because I’m subversive as fuck and I think the kids who are there need people like me whenever possible. Will I sacrifice everything in my life on the altar of helping other peoples kids?

No. I made these two people. I’m responsible for them.

Yesterday I cracked. I stopped asking the kids to help and I sent them outside to play. They had a glorious day and I got the house like 75% of the way to clean. Yes, I know people believe that I clean frantically full time and my house is always spotless so it isn’t that much work (or something). Well, actually…. (I find myself using that more often because it is now a banned phrase in many places. I try to only do it when I’m being a snot and refuting ideas about myself that annoy me.) I don’t clean that much. My house turns into a pit just like everyone else’s house. But I host big parties pretty frequently and I usually spend about a week cleaning before hand. So people think my house is always clean.

It’s a ruse.

I can usually flight of the bumblebee and feel presentable for dinner guests. And my kids have to pick up their toys before they get screens so our house doesn’t get that bad. Only mostly they clean by shoving whichever behind whatever and into wherever. So every so often we have to dump ever drawer, every shelf, every everything in order to find things. Because seriously after a while we can’t find anything and then everyone expects me to be a fucking homing beacon and they ask me 9,032 times a day where “x” is.


They ask me to buy them new shoes because they can’t find any to wear. I clean their room and find four pairs. That kinda thing.

So a few times a year we face overwhelming chaos. For the love of toast I don’t know how families with two working parents ever clean at all. When it gets bad (like me being gone two weekends in a row so things kinda pile up extra hard, and we are remodeling, and school level transitioning) it will take a solid 8-10 days of me cleaning for 4-10 hours/day.

(There’s always a day in the middle where I clean for four hours then collapse in a heap and cry for a while.)

This cleaning is extra epic because Youngest child has to be entirely moved out of that bedroom indefinitely for the remodel. They are currently replacing the wall/window and that room is not sealed to the out doors. (They have built the new bathroom walls/front wall in front of it, but it’s not all done and everything.) Lots of construction debris in there. Kiddo can’t use that room.

So they are sharing again for a bit. Which was ridiculous extra cleaning and sorting. Frankly I think they were god damn awesome.

At one point Eldest Child started crying and said, “I’m just not good at cleaning. I’m not smart at this and I never will be.”

I laughed and laughed and laughed. She looked at me and said, “WHAT?!”

“You act like I fell out of my mother’s womb being able to clean. I couldn’t do it when I was seven. Frankly I think you have more skill than I had at that age.”

She blinked for a bit, dried her eyes, and got up and made tremendous progress all in a big burst. At the end she grinned at me and said, “Ok I am getting better.”

Cocky little thing. Yes, you are. Every day. Every year. You are getting better.

So I think about these things because transitioning eats into progress. The more times I have to transition in a day the less progress I make on all tasks. This is a well documented phenomena. You can spend four years taking a Spanish class, or four months of immersion. And after the immersion experience you will be far more fluent.

Some guys I know were bitching at me that I should really stop what I’m doing with my life and learn all about the influential music from 1968.

I told them I don’t have time and they demanded that I justify what is more important than that. I rattled off what I’m doing with my life. They kinda blinked at me and said, “Ok maybe you don’t have time.”

No shit, Sherlock.

Everyone has different stuff going on in their lives. Everyone has a different comfort level of transitions. I don’t need to judge what other people need in order to feel comfortable. That internal Holy Fucking Shit No reaction needs to be turned off. Ain’t nobody trying to tell me that I need to pick it up. Not really.

My inside voice is changing. I do hear you.

Chill. The. Fuck. Out.

Why do I talk to myself? Because over time I am changing how I react to different stimuli. It was said that a lot of what is interesting about me now is that I do fewer global freak outs. When something is upsetting to me I don’t scream about everyone and everything. I can say exactly what I’m upset about and why and I can usually trace it down to the root. That’s letting me pull the weeds. I can tell which tendrils are a problem.

It’s ok that I failed in the school environment. I mean, I was usually an A/B student (except for personality conflicts) and I’m still a failure in the school environment. It isn’t that I’m unintelligent. But I cannot conform in the ways required to go period to period learning in the teeny chunks that can hopefully be absorbed by a large enough percentage of people to not be a complete waste of time to everyone. Woo.

Do you know why I was a good teacher? Because I met before school, during breaks, after school, and on Saturdays with students who could not understand what I was teaching and I helped them catch up on foundational information they missed along the way.

I can’t give that much of myself to people outside my family right now. My kids need that time from me. Why? Because we have some fucked up brain chemistry and DNA from generations of trauma. We need to do what we are doing right now.

We are learning how to adapt to life. We are learning how to learn. We are learning shit loads of stuff that we will be able to use later. We are planning. We are growing.

And we are doing it slowly. We are doing it by concentrating on one thing at a time for a few weeks.

That way we can spend many hours a day on one task and make substantial progress at it instead of spending 15 minutes here and 15 minutes there.

It is hard. It is physically and mentally and emotionally taxing. But I enjoy it. I feel rewarded. I feel like my reward is the conversation I get to have around the table every meal. My kids fucking think.

I know so much intense analysis of My Little Pony characters that it is ridiculous because I don’t think I’ve ever watched an episode. I know their back stories, motivations, and things that are being foreshadowed. Yeah. My kid told me, “They are seriously foreshadowing something about her in this episode….” Then later I heard, “In this episode they broke the fourth wall to…”

I asked her if she knows what breaking the fourth wall actually means. Nope. So I explained. In great detail. With lots of examples. Afterwards she started rattling off examples.

Yup. Like that.

I treat my children like if they don’t know something yet it is because I have not yet done a good enough job of talking about it. So I’d better get on that.

I really like my life.

I like feeling responsible. Resiliency experts say that people are most likely to be successful if they internalize that they must be responsible. In other words: we must find a way or make a way. So we do.

I feel that way about anti-racist stuff. Incest research. Home schooling. Teaching my kids how to take care of their shit.

I believe I must make this work. Period. So I will.

What does that actually fucking mean? It means that I picked this life. Who the fuck knows why. So I’m going to live it to the absolute fullest. With great privilege comes great responsibility. I’m one of the luckiest mother fuckers born in the history of all time.

How did that happen?

Even with all the trauma. So fucking what. Every level of person experiences trauma. That’s universal. Not every being experiences trauma (lucky bastards) but every level of human experience has trauma.

What traumatizes one person is standard, normal, and appropriate to someone else. So check your fucking judgment, wench. (talking to myself…)

I have an idea for the tattoo. I’m not going to write it out in advance. But I’m going to have a wonderful time talking to my artist today. He’s so wonderful.

And I’m having lunch with a friend first. Then dinner with a different friend.

I don’t in any way want to complain about the fullness of my life. I am blessed. I am loved. People seek out my company on my terms. Because they consider the effort to be worth what they get in return.

I can’t judge that. I need to just say thank you.

I’m trying to slow down. Frankly the remodel is driving me batty. They are banging all day long. So every second all day long I have to process hitting sounds and decide they aren’t a threat.

That wears me out.

But I have to be home. For Reasons.

So I’m doing what I can to destress in the house. My anxiety is spiking like a motherfucker. But! I know it is temporary so I can have something I badly want and I’ll get to have it as long as I live here. Sounds worth putting up with.

But it hurts my body. It’ll end soon.

Every time I transition from thinking, “Is that the door?” back to whatever I’m doing… it takes a penalty spoon.

So I’m thinking about transitions like fuck right now. How many activities can I manage to get done in a day? How much work? How many different kinds of tasks? I think it is funny how different stages of cleaning feel different to me. I can’t declutter a room, organize it, then remove filth all in a go. I just can’t transition like that. I have to declutter the house. Then organize it. Then clean. I can’t go back and forth because I experience distress physically and psychiatrically.

Transitions are that hard for me. I will fall to the floor and sob and not be able to do whatever it is you want of me because I just can’t.

That’s something that has been a pattern in my life for a very long time and I’m just kind of recognizing what that means in my head. Oh. Flooding. Oh. That’s…


Yeah. That.

I like intense connections with a lot of fucking bandwidth. So when I need to spread that bandwidth out between 37 different distractions instead of 2-3…

I hurt.

It isn’t anyone else’s fault. But I’m trying to figure out what managing that means. I need this to get better. I need to stop flooding when I walk near someone else’s life because I feel like I should try to conform and I can’t I can’t I can’t.

No one god damn asked you to. Chill. The. Fuck. Out.

I’m trying.

It’s funny to stop and think, “This is actually a huge improvement!”

Good grief.

There are a high number of specific high intensity things I want to get done in this life. I won’t get them done in 15 minutes of prep at a time. That’s ok. I don’t need to schedule my life how other people do. It is working for them. Stop projecting.

We all want different things. Health means something different to every person.

I’m trying to figure out what it means to me. This is proving to be more complicated than expected. Not sure if that is because I was naive to start with or what. Anything is possible.

I’m making a lot of progress with my pain stuff. (The overall refraining from typing is helping. Hey–it’s Friday. I kinda took a few days off… I am trying to moderate…)

I’m making progress on pain stuff. My bowels are… well… I’m told this is progress? I don’t fucking know. But it is weirder than hell. I mostly stopped with the pills for a few days (because obviously my body was freaking out) on the doctors recommendation and the freak out ended right away. This is supposedly a sign that things are working right on schedule. I will resume sloughing the parasites from my liver later today. Oh joy. But! I’m seeing… uhm… something fucking weird that I’m told is results?


We talk about poop while eating all the time.


My kids are very comfortable saying, “I’m going to eat lots of vegetables because your body sucks.”

If you can’t be a good example, be a horrible warning. Do one or the other and then do that motherfucker.

I guess?

Yesterday I screwed up. I put in a load of laundry and I didn’t even think about what I was washing. A new dress up clothes thing was put in the basket. It had never been washed. It was bright fucking red. So all the martial arts uniforms were very pink.

Oooooops. Shit. Like rose colored pink. Dark rose. I was all, “NOOOOOOOO!”

Then I thought about my mama and I breathed a prayer of thanks. “Hey kids? Want to learn how to fix a mistake?” I used oxygen brightener and bleach and I boiled it on the stove top and those fuckers are white as snow once again.

Because my mama taught me what to do.

That’s a good memory. Thank you, mama.

Thank you for teaching me how to do my laundry on the stove because that was what we had and you were going to make sure I had the skills to be presentable no matter what happened to me or how bad my life was. You tried. Thank you.

During this process my friend was over and she asked if I wanted her to do the poking/stirring over the fire. I didn’t want her to. I felt entirely Zen in that moment. I am where I want to be doing what I want to do. I’m showing my kids how I fix a mistake. It takes time and effort. But it’ll be ok.

It was one of the most intensely blissful moments I’ve experienced in a while. That’s flow.

If I cared very much about getting out of my house and not being “stuck” with these experiences as the woman… I wouldn’t get to have that. I’m glad I get to have that. I’m glad I get to see the value in my mother.

I miss you, mama.

I miss all the friends I’m not reaching out to because I’m overwhelmed. I’ll come back. I’ll have spoons some day.

In March we have social stuff planned on the first two days. Then… uhm… I don’t know about the Easter party. Wonder how my bathroom will be? Err… I’ll let people know two weeks before?

I think that I need to not schedule anything else in March. Which is intimidating. I’m not resting. I’m working and socializing because I’m so desperate to catch up on the work. I need to rest and I won’t stop working so socializing needs to be back burnered for a few weeks. Just Do Eeeet.

What work do I feel so pressed to do? Well… we are transitioning from preschool to elementary school. Which is a fuck ton of work for me. (I don’t know how you folks who home school with kids in preschool, elementary, middle, & high school do it. How do you find space?! )

The thing I miss the most about teaching in a school is the prep time plus the right to control what everyone was going to be learning. This is much harder. I have to prepare on the fly for a range of topics. It’s brutal some days in terms of cognitive load. It is fucking hard breaking down every little thing into schemas and concepts and repeatable skill training.

This is why other sane people outsource this shit. But we have some genetic stuff to consider that will make us always on the edge of the bell curve. I’m glad the training exists for people in the center of the bell curve. Yay you!

Hi, I’m Krissy. I’m an outlier.

Name the metric.

I just uhm…. like to be difficult?


I should stop now. If I get up and start moving now I’ll have all my morning prep done before Noah finishes breakfast and I will be able to eat at the same time as them instead of sitting down as they finish eating. I’m a pain in the ass to take care of. I struggle to think the effort is really merited.

Know something that I find wacky? Youngest child just fucking loves to stand there and hand me pill after pill after pill. Kid says, “You have to fix the problems. You have to get your poop better so you can digest food. I want you to die when you are very very very old. So here.” It varies somewhat, but this entire experience is just…

validating as fuck.

I’m trying to figure out what I need. My issues are complicated, layered, and difficult to solve. I know you are doing what you need to do to solve your issues and it doesn’t look much like what I’m doing.

I need to figure out how to not feel so fucking bad about that. It’s ok that I need stuff other people don’t need. That doesn’t mean I’m bad. That doesn’t mean I should die so I stop stealing resources from more worthy people. It has to be ok that I need what I need.

It isn’t fair that I have the money to pay for it and other people don’t. There is no fair. There is no deserve. There is no way to have things come out even.

I had to believe there is no deserve when it was really bad. I have to believe it about the good stuff too. Or …. or I just can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t get fucking pompous and shitty and “Oh I have a good life because I deserve it. Because I worked harder than other people.”

Gag. Cough. Puke. Bullshit.

No. I really didn’t work harder than other people. Ok, I worked harder than some people. But not harder than everyone. Some people worked ten times as hard as me. They didn’t get where I am.

It’s not because I’m getting what I deserve.

Nothing is fair.

4,050 words. I should stop anyway. Oh my poor wrists. But I feel better. I feel like I’m finding the words to the parts I need to talk about without talking about what I don’t need to talk about.

That feels better.

How do I get to be me without hurting other people?

That’s the journey.

Tiny bit of background reading.

Some of my friends asked me why Formation isn’t for non-Black people. (Incidentally one of the people asking wasn’t even white. So there are layers to these kinds of questions.

First read this article by Mikki Kendall.

Then read this one about what Scotland wants to do. 

Then read this one.


I’d kinda like to link to writing from Black writers all day long to explain this because the reasons shouldn’t really come from a white face. But in short I’ll say: why shouldn’t non-Black people steal this song? Because it isn’t our culture to rebelliously claim. This is a rebellious song. This is a song directed from a marginalized group to the dominant paradigm saying, “I’m not going to stop existing for you.”

That’s not a struggle that should be co-opted. In this country our history of racial tension is such that non-Black people co-opting this specific flavor of rebellion is disrespectful in the extreme.

No one who isn’t Black should be dancing to a song in which a woman proudly claims that she loves her negro nose with Jackson 5 nostrils. If you don’t have ’em, shut up. I love you. I love the song too. I’m singing kinda under my breath because it is catchy and beautiful and full of self-love and I totally love that thing. Hell if you don’t understand what it means to mix Creole and negro… stay the fuck out. For reals. Why? Because white culture steals fucking everything and we need to stop.

But I’m going to keep my awareness of the song low key because this isn’t for me. Just like I don’t try to co-opt other life-struggles. I’m not Black. That’s never been my battle and it never will be. If it isn’t your battle, if you don’t understand that the Black Panthers were huge social organizers…

This isn’t for you and that’s ok.

This song is about a culture of diaspora trying to say, “We are here even though you’ve spent hundreds of years using us and trying to kill us. Fuck off. We ain’t changing.”

Read about the insults Beyonce deals with. If these things escape your attention… then you shouldn’t sing this song. Just like white people should spend a lot of time singing Strange Fruit. (It’s on my playlist as a reminder of history. I wouldn’t act like it was my culture.)

These things only matter if you think every culture is equally worthy of respect. If you look at history, ain’t many folk who treat American Blacks like they have a culture worthy of respect. That really has to change.

(For the record: the video was actually filmed in Pasadena in a house that was converted to a set, not IN New Orleans.)

Ok so Scotland isn’t really pushing to extradite her (I get that it is satire). But if you look through the history of American Blacks… they often were held to ridiculous measures. American Blacks have lived with threats, terrorism, and genocide since their forced arrival here.

And we still want to steal every fucking song and make money off it while leaving American Blacks in grinding, nauseating poverty. If American Blacks start catching up on the system we will change the rules until we can fuck them for another generation.

Why shouldn’t non-Black people dance to this song? Because it is a song documenting a very specific struggle. That isn’t ours.

More health stuff.

This time I’m thinking about health stuff as it relates to money. Specifically, how I’m going to catch up on my budget in the next few months. Right now I’m kind of hemorrhaging money. This has to stop soon. Between the remodel, vow renewal, and health related expenses this year is already freaking me out.

Of course health-related expenses includes paying for things like physical skills classes. I’m never sure if I make the right decisions.

Thinking a lot about why we need to say no to things. What is health? What is balance?

I’m going to the grief ritual this year in May and the cruise in August. Then I think I need over a year off from travel. I need to save the money. Travel is related to my mental health because when I travel I talked to a lot of different kinds of people. These conversations are part of how I construct the view of the world that allows me to continue. I don’t think the travel of the waste. I just think I need to not afford it right now.

I think Christmas this year needs to happen for under $300. For the whole family. Why? We don’t have room for new stuff anyway. I think mostly we will buy food.

I’m scared that I’m spending a lot of money trying to fix my body and maybe it won’t work. Maybe I should be spending this money differently. I remind myself that Noah wants me to make these choices right now. This is complicated because I am feeling better but I don’t know if I’m enough better to justify how much money I’m spending. How much better am I going to get through this much money? I don’t know. That is scaring me right now.

I hate when my bank balance is going down instead of up. But I really want this bathroom. I think I will be happy about living in this house forever with this bathroom. I think that if we sell this house the bathroom will be a plus. I know that people don’t believe me yet, I’m used to people not believing me when I say things will happen. The funny thing is, I’m right pretty often. Not all the time.

ack. Kid walked in while I was using the microphone. That was hilarious. Never mind. I’m done typing. Bye.


I’m thinking about the definitions of words again. Words like safety, morality, consent, health, appropriate.

I’m getting better, I think, at recognizing that my freak outs are my body going “Not for me” instead of “How dare you do that.”

I don’t actually care what you do with your life. I know I over react sometimes. I’m sorry. I’m imagining what I would have to do to accomplish that and…

Yeah. I over react. It’s not very nice of me. I’m sorry.

I’m getting better but it is still annoying.

What is healthy for you is not healthy for me and that is ok.

What was healthy for me is not healthy anymore and that is ok.

What is healthy for me now is not very healthy for you so you shouldn’t do it and that’s ok too.

Negotiating is hard. How do you ask for what you want when you aren’t exactly sure what it is? Mistakes suck. They hurt. Recovering from them takes work and effort.

Life is a constant renegotiation. We never arrive at “done” until our life is done. You never know what might happen to you in the future. Your health could improve or decline. Your life could blow up or magically come together. Who forking knows.

Today I feel like I have no idea what my future will be like. But I’m sure glad I will get to do it with Noah and my kids. These people make me think that whatever it is… it’ll be ok.

Some day I probably won’t have so much extra money. I will have to dramatically change what I do with my time and how I manage my spoons. I’m afraid of that time but I know I will find a way to make it ok. I’m plucky like that. I have good reason to strive forward now. I want this. I want them.

I feel grateful to the tips of my toes that I get to spend so much time snuggling with my children. This time will pass. I want every minute of you sitting on top of me I can get. I want every single hour of lying next to one another that can exist. You are growing so fast. You will leave me. You will grow up and move on and that will be right.

I just get this for a little while. I have so much pain to make up for.

I shit you not I would keep having kids to drag this feeling out if I could. I feel like this is one of the things I have done best in my whole life. I spend time with my kids. I guide them and instruct them and let them do what they need to do to grow up. Are they perfect? No. There is no such thing as perfection. If they were perfect I would hate them for it. Let’s be honest.

I need them to be flawed and wonderful and ok. Because I need to see that it is ok for people to be like that. So maybe it is ok that I exist.

We are all kinda flawed and broken. We are all racing towards death on our own pathway. It’s ok. That’s what meat-creatures do.

What will I be like when I grow up?

I kinda reacted like a viper when someone said that I should be done growing up by now after x years of knowing an individual.

You know what, motherfucker, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about my maturity. I have been in a safe environment for ten years. That’s it. I have not yet had enough time to undo twenty-five years of trauma and if you think I should hurry up you can put it in your pipe and smoke it.

fucking hope I outrun my Eldest Child but I sorta doubt I will manage.

I am learning compassion for myself on this journey. That’s probably a good thing and a big deal. I’ve had ten years to undo a lot of specific trauma. Yeah. That’s not enough time. Go talk to the experts. It’s not enough time. This is hard. It peels off in layers. I fix one problem developmentally then I move right on to the next problem. I keep going though because I get bored of having the same problem.

I like new and exciting problems.

Speaking of which, I think I have messed up every stage of ordering stuff for this bathroom because I didn’t check measurements when I ordered. Well fuck. I get to live with it.

Uhm… yeah. I’ll do this differently next time.

Please sweet Jesus let there never be a next time.

I’m just sayin’.

I kinda wish Noah was mad at me for breaking a rule. He kinda sorta is. My shrink was shocked that he wasn’t pissed off. Yeah, he doesn’t piss off easily. It takes work. I know! I’ve tested these limits extensively.

How do I keep Noah exciting when he is the safest thing ever? That’s a trick. I’m thinking hard about it. The sex is still good. Everything else is trickier in a marriage, though. Well. That’s another think my shrink gushes about. She can’t believe how happy I am with my sex life. She says I am an anomaly in her therapy career. I say, “Yeah how many big sluts have you seen? That practice pays off.” She laughs.

She doesn’t answer though. That’s professional.

I don’t have bad sex unless I decide to. Because I’m that good. I do decide to have bad sex once in a while for complicated reasons. It’s never an accident any more. Well. Ok I’ve had obnoxious interruptions… but that’s not the same.

Why? Because if I’m not done I’ll tell you exactly what to do so that I can get done. And I ain’t fucking subtle. “Ok, this position hurts. I want you to twist your upper body like this…”

Hey you are responsible for the sex you have. If you want it to be good, speak the fuck up.

Nobody can read minds.

I’m sure there are genuinely bad lovers out there who can’t be taught. I haven’t ever decided it was worth my while to date one. I don’t see the upside.

I need to go to a kid class now. I so don’t wanna. I want to sit still till next Tuesday. Sigh. On we go.