I’m happy. So much is going well. I’m sad. How can there be such monsters in the world?
I have been sexually involved with people of all genders throughout my lifetime. I can’t imagine being targeted for that. No one has ever cared.
I live such an incredible life of privilege.
Yesterday I was reminded that some people think that segregation is dandy. They think their right to not want to be near people who aren’t like them is fine.
People like you. That is how I will think of these individuals. “People like you”. I have no more generosity in my soul. People who who think that their right to never smell a homeless person is more important than a homeless person’s right to eat.
I’m not thinking kind thoughts. I’m thinking you are a bad apple and one bad apple can spoil a barrel.
Public school parents tell me that their children aren’t being taught to be more tolerant. They are being taught to fake it better.
My heart weeps.
I will hide in the false reality of my house. A reality where people matter. Where no one is disposable. A house where if the local homeless people walk by they aren’t told to move along they are fed and given something useful. Because I am not better than you I just happen to have more luck at this turn of the wheel. If it makes you feel better I’ve been on the shitty side of things too.
My life has not always been this magical.
I am waiting until I get my new medical insurance information. I need to schedule: a) a sleep study b) talk to a Dr about an appetite stimulant other than pot because at this point I’m still using it as much as I do because without it I can’t eat a normal amount of food and I get sick and c) a high risk OB appt to talk about my screwy periods over the last year and to talk about the possibility of a third pregnancy.
Before we pay for surgery for Noah, let’s find out if a high risk OB says “Sure we can get you through a birth. May involve a scar on your belly–but you’ll get through.” I will say, “Yes. Fine. Sign me up.”
Pam when you tell me that you are freaked out because of the medical concerns… I’m walking into this with the attitude that if a c-section seems smart, cut me open. I don’t want to risk another hemorrhage.
And that’s Ms “I must have my home water birth.”
I did it. I saw what that got me. Next option.
I believe that my different attitude about the birth is going to make a big difference. I’m going out looking for interventions. “Hey, what’s up, hello! Keep me from dying, yo.”
My second birth I was ok with dying at home as long as I didn’t have to transfer. In retrospect that was an asshole attitude to have for Noah’s sake.
But people are where they are. At this point I’m eight years into being a parent and this has been by far the best section of my life. I don’t want out. I want more of this. I want all of this I can get until my heart literally stops and I can’t have more.
Which is complicated with the suicidality, let me tell you.
I feel horrified by the loss of the queer poc in Orlando. No more. No more. No more mass killings. Why are we so focused on keeping the right of gun ownership and not focused on the fucking right to stay alive.
I hide in my bubble. Where people are ok. Even in the intolerant motherfuckers are ok here. They visit and spew their bullshit. It isn’t that my bubble protects me from knowing about the foul sludge in the world. I just… don’t have to live in it.
Mostly I fear that I’m doing everything wrong. I’m scared I’m a terrible person with no possible redeeming value.
Then I meet other people and feel like really maybe I’m an awesome human being. I’m overflowing with the milk of human compassion. I’m generous. I’m thoughtful. And then there are these other people. And they are loved. If they deserve to be loved, shit I should be almost worshipped.
Let’s get real here.