Category Archives: adult-only

Published in the adult-only category

Small update

I’ve lost weight. Only 2 lbs so far but I really hate that pregnancy is a weight loss plan for me. It is every time. I swear to cheese I’m eating as much as I can hold.

Still barely sleeping. It has caught up to me and I’m so exhausted my bones ache.

That freakish energy burst is over. I’m kind of grateful. That was really hurting.

Exercise is sooooooooooo haaaaaaaaaaard again.

I get to go see my buddies in San Pablo today. I haven’t seen them in a while. I fell into a hole of “house remodeling” and haven’t been up to my normal monthly visits. (We trade locations monthly so I drive every other month.) So that’s exciting. I’m going to get amazing veggies for lunch today. Yay!

Not living my best life.

Getting off Twitter and being off facebook means that I’ve been… hanging out in parenting forums. Where are my pregnant people at?

I hate pregnancy forums. Very full of “If you need to ask for help you are an incompetent, rude loser who shouldn’t have had kids.” But those same assholes usually have a mother who comes over and offers help and that isn’t rude at all.

I HATE YOU SO MUCH.

“If you don’t have someone in your life who perceives your needs and who volunteers spontaneously to meet them you are an incompetent loser who does not deserve anything.”

READING THIS SHIT IS SUCH A BAD IDEA.

I’m mentioning disability issues (mental and physical) and limits of not-having family. You fuckers don’t get to win this topic without a god damn argument.

I need a better hobby.

But I feel really lonely. I can direct my kids through work. Or I can listen to Noah talk about his work. Or anyone in the house will tell me more than I ever wanted to hear about video games and comics.

I feel really lonely.

I know I’m talking to friends on Skype more and that does help. But I still feel lonely. This is such a big feeling.  Really I’m back to seeing people a fair bit. I see a whooooooole bunch of people… a little.

I can’t ever look for the enmeshed thing with a friend again and that is what hurts. Bonus Mama was my last try this lifetime.

People can handle me for a few hours a year. Sometimes a few hours a month. Almost no one wants to spend multiple hours with me in a week unless they live with me full time. I’m too annoying.

I spend all of my time with people consciously trying to not be too much. Don’t say too much. Don’t ask for too much. Don’t be too much.

Pam and Sarah and Noah can handle full unbridled Krissy. But Pam needs huge breaks. Sarah needs huge breaks. Noah’s fortitude is shocking. Noah can handle me, but Noah isn’t interested in the vast majority of things that interest me. He will tolerate me having huge thoughts and feelings… but he isn’t… there with me if that makes sense. He’s an observer.

I feel like almost everyone else starts pulling away from overwhelm after a few hours. It’s visible.

I’m not mad at anyone. This is my fault. But it’s hard. I feel so bad that I am like this. That I can’t be someone that makes people feel comfortable and at ease and like being around me is soothing.

Instead I am dysregulated and I make other people feel dysregulated and they need to get away from that. I’m not angry at people for it. That’s a good choice. But I feel sad. I feel lonely. I feel like *I* am wrong.

Why do I want to stay in the bay area? For my social life? Oh that’s so messy.

The bay area is littered with social groups where I feel like I don’t belong and I shouldn’t show up because I offend people. There can be one person in the group I had a slightly rude look from 15 years ago and I won’t come back. Avoidance is strong with this one. Or so many reasons.

I’ll never work Dickens again because I don’t want to run into my rapist. I avoid a lot of dance stuff for a lot of reasons. There are chunks of the bdsm community that are closed to me because they cater to rapists or racists.

I feel inferior. I feel like I don’t belong. I feel like other people are better than me and I shouldn’t inflict my presence on people. I feel like the only place I belong is my house and the best thing to do would be to collapse the fucker on my head.

I am struggling with having people “In Authoreteh” give me pats on the head saying I’m doing things “right”. Stanford, CPS, and multiple therapists are all on deck telling me that I’m handling problems as well as they can be handled. I AM doing the hard work. I am saying the things that need to be said. And I still feel like they all just misunderstand and I’m an incompetent loser who is ruining everything and I’m bad and I’m bad and I’m bad.

There is no possible chance on this fucking earth that I am doing the right things as a mother.

I am too globally wrong to be doing anything right.

I think it’s funny that I have to find stupid judgmental strangers on the internet to validate that I’m entirely wrong and bad because I can’t find people who know me or who have professional experience evaluating families to tell me I’m wrong and bad. I really am ridiculous.

If I were perfect I wouldn’t spend so much time crying because I’m a piece of shit.

I got 5.5 hours of sleep last night. It’s funny how it hurts. My body says, “YES! LIKE THAT!! MORE!!” but how much you want to bet I’ll get 3 hours the next night?

Apparently it is the height of being rude to ask people for help after you have a baby. If people offer you should mostly turn them down because if you choose to have a baby YOU DESERVE TO DO EVERYTHING FOR YOURSELF OR YOU ARE BAD AND LAZY. The internet is happy to validate that I suck. Cause I ask for help.

Krissy. You need a healthier hobby.

Waaaaaaay better than anticipated.

I have been terrified of talking to CPS all of my parenting life. Tonight I called CPS to talk about something that happened in my house. I went into it hyperventilating. I came out of it feeling really reassured.

The lady asked me a ton of questions. Both about the incident, about life in general, about handling the incident.

No I’m not telling the internet what happened.

By the end of the conversation she said, “You are doing everything you can do to handle this. Kids do these kinds of things. Then you educate them. You are doing that. We really couldn’t add help for your family.”

I hate that I want outside validation so much. Am I doing this right? Am I handling this right? This is absolutely the biggest hiccup of our family experience so far. Did I handle it right?

According to CPS they don’t want to open a case file. I called for a consultation and that’s good enough. Keep doing what I’m doing.

That’s not what I expected at all. She was really nice and supportive. She was glad I called to check and see if there is more I should do.

Lady if there is more I have to do for these kids, just give me a check list. I will learn how to do backflips through flaming hoops for them if I have to.

We also had our first visit with the therapist who will be working with Future Middle Child tonight. It went well. I think they will be a good match for my busy, fidgety, impulsive sweetheart.

You don’t have to be a good person to keep improving.

Space.

This house is… going to have trouble meeting our needs as the years go by. I think we could make it work. Noah and I could go back to sharing a bedroom. The older kids could keep sharing. Younger child(ren?) could have the other room. I could partition the garage more for an office for me.

Phew. That sounds stressful.

Dining room table space is going to become a challenge in this house.

The eternal question is where to go.

One of my beloved’s is campaigning hard for me to stay because she will stay forever. But she has a huge house and a big yard and if she needs to take in boarders to feed herself in her old age she can. Like, she can have a wing of the house to herself and rent out the other three or four bedrooms.

I think her house is almost three times the size of my house.

I don’t know that I need that much more space. With the garage we are up to about 1500 sq ft. I could really go for having a house that was 2500 sq ft with an actual garage for storage.

I want more space in the living room/kitchen/dining room. And at least one more bedroom. I would like two toilets again. I don’t care about having more than one bath tub/shower.

God I’m going to miss this bath tub forever.

I don’t want to spend a fantastic amount of money so that means not here.

We are talking about aiming for 2022. I need to have the loans paid off by then so we can decide where to go and what to do next. It is so far away and yet it is going to come hurtling at me like a rocket.

 

All the hate.

My body feels all the hate for me right now. My body says, “You bitch. You took me to Fresno. Fine, fuck you. I’ll get even with you for DAYS.”

I am, how do we say, uncomfortable. I woke up every hour or so last night to have violent diarrhea as my well cooked carcass tries to evacuate every orifice. I have spent the last 12 hours wondering when not if I will vomit. (Although if I’ve gone this long… maybe I won’t.)

The quinceañera was lovely. It was really special to get to see a little girl I knew growing up be delivered into the next part of her life. White people suck because we don’t have beautiful transitions like this to help our children be ushered into more responsibility. Instead we are the kinds of assholes who spend a lot of time on the phone with high school and college teachers trying to prevent our children from ever taking on responsibility.

I felt a little funny because I haven’t seen this family since we moved away. I was kind of surprised to be invited. There were only two families invited from the home school group we used to hang with.

I studiously maintain: I never came back after the road trip because of pain associated with driving. Only a few people in the group ever heard about drama. I think that is for the best. It is true that after the road trip I could no longer physically handle driving 45 minutes each way to sit in a park when I can walk for 20 minutes and go to a damn park.

It’s kind of nice to be able to say with complete truth: I rarely leave my city more than twice in a month and I mostly leave for medical appointments.

It isn’t that we stay in our house, we don’t. But we stay close by. Our world has shrunk. I like that part a lot. I’m so over driving.

Driving for 6 hours round trip yesterday fucking wrecked me. My hands hurt. My back and neck hurt. I only drove for 2.5 hours. That was too much.

One of my children was on restriction at the party for reasons I won’t discuss. I was quite impressed with how respectful they were about it. They didn’t argue and whine they just observed stated boundaries. Well done.

I don’t think I will be making it to SF for pride today. I feel like warmed up shit. I got almost 4 hours of sleep last night after 2 hours the night before. The sleep deprivation is catching up with me in incredibly painful ways.

I’m losing my ability to digest properly because my body is so exhausted. This doesn’t feel fun. But I seem to still be pregnant and all. This is a tough little parasite.

Today has literally nothing on the calendar. We only get such a day every few months. I may spend it sleeping.

 

Things I appreciate about my husband.

He’s consistent. He remembers the promises we make to one another and follows through on them better than I do. I think our relationship would have disintegrated without him holding it together saying, “Nope. We promised X, Y, & Z and so we’re gonna do that.”

He is kind. Sure, he gets on my nerves in lots of ways… but he is consistently kind to people. He slows down and explains. He will help anyone who asks him for help. He’s getting waaaaaaaaaay better at volunteering help without needing to be asked. He watches for ways to make life better for people inside of our family and out of it.

Did you know that he tutors people in programming stuff all the time? Sometimes locally and sometimes long-distance. All folks who really can’t afford to take a class. They need help and they reach out to him and he almost never says no. He wants as many people as possible to have access to the kind of fantastic life he has gotten to have because of programming.

He will stop and talk to anyone about ways to improve their career trajectory. He has lists of articles he sends out to people who are in various transitions whether in his field or not. He really wants to help other people do better. Even when they aren’t programmers.

He goes really far out of his way to try and find ways we can do things together. Naturally we have very different temperaments and interests. He keeps trying to find things we can share. Most of it doesn’t work out, but he keeps trying anyway.

 

Desperation.

I neeeeeeeeeeeeeed sleep. So I took a second dose of pot last night. I slept 7 hours. And the heavenly chorus sang Hosanna.

We decided camping in Fresno in 104 heat was not ok. We will spend 6 hours in the car in one day for the party instead. This means my cat will not miss so many doses of medicine because we could not find anyone who wanted to hang out with my cat all weekend giving her drugs every 8 hours.

I am… still deeply confused as to how to handle a problem.

There are days…

There are days when children are jumping up and down and screaming as loud as they can PLEASE BEAT ME. IT WOULD BE SUCH A WONDERFUL IDEA.

Nevertheless we continue to not beat the children.

In that way I have of not wanting to humiliate the children but also wanting to document things for myself let me vaguely say: it was a high crime day.

I need some god damn sleep. I’m mad at my shrink for being so against pot that she thinks me running on 3 -4 hours of sleep for weeks is just fine and I should keep it up.

Today is the kind of day that lets me know I have to deal with some of my biggest issues whether I have a boy child or not.

It’s not only men and boys who hurt people.

I love my children. Sometimes I am spectacularly unimpressed with their behavior.

See, I’m not a perfect mother and I’m not raising perfect children. I’m an asshole raising… uhhh I probably shouldn’t say that.

But I’m just sayin’.

My choices wouldn’t work for other people because other people aren’t broken in the ways I am. They don’t need the same structure.

I am amazed at what y’all do without the rigorous scaffolding I build for myself… and I still fuck up. This much extra time and work still is not producing the best ever results.

I’m not sure what that even means.

There were patterns I wanted to change.

I don’t get to control other people. I can only pray that I influence.

No matter how many times I tell myself I am… I’m not the boss of you. You are. You reminded me today.

Change and staying the same.

I keep people. I have a lot of people in my life from 20 years ago. I don’t see them all the time, but we pop up in one another’s lives.

I have problems with some people. But given the number of people in my life… I struggle with a fairly low percentage. Most of my struggle is with my internal ability to perceive what people mean by behaviors or words. I struggle to believe that people like me unless they are standing in front of me saying, “I like you.” If you said it a week ago I’ve already forgotten.

It’s not nice of me, but it’s real.

We are changing some things about how we school. We will have some outside oversight so that I’m not in this position of All Powerful Person anymore. That’s not working for me. We need it to change.

But we don’t need the kids to go to school for 30 hours a week. I genuinely believe (and I’m backed up by professional evaluation) that my Eldest Child would have major problems in traditional school. But we need something slightly different than what we have been doing.

I ain’t God and it’s bad for me to be in a position like God.

I am appalled that charter schools exist. I think that if you want to home school it should be your deal. But charter schools exist and we are now signed up with one that will give me $1800/year/kid for classes and educational materials. $3600/year is going to alter my budget. That sounds fantastic. Because the school will cover their classes and stuff for a year (including giving them a laptop) I can put most of my kid budget towards baby shit and paying for the birth.

Oh god. A birth will be expensive.

Money is giving me fits lately. This is a horrible year for money. My end of year review is going to be baaaaaaaaad. I’m already feeling anxiety and it’s only fucking June. Owning a house sucks.

I do still love my bathroom. It’s worth what I paid for the bathroom. But all the other shit that went wrong and cost extra money… like cleaning the black mold out of the wall of my bedroom…. It adds up.

My bank balance is lower than it has been in many years. I’m scared. Nothing else can break soon.

I talked to our delightful local mechanic about how the Prius is misbehaving. In his opinion the smartest thing to do would be to trade it in *now* before it finishes breaking. We’ll get $1,000 or so on a trade in. It’s in terrible condition and we’ve repaired the front end twice from accidents. (I fell asleep while pregnant on 880 & a deer landed on my car further south on 17. 880/17 hates my car.)

We decided not to camp in Fresno for the weekend at 104 degrees. Instead we will drive down for the party, sleep in a hotel, then drive right home. A hotel is $50 more than camping for the weekend would be and I don’t have to suffer through not sleeping in the heat while pregnant. Seems smart.

I’m having a hard time with how many people are moving away. L, I know I was a total loser and I didn’t visit you over the last year because of the remodel but it sucks that I can’t come visit you now that things are settling down. You are so wonderful.

I like where I’m sitting and I don’t. I don’t like that it is changing and my friends are leaving.

Pam keeps telling me not to leave the bay because someday she will come back and next time it’ll be for good. But she will live across the valley in an area even more expensive than this and I do not share her certainty that rich people will find a way to save the bay from global warming issues.

I’m reading a book named White Trash. It’s not the same kind of book I would have written. It’s better. It’s historical. It goes through the history of disposable white people in this country. It is fantastic. I’d love to discuss it with people. One friend is reading it already. Anyone up for a book club?

Stuff and stuff. Stop typing, Krissy. You hurt.

Body shifting

This is the weirdest fucking pregnancy.

(Side note about swearing: recently someone [can’t remember who] pointed out that swearing is often used in place of words that would be differently offensive: such as ableism. Swearing is thus a choice to move who you are offending. That reframes whether swearing is good or not in a way that really works for me. Anyway.)

I have the feeling in my body like I had when I was marathon training. I can feel my body eating itself. My weight is staying strangely level. I’m not eating 2100 calories every day and according to the fitbit I’m burning 2600-2700 most days because I’m exercising like a fiend. I feel myself gaining muscle (which weighs more than fat) and I can feel my body shifting the eating-fat-storage around.

When I was marathon training I got used to this particular feeling where a fat deposit would start hurting and then shrinking. That’s going on right now in my body. Particularly my upper belly. The fat deposit that is over the diaphragm/stomach portion of my torso is aching in the way that usually means I’m about to have a flat stomach again. Only this is a bad time for that.

I’ve attained a flat abdomen for a few individual months of my life. Then I gorged on ice cream till that shit ended.

Being thinner is NOT A GOAL.

It’s fine if you care about losing weight. Your body is yours. I’m done with the abusive cycle of dieting and acting like my body is anything other than a mighty tool which needs CALORIES, MOTHERFUCKER.

I want to constantly be on the phone with blacksheep asking nosey/weird questions about how her body feels while exercising but she’s busier than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest.

I highly suspect that I’m going to be in perfectly good shape to run a 10k while 6 months pregnant. Like blacksheep did. At the time I told her she was bizarre. Now I feel like a huge giant terrible asshole for implying that what she did was wrong. She does what her body needs. It isn’t usually similar to what my body wants and I need to get my head out of my ass.

Goodness. There’s been a couple of times lately where I’ve had cause to do the sit-back-and-evaluate-your-parenting thing lately.

Do you know me? Do you know my kids? If you seriously thought I was abusing my kids I would hope to god you would turn me in to authorities. My children deserve that. Even if it would be traumatic for me.

I am not the best parent ever. Far from it. I’m too mercurial. I’m not consistent enough. I’m not good at facilitating what it means to be “normal” or teaching people how to fit in. There are a lot of mothering skills where I just flat fail. But I’m not sure if I do so in a way that is abusive.

I make different choices than most of the people I know who parent. It’s not because I’m better and it’s not because my children are turning out better. Neither are at all true. I know a lot of mothers who manage to juggle jobs and independent lives and their children and they do it with aplomb. They don’t need to spend this many hours a week treating being a parent like being a job with constant high effort training.

When I talk about how many hours I put into this job I’m not doing it to brag about how superior I am. I’m not superior. I’m trying to develop an honest perspective around the fact that it takes this much work for me to be good. Not great. Not the best. Good. I have to treat this as a full time job in order to not tank completely.

am proud that I can teach myself so many things and I can instruct my kids. That doesn’t make me a better mother than someone who had a good mother and who parents from instinct in a way that is respectful, kind, and loving. I just can’t compete. That is more healthy. That is better. But I try to convince myself that if a piece of shit can improve… that’s something.

Ok. Now it’s a new adventure. I just signed the kids up for a home school charter school. I’m still going to be the primary teacher, but they will have oversight from someone other than me. Accountability to someone other than me. Oh it sounds glorious.

Words

I saw my therapist yesterday. We did EMDR, as usual, this time it was different. When pregnant they don’t do the fast, emotional upset causing stuff. She keeps the rhythm slow and soothing. She wanted me to think about the baby that is coming. She kept asking, “How do you really feel about the coming baby?” She wouldn’t accept, “I’m excited.” She kept pushing for negative emotions.

I’m scared shitless of how I’m going to handle a child with THIS MUCH ENERGY but beyond that… I’m so excited.

She wanted me to think about how I’m going to have to get over my shit about white men/boys if this child is as loaded with testosterone as I suspect given my physical state. (Not that all people who have lots of testosterone and/or a penis are men/boys but there is a strong chance.)

It is true that I need to spend a lot of time processing my shit around this. I cannot take out my rage on my son.

Just like that woman I wrote about yesterday took out her rage at every white teacher and administrator and whatever on me she came here.

I am not throwing stones. I am not better. I have acted out just as much in rich white peoples houses. I’ve broken more shit in temper tantrums. I have gone off on people much more personally.

Seriously the big insult she could throw against me was that I was a control freak. Uhm, yeah. Given the recent autism diagnosis it makes even more sense than usual that I am a control freak about a lot of things in my life. I’m rigid in order to cope because my body gets overwhelmed by a lot of stimuli. That’s true. I get why it triggered the shit out of her, but I asked over and over how to accommodate her needs and she’d smile and say, “Oh I’m fine” until she lost it because she had never been fine.

That happens. Part of the reason I think about it so much is because I don’t feel victimized. She didn’t hit me. She didn’t hit Noah despite getting inches from his face and screaming at him about how she was going to get him. Because he looked at her.

She was completely and totally flooded. She wasn’t capable of rational thought or evaluating if we were threats. Our very existence is proof of an existential threat against her people. I don’t deny that even a little.

I’m not angry at her. I’m sad. I’m sad that no matter how much I work in this life I will always be one of the oppressor class to a lot of people. No matter what I do. No matter how much I help. No matter how patient I am with them as they tell me that every person who looks like me is equally culpable for the suffering of her tribe.

It’s ok that she feels like that. She’s not wrong.

But it’s hard that we are representatives of opposing races instead of people who can know one another. I’m not exactly one to say, “Nuh uh. White people aren’t as bad as you think.” Yeah, we are. As a group, collectively… white people are as bad as you think and probably worse.

And I’m white. So what does that mean about me? Maybe she was totally right to shun me the way she did. To go on ranting about how terrible I am because… for a few moments while she screamed at me in public I shut down like she was my mother.

I absolutely admit that I have the white fragility thing like whoa. I will crumble if you scream that I am bad in public.

I didn’t fight back and argue. I said, “Ok. If I’m so bad when do you want to leave?” And then that became another oppressive thing I was doing. Because she wanted to scream at me and stay and have a nice time that I paid for.

Hey buddy, even I have limits. If you are screaming at me that I’m terrible… you don’t need to stay in my house longer. And no I’m not going to keep funding a spiffy vacation for you and your kids. Because I’m going to avoid being in a room with you. And then that became one more reason white people are bad.

There was no way for me to be anything other than a monster.

I know.

My shrink yesterday asked me about my sleep. I told her I’m getting 3.5-4ish hours of sleep in a night. (Yesterday I got a 1.5 hour nap in the afternoon. I was so glad.) I told her I was considering adding one more dose of pot in a day so I can sleep. She said, “How tired are you? Maybe you just don’t need the sleep. Humans go through periods of elevated (I’m blanking on which hormone she cited… I think I remember it starting with a c but I suspect not cortisol…) and they don’t need sleep for a while. People go on 2, 3, or 4 hours of sleep when they fall in love, when they do a big project… it happens. Don’t take more pot.”

But if a psychiatrist wanted me on a heavily sedating medication she would urge compliance. But more pot administered because I think it is a good idea… that’s not ok.

Sigh.

I was not willing to drive to Oakland on how much sleep I’ve been getting. I rode my bike + bart. It was fucking exhausting. Oakland scares me so fucking much on a bike. Too many cars + hills. That was awful for me. I’m kinda mad at Lightning already. This kid is… taking over my impulse control center and I’m doing shit I NEVER FUCKING DO and it scares me really bad. I’ve never been a bike person. It’s never been a good idea. My family gets hit on bicycles. This is such a bad idea.

But I feel like I NEED IT OR I WILL EXPLODE FROM EXCESS ENERGY.

I have never exercised this much in my life. Not even training for the marathon. I’m putting in more hours right now. I’m cross training like never in my life.

Having this much energy means I hear words in my brain even faster than usual. That’s a little terrifying.

Do you know how much specific, conscious effort I put into creating new voices in my brain? I hear blacksheep when I’m exercising. Her gentle, loving expressions, “You can do this. I know you can. You are strong.” I hear Sarah, “Oh you can do this. I’ve watched you do amazing things.” When something is deserving of derision I hear Patti, “uhhh…. what?” said with just the right inflection.

I hear so many of the people who have been lovely enough to come to my house when I’m calm and talk to me when I’m capable of imprinting your lovely voices over the mean ones in my head.

I hear Pam. I hear Beautiful. I hear Claudia. I hear Jenny. I hear Erin. I hear Taylor. I hear my submissive. I hear Miss Vicki. I hear Valia’s glorious laugh.

I am so blessed. I could keep going all day listing names. I hear you. You changed me. You made me better. You made it so when I meet new people I can’t wait to find out how they will be the same or different from the fantastic people who motivate me to keep trying.

Hope is not dead as long I hold you all in my heart and mind.

I think of the woman who came last summer. I think of that Taylor Swift song “Mean”. I wonder if she has ever started understanding that she is never going to be the weakest man in a room again.

I was not the weakest (wo)man in the room when we were both freaking out last summer. In a whole bunch of ways that are systematic and completely unfair. When I had more like that amount of power compared to the people I was in a room with… I used to lose my shit over and over too.

I can’t be angry at her. I have to see her as a deeply wounded person who is lashing out because she has been stomped so thoroughly. I’m not mad. I’m sad. Because I liked her. I wanted to be of help. Only I wasn’t. I hurt her. By existing.

I can’t act like she was mean to me. She was defending her life in a blind fight because that is where she is in life right now. That’s not about being mean to me.

I was not a victim. I hope I did not victimize her. But it was a really sad thing. I don’t know that I could have done anything to make it go better. I’ve been thinking constantly for almost a year… what could I have done differently.

She needs to find community with non-white people. White people upset her. That’s ok. It’s not wrong. I support there being space where white people are not welcome because we bring our much with us. That’s ok.

I’m really proud of myself for deescalating things when she was screaming and physically threatening Noah. I did manage to get her to calm down enough to see that neither Noah nor I were going to hit her. Even if she had hit Noah, I would have restrained her without hitting.

She’s been hit enough in this life.

Many of us have been hit enough. Too much. We don’t need more hitting.

We need more crying together. But tears are only available to white women, I’m told. I saw her cry. But she denies it.

That’s so complicated.

It’s not fair that we had a fight and she gets to go back to her life of suffering and I get to go back to my life where 70% of my suffering is manufactured by my brain. (I do have a bunch of legitimate pain stuff….)

I don’t go hungry any more. I don’t have to worry about feeding my kids. I don’t have to fight with the government for my children to receive services that they need. I just pay. I can fix my car when it breaks. I have a forever home that is just a handful of years away from being fully paid off.

I don’t get to act like a victim in this situation. It’s not victimization. But it is a severing of friendship. It is a divorce. It’s sad.

I’m trying to figure out what to learn from this going forward. My shrink wants me to learn the lesson that I should stop trying so hard with people. She says I should never open my home again to people with trauma because look what I get.

Do you know how many of the people in my life have trauma? If I stopped inviting them over I’d stop having human contact and that’s not ok.

I didn’t forcefully eject the friend who called me an evil drug pusher either. He was reacting to stuff in his life. I told him I understood why he was struggling and lashing out and when he was ready to get over it I could forgive. It took five years but he came back. He did apologize. He was going through shit and he took it out on me. Yeah, that happens.

I forgive you. I’ve done worse. And in this world I can’t really afford to throw friends overboard willy nilly. I need your voice in my head convincing me I should not die.

I reject people who look like a threat to my children. Beyond that… I can deal with a lot. I’m not an easy person and people come back to love me. I can love you even if you aren’t easy. I don’t need you to be easy. I need you to be real.

I like to say that I wasn’t looking for a life of convenience. I am looking for a life of intense connections. That’s going to lead to some big explosions.

That doesn’t mean you stop trying. That doesn’t mean you decide “People aren’t worth the trouble–I’m going to hermit.” At least that isn’t what I have decided. You do you.

(Side note: in the background I have youtube playing a bunch of videos of FTM folks singing pre and post transition. It’s a really neat background. People change so much based on relatively “small” hormonal changes. This is so fascinating and wonderful.)

I am alive in the time period best suited to me in all of history. I can meet the most variety of people. I can learn so much. I am blessed beyond all measurement.

There were times in my life when I was a victim. Those times are long gone. Unless I am suddenly attacked by a stranger… I’m not sure I’ll ever be a victim again. Bad things will happen, but that’s not the same thing.

I have reached a freakish plane of existence.

There are times when I think that one of the best things that happened to me as a child was the severing of my bond with my mother. If I had maintained that bond most of my life wouldn’t have happened. I would have stayed closer. I would have kept up the abusive patterns that reign in my family.

Is my life perfect? What does that even mean? I have strife. I have conflict. I have challenges. But I have more luck and safety than most.

I’m a genuine good place. My bitching is kind of ridiculous.

Perspective

I know that many of my perceptions are wacky. That’s a lot of why I record them obsessively. I can track where I’m wrong and where I turn out to be correct. I often notice that I’m about to get dumped by tracking my perceptions. I notice that I need to leave relationships because I track. I notice that I need to give people more chances because even if I feel worried that I’m bothering them… look at how they still show up.

I track my life because moment by moment I can’t tell how I feel about my life or what is happening to me. Moment by moment I’m swimming in an intense soup made up of lots of chunky flavors, many of which are a distraction instead of being the focus of the soup. Because really, do you want huge chunks of iceberg lettuce floating in your tomato soup? Not so much.

There are moments when I’m capable of feeling bathed in the love of my friends. That moment is not always when I’m talking to my friend. Sometimes when I’m talking to a friend I feel lost in my own self-contempt and I can only perceive that in my mind my friend should revile me. I’m not capable of having feelings beyond that in many moments of being with/near my friends. It isn’t because my friends are doing a thing wrong. It is because my brain, even after all these years of friendship and living in a forever-home, still doesn’t register moment by moment that I’m safe. It’s not as pervasive or awful as it was…

But it is absolutely true. I have difficulty perceiving people as doing anything other than shunning me. Even when they are inviting me to their house for a chat. Even when they are making appointments to see me.

It isn’t your fault and I try not to take it out on people when I feel like I’m about to be shunned. But god damn if I don’t think I should be shunned basically all of the time. When you do not do so it just feels like you haven’t done it… yet.

feel like I am constantly about to have everyone I love tell me to go die in a fire. I’m afraid of this because if I felt like this really came from other people who I’ve set up as the important judges of my life and I got this message on the wrong day… I might go do something like that.

I have a weird thing in my behavior. When I feel unworthy I am more likely to comply with indications that I should hurt myself as punishment. I know I’m bad. I know I’ve hurt people. Of course I deserve punishment for that.

Isn’t that just how it works? You are bad. You deserve punishment?

Only it never worked out that way for the rich white people I knew. They were given more chances to abuse again. Only trash gets punished severely for stepping out of line. Or non-white people. They get punished extra for daring to not be exalted and white. I hate systems of authority so much.

When I was a kid and I fucked up in some standard kid way (like “painting” the bathroom walls with my Barbie hair and water) it always came with intense screaming and hitting. I wasn’t allowed to make mistakes that impacted other people.

Why the fuck didn’t my mom hand me a stack of towels and tell me I had to clean it up then I had to wash the laundry?

Why did I have to be beaten?

Last year I tried to make friends with someone. But it got complicated by extreme lack of sleep. When they got angry with me and started berating me in public I reacted like they were my mother. Because she is the same size and shape as my mother. I was told I was just a racist bitch who was behaving the way I was because she was brown.

Sigh.

These things are so complicated. I’m not going to defend my story to her. She gets to think I’m just another racist white bitch. That’s fine. Am I a racist? I sure as shit am not going to deny it. I try hard to look for signs of racial prejudice and stamp them out. I definitely know that I have escaped some of the standard racist white person actions.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not racist. I participate in a system that on a large scale penalizes people of color. I never get to claim to be not a racist. As long as I am ok with buying things made in sweat shops over seas and I never have to figure out how I feel about exploiting people of color for my ease…

I never get to say I’m not racist. Because it’s a lot bigger than “Am I upset with this person because they remind me of my mother or am I upset because they are a brown person daring to yell at me”.

I don’t think I get to say that she is “wrong” in her perceptions of me as a racist. I just don’t. I put scare quotes around that word because when one person judges another person’s motives right/wrong become so complicated and layered and…

I was told that being upset about being yelled at and threatened was the same thing as police shooting innocent black children.

Maybe that’s true.

Maybe it is all part of a continuum and I don’t get to pretend I’m right or innocent. Maybe I did something heinous and awful and terrible.

I was told I was going to harm them with my venom after the fight. I was told I was going to refuse to feed them, like other white people have; I was going to throw them out to be homeless and at risk… like other white people. But I continued to provide tasty, nutritious food after the fight. I asked, “When would you like me to arrange your flight home?” I didn’t say, “Figure out your own way, bitch.”

I tried my best to be honorable. But I’m being honorable within a racist system that prioritizes my feelings about someone else’s literal safety.

I don’t get to say I’m not racist. Even if I’m trying. That doesn’t really matter.

I do struggle to get past the set of statements that her hitting me would be “education” but white people looking at her is violence and she’s allowed to defend herself however she sees fit… but she’s not violent; we are.

I struggle with the belief that only white people are ever violent. The history of the world kinda shows that not just white people perpetrate wars and genocide. But I’m racist if I bring that up.

Ok. I’m racist.

Now what?

What is the point of declaring someone racist or bad? What do you do with that? Shame, clearly, but since when has shame motivated positive change.

I’m not saying “Be nice to me or I’ll stop being your ally.” I’m not your ally now. I may or may not be your friend but I didn’t sign a contract saying I will provide specific aid in exchange for you providing specific aid. That didn’t happen. We ain’t allies. And if I do sign such a contract you being nice won’t be the point. It’ll be that I absolutely must depend on a set of aid from you so I simply must do my share. It’ll be selfish as shit.

Will I stop making friends who are not white because some not white people have told me I’m a racist bitch? Well, no. That would be mean to the people in my neighborhood and my life who are not white whom I’ve been friends with for many years.

I don’t think that having a negative experience with one person needs to define the rest of my life. I’m not afraid of brown or black women or men or nonbinary people in aggregate or even singly unless they start yelling at me that they will hit me.

I feel like… I feel like it’s ok that I feel like this. I don’t get scared until you start telling me that you will “teach me how to behave”. I know you hit your kids. I know you hit your kids and tell them they aren’t allowed to cry because you don’t want to hear it. They told me. In front of you. And your facial expression clearly indicated that you knew it was a problem and you were not happy with your kid saying that in front of a white bitch.

Boy you were pissed when I told your kid that anyone who tells them not to cry when they are in pain is wrong.

Oh well. He needed to hear that for once in his fucking life.

You were wrong to lie and tell your son you weren’t crying when we fought. You were lying. I don’t give a shit if I pissed you off by saying, “Of course we were crying. We had really big feelings and when you have big feelings they need to go somewhere. Crying is one of the most healthy ways of dealing with those feelings. When you cry you don’t need to move the feelings into another area of your life and act out badly.”

I thought your head would spin around and pea soup would start flying across the room. You were so pissed that I thought I had the right to share “my” culture with your son.

I’m sorry I traumatized your family by saying it’s ok to cry when people hit you. I will probably do that kind of shit again.

Even though you hate me and view this as one more usurpation of your right to indoctrinate your kid into your culture. You spent many of the hours you were here complaining about how it is fucked up that your culture has no support for your mental illness and it is fucking terrible that you have to go to white people for help… but you hit your kid and tell him he isn’t allowed to act like it hurts.

Fine, I’m racist. But that doesn’t absolve you of doing your own work within your family.

Other people being fucked up does not absolve me of my responsibility to deal with my behavior within my family. I still have to look at my children and see what I’m doing wrong. I still have to grow and change. I have to give my children support against me. I am not infallible. I am not perfect.

If you believe that mothers cannot be questioned no matter what… I’m pretty sure that’ll lead to a few problems sometimes. Especially if you think it’s fine to beat your children.

But I’m just a racist white bitch so what do I know.

I wish I could stop thinking about this interaction. I really do. I waited almost a year to write this explicitly about it. I rarely avoid thinking about it for more than a few days. Is this one more demonstration of how evil I am?

I don’t care if it makes you mad I am going to use my reality distortion bubble to tell kids that it’s ok to cry when they are in pain. Even if they are black. Black children deserve to be able to acknowledge to themselves that they are in pain too. I know you think that I’ve never raised a black child so I don’t deserve to have an opinion. I’m sure you are right. But I’ve been around human beings and all the human beings I’ve known have had emotions and they had to deal with them.

I sure hope that you are right that your black sons need to be beaten and told they don’t deserve to cry when they are in pain because that is the only path to black manhood. If you are wrong… that’s going to suck for your kids.

But you’re right. I don’t get to decide you are wrong. That’s one of the many things that white people do. We think we know best in all situations and we don’t.

I’m still going to be that asshole who tells these kids that their feelings are legitimate and they get to have them even if they inconvenience the people around them. Even if their mother doesn’t want to hear it.

If talking to your children this way means I am a racist pig, just like the police who shoot black children, as you screamed at me, then ok.

Ok.

One of the advantages of not believing that I am a good person is that when I fuck up… it is basically par for the course. If I do something awful…. well… bad people can’t do good all the time. That’s just not a reasonable expectation. I’m a bad person doing my best to do good things as often as I can.

I’m going to miss the mark a lot. Maybe this is one of the times.

I hope I didn’t actually hurt those kids by telling them that it’s ok to cry when they are in pain. But I might have. I don’t have the scope to know.

That’s the thing about actions. It’s hard to predict how they are going to go in the long run.

I’m sorry that I could not care for your children all day, then listen to you process how white people have wrecked your whole life and culture all night long and do that while providing the chipper physical demeanor you needed in order to be happy. When I started crumbling and you screamed at me that it wasn’t ok… yeah I finished crumbled. Like a fragile whiny white bitch. It’s true.

I will fail under a lot of kinds of pressure. That’s true.

Is that part of being racist? Probably.

You asked how my friends handle me having strong opinions because when you screamed at me and shamed the shit out of me it didn’t get you what you wanted. Well… they start by letting me sleep so I can have rational conversations instead of losing my mind.

I’m terrible about boundaries like that. If someone is a guest in my house and they want to sleep all day I cover for them with their children. When that same person then has the energy to stay up all night and I’m supposed to be an audience… I’m shit at saying no. Even though I should have said, “You know how you slept all day and I didn’t? I need to go to bed now.”

I was wrong to not enforce those boundaries. It is part of why things ended so badly. I absolutely deserve responsibility for all of my failures around not being able to regulate my voice anymore after days of no sleep.

I wanted to listen to you. I hurt myself to do it. I listened patiently for long enough to know for absolute certain you were never interested in a conversation. You just wanted me to listen to how white people are shit and they’ve ruined your life.

I did listen. Night after night. I know. All white people are shit. We should all die. I know.

I know I know I know I know I know I know I know I know

White people traumatize you by existing and they should disappear so you can go back to living how you want to live.

Only that’s not possible for eleventy million reasons I’m not getting into and oh man.

I honestly don’t know where to go. There isn’t another country in this world that wants me. If I wanted to leave this continent so I stopped being a colonizing piece of shit… I don’t know where to go. Which doesn’t mean that things should continue as they are.

I’m not your ally. But I do think the US government needs to give more land back to the Indigenous people. I do think the US government owes reparations to the descendants of Africans we kidnapped and enslaved and dragged here against their will.

Oh fuck yeah. Not because I’m an ally. Because I think that is how the US will move forward as a powerful country. It’s enlightened self interest. I want to live on a continent of people who are treated honorably and who live with dignity and safety. It’s a selfish motivation.

I want the police disarmed partially because the motherfuckers need to stop shooting black people and partially because they need to stop shooting ANYONE. WHAT THE FUCK. Your job is to protect and serve, not to feel intimidated at the slightest provocation and shoot innocent people. What the fuck.

But part of living with dignity and safety means that when someone hits you, you get to decide if you are in enough pain to decide if you need to cry or not.

It’s all so complicated.

When you take two people with chronic severe physical and mental disabilities and you put them together…

Sometimes there are fireworks.

Is that because of racism? I think it can be and I think it might be influenced by more factors. How many people are truly motivated only along one axis?

I’m not saying I’m a good person and you are bad. I don’t believe that. I’m saying I think that situation went to hell in a hand basket and I know I did wrong but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.

I’m pretty sure that there is rarely a situation in which I am genuinely The Problem. I think that problems arise based on difficult interactions between people. All people have problems and that doesn’t mean that it is all their fault entirely when things are wonky.

Sometimes people can do the best they can and they are still embedded in the broken systems that created them and they are still acting out oppression even if they don’t mean to at all.

My intentions aren’t important. Not even to me. The results of my actions are important. And I don’t get to decide what those results are.

I wish

I wish it was politically possible to do a study of the outcomes of women who have mental illness during pregnancy that actually randomized SSRI’s & other medications vs pot vs unmedicated spikes of emotional distress.

I would sign up to be randomized. I would fully comply with taking heinous medications that I know hurt me if it would help people on a larger scale understand what happens.

I worry a lot about the emotional spikes I have because I feel ashamed of needing pot. One dose a day is… not the best thing ever. It means I come up and down every day. So I have these wild grief/sobbing periods and that doesn’t seem healthy.

Drifting through alienation

3.5 hours of sleep. That’s how much sleep I’ve been getting every night. The only way I get more sleep in 24 hours is if I nap. This has been going on for days.

I feel really overwhelmed with sadness. I don’t belong. I don’t fit. I am not part of a group larger than the nuclear family I am creating and that hurts. I’m not denigrating my family, I’m grateful for them. I’m completely certain I’d be done without them.

I don’t fit in a community. I “know” I have friends. But the fact that most people can bear a few hours per year of my company because I am so terrible…

I don’t see a lot of good in me. I see that I am bad.

I am starting to feel worried about being extremely depressed throughout my pregnancy partially because I am refusing to allow myself to take much pot. That’s so complicated.

I am having a hard time with how much exercise my body is demanding. Yesterday was so hot we barely moved. So by 7pm my legs ached and burned and I finally said, “Let’s go walk through an air conditioned store.” I NEED a level of exercise I don’t usually maintain or everything feels so bad I want to scream and rip my skin off.

I’m having a hard time with the whole “neighborhood friends” thing. People keep moving. It’s hard to keep trying knowing that it will take a whole bunch of energy from me and then people won’t reciprocate because they’ll move.

I feel pointless and stupid. I feel so sad.

My kids are in an intense sibling rivalry stage. Probably the most intense of their lives and I’m struggling to not be an explosive bitch.

I’m struggling with the fact that most of the people I know don’t want to spend time together unless you are out doing something expensive together. I have this visceral feeling that spending money all the time on entertainment is toxic. So I opt out of things that we could technically be invited to and then I feel alienated and alone. Because I opt out. Because people really don’t want to spend time together without a separate distraction/focus very often.

I miss my mother.

I miss Claudia.

I’m worried about my cat.

My mama could make a good time last all day and only spend $5.

I feel like who and what I am is inherently bad and nothing I can do will change that.

I feel like I am most interesting when I want to be abused and when I don’t then I’m just too much fucking work.

I’m not eating that many calories either. I’m not hungry. Tracking on the fitbit makes me crazy. But I know I’m going to have to argue over whether or not I deserve to have food while overweight so I need data.

I feel like I have an extreme form of cabin fever. But I don’t really want to go anywhere or talk to anyone because I feel like I am a terrible piece of shit who should not inflict my horrible presence on anyone.

The kids and I negotiated that they will go to the part time charter school operated through the district next year. We need a little more space. It’s only a few hours a week (under 10) and I feel like that’s a wise transition for my children with ants in their pants.

Someone recently told me to just send them to school and make them adjust. I think Stanford was right when they said that my kids would have severe emotional and behavioral difficulties if forced into a standard classroom right now. They are so distractible. They have so much energy they can’t stop moving.

All of us do a lot of flapping/stimming. I think it is kind of funny. No one shames anyone in this house for having weird tension outlets. I don’t really want to send them to school so they can find out how “weird” they are.

Why do I feel so ashamed of myself I want to curl up into a ball and cry for years?

I don’t fit anywhere. I don’t belong anywhere. I’m not good at making Noah feel loved and that’s one of my main jobs in this life. I can’t seem to figure out how to convince my Future Middle Child that their life isn’t a shit sandwich that must be reviled. Your life may not be 100% perfect, but I struggle to see how it is that bad.

I can’t imagine being them and having what they have. I’ve never in my life been loved and cosseted the way my kids are and it still isn’t enough. What I have to give is not enough. I am not enough.

Maybe I know a little bit about how my mom felt. She was never enough either. Lately I feel really ashamed of myself and I wonder if I was as ridiculous as my child is. Was I similarly demanding about how nothing was good enough no matter how good?

I wanted a home and to live with my mother and my siblings full time. I wanted to go to the same school for more than a year in a row. I wanted to have people in my life I knew for longer than a few months.

My mom couldn’t provide any of that. It wasn’t her fault.

I feel like it is all my fault my child isn’t going to have a more consistent set of people in their life forever. I chase people off. Folks can only stand me for so long before they wear out. Because I am bad.

I’m only 5.5 fucking weeks pregnant and I’m already having a hard time wearing some clothes. They are too tight in the waist and they hurt. I’m not going to be able to wear most of my pants-that-fasten past 7 weeks. I can tell. I haven’t gained any weight at all. Things are just shifting. Like they do.

I’m going to go walk before I talk to Jenny.

I WANT!

In a few weeks when I start needing maternity shirts… I’m buying this: http://www.cafepress.com/mf/77953219/fck-gender_maternity?productId=1437421518

This is also lovely: http://www.cafepress.com/mf/86443698/gender-is-not-binary_maternity?productId=1225027311

AWAKE

It’s 3:40. I’d love to be asleep. I got 2.5 hours of sleep. I went to bed at fucking 8pm. It’s been a long night.

I didn’t manage to talk to my family about the phone call yesterday. I will when they wake up. I heard back from the therapist we met with last week. This person seems to ‘get’ how I do therapy. They are encouraging us to set up relationships with therapists for most of my family members and a family therapist. In their opinion it would be good to have an intensive 2-3 months for “getting to know one another” then back burnering the relationships until a crisis hits.

I love this therapist. I think that is precisely the correct way for someone with my problems to do therapy. I need help sometimes. I can’t figure out what to do on my own. But if you try to meet someone during a crises… that doesn’t work well. You need to establish contact during a time of relative calm and get to know one another and establish trust. I can’t establish trust if I’m hysterical. I don’t trust anyone then.

This is going to be expensive. But it will help me get where I want to be in 20 years.

The family therapist will work with all four of us sometimes and hopefully sometimes just me and Noah.

All four of us get to spaces in an argument where we have trouble listening and hearing someone else’s point of view. Outside intervention helps that process.

I’m happy that this therapist is very concerned that Eldest Child not is acting like Future Middle Child is The Problem. That’s not true. Ok, so FMC (how’s that for a new nickname?) is very explosive and has anger issues that need to be worked on so they stop hitting their sister… but that’s not the same thing as being The Problem.

It’s more complicated than that. It always is.

They are recommending somatic work for me. I’ve done primarily talk therapy my entire life. I have never worked with a somatic therapist. I think that it is a good suggestion to focus on what is going on in my body with my emotions in the moment instead of always trying to talk/process old trauma. That seems like it might have some genuine value. Especially while I’m pregnant and having ALL THE EMOTIONS right now. This embryo, soon to be fetus, needs me to calm the fuck down.

I’m thinking a lot about my brother Tommy. My mom cautioned me against a third child because… look at my brother. Tommy was born after 45 minutes of labor and he didn’t stop running until he was hit by a car at 12. He was an alcoholic and drug addict. Yes, by 12. He was sensory seeking to a degree that my mother truly could not cope with. Given how I’m physically feeling since this pregnancy started (I mean for fuck’s sake… it’s been like 2 weeks and my body has EXPLODED with energy) I am already thinking ahead to a highly sensory seeking child. Given that I’m god damn tired already from dealing with children for 9 years… oh goody. I see why Tommy threw my mom for a loop. She was tired too. Tommy and Sissy are about as far apart as EC and Lightning will be. And my mom started at 19, not 27.

I keep feeling like we should move away from a city. I feel constant anxiety about all the things I could/maybe should be doing. I should find a way to fit in more cultural experiences. More activities. More socializing.

But I’d kinda like to be boring as fuck and live my life as a home body in the woods. I went back and forth from cities to the woods as a kid. I always liked the woods better. I like people in cities… but I get so overwhelmed. Too many options. Too many decisions to make. I’m too exhausted to face my social calendar by the time I’ve made all the decisions I have to make in order to decide what things to do.

Wouldn’t it be nice to come “into town” a few times a year and have a lot of experiences then and go home and… just live.

I really like being outside and exercising with the kids. We are getting seriously into our bike rides. Yesterday the kids and I did 6.3 miles. We are prepping for this summer when we will ride our bikes 3 miles each way to the water park. (I love our tiny, dinky little water park. Two big slides. One circular/lazy river thing. One pool. One toddler splash zone. It’s small and usually not crowded.) In order to handle the 6 mile ride round trip, plus swimming, plus their daily PE classes… we have to work up to that before we get started. That’s going to be a lot of damn work.

But it feels so good.

I’d love to take my kids hiking in the woods more. But the drive to get to woods kills me.

I like how when you live in the woods it is a lot easier to get up and just do your thing. There are fewer bright, shiny distractions. I’m a reader. I like making shit. I never run out of things I want to do. I don’t get bored.

Only boring people get bored.

Sometimes I get restless and that’s a cue I need to switch activities… but that isn’t truly boredom. Boredom is forcing yourself to not pursue change.

I’m never going to stop having friends. No matter where I live. I spend most of my time with my friends on the internet anyway. This week I had a Skype date with my Sarah and we both cooked dinner at the same time. It felt *wonderful*. It felt loving and tender and fun. We got to talk about what we were separately making and everything else in life. It felt validating and inspiring. I love my Sarah so much. I’m so glad she likes talking to me and helping me puzzle through life.

I’ve been talking to my Jenny weekly on Skype. I’m getting to see my newest niece a lot, granted slightly pixelated but whatever. That feels really nice too. We are so different in personality but we like each other. It feels like family. This relationship feels like, “Even though you get on my nerves I still love you.” Specifically I usually feel like I get on every nerve Jenny has. I’m way too fucking argumentative. But she loves me anyway. Even though I’m difficult and irritating. She’s loved me for almost 24 years and counting. Only 6 years to go before she is the longest relationship of my life.

My Pam is checking in on Skype as she can. I find it funny that one of the things Pam believes is most true about her is that she’s a bad listener. But she’s one of the best listeners I know. She is so curious. She is so interested in finding out about why things work the way they do. She is absolutely determined to be part of change in this lifetime. I respect her so much. I love her. I love how she laughs and the stories she tells. I am endlessly grateful that she shares her family with me. Her sister is a delight and a joy and I’m glad I get to adopt her too. Pam’s mom is really awesome too. She used to bring my kids over to hang out with her grandmother before her grandmother moved back to Taiwan.

My children are very blessed.

Many other people are checking in on IM services. I’m having long conversations with many people who love me and whom I love.

My existential loneliness shit is… not because I’m actually unloved or abandoned or ignored. It is about brain chemistry.

I miss Twitter. But I’m going to get over it.

I think that if I moved to the woods, where it was cheaper, I’d fly to visit friends a few times a year and otherwise be ok.

I don’t know about my family for sure, but I think they’d adapt.

Do I want to leave my bathroom? No. But if I could sell this house for serious bank I could move somewhere else and build an entire house to my specifications. I have ideas. I have stuff in my head. I should start sketching just because.

Since I won’t be traveling the world with my family… what should we do instead?

My real dream is to buy a piece of land that is zoned for multiple houses and build a main house and a bunch of smaller houses so my friends could follow me if they wanted to. Or I could find people who are local to whatever area and make connections. I’m adaptable as fuck.

I would seriously love to be responsible for essentially a whole housing development of weird houses. Because you know that my designs are going to be wacky.

And by housing development I’m thinking 5-10 houses.

But that was yesterday’s random fantasy. Who knows what will happen.

I feel less self hating today than I did for several days. That’s good.

In utero names

I called my first pregnancy The Lizard. I called my second full term pregnancy TBD. This time I want to call it Lightning. When you are hit with lightning you are so consumed with energy that sometimes you die. That’s kinda what I feel like. I am exercising more than usual. I am sleeping less than usual. (2.5 hours tonight according to my fitbit.) I feel like I’m vibrating with excess energy. I feel like I’m about to burst into flight and shoot towards the sun, the only source in the universe with more energy than me right now.

This is incredibly overwhelming.

Maybe kiddo will come a bit later than Valentine’s Day. I was curious about when Pisces starts so I googled to see the dates. I got this:

The Pisces (born February 19March 20) is known as one of the more mysterious of the zodiac signs. Pisces have a lot of feelings. I asked my friends which one of them was Pisces and one of them exclaimed, “Right here, with ALL THE FEELINGS!” so that should tell you something.

Given ALL MY FEELINGS RIGHT NOW I’m kinda wondering if this one will bake extra long to make it to the explosion of feelings sign. Given that Aquarius supposedly rejects expressions of emotions…

Tommy was a borderline Pisces. He was born at 11:58 February 18th. He just couldn’t fucking wait two more minutes. My dad was so mad. He had to pay for an extra day in the hospital because of the timing.

If my kid manages to be born on February 18th around midnight… I’m in so much fucking trouble.

drips and drabs

In an attempt to deal with my racing thoughts I’m going to leave this page up for the day. I’m going to try and never write more than a few sentences at a time for arm strain.

Do you know why I keep seeing the woo doctor? Because when I go in and stick my hand on the silly metal plate she comes back with, “By far the biggest thing to handle this time is emotional instability. The emotion that is coming up as dominant is alienation.” Shit. Ok fine. I’ll take the pills and drops. They do help.

I need to catch up on Mint. I’m freaking the fuck out. I feel like I try to get a handle on money and then, “Hey, wanna spend $6,000 repairing your kitchen?”

Do you know what I love about Mint? It is mostly a game I play with myself. Does whether I stay “in budget” in a certain random area really matter? No. At the end of the day the only part that matters is whether all of my bills are paid and there is still money in the bank. The distribution… isn’t ultimately that important.

I finally had that conversation with my trainer about boundaries. As I expected he spent a lot of the conversation looking like he was in pain. He was nice about it. He said thank you for telling him about my issues and he will work on treating me more appropriately. Can’t really get a better reaction. (He’s the sort to lecture me extensively about how it is Never Ok To Eat SubOptimal Food. Dude… there are days when I eat crap or I don’t eat. You are not the boss of my body. Don’t do that. You don’t know my story.)

I walked out in my back yard and I picked cauliflower and now I am turning it into soup. This feels mighty. Ok, I burned it a little. It was a very small quantity and took less time to cook than the standard recipe. It was… ok. Not amazing. Even with lots of asiago and pancetta.

Two friends said I should read this essay yesterday. It’s like my friends know me.

That’s yesterday