Yesterday I said that I have “never” had positive group identification. I’ve never felt like I belonged and knew everyone and they knew me. Then I spent the rest of the day rolling that around in my head. Is it true or is just how I feel right now?

The two big “what about …” that popped up were our wedding reception and my 30th birthday. Those were both large events at my house where the main draw was that people like me and/or Noah and they wanted to be there to show their love. Our wedding reception had more than one hundred people.

What the fuck can anyone expect?

The problem is the wedding reception overlapped with the last time I ever saw Anna. She came to visit me from out of state. Ostensibly to help get ready for the reception. We hadn’t seen one another for a few years. Then she got here and I found out she was a drug addict (all legal prescriptions) who was barely verbally aware of what was happening around her and her back problems (the reason for the prescriptions) made it so she couldn’t do much of any help. And she was the only help I had. And she spent 90% of her time talking about how important it was for her to be at the Harry Potter release party that weekend.

I was completely freaking out before the reception even started. It was hard getting all the work done. It was two or three people worth of work and it was 1.24 people available to work. I never relaxed during the party. I didn’t enjoy it. I spent most of the party trying not to cry.

I did enjoy when Noah and I got to read our vows in front of our friends. That felt like witnessing. But I did not have the feeling of being supported and loved and seen. It was, kinda like what I want, only not so much.

Anna and I had a horrible fight the next day and I haven’t spoken to her since. Almost seven years. I was a complete dick to her. The fight was my fault.

I told her that priorities were completely fucked. She was obsessed with buying a new iPod but she don’t have a real bed and she has had multiple back surgeries over the last few years and she was on so many pain meds that she couldn’t function. I said, “What the fuck is wrong with you that you prioritize a music player.” No one likes being told stuff like that. She couldn’t hold down a job because of pain and mental confusion from medications. She was living with her psychotic, evil, very abusive parents and all she cared about was the new Harry Potter and getting a new iPod.

I was not nice. I think it was probably a very healthy decision on her part to be done listening to me. Even if she is making bad choices, that’s not really my business and I shouldn’t be such a raging cunt.

So I didn’t walk away from my wedding reception feeling seen and important. I spent the morning beating my head on concrete and the evening crying. It was hard and draining and not a lot of fun.

Same with my 30th birthday. It was a huge party. So many people came. People do like me. I don’t know how to get past this feeling that people only like me if I perform just right because that trashes the parties for me. I was so scared I would do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, and then there would be a mass walk out because people are only here for the free food anyway.

I don’t like me very much. It is very hard for me to wrap my head around other people liking me.

So when I have this horrible feeling of alienation… I literally don’t know what someone else might do to get past this feeling. I’m trying.

Running with Blacksheep had the feeling. That was really wonderful. I do get the feeling of bonding and mattering on a one-to-one basis.

When I’m running and feeling bad about myself and I’m crying and I feel disgusting and I want to hurt myself, I think of Blacksheep singing silly songs and encouraging me. She was so fucking nice even though I was whiny and difficult and kind of a problem. She dragged me through that race.

I struggle really hard with the difference between “knowing” that people love me and feeling that people love me. The gap between those levels of existence create my problem. It is that gap that can kill me.

I went and looked for blog entries. I didn’t write about the blow up with Anna. I’m not surprised. That’s the kind of thing I can’t write about too soon after it happens. I didn’t write that much about my birthday party.

For my 30th birthday I wanted a two part party. The first part was all the lovely vanilla friends for a tea party and the second part was for a drug fueled orgy. I spent the morning before the first party began beating my head on concrete. I plastered a fake smile on my face for the tea party. I did a lot of drugs and freaked out all night anyway. Because even on heavy drugs designed to increase bonding feelings I feel like everyone standing near me is lying about liking me.

They really hate me. I’m disgusting. They are just being polite.

I keep trying because I keep hoping that this feeling will go away. There has to be some way of feeling connected with multiple people at once.

Sometimes I struggle with feeling connection with all three members of my household at once. This really is a deficient system in me. I have this hyper-focus for my feelings of attachment. I hyper-attach to one, maybe two people at once and I can’t really see or feel or experience attachment to other people. I have had to grow quite a bit. There have been periods where I’m all bond-y with the kids and I’m not nice to Noah for a while. Then things shift and Noah is on the inside and I kind of push one of the kids away for a bit (sometimes both).

How much “go play” is healthy? Unschoolers have very different tolerances on such things.

With my kids I’m pretty good (I think) at maintaining the professional engagement even if my emotional attachment comes and goes. There are days when I frankly dislike my children. Sometimes they can be raging assholes. Sometimes on those days I feel genuine empathy and I help them through the emotional bumps of life that must occur. Sometimes I hate their living breathing guts and I have to monitor my hands and my tone of voice and my facial expressions with great precision.

Just because I’m having a feeling that doesn’t mean I get to act on it. No matter how angry I am with them (for reasons or no reasons) I must control myself. My hands have to be gentle. I must not look too scary. I must project loving even when I feel none. Or at least more patience than I feel. I have to be patient. I have to be loving. I fucking picked my job. Don’t be a dick.

When I am in that space of being careful is when I feel the least attached. I don’t feel real. I don’t feel like my feelings matter. I am just there to be a support for other people having the experience they want to have.

This is the problem with group identity. I create this problem within my self as more and more people walk through the door.

I act very differently with different people. Some people think I am quiet and timid (I swear to G-d people say this to me on a regular basis–“Wow you are so quiet and so timid, it’s ok to talk”. I giggle.) No. This isn’t an environment where it is ok for me to talk. But thanks for playing. I think they say this because I stand there with my hand on my mouth to remind myself that I shouldn’t speak.

When I invite lots of people over because I want to be able to feel bonded with them it backfires. I experience horrible anxiety because I don’t know how to behave as the group size increases. I don’t know what will be ok. The things I talk about are on such a huge spectrum from mild to wild that I can’t figure out what to say. I physically hurt the whole time. My stomach is on fire and I want to cry.

I haven’t had a party that big since my 30th birthday. We’ve had much smaller parties and they’ve been a lot easier.

Our Christmas open house last year was unusually successful for my sense of emotional attachment. I had anxiety. I didn’t beat my head before the party. There were fewer people. There were manyfewer people I barely know. There was a higher percentage of people I have known for 10+ years than I usually have at parties. That was really nice. I had many moments of one-to-one bonding feeling. I didn’t ever get rid of the underlying feeling of, “If I fuck up everyone will stomp out and hate me forever” but I had moments of reprieve. I had moments of, “I am so glad to see you. Tell me how you have been.”

I did freak out about the token Asian thing. No party is perfect.

I really appreciate all of the people who continue to show up. Who like me enough to tolerate the fact that I don’t always feel like they like me, or like I physically can like them. When we get into the same room–the liking is there. In between visits it gets stored in a black hole very similar to Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. You can’t see what it is in from the outside. It seems like there is nothing of worth. Then you open it and reach inside and you magically find the feeling you need.

Oh. It’s you. I like you.

And we are off to the race horse.

Why do the group events with the home school group not count? Because they don’t know me very well and I have to be on really careful “work level” behavior at all times. Sure, L reads. I am pretty sure she is the only one in the group. I make other people uncomfortable and being near me is visible work. Being there isn’t about me anyway.

Why didn’t the reception count? It should have. By every criterion I’m an asshole for not thinking that my wedding reception counted as a time when many people demonstrated that they love and see me at the same time.

I don’t know. I don’t know why I feel so dead inside. I don’t know why I can’t feel that lots of people love me. I don’t know why I can only feel love from a small number of people before I default to absolute certainly that now that there is sufficient mass everyone is about to hate me. It’s fucking inconvenient.

I have a bad habit of acting like just because I believe I am unlovable that everyone agrees with me.

The bdsm community seems like it should have presented such a feeling, at least at some point. But I only really talked about myself to a few people. Only a few rare women actually knew much about my life. And my Owner was always clear that he was happier having my background be a closed book. He didn’t want to know what made me who I was or how I got to where I was.

So no, I didn’t feel seen or important or loved for me.

Noah has been such a dramatic force in my life. He was the very first person who ever wanted to know all my stories. Sometimes it feels like he gave me permission to live. My writing has gotten steadily more explicit and focused since I’ve known him. He wants to understand me. That means I have to figure out how to explain me.

When I went to Camp Everytown as a teacher and I had to publicly (though mostly silently) reveal all those details about my life to a large group of people… I ended up getting in a fight because the “bisexual” kids told me I was a disgusting bigot for describing myself as a queer. The other adults just about asked me to leave the event because I wasn’t keeping it together as a supportive adult well enough. I was not welcome to come back in later years so that I could adjust to the experience of having that many details of my life get revealed.

I’m different. Legitimately. Everyone is a special snowflake, yes I know. Even with weird people I’m weird.

I don’t feel seen very often. I feel like people see what they want to see. Someone who is more like them and probably softened. I try to be ok with that. I know that I see other people as being far sharper than they think they are. We like to see ourselves in others.

Yesterday we party hopped. A little kid birthday then a grown up birthday with some kids at the party. At the end of a very long day (the kids and I were out for a little over nine hours) there was a little issue with the baby at the party being grabby.

I happened to walk outside just in time to see the baby grab Calli’s face and pinch really hard. Calli screamed and cried. Then the baby did it again while I was walking over. I was nervous Calli would knock her block off.

I sat down and pulled her into my lap. She told me what happened and she told me how it felt and she told me about her feelings. I repeated all of it back to her and sympathized. Yup. It happened. Yup, it hurt a lot. Yup, you are sad. Would you like a hug?

Calli talked to the baby and asked for an apology. She said she accepted it after it was offered.

Then the baby squeezed Shanna’s arm. And around we go.

At this point I decided that it was time to go home. It was after seven and nearly bedtime and both of my kids are crying and not calming down and… time to go home.

Calli screamed the whole way home and the whole time while getting ready for bed. She didn’t want to go to bed. She didn’t want to do anything. So I went to bed with her. And I sat there and I talked to her about how proud I was of her behavior that day.

She calmed right down. She told me all about how “I showed the baby how to solve a problem. RULE NUMBER ONE: NO HITTING. Rule number two: use your words when you have a problem. Rule number three: tell people how they should touch you. RULE NUMBER FOUR: NO HITTING Rule number sixteen: use your words.” She went on for a bit. Then she calmed down and settled close to cuddle with me and things went better.

I do actually think I am pretty good at my job. I like them so much and they are worth the effort I put into this.

What is it that I need in order to feel connected? I don’t know.

To be clear, I don’t think Noah deserves the ambient rage I sometimes want to direct at him. Even if he is sometimes infuriating (he is) he doesn’t do anything awful. He’s not horrible. He’s just…standing in a complex place.

I worry very much about my ability to maintain control over myself. I fly into rages. I am violent. I am really pretty awful. I have managed to successfully keep that mostly away from my kids and Noah. But I fuck up sometimes. My self-recriminations and regret don’t mean shit.

I’m scared that at some point the only way to ensure that I don’t fuck up in ways I can’t get back is to leave. Which is a fuck up of its own that I can’t take back.

It is hard when I feel like I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve the civility or the kindness or the love.

In other news, the youngun’ from the neighborhood I recently recruited has an ambitious friend. He asked to come onboard for training and further work. We had a lovely twenty minute conversation about negotiation and initiation and money. For the first few visits I’m going to pay the one person rate. During this period the tweens (cause they are both 12–they aren’t even teenagers yet) will be looking around the house for shit they can do. Then we will write up a price list.

I told them that I have learned that I am an entitled bitch when it comes to paying people for their time. If I’m paying you… I need my life to be easier. If my life isn’t easier I’m not willing to pay for it. If my life gets way easier I’m willing to pay and pay and pay.

We talked about how, “If I have to keep coming up with stuff for you to do so you can earn money…. does that make my life easier? Sorta. Maybe. Not that much. You won’t get that much money for that.”

I told them both that they need to save up and take CPR and maybe 1st responder classes. I told them that doing so will jack up their hourly rate a lot. They both perked up at that. “Really?” “Yup.”

I told them that if they want to sit on the couch quietly and watch my kids play I will pay them a maximum of $5/hour. I am paying you to stimulate my children. Yes it is work. Very hard work. That’s why I’m willing to pay you to do it sometimes.

I’m hoping to develop a wider shallower net of support. If each kid can handle doing 3-5 hours/week then between multiple kids I can figure something out.

All you can do is keep trying.

My kids asked a friend if they can adopt her as an auntie last night. She asked what that entailed. I laughed. The role currently has an extremely broad application. It means “adult I will see again during my childhood”. Not necessarily often. Sometimes mostly you will see them over Skype. But these are the people who love you and think about you.

My kids have a much gentler application of “chosen family” than I do. I’m very glad for them. I’m glad they feel so much love. I wish that I had similar feelings. It isn’t the fault of any of my friends that I don’t.

Pam told me that I expect a lot of my BFFs. Yup. I really do. I’m not very fair towards whoever is currently filling that role in my head. Apparently I take the “forever” part very loosely. As life has changed I’ve had different people be closest. I hope that doesn’t devalue the relationships I have.

I expect a lot of the people I pull in closest. My expectations are not really attainable. They aren’t really healthy. I know. I want someone who wants to be my mother and my sister all in one. And I don’t really know anyone who actually has the spoons for that. So I mourn and mourn and mourn. And it isn’t anyones fault. Not mine. Not any of the poor women I get mad at for failing to meet what I need.

They can’t. And it isn’t reasonable or fair to ask it of them. I’m a fucking asshole for acting like anyone owes me that.

To be fair. I don’t think anyone owes me anything. I said this is what I need. It hurts and it sucks and it isn’t fair to anyone. It sucks that I have this huge hole in my heart where my mother and sister should be. It sucks that I am not good at containing the grief and it spills out onto wanting more than I can have from other people.

Part of what makes this so hard is: the people I pick for BFFs are people who want to be able to help me feel whole. They throw everything they have at me. And I walk away crying because it isn’t enough. And everyone feels like shit. It isn’t fair to anyone involved. It is so fucking hard. It feels like if I could just stop being an asshole then everything would be fine.

I don’t know how to turn off this need. It feels like poison.

I told Noah this morning that he is wrong about blame. He thinks it is wasting a lot of space in my brain. I think that blame is very helpful to me. When I feel overwhelming rage towards Noah the fact that I rationally know and fully believe that he is not to blame for my emotions is the reason that I can have the level of control that I have. If I stopped considering whether or not he is to blame I would lose the frame for keeping him out of the blast radius. He kind of nodded.

Being crazy sucks. Having emotions this strong sucks. Learning to control your body after a lifetime of being very violent sucks.

The down side to the blame is if I ever run into my sister and she starts something I may beat her unconscious because there is a lot of rage over a lot of years and I have siphoned it off of other people onto her into a way that isn’t so fair.

There are downsides to everything. I kind of wish she would move far away: Kentucky might be ok. (We have a cousin there. She could join family.)

It doesn’t really matter how much I despise myself for having the emotional process I have, that doesn’t change it or make it better. Accepting that I have it and learning to work around the current system is the only effective way to move towards change I have ever found.

For every issue I have with Noah I’m aware that I can spend multiple weeks with him nearly 24/7 and we only have mild intellectual arguments. That’s not really how it works with other people. Noah is willing to work around my temperamental behavior in a way that strikes me as potentially problematic.

He tells me when I’m going too far. He has gotten me to stop hitting people. He has probably evoked most of the most-positive changes in my behavior this lifetime. He has boundaries and he defends them.

But he’s willing to sit down and learn about all of my weird little quirks. He’s willing to try things and discard them and then try them again when I ask. He works so hard to make sure I like being with him.

It is hard staying when I feel so unworthy. I deserve a dirty, non-working drug addict who will beat me. But not when I say “pretty please”. That would be sick.

Wandering off for quiet time before it is gone.

Today I get to put together small sheds. I need somewhere for bicycles to be put so they do not get destroyed by weather damage and it just isn’t going to work in the house. So, sheds. Our spiffy new mother’s helper is coming over today for her first trial. Cross your fingers.

One of the shed things is for tools. So that kids can store their tools in a protected device (it’s small–more a box than a shed) outside of my bloody pantry. The pantry is mine. Mine. MINE! I will not share it with lots of children storing their tools. No, ma’am. Get out. So. I have to have another place to send them to and I will get that done today. (“I will get that done today” always contains an implicit “I hope” tagged on.)

I think I should also build a containment corral for spare lumber bits next to the concrete slab and toss all the little pieces in there so kids can find them without going into the side yard. Which is kind of a health hazard. Err, I’m not explaining why. But it’s best for kids to not go over there. (The side yard that is fenced off. Not the one that is commonly walked upon obviously.)

I have always been made happy by access to wood I can just play with. I’m trying to provide that experience to kids. I’m asked what I will “call the days” because one of our organizer moms loves catchy names for activities.

I said “Building Day.” She did not look impressed. Ha. I’m not so good at catchy titles.

I had a good therapy session yesterday. She thinks I’m doing pretty well. It is important to keep in mind that she probably on some level compares me to other patients. I happen to know at least four of her other patients. No wonder she thinks I’m doing so well.

Incest and repeated early trauma have serious lifelong impact. That I can cry and have my feelings and then get up and get moving and do something else… is a big deal. I need to give myself credit for accomplishing something hard. Yes, my emotions are big. That happens after formative trauma. I’m not much more emotionally advanced than a lot of preschoolers. That is how trauma works. You get stuck in places.

I’m not perfect. I do things wrong all the time. I make so many mistakes. I am too loud. I am too harsh.

But I do make improvements. There is clear growth. I have changed. I have grown up.

Mostly this is because I have a lot of very good people in my life who have acted as mirrors and models and they have helped me. I am not a self-made woman. I am the product of a lot of time and effort on the part of professional therapists, teachers, friends, and my family.

This network didn’t come easy. It was slowly and painfully constructed over many years. Well, not all of it was painful. But it has been luck and privilege as much as anything.

My therapy was paid for by the state of California for many years. That’s a privilege that doesn’t get offered to every victim. You have to enter into the court system and be officially recognized as a victim of violent crime. Many people are rebuffed from prosecuting and they are never offered services. I’m lucky.

Sometimes it is overwhelming to think about just how much luck has come together to create me. I tend to inspire strong reactions from people–good and bad. Over time I have learned how to protect myself from a lot of the bad, but it’s been complicated. I am very lucky that I manage to inspire love in people, even though I’m a pain in the ass. That doesn’t work out for everyone.

I have spent the last decade of my life consciously spinning a wide web. I am very pleased with what and whom I have encountered.

My editor gave me a little feedback. “More logic issues than I expected. You free associate a lot between different topics and I’m having to build a lot of bridges.”

Oh dear woman. That is why I am paying you. I know I have logical issues and that sometimes it is hard for people to understand the leaps I make. I am entirely blind to why that is so. I know what I know. I don’t know what other people don’t know.

So I totally believe you that you are having to do work to make this more clear, especially for a younger audience. If you believe your original estimation of work was low, feel free to raise what you expect me to pay.

I understand that being difficult comes with cost.

I want to be less difficult. And I don’t always know how to go about that. Paying for help usually ensures that you have more control over the size and shape of help you get. I am so fucking grateful for being able to pay for help at this stage of my life. That’s privilege.

My life is so fucking awesome.

Oh, I finally ordered the $10 part that will allow me to install the punching bag appropriately without doing damage to the ceiling joists. I procrastinate on things. I have needed to do this for over a year.

The garage is a very different shape than it was. The swing is gone. The furniture moved and it isn’t currently safe. But I have three kid swings and two grown-up sized chair/swings outside so I don’t feel too guilty.

I didn’t take the overhead pieces down though. I keep thinking about self suspension. If I’m not going to play with anyone other than Noah ever again I had best replace my rope kit and teach him how to do it. I can show him how I like it done as many times as necessary. Ha. I have very different patience now than I did when we started dating.

I have been very bad at teaching Noah bdsm stuff. I have kind of sort of knocked him with a stick towards learning on other people. But we don’t do that now. So uhm, maybe I’d best start asserting my preferences a bit more.

Not that we have time for such shenanigans. I did put a lock on the door.

I’m not sure if I will ever be able to do any sort of bdsm with my kids in the house. Somehow I doubt it. Even with a lock. Even if a grown up is with them distracting them. I’m not sure I want to be that kind of person that close to them.

I don’t think I will stop being that kind of person. I’m not sure I want to try. Noah is not going to object real hard. He’s a patient guy and he likes me a lot and if this would result in more sex for him, uhm that’s a no-brainer. The problem has never been on Noah’s end. I have not historically been good at teaching Noah to do what I want. I think I need to get better.

Mostly he just tries shit and pays attention to my reaction and discards options when I blow up at him. I won the husband lottery. I don’t deserve him. I’m keeping him anyway.

I told the kids we would go over to Aqua Adventure early enough to have lunch today. They beg for food every time we go. They are ecstatic. I’ll only do it once or twice this summer. It’s over priced and not that high on the quality scale. It means I won’t have to think about food after building the sheds.

I’m not very good at doing All The Things when that includes making food. Making food is what will send me over the edge into being hysterical and crying and sometimes screaming… for the stupidest questions. I just… I flip out if someone interrupts my concentration when I am trying to prepare food while I am tired and hungry.

So building in ways to avoid that means that we have a better day. I feel very grateful that I am rich enough that I can just eat out when it will make the day better. That has not always been true in my life and I appreciate it so much.

I feel very lucky that I get to shape my days with very few limitations. My financial restrictions are mostly self-imposed. If I want something I can have it. I don’t have to go to a job so I don’t have very many time restrictions. I create all the ones I have.

I can’t drink carbonation on a regular basis. (I do have rare sodas. God I miss them.) It causes a lot of pain.

Other than that… our food restrictions are entirely preference based and cost and allergies are not a factor. I am very lucky. That does not happen for everyone.

I feel really good about the fact that I’m really sore right now because I have been exercising so much this summer. Someone at the park said, “Well you are doing multiple sports in a day, right?” and I stopped cold and stared at her.

Holy shit. I’m doing multiple sports in a day.

I hadn’t thought about it that way before.

Uhm, is it ok if I kind of strut like a peacock for a few minutes? That’s… a change in self perception. Whoa. Me? Sports? Multiple? Wha?

I’m not saying I’m good. Or fast.

But is that really the point? Does everyone have to be the Best in order to be allowed to exist?

Not so much. I’m getting off my ass and doing things instead of watching other people do things.

I don’t watch sports but I do them. I don’t watch cooking shows but I cook and bake. I don’t watch home improvement shows but I do a lot of home improvement.

Today I feel like I am doing what I want to be doing. I am the person I want to be. I am very lucky that I get to make the choices I get to make that land me in this position. Other people have different options and different goals and different potential. I don’t need to try hard to be like them.

Even if I use them as a model. I’m very capable of taking a tiny thread out of a warp and using just that to follow. I don’t need the whole tapestry. That’s not for me. Just this little color here. Surely you won’t notice one thread being borrowed.

It is ok for me to do the things I want to do. I am not a bad person. Truly.

I want to go run. Bye.

Since the kids were born I have been mostly avoiding men. I have only been alone with them a handful of times in the past six years. I just… don’t. Men are more complicated than women in a variety of ways.

Only in the past few weeks I’ve been alone with a man more than once. I’m having feelings about this. One of the men I’ve spent time with lately came into my life during my last hunting period. He was prey and I was reeling him in when the monogamy standard slammed into place. Now he’s becoming a friend. (I’d be very cool with pimping him out to my friends–he’s a really nice guy so far.) But when I hang out with him there’s a little tension there. Like I feel around interesting people.

And when I went dancing this weekend one of Noah’s male friends asked to come along. I was surprised. I’ve barely been in a crowded room with this guy let alone riding in a car with him alone. Luckily the car ride was the only alone time. Luckily? What was I going to do to him?

I don’t know. But being around men is always fraught. I of course have no idea what they are thinking or feeling. But being around men makes me want to have sex. That’s just how I make friends. Only I can’t any more. It’s weird. I don’t allow myself to get into full fledged fantasies at this point. I don’t theorize the best approach. But there are noticeable signs in my body. Controlling my physical actions is conscious.

I default into seductive physical mannerisms unconsciously. Being “friendly” but not too friendly takes conscious effort. I’m going through the effort. Maybe some day it will even feel natural.

For now I miss falling into bed with everyone. I miss the adrenaline and excitement and bonding. I miss that oxytocin rush. Yes, I bond with Noah but it’s different. It isn’t new and exciting. I like Noah. He’s still my favorite.

My shrink doesn’t seem to think that monogamy is a necessary or useful goal for me. Which I have feelings about.

I think I kind of have to prove to myself that I am physically capable of keeping it in my pants. It takes effort. There are so many interesting people in the world. It’s funny how it is easier to notice that women are attractive and that I’d be happy to have sex with them but I have less physical urge to pounce. Women are much harder to approach and I have a much lower success rate.

If I had been more successful in my early efforts with girls I kind of wonder if I would be so male focused. I like girls. I like girls a lot. Not so many are willing to let me touch their sticky bits. Boys have lower standards. So I respond to them more quickly.

I am not assuming that either of the men I spent alone time with were feeling tension. I’m talking about my experience. Given how often I have been turned down for sex I feel like I am not the best judge of someone else’s interest or not. I have to just ask and wait for the yes or no.

So when I’m around interesting men I want to ask. I want to pretty fiercely. I was totally appropriate.

One of the guys asked if I wanted to go running with him and his dog. He’s happy to slow down for me. It would be impetus for me to work on speed. He regularly runs in the 9 min/mile range. The fastest I’ve consistently managed is in the 11 min/mile range. I would kind of like to have the ability to go faster. It just takes practice. I’m competitive and I have a very hard time with feeling like I’m crippling other people with my lack of ability. I tend to progress very quickly when I start trying to catch up to someone.

But we are in a range of physical fitness I’ve never dreamed of before. I’m intimidated and intrigued at the same time.

I have also spent time with another male friend in the past few months. But he is an older friend. Also a former play partner. The tension is there but diffused. How to explain it. We both like one another and if it were ok we would play more. But since it isn’t ok we don’t have that new-shiny-burning-to-try-a-new-toy feeling. It’s more yes, “Ah yes. I remember you and your canes. Mmmmm canes. Tell them hello for me!” Much more civilized feeling.

New-shiny is harder to resist. I don’t know how good that is yet. I like knowing.

Dancing was interesting. Three of us chicks and the dude friend. It was like junior high dancing where you are mostly all in a group circle but occasionally there is barely flirty interactions. Mostly the flirty interactions happen when someone outside the group makes interest known so we pull into the circle and make it fucking clear that this bitch is taken. It’s rather fun. I pretty much always get to do the dominant ownership grab. I walked out of that club full of adrenaline. Noah totally got jumped.

One random woman grabbed my ass by mistake. I got angry. Her male companion told me it was ok because it was a mistake. I said it wasn’t ok and he’s lucky I didn’t hit someone. There was also a party of drunken women falling on me for a while. When I locked my elbow behind me and bent my knees such that when anyone fell on me they got a very sharp jab they left me alone. I heard multiple “OW!” exclamations and I felt savage glee.

I actually thought the music mostly sucked. It was good enough to dance to after a while but I wasn’t impressed. Next time we will try a different location.

If I can go dancing and the music is that bad and I have that much fun… it must be the company. Pretty much everyone walked out saying, “When can we go again?” At least that is what all the moms said.

I had a 2-3 hour nap before I went and I slept 3-ish hours when I got home. Then I had a very full Sunday full of physical chores I’ve been putting off.

My house is almost clean again. My house hasn’t been fully clean since the last time I invited people over. Several projects have been exploding all over me in obnoxious and messy ways. Whine whine whine. Yesterday, almost as some karmic payback for being allowed to have fun I got a ton of cleaning done.

Today during my babysitting time I am going to work on the recommended reading list. I don’t know that I will finish it but I will get it started. Mostly finished.

Perfection is the enemy of the good. Am I remembering that right? Internet says sure.

Just start. Just do it.

This morning one of my neighbors is coming over to look at my collection of trellis options that I’m not using. She got a blackberry bush and she stuck it in the center of her yard with a tomato cage. Oh man. That’s some excitement waiting to happen. I have a few things that work well for spreading the vines well so you can get more fruit without it spreading on the ground.

I nearly accosted one of the neighborhood kids yesterday. The kid who wore all the clothes my kids inherited. I yelled at her, “Hey, is there any chance you want a job?” She looked shocked. Turns out she’s only twelve so no wonder she was surprised.

She and I talked and negotiated for over an hour. I talked to both of her parents. They apparently live across the street from one another, which seems very useful for split custody. Her mom, of course, already knows me. We’ve talked a fair bit over the years.

She’s not ready to be a babysitter but she’s interested in mother’s helper work. I told her that we could start with two, two-hour sessions a week and see if we like it. I offered her a starting rate of $5/hour with the idea that she would slowly increase up to $10/hour when she’s ready for real babysitting. I told her that part of the process for getting ready for babysitting is saving up money for a CPR class. Her eyes went wide but she nodded.

Her mother is emphatic that she doesn’t want to be involved in this process. Both of her parents seem kind of afraid of teaching her responsibility steps. I’ve learned a fair bit from my previous hiring-people experiences.

This one is a kid. I’m finding a twelve year old.

A twelve year old kid who has a living situation I’m going to have feelings about. I can tell. But I can’t write about it.

My other neighbor had a brilliant suggestion for Shanna’s sales stand and he offered to do manual labor to build it with me. I laughed at him and told him he doesn’t have time. He grinned and looked sheepish and said it was probably true. He is massively overbooked. He’s a giver. He volunteers to help a lot of people. He sounds like a lot of people I know. So I’m not going to let him help, but he did give great advice. I’m grateful.

I am pretty sure my next door neighbor is moving. Would one of my friends like to move in next door? I can bat my eye lashes at you. I can cook you dinner and share vegetables with you and grow things in your yard that are nice to look at and to eat. (I only offered dinner once although it would probably happen more than that over time. Don’t expect every night or anything.)

Sometimes I am perplexed by the mixture of introvert and extrovert that I am. I clearly gain energy by going out and feeling exciting. I don’t even have to get laid. That’s a false equivalency in my brain. I don’t require anonymous sex to have fun. Clearly. But being around people can be very hard for me and I require a lot of time alone so that I don’t get bitchy and mean and explosively angry over the stupidest things.

My shrink tells me that the Eastern world has a lot more respect for that kind of balance. She has spent some time living in Thailand so of course she considers herself an expert. I always feel a little weird about white people “explaining” other cultures. It always comes from a place of judgment and evaluation in comparison with the culture of origin.

Pam mocks herself for being self absorbed, but one of the things I like about her is that she spends a lot of time talking about herself and her family and how things work and why. She doesn’t spend as much time analyzing Australians, even though she lived there for a while. She explains what she knows. She talks about the differences she experienced. But she doesn’t try to …. what’s the word… mystify them? She treats them like differences in people.

I feel weird when white people tell me, “Eastern cultures understand alone time versus social time better than Western cultures.” It makes me feel squiggly in my insides. What the fuck does that mean? It feels like fetishization.

The East and the West are big places. I hesitate to compare them except to say one is on the east side and one is on the west side. I mean, really… otherwise they vary so dramatically within themselves that you can’t talk about them that way.

I understand why white/Western thought wants to have the convenience of us and them but everyone always seems to want to leave South America out of that conversation. We can’t just have East/West conversations unless we ignore Africa. In those conversations we are saying only the Eurasian continent matters anyway.

Err, no.

So… I’m not sure I need to fetishize “Eastern cultures” in order to figure out alone time and public life balance. I’m pretty sure this problem is more universal than that.

Today, right in this minute, I feel ok about the fact that life has ups and downs. For the rest of my life this is going to be the most golden era. The work I want will be hard. Right now, with my kids I get to have the most safety and security and ease I’ve ever had.

Ok, maybe it will get better but I doubt it. Things will change. I will miss my children terribly when they are grown and not with me as much. I am so very spoiled by their daily company now. I like them so much. We have so much fun.

I can’t go back and change my past. All I can do is make new memories full of joy.

What do I wish I had known when I was twelve?

I’m going to have the opportunity over and over to help other people have a different journey. That thought makes me cry. I feel really glad right now that I didn’t die. There is something I can do. It is important. It doesn’t have to fit into the lives of everyone in the whole world.

That’s ok. I don’t need to be that big. I don’t have that much to give.

You have to know your limits. Otherwise you will make promises you can’t keep. Then you let people down.

I like my neighborhood. I like my friends. I feel very lucky. I have, if anything, too many wonderful options.

I spent seven hours with friends yesterday morning. Six of them cleaning. The basement came a long way. I think it will take one more days to do the rough and ready reorganizing on the second half of the basement AND cleaning up the tool bench. We just did the big rough and ready work today. Their entire garage area is packed to the roof with stuff that is going. I took a van load away with me.

I think that the cleaning/sorting/organizing/labeling part that we will have to do for every box, bag, and bucket in the space will take about twenty hours. I always feel a little cynical when people are so excited that we got all the big stuff moved and took out so much trash!

Ha. It’s going to get a lot harder before we are done. This is the bitchy, evil part. (insert evil cackle) I once spent a summer sorting hardware. Like nails and screws and washers and bolts. I worked in theatre during college. During every strike after a play people dropped all the hardware into a box. No one had sorted the box in many many years. Probably more than a decade. There was almost eighty pounds of hardware. My boss at the time (who is still a friend) says that since they have thrown them away. No one will ever be willing to go through that again. My hands were ripped to shreds by the end of the summer.

I find this kind of work stimulating, and deeply satisfying. Order Muppet for the win. So I’m not scared of doing this. But it will take about twenty hours. We will break it up. I won’t do all of it on my own. We put in 18 (wo)man hours today. I think being about halfway through the work is awesome. That’s something to be proud of when you have had a hard time dealing with this mess for many years.

I get the cool lumber. Some of them will be used in projects very soon. I think it is funny how much of a scavenger I am given how hostile I am to having too much stuff around.

I’ll use it! And soon!

I’m going to bring kids to my house and give them hand tools and wood. It will be awesome.

I had a great time cleaning. I ascribe this partially to being heavily medicated. I mixed my drugs for once. Pot, caffeine, and ibuprofen. It was awesome. (I didn’t drive stoned. But I was stoned in the middle there. By the end I was getting twitchy from the medication fade.) Mostly we bopped along to Ke$ha and had silly grown up conversation in between slaving away. We were a little crew. Several times I was really bossy bordering on rude but I kept it to log-jam moments and they both said it was ok.

“No go deal with ___. No don’t tell me the history. I don’t care. Just move it.”

So I guess that’s not over the line.

On the other side of that, when I come back to sort I do want to hear the history. Because hearing the history is what helps me sort the keeping stuff. The history does not help me in sorting “go” from “stay”. It’s just a distraction.

But was super fun. I’m glad I went. I am also glad I decided to *not* come back today. I’m fucking tired. And I’m supposed to go dancing tonight. I predict a nap in my near future.

Tonight I’ll be at the DNA Lounge if anyone wants to come see me. If I know any people who go out at night. Caffeine, oh my dear dear friend. And I will have to lay off the pot this afternoon even if I am bitchy. Or I’ll fall asleep.

Later this evening we are having dinner with my friend and his family. Then I go out. I should also find time to run four miles today. Maybe when I finish writing. Then I can come home and take a nap.

Yesterday’s party was a little weird. It was a high school reunion on accident. It makes sense. The school isn’t that far away physically. I’m not surprised that some of stayed close by. There was also a huge college contingent for Noah. One key host is the reason for the overlap. He’s in my first book. He’s the only person who gets a pseudonym. Preserving this ongoing friendship may be one of the reasons why. He committed a crime. And he would be easy to trace from the book. So I made it at least a little harder.

Mostly I don’t try to protect people from the consequences of their actions. In that case… I totally initiated everything and I like him so much and I know what his life has done. He’s not a pedophile and he’s not a serial rapist. It’s ok that he got seduced by someone too young. Even if it was illegal.

Man I’m a two faced son of a bitch on the legality and illegality of actions.

Anyway. I like this man a lot. I like his wife. I like their new son. I had a great time. I got to see lots of people I’ve known for a long time. It is hard hearing about difficulties in friends lives. I hope I listened respectfully. I have no answers. Life is hard sometimes.

I’m always willing to listen.

The kids had a blast. My kids are developing multiple distinct occasionally overlapping friends circles. I feel good about that. They can play with anyone. I like watching them.

Now that our kids aren’t babies we parents stand together and go, “I try not to hover. But they are doing ___!” And compatriots say, “Stay strong!” “Let them fuck up!”

It’s hilarious and wonderful.

I like this side of my friends. Seeing them as parents changes them quite a bit.

Really I’m just enjoying the passage of time. No one stays down forever. No one is all bad. No one is all good. Cycles.

When you’re going through hell, keep on moving. Don’t slow down and you might get out before the Devil knows you are there.

I wonder what that really means. When you live in shitty neighborhoods, stay at home and hide and read and avoid all the bad influences around you?

I don’t know. But it’s time for today to start.

So I did some crying. Not as much as usual. When I came out to do my sob fest in the garage at 1am, freaking Pam was STILL AWAKE so we talked until 4:30 instead of me crying the whole time. It was good to talk to her.

I still brace myself for her disapproval after almost everything I say. Even though we’ve been close friends for 17 years. I’m still afraid that this harsh, angry comment will be the straw that breaks the camels back. (I’m not being harsh/angry at/about her. Just in the same room. About other situations.) I’m worried that I will “run out of chances”.

I’m really bad about having people run out of chances when they didn’t know they were using them up. I’m like everyone else. I’m an asshole too.

I have trouble believing that it is ok for me to have a hard time with other people and express that I’m having a hard time in my house where they can’t hear me. I’m not talking shit behind their back, I’m having feelings about them. I don’t call up a list of people to shit talk. I don’t write out diatribes about how awful people are for not being convenient for me.

I stay in my house and I talk to my husband or a small number of very close friends who come visit. I don’t trash talk people. I raise my voice and say I’m so mad. I say I feel used or rejected or unloved.

I stomp my feet and I cry. Sometimes I kind of shriek/yell. I don’t do it AT people. Sometimes other people are in the room but mostly not. I try not to do it in front of the kids very much.

My kids already know that when I’m really angry–when it is bad I will stand very still and clench my fists and start crying. I can’t talk. I can’t yell. When I’m THAT mad… I have to just breathe and cry until some of the edge is taken off.

It isn’t anyone else’s fault that I have such strong emotional reactions at this stage in my life. Arguably it is the fault of my early childhood caregivers or my abusers, but really that’s kind of irrelevant now.

I’m responsible for my actions. Only me. Only me.

Part of the problem is I feel so ashamed of myself for wanting things from people that they can’t give me. For wanting too much attention or affection or help. I feel like I am still a dirty unwanted kid. And I react like it. Even though it isn’t fair of me.

The last two days I’ve been an asshole with the kids. Even on fairly no-big-deal stuff my voice is too loud. I sound really harsh. I keep telling the kids that I’m sorry I sound so angry–it isn’t their fault. I’m having big feelings and I’m sorry I’m not more in control of my mouth.

I feel so ashamed. I’m not mad at my kids. Even though Shanna is dumping salt all over the floor. Whatever. Clean it up. It doesn’t need shouting.

But I shouted. I cut myself off. I tried again. But I feel like a fucking pathetic loser for screwing up so much. My kids deserve so much better than I am. I’m so sorry.

I am all that I am. I’m trying. I’m working as hard as I can. I’m straining as hard as I can. I’m so sorry that I sound mean sometimes. You never ever deserve me being mean to you. Ever. Never. That’s just not how the world works. I’m sorry that sometimes I am an asshole when you don’t deserve it.

To be fair, when my kids lash out at me inappropriately, they apologize. I’m not sure this is a good cycle though. I don’t know. I don’t know if I am good enough.

We don’t call names. We don’t put people don’t. We aren’t denigrating. But sometimes I am way too fucking loud when I say “Shanna. Stop dumping salt on the floor.” And I growl. I sound like a fucking asshole.

I know that I don’t cross the line into what is technically termed “abuse”. But I don’t really want to be technically correct and wrong in spirit.

Today I was a nice mom. I helped Calli pick up the toys in the play room (it’s a big job for a three year old alone–Pam helped her with the living room) and she can have the iPad for a bit. The battery was only at 50% when she gets it so she can have it till it dies.

I think that after lunch we are going to walk to our neighbor’s house. A different neighbor than the one we visited this morning after signing up for another round of Hindi class. This one has teenage daughters. I’m going to walk right over and say, “Lovely ladies. Would you like a job?” I think I need to look around my neighborhood a bit more.

Ideally I would like to have four or five babysitters. In my perfect world I will find an Indian grandmother who is happy to babysit once or twice a month. I’d like to have three or four teenagers to call.

If I want to be supportive of my friends and their health I have to pick up and move on from the set back of losing the childcare trade. I like the mom a lot. I love the kids. I don’t want to lose the connection. My cat won’t live 15 more years. Things will work out down the road.

But I’m going to have to find the energy to go out and hunt for connections. And right this minute that feels so hard and so scary.

I’m struggling with the GU problem. It isn’t that I have a dearth of wonderful, amazing people in my life. It is that my friends are Geographically Undesirable. I used to tell people that I would love to date them only they were GU. It was one of the primary ways I disqualified people.

I don’t love the commuter lifestyle. And I talk about that. So it makes for interesting tension with my friends. On one hand, they’d like to invite me to things. On the other hand they don’t want to impose driving on me. Dilemma.

I ain’t the only one who would prefer to not-ask over being rejected.

Then we run into the lesbian sheep problem. WHY DIDN’T YOU SEE ME AGGRESSIVELY STANDING STILL NEXT TO YOU. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO JUMP ME ALREADY?!

I have a really fucking hard time inviting myself over to peoples houses. Seriously, do you not understand how difficult it is for me to even call someone let alone say, “Hey why don’t you invite me over for dinner?”

I don’t ask people over more because fear of rejection has me waking up at midnight to cry. Even though I frequently get positive responses.

I get a lot of rejection.

I treat inviting people over very similarly to how I used to treat hunting. Ask enough people and someone will say yes.

People say no for lots of reasons. Most of them aren’t about me. Being told no still hurts really bad.

I like the people who invite themselves over. Those are my favorites. I do have to rarely say “This date won’t work can we do x instead?” and once in a blue moon I flat say no. But… I think it has happened twice since I’ve lived in this house. So eight years.

For all that I’m ok with conflict, and people really think of me as a pro-conflict person with a lot of boundaries, … I don’t say no. I want relationships and I want people so much that I ache with the desire for connection a lot of the time.

My kids are awesome and wonderful and great. The way they love me is healing and important and really soothing. But my kids see only a very small fraction of me. And it needs to stay that way for many many more years. Decades.

That hurts so fucking bad sometimes that I feel like I am choking.

I feel like having a relationship with my kids is giving me a space where I have to learn the kinds of boundaries that “should” exist in polite society because I care so much about the stakes.

But I miss the over-sharing I used to do. (Writing is both more and less revealing. But I don’t get much of a sense of bonding or connecting from spewing my whiny shit on the internet.)

Except for once in a while. Like when Pam will come over and talk for half an hour or more about her perceptions and thoughts while reading my blog. That right there, that’s my fucking happy place.

It has only happened a couple of times. It’s not like I demand that she spend lots of time talking about me every time she visits or anything.

It is very rare for people to talk to me about my writing. Mostly people will ignore it entirely or make oblique references as if it is some giant secret that Shouldn’t Be Discussed. It’s kind of weird sometimes.

Have you noticed the link in the bottom of every email I send? I’m not really “in the closet”.

But I get that very few people write this way and figuring out what to fucking say is kind of weird. And I have a habit of biting peoples heads off. So it’s really my own damn fault.

Like everything else.

And it comes full circle. But I’m crying at a slower rate. That’s good.

Today I learned that we are ten days away from the birthday of one of our crusty old man neighbors. Calli told him, “I want to be invited to your party!”

He said, “I don’t think I’m having one. I’d be surprised if I even got a cake.”

So of course Calli replied, “Oh! Then you need cupcakes! We will make them! We will have a party and it will be wonderful!” Then she danced around him like a little fairy. It was so cute he almost melted. Apparently all his grandbabies are far far away and he rarely sees them.

Ah, no wonder he likes us so much. I thought they were closer than that. My mistake.

So apparently I get to make cupcakes soon. We’ll probably make a picnic and invite him and his lovely bride to enjoy some time on the front lawn with us. (He still always calls her his bride. It’s adorable times a million.)

Just because people have a hard time meeting my needs, that doesn’t mean that they don’t care or that I’m not loved or that there are no people in the world available for relationships.

I suppose tired is better than sad and that is where I’m headed at a quick trot.

Ladies are dropping like flies from the trip out dancing. There is already noise about just not going.

Man I feel whiny and disappointed today. I get why they are making the choice. I don’t think they are wrong. I don’t think they are rejecting me. They have very busy lives and this isn’t shit they do. It doesn’t fit.

I get it.

Waaa. Waaa. Waaaaaaaaa. The Waaaambulance is coming to get me. Oh no!

I am like 80% satisfied with the door to the kitchen. I was tired of baking in the sun so I just stopped after a while. The geese could use more accent coloring but I wasn’t up for dealing with getting out a bunch of different paints again. It was too hot.

OOh! The mortgage is finally below $200,000! Yay! (Not way lower… but it is a milestone.)

I broke for lunch. Now I don’t know what I was really thinking about. Time to go do something else.

I’m not just upset that I’m losing the babysitting. Now this family can’t come to our house. Cat allergy that is keeping the kids up at night with an inhaler. Clearly they can’t come here no matter how cool my house is. It’s not personal but no one invites us over as much I invite other people over. We are only invited to someones house once a month or so (I mean that we make one, maybe two house visits a month. Among all the dozens of people we know). People just don’t ask. So when someone can no longer come here… That’s going to be kind of the end of the friendship. We will see each other at public events and that’s it.

I notice that I can carry a lot of burden for “being the one to contact” in a relationship early on. I can do most of the calling/emailing/inviting… often for years. Then I hit a wall. It is very different timing for different people. But I hit this wall over and over.

If I don’t feel like people seek me out enough… I stop asking after a while. I don’t feel good. I feel like I am pestering. I feel like I am annoying. I should stop bothering people. Clearly if they actually liked me they might return my calls once in a while. They would invite me as often as I invite them. If they liked me as much as I like them.

But no relationship is equal. They are always balanced between people who have differing needs and differing amounts of energy to offer.

People don’t call or email or invite less because they don’t like me enough. They do what they do because that is their comfort level.

I hate that I flipped emotionally today. I had such a string of nice days. Now I’m crying and I feel bad and I feel very scared.

All of a sudden a lot of my “support” feels like it is gone again. I felt so very balanced and ok for at least a week or so. It was awesome.

Now I’m scared.

When I think of my needs and I think of the people in my life I feel very scared and very sad. My needs are too big. It isn’t appropriate for me to dump them on people. I have to figure out a way to cobble together enough from a lot of disparate ever changing sources.

Life is entropy. Everything always changes.

This weekend is booked to be pretty crazy. Of course we were invited to a 4th of July party. It would involve getting to meet the kids of a whole bunch of people I knew in high school. It would probably be a fun party but it would be high anxiety.

On the 5th I am going to have my middle school bestie bring over his new wife and child. I’m very excited to be meeting these people. Last time I saw him… he was pretty sad about where his life was. He felt very hopeless. This change is dramatic and wonderful. Then after that I’m hoping to go dancing with some of the home schoolers, but people are dropping like flies.

And I’m supposed to spend the 4th and 5th cleaning someone else’s house during the morning hours.

I am going to really miss the Thursday baby-sitting energy pick-me-up. That made rough weekends a lot easier. Oh well.

I hate feeling like I’m having a pity party. I hate feeling like I should say fuck everything and pack everything I own and move far far far away so I can stop looking around me for support. I won’t be disappointed if I stop having expectations and hopes.

Life isn’t a fantasy story. No matter how much it seems like it on the really good days.

Have sad news: paint

Whine. Feelings. Don’t get upset about having the feelings. Just have them. It’s ok. Don’t lash out. Don’t do mean things to anyone. Don’t go destroy relationships. Just sit. Feel. Hell, have another hit.

Feel the sadness. Feel the disappointment. Feel the rejection. Won’t kill you.

It’s ok to be sad about communication difficulties. It’s ok to be disappointed when someone can no longer trade child care. It’s ok to feel rejected when someone is not reciprocating on contact.

I don’t need to think I am bad for having the feelings.

I’m not actually hurting anyone by having feelings. I’m just sitting here. Breathe. Calm down. I hate that fucking phrase. It spikes my blood pressure and makes me snarl.

Ok, distraction?

I finished Diana Gabaldon’s newest book. It took me just over 48 hours. It is wonderful and I hate her guts because she ended on a HUGE CLIFF HANGER. WTF?!!?!??

Now I have to wait fucking years to know how it goes next. That sucks. See, this is why I usually don’t buy books when they first come out. I kind of hate Jean Auel with a passion for making me wait so long for her last shitty-ass book. That was how you fucking end that saga? Like that? Oh fucking hell. You should have just not done another book. The story was better before you fucked it up with your new-found prudery. Ugh.

I thought it was kind of funny how sex focused this Diana Gabaldon book was. More than once I found myself rolling my eyes and thinking “Oh great. Another one.” Her sex scenes are cute but not uhm quite the kind of graphic I’m used to so they aren’t wank material. Instead they just feel… kind of voyeuristic in a way that feels actually dirty. I mean, if I were into sweet gentle love making I might find them quite inspiring. Uhm. Yeah. Not so much.