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

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

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

Are some people abused?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How in the fuck are we the problem?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But my values aren’t everyones values.

More the pity.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh wait.

Never mind.

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

If wishing made it so.

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

I understand.

I feel the same way.

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

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

I’m kinda touchy.

It’s been a bad month.

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

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

I’m trying to stop crying.

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

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

I hurt.

Ok, current things I’m feeling feelings about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God I don’t know any more.

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

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

fuuuuuuuck.

Give me back my Lorazepam so I can sleep!

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

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

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

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

It’s not an excuse.

fuck

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

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

Don’t think or talk to anyone.

I’m so tired.

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

I god damn hate adulting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I understand.

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

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

Once you cross that line, is there going back?

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

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

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

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

Now we are just tapping our toes for the bathtub.

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

Oh-the-well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s probably healthy.

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

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

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

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

fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

People. You are annoying me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hahahahahahahaha my kids have seen many.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I do a lot of buffering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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