Bitch Better Have My Money

Leave a reply

Thank you Rihanna, you inspire me. Nicki Minaj does too.

I’ve been thinking… it would be interesting to go through our financial records. Sometime in the next year before our 10th anniversary it would be interesting to see what we each started with, compare it to Noah’s salary, look at investments, look at the gains and losses for businesses tried and failed…

Who is responsible for which? Noah makes a pretty astronomical salary… but our investment portfolio is growing at a prodigious rate. Some of that is stuff he owned pre-me. Not all of it.

What have I done in the last ten years? Sometimes I have a hard time believing that I have done much.

Ok… even I know that sounds stupid.

I have a hard time being a dependent. I know I “get” 50% of his salary. But what have our separate investment choices resulted in? At this point we can figure out data to see who is actually better at those sorts of decisions so we can assign more of that work in the correct direction to maximize for growth.

I’ve been talking to a lot of womyn about independence and I’ve been listening to a lot of very intelligent women who want me to get my money for my labor.

What has been my cut?

I think I’m going to do that. Oh dear. Another Fucking Project.

And y’all just know I’ll tell you all about it.

Community, family, and support

Leave a reply

I was blessed to meet a family who had three generations of womyn at Michfest. The currently grandmother has been coming since before the current mother was born. Then her daughter grew up there. Now the granddaughter has been growing up there. The mother and grandmother both expressed profound grief that the young girl will not get to be shaped by the experience of being on The Land every year.

I feel cheated sometimes. I’m not even sure who or what cheated me. But I feel cheated. I feel like there is love and support and family out there… just not for me. I mean, I sound like an ungrateful bastard. It isn’t true any more that I lack love or support or family. It’s a non-rational feeling.

I miss my mother so much I physically ache.

When you walk The Land all of the womyn call one another “Sister” with no irony or sarcasm or sense of intrusion. You are my Sister in the struggle. We are all fighting to find our place in the world.

I have always had a difficult relationship with the idea of referring to other womyn as “Sister”. It feels like it belongs to womyn of color and it isn’t for me. I don’t want to appropriate. But I really want to feel like I am connected to people.

One of the workshops I attended talked about the struggle of aging gracefully as a lesbian. The underlying assumption of this was the physical degradation that happens to everyone as they age… but lesbians don’t have children to care for them most of the time. I watched the 60-something and 70-something year old womyn cry about how hard it is to be alone.

I looked at my daughters really hard through this whole week. I thought really hard about my friend Pam, who is more or less putting her life on hold to hang out with her aging and failing grandmother because when you are Chinese that is just how it works.

I will not have that. I don’t think. I don’t think my children or grandchildren will care for me the way that Pam’s grandmother is being cared for. I’m more likely to get shoved into a home where I can be “not a problem” to anyone.

I feel so bad that I deserted my mother. She did her best in horrifying circumstances. I understand that more and more as I get older. She really didn’t have better choices available to her than the choices she made. She really did her best. Given every terrible thing that happened to her… her best wasn’t that bad.

It wasn’t good enough. But that isn’t her fault. I’m no longer sure it is anyone’s fault. Life is just hard.

I bought a Valentine’s card for my mother over 10 years ago. It is sitting in a box in my garage. It says, “Every year I recognize that I’m getting more and more like you. I like it.” Every.Fucking.Year I think about sending it. For the past few years I have thought about writing, “I forgive you. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you.” I wouldn’t sign it. She would know.

I spent today visiting with a friend from California who happened to be in Michigan visiting family. Turns out I walked in on the best family for me to talk to. Lots of mental health issues resulting from terrible poverty and abuse. Radically anti the prison industrial complex because of personal experiences. Educated and feisty even though they have issues. Still fighting to learn new skills and grow. Even a stunted tree reaches for the light.

When I was at Michfest listening to the womyn talk about the strain of growing old while being alone–they rushed to assure themselves and everyone around them that it is ok to be alone. There have always been men who were alone. They die early. They tend to be stunted emotionally. How different is it for womyn who know what community support feels like to be alone for 51 weeks a year?

My mom isn’t alone. I don’t think. I think she is with my sister. I’m pretty sure my niece and nephew live with them because of poverty. Heck, my nephew is married now. I wonder if he has a child. My mom has one baby left out of four. That has to hurt unbearably badly. I continue to check every couple of months for obituaries.

I’m afraid I won’t apologize before she dies. I’m afraid that I will be too afraid of what cracking the door might mean.

Whiplash

Leave a reply

I was up till 2am watching what is happening in Ferguson… again. I am entirely overwhelmed by the enormity of what is happening in my country. Then I went to get a waffle this morning because I was starving while the kids were asleep and I had a chatty conversation with a woman about baby carriers and their various functionalities. She asked me about my travel plans then proceeded to tell me at great length that she would never abandon her husband.

Between Michfest, police officers killing black citizens, and white women feeling the need to tell me constantly that I’m abandoning my husband by traveling… I feel like my life is fucking surreal. I feel like I can’t begin to say what I feel about any given topic because there are so many topics going on.

I am really tired. Today is going to be festive. We are supposed to visit with a friend from California who is in this area visiting family. I’m supposed to be all upbeat and cheerful and shit because that’s polite.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

We have to make it to Pittsburgh by the 12th so we can pick Noah up. Today and the next two days are driving days because we have to cover over 600 miles. Noah wants to go to a birthday party that is happening in Pittsburgh and that is why he is coming out this time. It was just luck that we are in Pittsburgh when he wants to be there.

Not sure if I will be able to be coherent this morning. I’m all over the place. I worry that I will need caffeine later.

The kids were up until 11 and 12, respectively. WHY COULDN’T YOU DO THAT AT MICHFEST INSTEAD OF WANTING TO BE IN BED AT 9?! I really wanted to go to the shows and the kids just couldn’t do it. Maybe it is because at Michfest we had to walk 3-9 miles a day. (3 miles roundtrip from our campsite to the main festival area. We camped too bloody far away. I didn’t realize we were in the very farthest spot from everything when we set up. Whoops.)

Youngest child is the one who made it to midnight. I blame the damn nap in the car.

The friend we see today has a kid in the same age range as my kids. They like playing together a lot so this should be fun. Tomorrow we are going to stop and see another fellow I met in the bay area who has since moved full time to Michigan. The next day we get to Pittsburgh to camp in the driveway of one of Noah’s college friends–they unschool their two kids who are barely older than my kids.

Lots going on. A lot of things to think about and remember and rehearse in my head. How to be polite. How to be accommodating. Don’t walk around screaming, “Fuck the police” all the time or it may be problematic.

But you know what? Fuck the police.

I got 15 ant bites in my last hour of striking camp. I don’t god damn know why. I think they were even falling out of the tree because they were landing on my back and biting me really high up–not just my feet. By the last one I was screaming and freaking out because it hurt and then I felt really guilty because I freaked out some neighbors. I’m sorry. That is a lot of bites in a short period.

I didn’t get bit at all by ants any other day.

Between the ants, mosquitos, and lesbians it feels like half of Michigan wanted to eat me. (I thought that line was funny. I didn’t actually get directly hit on at all by any lesbians. They were friendly and not flirtatious.)

Ok, kids are up. Breakfast is had. Must get moving.

Michfest was kinda a big deal.

5 Replies

I am entirely certain that this will turn into a whole series of essays. They may vary in coherence because I had such BIG feelings over the week I was there. I’m having a hard time unpacking my feelings into easily digestible bits.

You know how I never feel like I belong anywhere? Know how I leave every community after a relatively short involvement because I feel like I am poison and I am going to hurt the people there?

Well, I had one rough day during the week but it was one of those days that my period tracker app on my phone says will suck. So I don’t think that is about Michfest. I think that is me being able to have a bad day no matter how awesome things are.

I feel like I ripped my heart out and left it in the woods in Michigan. I will never be fully whole again because I can never return to those womyn and that hurts so much. I got contact information for many and I intend to send them emails tonight after I blog. I want to maintain relationships with these womyn so so so so much.

I’m not normally big on the “womyn” spelling, but it is so integral to the experience of Michfest that I will attempt to use it when I’m writing about the festival. In a weird way it is like saying Deaf culture or Black culture. I want to respect how they think of themselves. It matters how people are represented.

I barely know how to start addressing this. Why was it so intense? I don’t even fucking know. It just was.

I talked to Noah on the phone earlier and he said that it sounds like I have been longing my whole life for a community I didn’t think existed and now I found it in time to lose it. Yeah, that’s kinda it.

Every time I felt panic because, “Ack I need help. Shit.” Someone appeared like magic. Every time I was about to scream at my kids because I was just fucking done some woman yelled from a little distance away, “Hey kiddo! Wanna play?” Then my kids were distracted and I had time to do whatever it was I needed to do.

I felt seen and important.

I have been to many events that try hard to be like this event. They always feel like they fail in some substantial way. I’m not saying Michfest is perfect and all womyn who go are perfect. I’m saying it scratched an itch I didn’t even know I had.

I spent the last day walking around crying because I wish my mom had been able to meet these womyn. I wish she had been able to meet strong, independent, caring womyn. Youngest child kept asking me all week, “What was it like when you came here with your mama when you were a little girl?” No matter how many times I reminded her that I had never been before… (s)he just couldn’t grasp the idea that my mother did not take me to Michfest. It was just unthinkable.

Youngest kiddo was thrilled to “be a girl” all week so I may just use female pronouns for her in this writing because gender neutral is so difficult.

The penultimate day there was a parade from the older girls day care place. I can’t express what it was like watching hundreds of dressed up, having fun little girls marching along yelling at the top of their lungs, “Who runs the world?! GAIA GIRLS!!!!”

I went to workshops. I’m sure I write more about them separately in the future but for now one of them was run by a woman with a psychiatric history not that different from mine. She took those horrifying experiences of being traumatized by institutionalization and became a lawyer and has spent over a decade working on a UN International Treaty for the rights of users and survivors of psychiatric care.

Basically she is fighting to ensure that my government no longer has the right to tie me to a table and inject me with drugs just because they don’t like how I’m behaving.

I don’t think she’ll win in this country. But other countries have ratified the treaty and other people are having better lives because of her work. I feel humbled by her efforts. She is really and truly helping to change the world for the better so that people like me have the right to be treated humanely.

I feel completely staggered by that. Thank you.

I met an awesome homeschooling mom from LA. She is on the last few laps of that journey. Her youngest child is 17. We exchanged emails and I told her I really want to pick her brain in the future about how she has handled issues. She says she really wants to keep talking about these things and she is glad to talk to me.

I went to many workshops that promoted the idea of transwomyn being womyn and they belong on The Land as much as every other womyn. I feel like my point of view was absolutely respected. Yes. There were Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminists (TERFs) and we had some spirited conversations.

I got into it with one womyn who was ranting about how angry she is that anti-rape propaganda mentions womyn because “Men are the rapists and they are the ones with the problem. Stop acting like this is a womyn problem.” I said that I know for a fact that womyn rape. She said, “I know. I was raped by a womyn.” I am sure my facial expression spoke volumes. I thought for a minute and said, “I believe that anti-rape propaganda does not necessarily need to mention the gender of perpetrators at all. We need to address the problematic behaviors. Saying that the propaganda should only be aimed at men ignores valuable demographics. If every victim matters, we need to find a way to speak to all predators.”

She didn’t say that much after that. She looked like she was thinking hard.

I didn’t say that I know for a fact that womyn rape because I have done so but I thought it real loud. I had to learn what behaviors were problematic and change them. That required education, training, and effort on my part. Most predators aren’t in my position to chase that education the way I did. I wanted it more than most predators. We need to change our whole society so that the problematic behaviors are recognized earlier and people get the feedback they need to change.

Kind of like how the problem isn’t a kid kicking me in the throat. The problem is the mom saying it is all my fault.

I could barely drag the kids out of the childcare. They were there until closing every time. (Closing for dinner. We didn’t stay out till midnight. I can’t hack that. Even if it is only 9pm California time. We were great at staying on California time when we were two hours ahead. As soon as we hit three hours ahead we adjusted and had to start going to bed at 9pm because we were waking up so fucking early.) We only made it to childcare three days of the week. You had to sign up at 8am the day before and we didn’t always manage. The slots for the littlest area filled up fast.

I don’t think it was all the nekkid womyn although I will admit that I probably checked people out a bit more than was strictly polite. Oh. My. Gawd. So. Much. Hotness.

And yet… there was a fuckton of womyn who were not remotely conventionally “beautiful”. My kids spent a lot of time whispering in my ear, “I thought men weren’t allowed on The Land.” I said, “They aren’t.” “Then why is that man standing there?” “That’s a womyn, honey.” “………………..oh.”

Yup women are fucking diverse and it is awesome. They had a whole parade for bearded womyn. Rock fucking on.

Womyn walked around topless with their mastectomy scars showing. They were beautiful.

I saw womyn of every weight and possible weight distribution they were all beautiful.

I felt so grateful to be near womyn who were so comfortable in their own skins. I felt so grateful to be near womyn who feel they have the right to advocate for themselves and their issues. I felt so grateful to be near so many womyn who are not fucking doing what they are told.

It was funny how many of the older lesbians told me not to swear. Ha. Ha. Ha. No. I’m ignoring you now.

I loved getting to the opening ceremony and hearing a womyn stand up and yell that we NEED TO BE FUCKING PISSED. Rock on, sister.

That is probably enough for the first dump. So many more feelings to sort. In the trans-inclusion workshop the leader said, “This is not a utopia. It’s not safe space–it’s safe enough space. We have an agreement.”

I swear to goodness that blew my mind.

Why can’t spaces work like this when men are present? Why do they feel different?

I have so many feelings about exclusionary space and safe space and…

I need to stop. Arms are hurting. Thank you Michfest. Thank you for everything you have given me. I will try to be worthy.

Off-line warning

5 Replies

I have this vague hope that writing so much means that if I stop writing people will be worried that something bad happened to me. It’s a dream. As a result when I’m going to be off-line for more than a few days I post something. Hoping that people will miss me.

Leaving for Michfest soon. Off-line for a week.

Growing up is good

Leave a reply

Last night my dear, wonderful husband said something to me that I didn’t like. I think it is the most condescending thing he has said in years. Instead of screaming or throwing things or hitting… I got up and stomped across the room and sat in a chair with my back to him. I said, “That is the most condescending thing you’ve said in years. ” I may have included a “fuck you”. I can’t remember. I’m trying to say that to him less because I don’t want the kids copying it.

I’m sure I said I wanted to say fuck you later when we talked about it.

I went to sleep not touching Noah because I was so pissed. I was really angry with him for ruining my last chance for sex before he left. (Luckily I see him in 10 days.)

By 5 am I realized I was hurting myself by not touching him. I have missed him so much on this trip that I physically ache. So we cuddled and talked.

We discussed why that wasn’t a good thing to say to me. (Notice how I’m not repeating it? This is one of those things I will forget and it is better that way. I don’t need to remind myself in the future how Noah misused some words.) I feel like we got to an ok place about it.

I’m really glad I get to be married to him even though he does occasionally say and do things that bother me. On balance he is my best friend. He accepts me. He likes me even though I’m not all that likable of a person.

He doesn’t screw up very often. When he does he learns from it and doesn’t make the same mistake later.

I like growing up. I can get pissed off and over it in 24 hours. I don’t think that used to be true. Part of it is that Noah has worked so hard for a decade to prove himself. I have to look at the evidence. I really like how he treats me.

No one is perfect.

Things I learn from the internet.

Leave a reply

I’m kind of full of myself. I like to think I get hit on too much. Because it bugs me how often men proposition me.

But you know what? The magic aura of white motherhood means that when I’m with my kids it pretty much doesn’t happen.

I’m reading a bunch of black women talk about the intensity of their street harassment. When they are with their kids.

Whoa. You know what? I don’t have guys lining up to give me their numbers “just in case” things go south with Noah.

Goodness. I’m getting into the privileged class in all kinds of ways.

May I pay you for your opinion?

Leave a reply

Howdy! I hope you were sent to this blog post from Twitter or by a friend. My name is Krissy. I’m a writer. Right now I’m working on my second book. It is titled Outrunning Suicide and it is aimed at kids (roughly 12-20) who are experiencing trauma.

I’m a cis-gendered white woman. That means I have had very particular experiences of the world. I am not capable of taking off the blinders of my life and seeing the path that other people are walking.

I’m aware of this. But I’d like this book to be useful for people who aren’t cis-gendered white people.

I am queer but it has never been a problem for me. I grew up around a tolerant community and that part of my identity has never been a spot of friction. I know it has been different for other people.

If you fall into a group that is often poorly represented, is there a chance I can pay you to read this book and give me your opinion? I understand that many people in marginalized communities are often expected to work for free. I think your time and your opinion are worth something.

I would cheerfully pay $50 for the first 10 people who want to read the book and send me an email talking about the pieces that work and don’t work for them. (Have to set a cap now because my bank account is not limitless.)

I will cheerfully pay more money if I can meet up with you at some point in real life and hear what you actually have to say. There is nothing that can compare to the experience of listening to people say, “This phrasing is hurtful to me” because if you say it to my face I will not be able to forget it. When things are in writing it is hard to truly understand the emotional impact you are having on other people. In person interactions are far more valuable to me so I will pay you more for your time.

I hope that sounds reasonable. If you are interested in doing this, my email is somethingdifferent AT that gmail place.

My goal is to self publish this book in the year 2016 and start figuring out how to distribute it. I would really appreciate any help that anyone can give.

 

Thank you.

I’ll catch y’all up

Leave a reply

Noah is here! I am much less interested in writing. Instead I am petting him and asking him to rub my back.

The trailer is fixed! This is very exciting.

Uhm… stuff. Chicago pizza is good. I like it best with more meat. However much meat you want to put on it, add some more.

My diarrhea is improving since I wised up on the corn syrup. I’m not pooping like a normal person (I compare my poop to my children and feel so much envy.) but things are improving.

We had a five minute long thunder and lightning storm with hail. Yay Chicago?

Noah flies out tomorrow. I’m glad we get to see him so much in August. We won’t see him in September.

I have some good specific points for revising Outrunning Suicide to be distinctly more inclusive. I’m excited about that.

Oh, I need to go make another post. I’ll do that. On Tuesday we drive out of here early and head to MichFest. After all these years I’m finally going.

 

Catch y’all up

Leave a reply

Yesterday was exciting. By exciting I mean shitty. By shitty I mean full of vomiting. Oh it was fun. And violent diarrhea. The kind of sick where you have to sit on the toilet and puke in the bath tub because everything is letting go at once no matter how you feel about it.

I’m sure you all wanted to hear that.

And apparently in Illinois they don’t sell make-you-stop-puking medicine over the counter. You have to go see a doctor. With my out of state insurance and two small children when I can barely stand up. Right. Pedialyte and prayer it is.

It did stop. *phew*

And while I was sick and sick our room key stopped working. Apparently if they give you two keys, using the second key makes the first key not work and then neither works. Why in the fuck did you give me two then?!

While fixing that I discovered that the person who said we could be in this room for eight nights… lied. Saturday night we have to get out. But the front desk people tried to convince me to go somewhere else for one night and come back.

Uhm, probably not.

I’ll go somewhere more expensive with a better bath tub and a door between me and the kids. So I can have sex. Cause after two months of abstinence I’m kinda tapping the floor.

But only for three nights. Whoa we are hemorrhaging money. I’ll come clean at the end of the year when I do my accounting. For now I’m watching the balance and wincing.

I mean, it’s not like we are getting low on money. Noah is better at earning money than I am at spending it. But I want to throw it all at my mortgage, not this trip. Which makes it a matter of priorities not safety.

That’s completely fucking crazy to me. I talked to a woman who likes to travel like me. But she has been stranded several times and she had to ask family to wire her money because she had literally $300 for the trip and that didn’t go far enough.

That’s why I traveled less when I was poor. It’s terrifying. I did it. But not like this. Travel means you run into so many situations where you just simply have to have money.

The god damn axel fell off my trailer. That’s going to cost some money. But I want to camp on it for at least another 9 weeks. Minimum of 9 more weeks. (Lots of time in hotels at Disney World and we get to stay with friends a fair bit.)

I feel like I’m going to have to get a better handle on managing my pain levels before I can do the around the world trip. I may have to devote serious work to healing my body so that I can do that labor. Right now it would be wicked hard.

I’m really enjoying traveling with the kids. They make everything fun and exciting. We spend so much time laughing.

The nice man who offered to tow our trailer has been texting me lists of things to do with the kids while we are here. Today we are going to the county fair. Because that sounds fun.

I will walk slowly. It’s going to be awfully hot.

Talked to my shrink yesterday. She asked how I can work more travel into my life on a smaller scale more frequent basis because this is very energizing for me. I love meeting new people. It is easier for me to emotionally self regulate in new environments. I always feel like I’m on a timer for when people will get sick of me. My anxiety increases as time passes instead of me feeling more comfortable and secure.

This is super annoying.

I’m really hard on my friends. I’m sorry.

When I am mostly only meeting new people it’s easier to keep up a “front” of personality. I may need assistance and I know that the only way I’m going to get it is if I am pleasing. So I keep it up when I’m going from new person to new person.

It’s hard to keep that mask up though. I’m a bitter, angry person. I wish that people didn’t need me to pretend to be happy and energetic in order to deserve being treated decently. It’s like a job.

A job I will never get paid for.

But I am finding that having *no* space for letting myself relax and be more natural is causing me to do better with the kids. I don’t like that. I mean, I’m taking out most points of stress too and that makes it easier to do better with the kids. Hard to tell what causes what. All I know is I’ve been doing remarkably little screaming for me. In two months, much of which has been stressful for one reason or another… I’ve barely screamed. Only a few times. Not even weekly.

That’s doing pretty good for me. Oh my poor children. Well, I say that because it sucks to have someone scream at you at all.

At least my kids get told, “When I scream at you it is because I am angry, frustrated, and I’m out of patience. It isn’t because you deserve being screamed at. That’s me messing up and I’m sorry. You never deserve being screamed at.”

I wasn’t told that as a child. It’s at least something.

I feel really bad that sometimes Eldest Child will say, “Generationally our family is doing much better. Your mom had it bad, you had it bad, I have it pretty darn good and my kids will have it even better!”

It feels weird and awkward.

I mean… I’m glad she thinks she has it pretty darn good. That’s nice to hear. My children assure me regularly that I am nice to them.

I really really really like traveling with my kids. It is a pleasure, joy, and full of laughter. I feel so loved.

The completely non-helpful streak in Duluth is over too. *phew* I think they need breaks from responsibility. Which totally makes sense because they are four and seven.

I just need to learn how to ride the waves better without freaking out about every up and down motion. This is hard.

I learn more and get better with every year.

I love watching the kids sleep together in a puppy pile. Melts my heart.

Clear the head

7 Replies

My arms hurt because I’ve been typing too much. That’s kinda funny. Tonight I went out and bought a bottle of champagne and a bunch of orange juice because holy shit it has been a rough few days.

I’m not looking forward to the diarrhea. But I’m looking forward to a few hours of feeling mellow. I ain’t felt mellow in a while. This is my second alcohol since the trip started so I’m averaging 2 drinks a month on the trip. That’s pretty normal. If I have more of this bottle it’ll up my average.

We’ll see. The kids are watching the Power Puff Girls. I’m tired.

Tonight we had a caramel apple for dinner. It was covered in nuts and white chocolate and milk chocolate. I’m telling you, it’s been a fucking day.

Ok, later we had cornbread and butter. We didn’t *only* have the caramel apple.

And we had jerky. What more could you want from life?! We have blueberries and bananas. That’s some healthy shit.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I’m trying not to curse with the kids. Mostly because my eldest child told me, “I don’t want to be the kind of person who swears a lot. It sounds angry and I’m really not an angry person.”

So I don’t want to model swearing just the now.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Shit and motherfucker and piss and cocksucker and AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

All the fucking shit-tastic motherfucking shit I’m not supposed to say.

You have no idea how hard it is for me to not curse. But I’m doing well. I asked the kids and they said I’ve been doing surprisingly well.

I heard that “surprisingly” you little shit. I love you.

I am doing really well at not cursing in front of them. The words swirl around in my brain and I don’t say them out loud.

Hell, the kids have me working on “shut up”. I’m not even allowed to say that any more! I taught fucking high school BECAUSE I was allowed to say shut up! That was the reason! OH MY FUCKING GOD. REALLY. I CAN’T SAY FUCKING SHUT UP ANY MORE BECAUSE IT IS A BAD WORD?! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This sucks so much. I’ve been motherfucking resisting this change SINCE I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD. I’M NOT GOING TO GOD DAMN CHANGE FOR YOU!!!!

Ok yes I will. God damnit. I will. I will only fucking curse in my god damn blog and that will be motherfucking it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This doesn’t feel fair. I’ll tell you.

I love you so much. I’ll move mountains for you. I’ll even stop saying shut up if it bothers you.

Because you are that important to me. You and you alone are worth this kind of effort.

But I’ll bitch about you on my blog!

I think it is hilarious (and perhaps problematic) that my kids now say, “I’m not bitching I’m just saying” because they don’t know that “bitching” is a bad word. If they knew they would yell at me to expunge it from vocabulary.

Picture me rolling around on the floor with glee because I got away with something.

Seriously, when I think about it I laugh uproariously. It’s hilarious to me. I’m an asshole.

I’m a potty mouth. I’m a potty mouth. Neiner neiner fucking neiner.

This place will be the last hold out. Here, in my blog, I get to be as motherfucking profane as I GOD DAMN WANT TO BE.

I NEED ONE PLACE.

Don’t bug me about this. If ever someone tells me that I should tone down the cursing on my blog I might literally explode.

I’M DOING SO GOD DAMN WELL IN REAL LIFE. FUCK YOU ALL EVEN IF YOU NEVER THOUGHT THE THING THAT I WANT TO SAY FUCK YOU FOR.

It’s that kind of day.

I’m torn between freaking out about the broken axel and thinking positive things like, “Thank goodness it completely snapped in a parking lot!” and “Thank goodness these nice folks can make me a new axel in a week when I already planned to be here for a week!”

It’s like the universe said, “I know…. Krissy needs a cockup RIGHT NOW since she ain’t going nowhere noways. Muahahahahaha.”

FUCK YOU UNIVERSE.

But not very hard since you were so sweet as to let the axel completely go in the parking lot and not the freeway. That was awful kind of you.

I need to call the old dude! Oh shit. It’s too late at night now. I’ll call tomorrow.

Illinois is so awesome. I need to write this down before I forget.

So we were sitting in the vestibule of a Staples store trying to talk to AAA on the phone. I was on hold a lot. But outside I couldn’t hear the phone over the stupid diesel trucks that wanted to idle RIGHT NEXT TO ME and inside the store seemed a bit rude cause I was practically yelling.

Anyway, we were sitting in the vestibule, and this lady walks by. She said, “Are you all stranded? Do you need a ride home? I can help if you just need a ride.”

Whoa. I’m sitting there with my two kids and you …. just offer a ride. Wow. Thank you. That’s so kind.

I told her we were on the phone with AAA and we were not actually stranded and thank you so much for offering. That’s really kind.

Then we went out to the van to get stuff for the kids to do because we were going to have a wait in front of us. The guy sitting in a truck next to our van was real chatty. He got to talking to us. It started with, “Wow that’s a bright shirt. What does it say?” We talked for a while then the kids and I went into Starbucks to sit a spell.

After a few minutes a gentleman I didn’t recognize walked up and said, “Are you the lady with the problem?” My eyes got big and I nodded and he plopped down on the chair across from me. “Tell me about your problem. I like solving problems.”

I told him, at great length, about what was happening with the trailer. He asked me many questions. At the end he gave me his name and phone number and said if AAA couldn’t tow my trailer he and his brother (the guy in the truck) could handle moving me from point a to point b.

I almost cried. He was so nice.

Then another man stood up and waved me over to his table. When I got there he said, “This is kind of awkward but… are your kids hungry? You’ve had a really hard day and I have five grandkids and I got lucky today with a $200 repair being done for free and I told myself God doesn’t do these things by accident and I heard your story and…. Are your kids hungry?”

I told him that we weren’t hungry, we have a whole van full of food and you are the nicest thing ever.

Holy moly. I’m not sure I’ve ever had four strangers offer that much support in such a short period of time before.

I fucking love Illinois. I’m so glad we broke down here. This place is wonderful. At every hotel they’ve been really nice and sweet and offered us random bonus things because it sucks we are having so much trouble and…

I feel completely overwhelmed. Bad things happen, ok, life is like that. People can be so kind. People sometimes see you struggling and say, “Can I help?”

I’m so glad we are on this journey. Even the hard parts teach me things I want to know.

I am so grateful that mostly I can just solve problems. Throw money at the problem and it will evaporate. That’s awesome.

Thank you, Noah. This is because of you. Not because of me.

It makes me more and more and more and more passionately devoted to the idea of a basic income for all citizens. If having money can provide this much dignity and security we are pieces of shit for not giving it to all citizens as a matter of course.

I’m bringing this idea up over and over and over as I travel. Basic income. Dignity. All citizens are worthy of support.

It is kind of funny to me how many people say they have never heard of this concept before. Really?!

I miss Noah. I miss Noah so much I physically ache. I’m kinda pissed we can’t camp because I had totally figured a way to get private time for fucking and now we are in a hotel room. NOT FAIR!

There was a part of me that thought about getting two rooms right next to each other just for the secks. I decided that was a bit expensive.

I want sex. Whoa I want to get off. Like whoa. I’m getting off when Noah is here. Period.

Funny how I’m not masturbating. I tried the other day for like a minute and then stopped because it was pointless. Not happening.

I’m tired. But the kids are staying on California time. Have I mentioned how much this sucks for me? I’m letting it happen so we can maybe see fireworks at Disney World. We won’t see them without the time change advantage. My kids will stay up until “midnight” and I’ll feel like they are impressively night owls and then we’ll go home.

Yay home. I miss Wonderland.

Almost August. I miss my home. Don’t go home till the end of November. Suck it up, wench. You did this to yourself. Crazy to think I have almost four months until this journey is over. Why crazy? Because I want Noah so bad.

He’s coming in three more days! Less than that!

It’ll be ok. We don’t have another 7 week stretch without him. Yay! I want Noah. I miss Noah.

Noah helps me feel like it is ok for me to exist even though I’m problematic. I do something positive for him.

That’s a lot of why I’m confused about how rapists should be treated by society. They might do something positive for someone. How much of that matters?

I don’t know.

Life is so complicated. I feel so incompetent.

I can swear here.

Leave a reply

I posted something on the kid blog to reflect the adventure we’re having. Then I come over here where I can say FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCKING FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Can’t say that on the kid blog. Not kosher.

So, for those who haven’t gotten frantic texts and for those who don’t read Twitter, let me catch you up on today’s excitement.

We were driving from Milwaukee to Kankakee, which is near Chicago. We pulled off the highway into a Home Depot parking lot because I wanted some scrap lumber for a thing. Turns out they had no scrap lumber. What the fuck?

Anyway. As we are pulling into the parking lot I hear a horrifying noise and I stop and jump out and look…

The wheels are not under the bed where they are supposed to be. One is where it belongs. The other is… kind of trailing behind. Oh shit.

That’s bad. I pulled the trailer out of the main part of the road and blocked a bunch of parking spaces. That maneuver shredded my tire.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Ok. I called AAA. It took them four hours to come get us.

The kids played on the grass like the delightful wonderful children they are. I am so fucking lucky my kids are so awesome.

The tow truck driver didn’t really know what he was doing. That was… hilarious. And it’s Sunday so almost everything is closed anyway. Eventually after driving around to several shops some were closed, some turned us away cause they don’t do that kind of repair, we found a place and dropped the trailer off. It’ll be fixed in the morning. I hope.

But the bikes are locked to a post in the Home Depot parking lot because they won’t tow a trailer with anything on it. 100% of the other stuff is in the van. Which makes it kind of hard to get at anything. I’m frustrated.

I don’t know if they will be able to fix the axel. There is the distinct possibility that trailer is just dead. I do not have separate insurance on it. I do not know what I’m going to do.

I will wait till the morning and find out what my options are. I can’t make a decision right now. But I’m taking a fuck ton of medication right now. I’m wired for sound.

The first several hotels only had smoking rooms available.

When we got here, 12 hours after we left Milwaukee I looked so fucking fried the nice lady at the registration desk gave me a discount on the room because she feels bad that anyone has a day like this. Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.

On one hand… it was a stressful day. On the other hand… at worst I’m out a few thousand dollars.

And I’m not in a position where that will cripple me. And I kind of want to cry about that.

I’m not sure why I’m feeling so upset that none of these financial problems are a problem but I’m really upset. I feel like a shitty person because my problem will just slow down the rate I will pay off my house. I really want it paid off in two years. Might take three if I hemorrhage money.

That feels really bad right now and I don’t know why. I’m really tired.

Living in an ivory tower; race, privileges, and advantages.

6 Replies

First: I am going to reflect that people who say, “In the past women had to say no when they meant yes or they weren’t worth having” are perpetuating bullshit. Say it to someone other than me, please.

I don’t believe that I am a worthy person despite my promiscuity because I was born at the end of the 20th century. I’m worth what I would be worth no matter what. I’m offended by the (probably true fact) that if my behavior were discovered one hundred years earlier I would have been murdered to protect the “purity” of the people around me.

Awesome!

But that isn’t even what I want to talk about. I want to talk about race. I see race. As I drive across this country it is stark where people feel comfortable and where they don’t.

I counted 86 people in Duluth who looked like they had African ancestry. In almost two weeks of being out every day. In a town of 86,000 some people. I started counting on the second day when I happened to notice a large group of black teenagers standing together. Biggest grouping of black people I’ve seen since I left California. I wanted to walk over and say hi and I decided that was a bit weird.

I told my friend I would stop counting if I hit 100. Didn’t happen. So Duluth is much more diverse than many of the places we’ve been but it isn’t what I’m used to.

Milwaukee! We are staying in a historically black neighborhood. I can tell. It’s great! I haven’t counted because out of the first 15 people I saw 13 were black. I counted that high and stopped and thought, “Ok I feel good here; I like Milwaukee already.”

My childhood was so fractured. I spent time in so many places. Sometimes I was in all black neighborhoods. Sometimes I was in all Hispanic neighborhoods. Sometimes I was in all white neighborhoods. I’ve never hit an Asian enclave but not for reasons of specifically rejecting them. Just didn’t happen.

I feel most comfortable in Hispanic neighborhoods. I love the music. I love the smell of the cooking. Spanish, for me, is the language of loving mothers. The loving, considerate, caring mothers I knew were mostly Hispanic. So very loving. I spent much of my childhood crying and wishing I was born a Mexican so I’d have a mother who wanted me. I didn’t understand why my mom didn’t love me the way the other mothers loved their children.

I no longer believe that only Hispanic mothers love their children. But it was weirder and harder to shake than you’d think. Black mothers always seemed more fierce and less… gentle. They had too much shit to get done to baby your ass. Get your shit done. Of course I have known black mothers who weren’t good at mothering, but mostly I’ve known a lot of black women who are very good at passing on what they know about living in a hard world. I admire that.

I don’t especially want my children growing up in a white bubble. There are good things, yes, but lots of bad too.

The family we are staying with for two nights (we aren’t talking to them much) are incredibly involved in their church. My kids are asking me about how that works. It’s fun talking about the roots of community support and engagement that grow from religion. It’s easy to talk about why people would want it and what it does. I get the appeal of religion. I just… don’t believe.

My kids asked me if only people who aren’t white go to church. I about fell off my chair laughing. Kiddo, lots of white people go to church. Remember how we went to your friend’s first communion just a bit ago? Oh. Yeah. Ok, I guess they do.

That was funny.

Someone on line said something that made me think really hard. Privileges are things you are born with. You can’t change them. Things you earn after you are here are advantages.

I was born white. In this place and in this time that means I’m given certain structural support and acceptance. I’m not trailed in stores. People will assume I’m the victim in an altercation with someone of color. I’m more likely to be thought “honest” than someone who isn’t white. (Despite the fact that white people are huge fucking liars. Oh my god.)

It is fascinating to think of my life since 18 as being one long series of advantages rather than privileges.

I wasn’t born with the accident settlement, but it changed my fate. So it isn’t a born privilege but it is an advantage I earned through violent attack? Man that’s how I get lots of my friggin advantages. Assault the shit out of me. I’ll make you pay.

Only.. that’s bullshit. Mostly I shut my stupid mouth and walk away and I don’t make people pay. I go home and cry and cut on myself and hate me for being so stupid I let that happen again.

I don’t know how to talk about the advantages very well. I’m trying to get better. We frequently offer to pay for things for folks. We asked to take my friend’s family out to dinner in Duluth and she was clearly not sure. She hemmed and hawed and talked about how expensive it was and how hard it was and…

I said, “Sweetie I feel weird saying this but I grew up starving and now I’m rich and I can pay to let others eat. It makes me feel very good about myself that I’m in a position now where I can feed other people, please let me have that feeling.”

She looked at me for a long minute, evaluating, then said yes. We had a great time! Oh and the food was so good. The Smokehouse in Duluth makes ridiculously good meat. And the tapenade… drool.

When I walk through upper class white neighborhoods I feel afraid. I feel like someone will set a dog or the police on me at any second. When I walk through a lower class white neighborhood I feel tense. I feel like someone could be looking for a territorial fight at any minute. Lots of bullshit posturing. This wouldn’t be a big deal only I don’t walk away from a dick contests. I’m going to win, motherfucker, because mine is bigger.

When I am in black or Hispanic neighborhoods… I feel comfortable. I can say “Hello!” to everyone and smile and they will probably smile and wave back. It will smell like the best food ever as you walk down the street. People will be playing and interacting in public like they aren’t ashamed to be seen existing.

I feel much less anxiety.

I spend a lot of time thinking that if I ever move I’d like to move to a historically black or Hispanic area but then I’m a piece of shit gentrifier.

So complicated.

Most of what I initially liked about my neighborhood is that it feels like the United Nations. Lots of us are outside just living in front of our neighbors. I like it.

Communities that want to have people living outside right next to each other are ok with interventions. If you see a kid doing something they ought not be doing… you comment. Period. Everyone does. They jump on my kids like white on rice and I smile benevolently and nod, “That’s RIGHT!” Listen to that woman. She knows what she’s talking about.

I like messy community involvement. I’ve already “stood alone” for most of my life. I’m good.

This is uncomfortable to talk about because all racial concepts are loaded in this country. Probably in the whole world, but I live in the US.  I don’t know what to do about the fact that my presence would pollute the environment I wish to be in. Most folks in historically black neighborhoods don’t want bitches like me moving in.

I’m not trying to co-opt your culture. I try like fuck to not appropriate. But there are things I want to emulate and I want desperately to believe I am doing it in a respectful way. Not sure I am. That bothers me.

I grew up reading books centering the Black experience. Those mothers are who I liked and respected. I don’t think I’m black. I don’t think that is a decision I can make. Black isn’t a religion. I can’t convert.

But I can choose my words and tone to try and be respectful in the ways I’ve heard people hit respectful along with very forcefully effective. Damn I admire that.

I hope beyond hope that I’m not just mocking AAVE (African American Vernacular English); I’m sincerely not trying to be disrespectful.

Where is sharing respectful? Where is stealing disrespectful?

I have a hard time with this because adopting white culture is ok across the board. I have a hard time with this because that means everyone gets to be more rude and demanding and self-absorbed.

Maybe white culture shouldn’t be the one we pick as the one to shoot for? Just sayin’?

White culture is shit at community engagement. I believe this is partially related to capitalism. Whites have traditionally lived in areas where they don’t have to work in large groups for the basics of survival so they distrust and dislike groups.

If you look at the living conditions in Africa and South America… group cooperation was more useful.

For white people we aren’t big on group cooperation. We are big on one asshole getting an idea then buying slaves and forcing the slaves to do what that one asshole wants. And that asshole could be male or female. Everyone sucks. Yay!

That’s not the same thing.

I’m tired of the idea of bootstrapping. I’ve never seen a bootstrapper who didn’t have some systematic support.

LIKE THAT ASSHOLE THOREAU AND HIS GOD DAMN DONUTS. AND HIS FUCKING LAUNDRY.

“I wish to live simply. And let my mama take care of me forever.”

Yeah, that sounds like a white guy. Fuck everything.

He was considered one of the leaders of thought! He is to be emulated! I WANT A FUCKING MOMMY TO TAKE CARE OF ME FOREVER TOO, MOTHERFUCKER.

When we drove up in front of the AirBnB place Eldest Child said: “I don’t think that house is the one we are looking for because the guy standing outside is white and we aren’t staying with a white family, right?”

I said, “You need to stop pointing out race when we are looking at the same person. You can say, “That guy doesn’t look the people in the picture we saw” and I’ll agree and you won’t be classifying everyone by their race.”

She wanted more explanation about that. I said, “Mostly if you are looking at groups of white people you don’t feel the need to point out they are white. Yes, this time it was a white guy. But mostly humans do that. White people are people and then other races are black people or brown people or or. It’s not ok. People are people. That’s a dude regardless of race. Unless race is a necessary part of the conversation like, “I was assaulted and the police are looking for the person ok I’ll mention the race of the person.”

Peoples personality and appealingness and behavior have nothing to do with their race.

I feel scared that I make people feel uncomfortable because I am comfortable in other cultures. My anxiety levels go down.

I don’t fear I’m about to be assaulted in mixed race groups. Just in groups of white people. I’ve only ever been assaulted by white men. I know there are non-white rapists (come on here) but they are very unlikely to target me so it’s a non-existent threat to me. As long as there are no white men around I can relax.

White men usually make sure I know that they think I’m less than them. It happens in a remarkably diverse group of settings. Pisses guys off when I won’t let them win. “Start telling me how bad ass and tough you are. I’ll tell whatever stories I have to until we prove that my dick is twice the size of yours, motherfucker.”

I am starting to notice that I have lived an extraordinary life. My stories are endless. Let me freak you out.

I was not worried about dying for many years. I made a lot of choices that were stupid and could have killed me because I wouldn’t consider it a bad thing anyway. I’ve got some intense fucking stories.

Mostly I try to leave them out of daily life because they bother people. But when I want to, I have ’em.

My kids were asking me yesterday if they would grow up to be rich. I said, “Well you are privileged enough to start out life with parents who are good at amassing money and conserving wealth. Statistically, if you pay attention to your parents, you will end up rich. We have skills that are making us rich. If you copy those skills you will probably do well. Most people who are poor have poor parents and they just don’t know how to do differently. But sometimes kids of rich parents have no money sense and they are always broke. It’ll be up to you.”

They both promised to listen to me about money. I’m not sure that is the point either.

Advantages are things you get for yourself. I was privileged enough to go through basically competent schools. I earned the advantage of my college education. It was paid for by the accident, but I did the work. I wasn’t born with the privilege of a trust fund, but I’ve managed one very well once I had the advantage of access to one.

That’s an interesting nuance to think about. I’m going to be puzzling that one over a lot.

I want to make the world better. I want people to be treated better. But what does that even mean?

I’m not sure. I want everyone to have the same feeling of peace and happiness when they walk through neighborhoods of people who don’t look like them. I want everyone to see a black man and smile and assume they are still safe.

I want black women to be paid what they are worth.

I want latinx women to be paid what they are worth.

I want trans* folks of every persuasion to be allowed to have jobs where they are respected and admired. Because there is something to admire in just about every human.

But I don’t know how to get there.

I tell my kids that you can’t look at someone and tell what kind of life they’ve had. Be careful how you ask people where they are from because exterior tells you little. “How long have you lived here?” is better than “Where are you from?” It means people can smile and say, “All my life” without deflecting the idea that they don’t belong here.

We all belong here and we all don’t belong here. It’s complicated.

Help people feel like they belong here on this planet. That’s what I want to do.

How do you get to know people without having them feel used or exploited? How do you have reciprocal relationships?

I don’t know.

I assume, with every person I meet, that there is something I could do for them. Maybe it is helping them weed their front yard. Maybe it is carrying heavy boxes. Maybe it is making food. Maybe…

I can do things that make life better. I have mad skillz, yo.

But I no longer need much help so I don’t ask for as much.

A nice young man helped me push the trailer up the driveway yesterday. He saw me struggling and offered. Thanks! That was super useful. I can get it but it is hard and wears me out. It was so kind.

I have to ask for that kind of help in white neighborhoods. I have to go bang on doors and intrude on peoples lives and say, “Will you please help me?” I do it because I’m assertive as fuck and when I need help I’ll ask anyone. When I broke my arm and I was living alone I wandered through the apartment complex looking for someone to open my jar of spaghetti sauce. I’m totally cool with taking my needs to anyone who is there.

I didn’t ask yesterday. He walked over and offered. That’s why I feel more comfortable in black neighborhoods. You are expected to offer help. That’s just how it is done. Which is why I offer so much help. Because I expect that it should be that way. That’s the world I want to live in.

Many years ago I was reading about an archeologist who moved to South America with his family. He thought it was weird that the natives, as they settled in, would come to visit and start doing work. Preparing the local foods was a many-step, time intense process. If locals saw that you were in progress they’d start helping without even asking. It needs to be done and isn’t done yet.

I want to live in a world like that. So.Bad.

I help neighbors with projects all the time. Because I want to. Because I like being able to help. Because I have layers of privileges and advantages and I can.

Kids up.

FEELINGS

4 Replies

I’m an idiot. This isn’t serious. I’ll get over it. But I’ve been thinking about it for a day now and having feelings and whining to myself and maybe if I type it I will stop fucking whining. (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

I feel whiny as fuck that I regularly try to get Noah to watch movies with me and he won’t but he’s going to go do that with friends while I’m gone.

I’m a baby.

I know this isn’t a big deal. I’m not like… actually jealous but I feel whiny.

I’ll get over it. It’s not a problem. It’s not a bad thing. I don’t want him sitting at home by himself and if this is what he can get together with people to do I get being stuck with a less-than-your-preference activity.

But I still feel whiny that I want to share my cultural references with him so we can talk about them and he really doesn’t care.

So I’m going to be a whiny bitch over here for a while. Hopefully this will be the one and only mention of it.

(I DON’T WANT HIM TO CANCEL. THAT’S NOT MY POINT. I just document all my whiny shit so that in the future I can see that I felt that way.)

(I’m not mad at Pam or A. either. It’s not their fault Noah won’t movies with me.)

Just…

feelings.

Doesn’t help that I feel physically bad.

My body hates me.

Leave a reply

This one will be all gross and stuff. Like I do.

I stayed in Duluth long enough to get back to solid poop. That was very exciting after weeks of diarrhea. It wasn’t like, “normal poop” but it was formed and I was satisfied with that. Well, today it is back to full on liquid. I hurt. My belly is clenching and churning and HURTS.

This on top of my neck, arms, and back hurting like a motherfucker. I’m driving along crying because it hurts. Which is not so fun.

Headache. I’ve had a headache for days. I kind of want to just chop it off.

Right now I’m guessing that part of this is the heat cycling. My body is flipping the fuck out. I hurt and hurt and hurt.

But the AirBnB hosts have WiFi that the iPad can pick up (haven’t been able to use Netflix since Grandpa’s house) so the kids think this place is dandy.

Ugh. I feel like I should go do something fun. But I want to puke.

Problematic people.

2 Replies

First, a quickie question answered. Buddhist vegetarianism (in my ignorant and probably incorrect understanding) is when it is rude to refuse a dish that has been prepared with meat in it but you don’t eat the meat. Like if your friend makes spaghetti with meatballs and serves you meatballs you just eat the rest of the sauce and noodles. If someone gives you chicken chow mein you eat everything but the chicken. But touching meat doesn’t make things off limits. That’s my understanding.

So my friend’s kid eats soup and rice made with chicken stock but he won’t eat any flesh; that’s what I mean.

Back to what I want to blog about. Problematic people. I’m going to give a hair of back story for context. My kids and I like Taylor Swift’s music. We don’t mostly follow her career or life. Part of what I like about TS’s music is that it is appropriate to listen to with kids. Much of my music is graphic sexually or involves a ton of swearing and I don’t let my kids listen to that. Excuse the expression, but TS is whitewashed and safe.

There is another singer out there named Nicki Minaj. I don’t listen to her all that much. Most of her music… isn’t stuff I want my kids repeating yet. Once my kids hit puberty and can understand why people sing about sex I won’t care. I like her music. But just like I don’t play many P!nk songs in front of my kids I don’t play much Nicki Minaj. I also don’t play songs like, “It’s Hard Out Here For A Bitch” or “It Gets Better”. My kids don’t need to hear about how they can grow up to swim through a pussy vault like Scrooge Fucking McDuck just  yet.

Wait a few years.

So, Nicki posted on Twitter about her feelings about the video awards that somebody or other is doing. I really don’t pay attention. But I noticed that a singer I like was talking about her feelings about her position in a system that isn’t very equal to folks like her.

If it isn’t obvious already, Nicki is black.

So Taylor read what Nicki wrote, took it personally, and then there were dozens of pieces of writing produced for gossip bullshit magazines and websites talking about them having a fight.

Because a black woman talked about her feelings publicly and a white woman jumped up and acted like she was a victim.

That bothers the fuck out of me.

Ok, yes, Taylor has since apologized.

It’s all bullshit. None of this relates to me. This isn’t my problem. Except I was watching it happen in real time and I mentioned it to my 7 year old. She said, “Does this mean we should stop listening to Taylor’s music?”

Oh man. She told me to ask Twitter. I did. Some of my awesome friends had a little discussion with me. My friend’s husband pointed out that it really depends on how much you can separate the work of art from the artist.

I’m kinda shitty at that. I don’t watch Woody Allen movies. I will never watch Bill Cosby again.

But they are rapists. Is being a rapist worse than being a casual racist?

Oh man complicated.

As someone who has committed rape who is married to someone who has committed rape… why do I get to jump on that high horse? Why is that such a harsh line for me? Why am I acting like racism (especially the kind that isn’t THE PROBLEM–when we have cops regularly killing black citizens, Taylor Swift isn’t THE PROBLEM she is just a tiny cog in the system) is a bigger deal than rape?

I don’t know. But I kind of am. I’m not sure if it is because the Black Lives Matter stuff is coming to a head and it is a huge part of my awareness. I don’t know if it is because it is easier to get mad at women for stupid shit.

It is annoying that Taylor was pissy about a woman possibly creating issues between women when her music this year is about her feud with another woman. Get the fuck over yourself.

Should we refuse to listen to all Taylor Swift music from here on out? I don’t think I’ll do that.

I will continue to listen to the song Mean in full awareness of the layers of problems. Taylor isn’t the weaker man any more. She was weaker at one point in time. But from here on out in Taylor’s life there are very few people who have less structural power than her. She’s on the cover of magazines as one of the most influential people alive. She doesn’t get to act like the under dog any more. But no one ever wants to give up on that self perception.

I listen to that song to remind myself that I’m not the under dog any more either. From here on out… I’m the more powerful person in many if not most interactions.

That’s hard to internalize and really believe. I’m just a piece of white trash… right?

No. Not really. I’m a rich bitch. I’m privileged as fuck.

At this point in time and forever more in the future I have to be more careful with my words. I’m not the kid any more. I’m not the victim any more. If I attack people… I’m the bully. I don’t get to think that I’m the victim now.

That’s fucking complicated. That relates to the home school group and the throat kick shit.

Even if something bad happened to me… I’m not a victim any more. Not really.

That part of my life is over. I could still be victimized, but it will take more effort at this point.

I feel like an asshole because I don’t want to give up this one damn song. I don’t want to give up the reminder to myself.

I need to be careful. Or I’m going to end up being the one who is mean and all alone. I’m not sure that is what Taylor intended folks in my position to get from it.

Taylor needs to be careful that she doesn’t become the bully. The half assed apology she gave to Nicki is not enough.

Not once you have that kind of power. Just like I don’t get to pretend I don’t have power at this point.

I haven’t researched every musician I like. I’m sure many of them are racist shitbags. Should I punish the shit out of Taylor because she was dumb enough to fuck up where I could see it? That’s what it kind of feels like.

I worry about treating some people really harshly for having an opinion I don’t like and giving other people a complete pass just because I’m ignorant of them having the same problematic opinion.

In the end, I’m a problematic person. Not as much as Bill Cosby, say, but I also haven’t done as much good for the world as that man has done.

How do you figure out the balance?

*thud*

1 Reply

This weekend was active. I don’t know how my friend can do that on the weekend then go work all day. I’m crispy fried tired.

Maybe this is related to my shrink telling me that in her opinion I will never be able to hold a full time job again?

I have stock going. We are having soup for dinner. Buddhist vegetarian soup. Which is to say, made with meat stock but with no meat in it because that is the level of “vegetarian” the house keeps to.

Everyone gets to be different. No, they aren’t Buddhist. But I first heard about “meat products are fine but not the flesh” from a friend who was describing her parents, who are Buddhist.

In my head this is now a thing. There’s vegans, vegetarians, pescatarians, Buddhist vegetarians, and omnivores.

And I’m totally cool with going with people to where they are. I just need to be told. So I’m making Buddhist vegetarian soup.

I’m not sure why I feel so flattened. I feel like I got hit with a brick. Being in the sun too much? We did go out three separate times this weekend. We were outside playing in the water/hanging out near the park for at least 10 hours split up over two days and three outings.

Break!

The feelings, they burn in my belly.

Leave a reply

I am really struggling with the fact that I can’t wake up and medicate because I’m never sure when or if I’m driving. That’s feeling really overwhelming right now. I’m crispy fried because of the emotional bouncing. It’s getting really hard. At home I create more of a baseline. On the road I don’t have a baseline. I’m taking medication to make sure I sleep every night (or else we would be aborting and going home) but the days are hard.

I’ve been diagnosed with multiple anxiety disorders. It is entirely reasonable that I feel so anxious I want to puke most of the time. It sucks, but it makes sense.

I feel like, if I lived in Duluth and could invite these folks over to my house so they could see my rules in action… we could get along like a house on fire and spend lots of time together. I think if the kids could experience the different sets of rules as a comparison, things would get easier.

I’m a bombastic person. When I am constantly, only, trying to meld into someone else’s rules (when I don’t really know what they are and I’m guessing and trying to not be too offensive) it’s hard. I am hard to deal with when I’m trying to gentle down to other people fast without really knowing the parameters of what is ok.

Different people have different boundaries. It’s hard figuring out. Some people don’t mind the fact that we suddenly shriek loudly in the middle of a game. Other people flip out and act like we are monsters who just burned their house down. Some people don’t care that I swear, some people spend their entire time near me giving me dirty looks and letting me know that they don’t approve.

It’s hard to guess what people will be like.

So we’ve been doing a lot of adapting and that’s super stressful and hard. We’re doing pretty darn well, I think, but my central nervous system is acting like I’ve been dancing on a telephone wire for a few days. I’m getting those bbbzzzzzzt jolts in my chest and I feel jumpy and twitchy and discombobulated.

I am grateful beyond the ability of words to convey that I am being given this opportunity. My wonderful friends are opening their homes and their kind hearts to me. It is stressful because I believe everyone in the world should hate me and want me to die. My friends are being wonderful to me. I am not complaining about my friends.

(I am complaining a little about my friend’s kids screaming “Go away” so many times. But they are kids. I have a “kids are being kids and that’s annoying” complaint about the kids. We’re negotiating and it’s going way better.)

Frankly, after I had some chats with the boys about, “If you want to get what you want to get… let’s find some different words and tactics. I can help you actually get what you want instead of just screaming and pissing everyone off.”

Kids like it when you teach them how to manipulate. Muahahaha.

I told my friend that I didn’t think her kids would like me if I stayed around here long term because they are very impatient and demanding when they talk to her and if I heard it a lot I would start working on them. “That’s not how you talk to your mother. She is not your employee. Try again.” She laughed and said she would love it and she thinks that they would long-term benefit and learn to see the value in me.

Heh.

I told her that lots of kids have strong feelings about me. I’m a polarizing figure. They can love or hate me. Sometimes both at the same time. It’s funny when kids can’t stay away from me because they are so drawn to me but most of what they want to do is hit me or slam things into my shins. Little bastards. We work it out.

Sometimes I wonder if those kids like that I will sit there and discuss boundaries with them verbally in great detail. “If you smack me this hard it feels like a love tap. If you smack me as hard as you did the first time it feels like you are saying you don’t like me and I’m going to get up and leave the room. Don’t do that to me again.” Kid goes back to give me 34,721 love taps.

Whatever.

I don’t know about other people but I’ve always had a bitch of a time figuring out how hard I should or shouldn’t touch people. Folks vary so much. Some people if you touch them gently they don’t notice. They will ignore you and go on with their day. You need to Get Their Attention with a firmness that would be a major boundary violation for someone else. It’s fucking complicated. The line between “Getting your attention” and “assault” is razor thin and you have to dance on top of it sometimes.

I think it is a lot of the reason I needed to hit people so much when I was a kid. I needed to have the experience of finding out that some people barely flinch when punched and some people are on the floor sobbing when you flick them with your finger.

We all get to be different. We all get to have our own experiences of living in our bodies. But I get why it is hard to talk about concepts like assault and rape. There isn’t a standard WAY TO KNOW about these issues because people vary.

If I were kicked in the course of a martial arts class… I would not feel assaulted. If I am kicked in the middle of what is supposed to be not-that-rough-play… it feels like assault.

Context is important.

So many of these things are about individual viewer judgment. I cannot count how many people have presumed to tell me that I haven’t been raped I just made bad decisions.

I’m the one who knows I *did not want* that to happen to me. You thinking that I should have magically found a way to fight harder in order to make it “count” as rape is… irrelevant.

Learning how to fight people off of your body is not an instinct everyone is born with. I’ve had to fight and struggle to learn very hard over many years to defend myself. I didn’t when I was a little kid. I just went limp and let it happen.

I don’t want to be that any more and I want my kids to never be like that.

So it’s my fault I just let it happen. It’s my fault I didn’t risk greater injury so that someone else would feel ok about calling what happened to me rape. I didn’t earn their regard.

I didn’t earn the right to call being kicked in the throat an assault. I would have had to be a perfect victim. I am not. I’m a complicated bitch. I would have had to… I don’t know… been kicked by someone who wasn’t white before people would have been willing to listen.

When I hear white women tell me they are afraid of men of color I snort in derision. I’ve never had a man who was not white touch me nor insult me nor assault me. I mean, I’ve been verbally approached but when I said no with a torrent of swear words they turned away with their hands thrown up. I don’t look like a target to them.

Just to white men.

My kids and the kids who had been screaming “go away” actually got along very well yesterday. I think this is mostly because I was a fascist and I managed to talk my friend into telling her kids to stay off the screens. We play nicely when folks aren’t screaming “Go AWAY” while playing a violent video game where they don’t want to be distracted. If we can’t game together in a friendly way then stop gaming. Go play instead.

I’m going to have to get to a point where I let my kids deal with the fact that if they want to be gamers they are going to have to learn how to deal with hundreds, nay thousands of fucking men and boys who are going to scream at them to go away. This is the softball early version.

This is why I don’t play fucking video games. Too many boys and men have screamed at me like this. It’s not a fucking fun sounding hobby any more. Sounds like a nightmare. I can get to the point of liking something only to have people of a different gender scream hysterically that I have to just GET OUT NOW.

I have huge triggers around this. I wish my fucking daughter didn’t want to be a fucking gamer. UGHGUGHGHGHFGHGHADfoihaweifkjhds;gfh;eovwaekln

AND I’M UN-FUCKING-MEDICATED AS I DEAL WITH THIS GAMER ASS HOLE BULLSHIT

Some day I will have to get over my brothers. Hopefully before my friend’s mother in law does. Holy crap.

In one place we visited we had tacos for dinner. Mother in law *shoved* everyone out of the way to fix a huge heaping plate of taco fillings, then she grabbed a big stack of taco shells and retreated into a corner. There was enough on her plate to feed my family of four at home. “When I was a kid I learned to eat tacos this way because otherwise my brothers didn’t let me have any.”

Aren’t you in your late 60’s? You know how you literally never leave the house because you are agoraphobic? There is some possibility you don’t need to eat like you are doing physical exercise in the Alaskan wilderness any more. You live in a big city and you never leave your house. You probably don’t need to rush to take four peoples worth of food and then eat it as fast as you can swallow.

Hopefully I will get to a healthier relative place than that with video games. I’m not nasty about my kids playing. I’m nasty about it turning into a nasty fight. If there is a lot of “go away” screaming I’m going to get really nasty.

Why are people so damn nasty to everyone? Why in the hell can’t we ask for things without being a complete asshole?

Oh man. Oh shit. The kids nailed me on something. I was talking to the two boys here about tone and shut up and what it means and how it is demeaning and “shut up” is something that is only supposed to be said by someone with power to someone they have power over and that’s a lot of why it is demeaning–it isn’t supposed to be used between equals. It doesn’t work. My darling children turned to me and said, “If it is demeaning you have to stop saying that to us. That’s not ok.”

Shit. I need to stop defining things for them.

First: I WISH I HADN’T PROPERLY EXPLAINED DEMEANING. Then I wish they would let me demean them just a little bit with the odd shut up. Kids say no. We are breaking up with that term.

THIS IS THE CONFORMITY I HAVE REFUSED FOR THIRTY FUCKING YEARS OF PEOPLE TRYING TO CLEAN UP MY POTTY MOUTH. YOU PEOPLE ANNOY THE CRAP OUT OF ME.

But I said I’d try. Eldest said she would be calling me on every slip and reminding me that it is not ok to demean them.

I love that child so much my heart soars. I look forward to knowing you as an adult my precious.

My kids have my fierce requirement to be respected… without all the breakage that makes me brittle underneath. It’s really nice to be around.

Eldest child told me she thought she was “bad” for coming and misrepresenting what the other grown up meant about leaving soon. I said, “Well–I wouldn’t call it bad. I would say it was annoying or irritating or selfish. I wouldn’t say bad. Let’s talk about “bad”. How about if you tell me a few things you think are bad then I’ll tell you a few things I think are bad.”

Every single example she gave me I told her, “Nope that’s annoying. Nope, that’s irritating. Nope, that’s selfish.” She finally said, “If being bad doesn’t mean being annoying or irritating or selfish, what does it mean?”

I said, “Remember how we were at the lake earlier and everyone was having fun throwing rocks?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember how once or twice you threw a little bit to close to someone and M and I both freaked out and said THROW AWAY FROM PEOPLE!?!”

“Yeah.”

Ok, let’s say… oldest boy from that family was being a jerk-face. People do that some time. Let’s say he did something you really didn’t like. If you picked up a rock and threw it at his head… THAT WOULD BE BAD. It could cause a concussion. It could cause him to drown and die. You don’t get to make choices that risk other peoples lives. THAT’S BAD. If I asked you to get out of the swimming hole and wait on the side while I went to the bathroom and instead of waiting you took off and went down the river because you want to see where the river meets with Lake Superior… that would be BAD right now because you are too little. Your body could easily be swept into the current and you could die. We wouldn’t be able to find you and save you. That would be BAD. If you did that when you were 16 and you had more body mass and more awareness of how to keep yourself safe… I’d be annoyed if you didn’t tell me in advance. It wouldn’t be bad.”

“Bad is about risking your life or someone else’s life because you just don’t care enough to treat life like it matters. Bad is not about being a little irritating or a little selfish or a little annoying. Those things are part of being human and people learning how to live with one another’s differences.”

“Many of the things that annoy me now, I will get used to and in the future I won’t feel annoyed. I feel annoyed now because I’m adjusting to a new person–I have to adjust to you every day because you change so fast–and that’s work. More work feels annoying. That doesn’t mean you should stop changing! It means I get to feel annoyed for a while and that’s ok.”

“I love you. I love that you have so much agency and strength and you want to go out and have impact on the world. Sometimes you are going to frustrate the shit out of me because you doing what you know to be right will not be the most convenient thing for me. That doesn’t mean you should change! It means I need to adjust. Adjusting can be a messy process.”

“I’m trying to have patience with you and sometimes I fail. That’s what me being impatient and fussy is about. It’s about me failing to have something I need to have. It’s not your fault and I’m not mad at you for being more than I can handle sometimes. I *want* you to be more than I can handle. But that means sometimes I’ll feel annoyed.”

“Me having feelings does NOT mean that you all of a sudden “are” something because of my fleeting feelings. You are who and what you are. You are not about me. My feelings are about me, not you. Your feelings are about you and not me. You want me to approve of you 100% of the time, so you feel kind of bad when I don’t. Sweet pea, you have to adjust to that too. You need to stop needing to have anyone approve of you 100%. It’s not going to happen in life. You still need to do what is right for you. Haters gonna hate. You need to be you.”

“And we’ve talked a lot about being selfish, right? You have to be a certain level of selfish or you will die. If you are too selfish then people don’t want to be around you. Selfish isn’t bad. Selfish is mandatory for survival. But sometimes you forget that an issue isn’t truly about survival and you are a little more selfish than strictly required and that’s annoying. It’s not BAD. It’s annoying. We all have to calibrate honey. Better to occasionally be a little too selfish because that’s annoying than to be not selfish enough… cause then your body and soul will get sick. It needs balance baby.”

Kiddo snuggled up to me with the biggest, warmest eyes and said, “I love you so much. I’m really glad I get you as my mom.”

I am so glad I get you as my child. Your kindness and generosity of spirit blow me away day by day.

Youngest child wanted to take care of me yesterday. This meant sitting in my lap and singing to me until I didn’t feel angry any more. It worked. I’m not sure I’ve had many times in my entire life when I have calmed down from feeling angry so fast. It was loving and sweet and wonderful and I am so grateful I get to know these people. I feel so loved and blessed. I don’t deserve them but I have them anyway and no one is going to take them from me. Mine.

I’m having feelings about push/pull. But you know what? People are worth figuring it out. The four kids watched All Dogs Go To Heaven together last night (on VHS–a first for my kids) and my friend and I had a wonderful grown up conversation. I really enjoy her company. She’s a delightful, well educated, insightful woman.

And it helps that she is hawt, hawt, hawt. It’s always kind of my friends to be so very easy on the eyes. Sigh.

Ahem. Not that I’m looking.

Ahem.

I’m being good.

I miss you Noah. Abstinence sucks. I can’t even masturbate. I don’t have enough privacy. THIS SUCKS. Eleven more days until I see Noah. And even when I see Noah I have no idea how we are going to make this happen.

Maybe I should go to a hardware store and get some lumber pieces so I can take everything out of the back of the van and put it on little risers under the side of the tent. Hmmmmm. Then I could have SOME horizontal space with a modicum of privacy. Won’t be fancy but I’ve fucked in smaller cars.

I’m thinking about you Noah. I’ll find a way. I’m climbing the walls.

This is the kind of problem I like solving.

Totally want a power strip. If I had a power strip I could put the plug in fridge under the awning and in places where I have an extension cord I could run my computer and the fridge. Like fancy.

I’m not sure what we are doing today. Probably more swimming. Even though everyone but me and my youngest burned a little yesterday. (We were napping in the shade. Like smart people.)

Maybe we’ll wait until a little later in the day and I’ll unload the back of the van and we can go to the farther sandy beach where you can have a bonfire and we can go/stay late enough for dinner. That might be fun. Apparently her family is into fire. I told her that if she and her kids are willing to build a fire my kids would be ecstatic because… I don’t do fires. We’ve been mostly camping for almost six weeks and not one fire to date. She looked shocked. She asked me why not. I said, “My brother self immolated. I’m just not real into fire.”

She agreed that it made sense. Oh good. But I don’t refuse to let my kids near fire…. I just want a responsible adult who is comfortable nearby.

Ha, yesterday at one point my eldest came in and said, “Her eldest (kid said name I’m not doing so) just hit me and I’m not sure why.”

“Well, was it an attempt to be playful?”

“I’m not sure. But it hurt.”

“Maybe you should go ask him, “Did you mean that whack to be playful? Because it didn’t feel playful–it hurt.”

So she did. Verbatim.

He said, “It didn’t hurt. I only did this.” and he did it again. And again my eldest said “OW!”

He looked surprised.

I said, “Well, different people are differently sensitive. My eldest has always had an extremely tender head. Brushing involves crying. She hates having people gently stroke her hair because it feels too intense… it may be that you were trying to be gentle and you didn’t know that you have to be even more gentle than that with her head. She really doesn’t like pressure.”

He looked a bit surprised. But then said, “Oh. Ok I can adjust to that.”

I said, “Yay!” My eldest hugged him. He looked… perplexed.

We are so funny.

Things improved after I got my head out of my ass. I’m telling you, ALL OF THIS WOULD BE EASIER IF I WAS STONED.

I am having a lot of fun here. My children continue to be the center of my world and I am so grateful for them. They make me feel so much joy and love. I feel appreciated. I feel valued.

I don’t feel like my kids are biologically dependent on me so ok fine we are together. I feel like my kids like me.

That doesn’t always happen. I’m very lucky.

Said to kiddo.

1 Reply

Oh! Last night youngest child stayed up to talk to me because he’s been having big feelings. He’s very sad about all the “shut up” screaming. He cried a lot as we talked about it. So we lay in bed and strategized how to handle it. Kiddo wants to initiate a conversation at breakfast today.

“I would really like it if you would play with us instead of your computer while we are here. We are leaving very soon and we fight a lot when you focus on the computer. Will you please play with me? I really like Lego’s and I notice you have a lot of them.”

We worked for a while before kiddo found phrasing he liked. I didn’t come up with most of it. I just gave feedback on bossiness vs asking. “Well if you say he HAS to do this… he might get his back up. How can we phrase it so it sounds like a polite request.” Kid says, “Good point. Let me try again.”

I love my kids. I love my kids. I love my kids.

Ok, now we are all up.

I’m happy about this.

1 Reply

Ok, so I need to stop doing the “all the rage I feel towards men is focused on a particular little boy” thing. Which means I need to find a way of personalizing each kid… one at a time. Oh god.

So I asked the eldest son to come downstairs while I moved laundry around. I said, “I’m having a real problem with your tone of voice and it seems like maybe you aren’t enjoying mine either. Can we negotiate?”

We had a great chat. He expressed extreme frustration with my kids and I gave him several paths for dealing with us without ever screaming, “Shut up or get out” at us. I said, “We are all contrary assholes. Have you noticed how when you tell us to shut up we get louder?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. We’re like that. Would you like tips on a way to quiet us down that will actually work?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

“I can do that!”

So we talked about how to talk to us. We talked about when and how to ask for interventions. I expressed extreme desire to help him defend his space when that is appropriate. I said, “If you come and get me before you are pissed off and frustrated then you never have to get frustrated or pissed off. My kids can be very rude. If they are in your space in a way that doesn’t work for you, come get me and we’ll work it out. You don’t have to put up with people violating your boundaries… but this isn’t how to communicate your boundaries. Let’s talk about stuff.”

He said that sounded really great. He’d like help defending his boundaries. He tried to tell me, “That’s just how people talk to each other here. Everyone is like that.”

I said, “Well then you get to have the wonderful, magical experience of having people visit you from far away who have different boundaries and you get to adapt and learn how to treat us. It’s good for your character.”

He kind of stammered a bit and looked confused. When we walked back upstairs mom was doing that, “Uh huh you got told and I’m going to pretend I wasn’t listening to every word” thing.It was cute.

Then I stayed awake way too long strategizing how I want to talk to a few people about a few other things. I’ll need to initiate a conversation about closure when I get back to the bay area. That’s going to be festive and fun.

I am glad I don’t have to do it soon.

The kids continue to make me feel like I’m doing something worthy with my life and time. I love them so much.