I’m not feeling productive today. I know what I need to do. I don’t want to do it. I’m tired and grumpy and I have a distinct lack of caring.

I’ve been reading other home school blogs. It is going to be very weird for me over the next fifteen years that most of the people I have the most in common with are extremely Christian or rabidly atheist. I don’t seem to have stuff in common with moderate people. This is a little odd because I have a lot of hang-ups about the Christians.

If someone tells me they are home schooling because Christ told them to I figure they don’t want to talk to me. I’m not home schooling my kids because Christ told me to. I’m home schooling my kids because I am a selfish daughter of a bitch and I want to enjoy every single minute of their life and not let some other asshole get the benefit of all those smiles. Yup, I’m that selfish.

I love that I get to watch what they do all day. I get to know what they like and don’t like. I get to benefit from how gosh darn nice and polite they are.

If you take the faith part out of the equation I am very much trying to raise my kids in a way that is consistent with the religious home schoolers we know. I believe in being polite to people. I believe in learning that your needs are not the only ones in the room–how do you learn how to anticipate and accommodate needs other than your own? I do not want my children exposed to the idiocy of most modern curriculum. I know how they are created and I flat don’t approve.

Sometimes it feels like what I am doing must be a sin. It must be a crime for me to pull my kids out of the herd. They are not going to be just like the neighbors. We have a relatively homogeneous sort of neighborhood. We are distinctly at the edge of the bell curve in a variety of ways.

I am going to educate my kids. They will know a freakish range of things. They will understand a lot about the world. Will they be normal? Almost certainly not. But we’ll see.

I want to know what people are like when they are protected from the awful of life but are continually exposed to the fact of their own protection and privilege. My kids are incredibly fucking privileged. What will that mean to them? Will they grow up like their dad and my shaman who get very angry about the word because it sounds to them like “Everyones opinion but mine matters”?

I go back and forth with this American idea of “boot-strapping” yourself out of poverty. Some folks think I did. I think I had $1200/month tax free until I was thirty because of an unfortunate incident when a pit bull ripped part of my face off. I don’t feel I can call myself a boot-strapper with a straight face. I had support. I didn’t have family support and that is what people expect if you have support.

What would life be like if all young people had an equal amount of support? John Holt believes that the government should guarantee a small income in the name of all citizens. You don’t have to claim it if you don’t need it–if your parents do adequately you can choose to not ask for it.

Actually how awesome would it be if even the rich kids were cut off at 18? What would it be like if every 18 year old in America had the same salary and access to education? How would that change things? It is an interesting thought exercise.

I can’t change everything. I can’t change society. All I can do is change my family.

I feel haunted by this whole family tradition thing. People tend to pass down traits and behaviors and activities and hobbies. That’s how families work.

Suicide and incest go back generations. What does that mean? How broken are we to start with? Most of the research on how damaging such lives are on a DNA-level says that the damage can be mostly repaired by excellent parenting. Am I managing? My children are not anxious. My children have very few fears and anxieties. They are extremely connected and secure.

My children have never been seriously hit. I have hit Shanna on the foot a few times when she kicked me but it wasn’t hard enough to hurt her foot or my hand and I apologized. I was deflecting her from hurting me so I don’t feel that bad. I think those kinds of contact are part of life.

I am scary sometimes. I have broken things in front of them. You aren’t supposed to do that. When I break something my kids say, “Rats! Good thing it is easy to fix!” It is just… automatic. My children believe I can fix anything. My kids are not afraid of me. When I am acting in a scary way Shanna has told me, “Mom you are scaring me and that has to stop.” I told her she was right. I thanked her for telling me. I don’t want to scare you. If I scare you then I am doing it wrong. I love you so much.

I feel so much guilt for being as limited as I am. I sometimes think longingly of working. More money! Time when I’m not being pawed! But I think I would hate it. I think I would have way less patience for the kids. At this point my kids get to have ~80% of the patience I have in this world. If I had a job they would get less and that would be bad. I would not be very nice.

I see my friends hold down jobs and be good mothers. I feel ashamed of myself. I cannot be like any of you. I don’t have enough to give in this lifetime. I wish I had somewhere to go every day where lots of people appreciated what I did and needed my help. But most people don’t have that experience from work. Work sucks. So I opt out because I have this overwhelming privilege.

It is a privilege to be as functional while not-very functional as I am. I have luxury and help. I have money. Let us not under rate the very important function of knowing that I am financially safe. I check www.mint.com every day. I am very aware of our financial position. I feel very annoyed with myself for not having more self-discipline and saving a higher percentage of Noah’s income. But we already run into a lot of awkward because our friends spend money differently and it makes it hard to do things with people.

My life is set up around doing work and mostly playing for free with my kids. We play at parks and at peoples houses. Somewhere with an admission fee is way less interesting.  If we have to pay to play a bunch of games it is pretty much a guarantee that we won’t be playing any games. We can watch. It’s ok.

Our money is going into our house. If my kids resent that, well… I don’t owe you endless trips to a bounce house. That’s not a god-given right. If you resent me for my choices you will just be joining the legions of children who came before you. *shrug*

I tell my children more or less every day, “It is not my job nor my responsibility to entertain you. One of the most important things you need to do in this lifetime is figure out how to make your own fun. If I do it for you then you will never learn.”

I wonder if one of these days if I will start tracking my mood more carefully during the month. I started bleeding yesterday. The week before that I cried all the god damn time–well, any time I wasn’t being looked at by another person. I have a paranoid “oh shit someone is looking at me” switch where I can turn it off. When they turn away the tears start again.

Yesterday I felt crampy and slow and lethargic but more numb than bad. I didn’t cry until I was going to sleep. That’s pretty good for me.

My belly was hurting enough to wake me up. Maybe I might be willing to talk to a professional about this one of these days. Maybe.

I feel like being quiet is smart. I feel like I am very lucky to have three people who love me. Not everyone is so lucky.

My garden progresses. My children grow. Just

The hardest part of changing my writing is assuming that my reader has never met me before. I think for so long I’ve just been writing for Noah.

Anyway. So I have this friend Mollena. She’s a speaker, a writer, a presenter, a performer, she’s been a working actor since she was five. She’s been a lot of places and done a lot of things that would probably make your head explode. If you ever get her in a room say, “Tell me about when your dad took you traveling”. I promise you that you will like the story.

Mollena is someone I met in the bdsm community. Specifically she is a sex educator. She teaches classes about dynamics in relationships. She was asked to speak at Yale among I just don’t wanna give  her resume. It’s way more than a page long. She’s cool.

Specifically

She’s awake and responsive but she’s in so much pain that she’s not able to breathe consistently. They need to put in a feeding tube. She needs another surgery. Her broken ribs are complicating everything.

Apparently there are strong wishes for no prayers. I’m allowed to send positive

It occurs to me that there is a word to describe the problem I have with female friends: “Codependent“. I’m an enabler. I like to take care of people and “fill in the gaps” on what they “can’t do for themselves”. I want to take care of people so they will turn around and fill my emotional needs and take care of me.

I totally set myself up as the victim and feel like people are persecuting me when they choose to step out of the dance of dependence. I’m a serious asshole that way. When I stand up for my needs I feel like shit. I feel like I am violating the contract.

So I tend to not take care of myself until I completely explode and pull a nearly Borderline black/white thinking trick and decide that the person who can’t meet my needs has to be cut out of my life entirely. That’s not helpful.

I need to learn h

We put in ~ 40 screws out of 66 before the battery on my drill died completely. Not bad. The corded drill isn’t buff enough to do this work so I’m waiting till tomorrow. No biggie. We didn’t test the tent.

I’m up to about three weeks of having one normal poop a day. For the last few days I’ve been eating a fair bit of garlic. I’m breaking all the FODMAP rules and still pooping normally. I’m done tracking food.

In the past ~20 days I’ve had a few days with one normal poop and then a small squirt of diarrhea later in the day. I consider that acceptable. I don’t have any desire to continue tracking. It doesn’t seem to be doing me any good.

I am deeply frustrated that I did the process and found… no clear connections. I *am* pooping normally… which is a big change. Near as I can tell the fast or some combination of just dropping foods out for a while was good for me. I don’t know.

I’ve spent the last two days reminding myself that how other people feel about me isn’t my business. I’m having really big feelings. I am so ridiculously insecure. But I’m not reaching out for any validation. It is inappropriate to ask and ask and ask.

Sometimes I feel very sad that there has never been a period of my life that is safer than right now in which to make mistakes… and I still don’t feel safe enough to make many kinds of mistakes.

I don’t even know what I would “want” in terms of validation from people. I feel like folks have generally been very decent to me for a while here. Well, my friends are being fine. I haven’t had a sticky moment with a friend in several weeks. Notice how I’m not going out as much as usual. I think there’s a connection.

I’m not having good luck with all people but that’s different.

I feel like I am not good at figuring out perspective. Either I am underestimating or overestimating how important something is.

A long time ago I spent a lot of money trying to have a cross country relationship with someone. I found out that person got married on my coast just recently. Interesting.

I lose people. Lots of people. Mostly I think of it as “my fault” but I shouldn’t. I can’t have relationships with thousands of people–it isn’t physically possible. Given how many people I know I probably can’t be closer to anyone than I am.

Sometimes it is really hard knowing that I have to carefully balance out not seeing people for too many hours in a year or we have problems.

I lost that relationship partially because the person in question could only handle the strain of so many bi-coastal relationships and I was an outlier. Everyone else was wound into their life more fully. So I… just didn’t fit.

I’m used to that.

Day before yesterday we went to the gym for weight lifting. I hear it is “good for me”. I hurt. Sleeping is hard. I spent yesterday compulsively asking questions about “Do you think it is my fault?” Noah is so good at answering that question–he never tells me I was just fine but he implies that I tried. He’s cagey.

Bitch, asshole, cunt. Why do we love these words so much? It isn’t just me who has a love-affair. I self-identify easily as an asshole. Yup, I’m self-absorbed and I’m going to default to thinking my needs are more important than yours. I’m not sorry. Bitch is harder for me. Asshole I view as more passive–not attacking anyone but not doing anything unless motivated by selfish need. Bitch is more aggressive. Bitches attack. Bitches are willing to savage people just because they are having a bad day.

Notice how gendered these assumptions are? When men withdraw and refuse to engage… they are an asshole. When a woman chases cause she’s pissed… she’s a bitch.

Sometimes when I talk about my friends in therapy (because holy crap have I processed about *all* of you in therapy) my therapist says, “Wow. You know a lot of survivors. Do you understand that you are finding the most extreme people in society and these experiences aren’t average, common, or easily understood by most people?”

To that I channel Big Mac and say, “Yup.”

It is hard

I went back through all the reviews of the contracting company I’m working with. Five stars, four stars, very rare three stars. I think they are suppressing negative reviews

Today Shanna announced that it is sometimes appropriate to wear all black. That is a milestone sorta moment.

I’m thinking about the overlap of the movie The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio and failure.

What does failure mean? We are all small pieces in the stories of one another’s lives.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the past. It seems to me that other people believe the past should be over and done. In thinking about the past I understand the present. Through perspective I get why I’m doing what I am doing. Why I will do what I will do.

Connect, connect, that’s what we all want. Whether it is through selling something or through buying big old big-ukkkie yuck well. Or something.

What the fuck was that?

I don’t even know.

White men help white men. White women help… I don’t fucking know.

Sometimes I feel like a race traitor. I don’t type that very often. But I think it. Often. Especially when I watch movies like like “The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio” and watch how white men are supported without ever knowing the price of bearing them.

No one ever says life is easy. This is true.

I think about the past because it helps me figure out why I want to do what I want to do.

I want to forget. I want to stop thinking about pain. I want to stop hurting.

I don’t know how.

I’m told, by asshole men, that the path forward is just to forget. To stop thinking about the things that have happened to me. The things that shaped who and what I am.

I am not a dumb grazing animal standing under a tree. I am a complex being. I am not important. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just not stupid.

To be fair I’m sure there are asshole women with the same opinion. They just feel less need to track down my Twitter feed to tell me how stupid I am.

“That’s not enough”

“It never is”

“How is Dad going to fill the freezer when he can’t even buy the milk?”
“I have no idea honey but at least he has a goal.”

(From the above referenced movie.)

I feel sad. I feel disconnected. I feel like my bills are not the point of life. I pay my bills. Oh fucking well.

I feel happy. I feel connected. I feel like I am unusually well connected with friends.

All along the way we toss out some of the most interesting, most enlightened people.

I think a lot about bravery. Why do we try the things we try? Do we have to see someone else do it first?

Just try. Just try. What the fuck does autocorrect do anyway?

Violence, meanness, write it down. There is just a hole lot of mean in the world.

This is literally just what is pouring out my head as my fingers hurt.

Can’t type enough.

My problems are many and varied and are never that I’m not happy enough

We leave in less than three hours. We’re packed.

I don’t post things here to talk to people unless I name them and know I talk to them we

Today is pretty rad. We went to the movies. Because that’s what you do when you drive across the country, right? Go to the movies? Well, it was a movie about a kid from Minnesota having to move to San Francisco so it actually made a kind of awesome sense. We have her problem in reverse. The movie was Inside Out and it is the newest Pixar movie. It’s about emotions. I’ll be just mean enough to say that part of the point of the movie is the emotions learn that you need *all* emotions… not just the fun ones.

I cried and cried and cried. The movie gave me some interesting language for talking to the kids and I’m super grateful for that. Well done, Pixar. My kids kind of understand some pieces of me and my issues better because of this movie. That’s hecka useful.

I will be a judgmental bastard and say that the Thai food here in Duluth is more pan-Asian than what I think of as Thai. But who knows if I know what I’m talking about. It tasted fine, just… more of a fusion sorta thing. Very Chinese influenced.

They didn’t have pad see ewe! I had a sad. And no yellow curry!

Well, when we go home we will visit our local Thai restaurant and cry with happiness. Yay!

I slept better last night. Finding out how badly I was misunderstanding layers of stuff with the home school group helped. The anger is gone. I’m just left with sadness. I’m sorry I don’t know how to be what other people need.

I am feeling a little weird about the weather here. It feels like Hawaii to me. Which is totally not what I expected. It’s hot and muggy. It keeps raining. Fierce thunder and lightening storms with almost no warning. I’ve only experienced that in Hawaii before.

I wish Noah was here. This would be a rad place for sex outside in the rain. It’s 80 degrees!

I’m not hitting Iowa nor Missouri. I just can’t. The driving is hurting so much. I’m sad that I’m leaving so many interior states for later. I’ll just have to come back in 10-20 years with an RV.

My tent is breaking. One of the fasteners that attach it to the trailer ripped out. Whoops. And we have a hole in the door. I covered it on both sides with duct tape.

If it weren’t for the tarp I brought as a rain fly we’d be in a world of hurt right now. I’m so glad I was smart enough to think of this.

I am having fun. In between bursts of exhaustion. Ok, just played with the road trip doc. I’m staying in Duluth for 10 days. That’s way better sounding than 5 days.

That way I don’t have to set up camp so often. I’m feeling lazy. Or exhausted. The kids want me to be “fun”. I’m too fucking tired. Know how we still need to eat three meals a day? And I’m the only driver? And your laundry needs to be washed? And…

I’ll stop. I think I’ll enjoy a longer stay in Duluth. Then Chicago for slightly longer than originally intended then on to Michfest. Duluth, three-in-transit-days meandering through Wisconsin on the way south to Chicago. Then straight to the music fest. That describes the schedule up through the 9th of August. Which sounds great right now. Less travel, more play.

We are going to be so water logged when we leave here. Part of the reason I want to stay here longer is because it is so cheap. We went through a few import stores today. I couldn’t believe how cheap everything was. I made a surprised comment and the woman asked me where I was from. Her lip curled up, she said, “Rent. Everything costs so much there because of the rent.”

I wasn’t trying to say that I thought the people in my area were trying to gouge people or anything. I understand some pieces of economics…

It will give us more time here to fix the broken things on the trailer and get all the bedding cleaned (I’m tired of smelling like pee) and get the oil changed and and. Lots of little things piling up.

I can’t tell from the Michfest website, but it sounds like they won’t let me keep my van with my pop up even though moving things out of the van would be a *nightmare*. I mean, I *can*. But it will mean hours and hours and hours of work because I tied everything together so it wouldn’t fall while I’m driving. Everything is *very* secure. I’m sorta wondering if I should try to find some wood for putting under the eaves of the trailer so I can put the drawer units outside under the protection. Otherwise 100% would have to come into the tent. Uhm. I suppose I *could*. But it would make being in the tent very unpleasant. We use the sides and stand up there to dress and such. Losing all of that room to storage would be sad.

Still feeling sad about the plug in cooler. It is just not doing what I wish it would do. Too much rain to leave windows open so it can be plugged in.

Youngest asked me to get steak and broccoli for dinner. I hope I have enough for all six folks in the house. Not sure! We’ll find out!

I have no idea how much my friend’s kids eat. Children are variable and all. I expect oldest will eat a lot and youngest will eat little. Based on the fact that oldest is a very tall, very heavy (muscular) kid and youngest is very short for age and extremely thin. There is less than a two year spread and older kid is literally more than twice as heavy. That’s a big difference in body type.

But who knows! You can’t look at people and guess how much they’ll eat.

So far I think this place is neat. It’s fun to wander around downtown and ask my kids, “What do you think this springy pole is for on the fire hydrant?” They have no idea. That’s how they measure snow.

The kids eyes bugged out as they looked at this pole that is taller than them. They get THAT MUCH SNOW?! Sometimes.

I’m really enjoying all the conversations the kids and I are having. Ok, I’ll spoiler the movie just a teeny bit. In it, there is a reference to the “core memories” that make up who you are and decide a lot of your personality. For this kid, all of the core memories were fueled by joy.

I told the kids, “Know how I talk about how I have a hard time feeling positive emotions sometimes?” They said, “Yeah” “Well, my core memories are angry or sad or afraid.”

They both hugged me and said that we’ll just make new memories to replace those.

I love you so much.

I said, “Notice how it isn’t that easy? Your core memories are there. No matter what. But notice how as the kid gets older the kid learns how to mix feelings more? Things don’t have to be just joy, they can be joyful and sad. They can be joy and fear. I won’t be able to replace the memories I have. Brains don’t work that way. But I can make new memories and learn how to have those memories be more of a mixed thing. As I get older I have a lot of thoughts about my mother and I realize that there are times when I was scared or sad or angry… that I could have felt a little joy. Now, I can be grateful for some of the things my mom did even though I couldn’t be at the time.”

They looked thoughtful.

My friend that we are staying with is a single mom. That has lead to a lot of questions. I was actually asked if we are on this trip because I’m leaving their dad. I said, “Know how I talk to your dad basically every day and I talk to you about him and I miss him and I tell him that I love him over and over? Yeah. I’m not leaving your dad. I’m just having an adventure.”

Then they asked if I ever dumped him. I laughed and said I did. I said he wasn’t the kind of boyfriend I wanted to have but it turns out he is an excellent husband. They found that fascinating.

I told them, “See why it is so wonderful for me to be hanging out with you two all the time making all these joyful memories? Imagine my long-term memory storage. (They show something in the film.) Now I have rows and rows and rows of joy with your names on it.”

They skipped.

Sometimes I wonder what fucked me up the most. The rapes, being an unwanted baby, moving and not having stable support, all the beatings, the screaming that I’m a worthless cunt/bitch/whore/word of the day.

Was it worse having people tell me, regularly, to kill myself? “Why don’t you go play with the cars on the freeway.”

Hilarious to say given that my brother was hit by a car on the highway. Hilarious.

I should be brain damaged too. Sometimes I wonder if I am. Sometimes I reflect that PTSD is a sort of brain damage. It alters your brain. I haven’t read a medical textbook on brain injuries in a while and I know there is interesting new research. Most of my reading happened in the 80’s and 90’s so I’m terribly out of date.

What is damage? What is change? What is abnormal? What is problematic?

Because even if something causes damage… that doesn’t make it problematic. Lots of people with brain damage adapt and are basically fine. Even if they are on the edge of “normal” they are doing fine and they are happy.

So how much of it matters? Well, if you ask zero tolerance drug enforcement policy people any amount of change to the brain is problematic and unacceptable.

I’ve done more than my share of recreational drugs. I don’t think I’ve hit “addict” because other than something ordered by a doctor I never did anything that many times and I’m not real driven to seek drugs out. If they are convenient and I’m set up for doing them I’ll do them. But if I don’t have the right parameters I abstain.

Childcare is #1 at this point and I don’t really have that in a way that would allow drug usage. So I don’t really do much.

I don’t abstain because I’m worried about altering my brain. Frankly if I get stupider and my memory works less well in the future… I will probably be grateful. I remember too well right now. Too much. I want to forget.

But I can’t drink alcohol because I shit fire. Well, rare drinks I can sorta tolerate if I’m otherwise low stress. But it’s awful.

Other drugs aren’t hard on my body in the same way. Different ways. They make me tired and unable to care about anyone outside of myself.

I can’t do that and be a parent. So I don’t do drugs.