Well, I’m going to be typing this puppy slowly with my left hand. My right arm isn’t working well. Elbow says fuck the whole world. Tens unit now, ice soon. Then bath.

Why do I do the things I do? It’s complicated. Which things? Which time?

I don’t want to be in pain any more.

I think that right there is the root of a lot of my suicidal ideation and impulses. I want to stop being in pain and my experience of being alive is that there is no end to pain.

I enjoyed the party more than I thought I would. Noah observed that we had a really high cancellation/flake rate (those are different actions: thank you to people who cancel, I know that shit happens) but we probably ended up with about the right number of kids.

The family with teenagers showed up about half an hour late and that was kind of perfect. Her big kids found all the remaining eggs (to the best of my ability to determine). I wanted to stagger the start time anyway.

I had several really pleasant interactions with children of friends who hadn’t previously warmed to me. That was nice.

My smile wasn’t fake all day. I did feel joy. I just also hurt really really really badly. Articles like this neatly encapsulate part of why it doesn’t feel safe to be honest about how my body is doing. I am abusing people.

I am a monster no matter what I do.

What is a monster?

There is a minister in San Francisco I need to find a way to have a chat with. She gave an excellent presentation on monsters and I’d really like to talk to her in more depth. I should look her up. I bet she’s open to that kind of thing sometimes. It is part of her profession.

I’m drinking tea and eating the last of the pecan pie Noah made for our friend’s birthday. He found a recipe with no corn syrup for me because he loves me.

Noah does so so so so so so much because he loves me. That is a man who is motivated by love.

What am I motivated by?

I want to be in less pain.

The new research on addiction stuff shows… duh duh duh… the problem is connection.

Is connection the answer to my pain?

This is complicated. I have some interesting books on neuroplasticity after trauma I’m rereading. I’ve read them before. I’ll probably read them more times after this time. I can’t recite the shit in my sleep yet.

I absorb it in layers as I am at different developmental plateaus. I can see (with the awesomeness of hindsight and obsessive documentation) how I understand things differently over time.

I do change. I do grow.

Do I feel less pain?

What an interesting question.

Setting up for parties is enormously stressful. I often kinda melt down. I spent a lot of time beating my head on concrete in between setting up for my 30th birthday party, where I later did ecstasy with friends and spent most of the party on the couch having panic attack because I couldn’t believe that anyone actually liked me.

I don’t much like being in my body.

Or my brain. I would even deal with the body if I could just get a shiny new brain.

Noah tells me that what he is researching is interesting to him because of the emphasis around getting to exist without shame.

I wouldn’t know what it was like to not feel shame. I wouldn’t know what it was like to feel comfortable. I wouldn’t know what it was like to not feel pain.

Let me put that more plainly: I have always felt ashamed. I have always felt uncomfortable. I have always felt pain.

It moves around. Sometimes it is more emotional. Sometimes it is more mental. How do I distinguish? There is a difference between crying and being unable to remember numbers during math.

There were extensive periods of my childhood where I was literally incapable of remembering a series of digits. So clearly I was stupid.

I went to 25 schools. No teacher saw me for very long. How I presented in the first two days decided how I was treated and it went well and it went very very very poorly.

Some teachers recommended that I be tested for special ed because clearly I was retarded. Some teachers recommended that I be tested for GATE because clearly I was a genius.

More than one thing can be true.

And I’m 35 fucking years old and I still think about this and cry. Because I don’t know what I am. Because I can’t narrow it down. I’m too retarded to belong with the smart people. I’m too “high functioning” to need more services than basic therapy to help make sure I don’t end up the kind of person who climbs to the top of a bell tower with a gun. Cheers.

That’s not entirely true either. They’ve tried lots of meds. I’m told that at around a dozen I’ve barely seen the tip of the ice burg and I should keep trying! There is a wonder med out there for me! And in the process I need to lose more months of my life to feeling so bad I want to die and be told that the correct response to the medical community giving me drugs that make me want to die is to put myself inpatient so they can give me more drugs and cut me off from the only community and the only positive connection I’ve ever had.

Tell me more about how you have my best interests at heart.

In the state of California’s mind the fact that I reached adulthood passionately convinced I should never own a gun is a win. Cheers. Therapy Worked. Patient Is Cleared For Society.

Everyone is biased. Everyone is wrong. But I have to walk around feeling the effects of the wrong decisions that happen in my body, not you.

Don’t act like there are equal stakes here when you are trying to avoid a malpractice lawsuit for not following the letter of the rules exactly the same for each patient.

I mean, I get it. I think it’s totally appropriate to have that stance. But I need to act like how I feel is more important than going through a process.

Is the result the point or is the process the point?

It matters.

I learned that lesson very well as a slave. There were times when shortcuts were absolutely the right decision. Save a dime or save time and it was a good plan. There were times when shortcuts resulted in severe punishment. I had a couple of doozies.

I remember when my mom met my Owner. She looked at him and she leaned over to me and whispers. “You do what he says? Really? Why?”

Yeah. I know.

But I did. I took my punishments and I learned which processes to god damn follow. He had been in the military and there were some things where the process was the entire point. Oh. Ok. Sure. Whatever.

That was a man with good boundaries. I’ll say that for him. He told you what he wanted to give in a relationship and what he wanted to get and he didn’t really move from where he started.

I’m not like that. I change.

And then I change again.

And then I change again.

Poor Noah.

Well, I’m in a lot more physical pain than I used to be in… But I don’t think I’m in as much emotional pain as I was. I know that I still write about the ups and downs and they still sound extreme… but I have a lot of intrusive memories interacting with my kids. Yay PTSD is fun. I mean, they are present in one of the back channels of my mind.

My child is about to turn nine. When I was about to turn nine… oh god. It wasn’t good, yo. Not typing that shit today.

My child is leaning close on turning seven. When I look at my sweet, emotional, sensitive, nobody-loves-me-everybody-hates-me-I-guess-I’ll-go-eat-worms child I think “And this is with people telling you all day long that we love you and being patient with your shit. Wow. No wonder I completely flipped out.”

If my Eldest Child shows me a picture of what I wish I could have been like if everything were perfect? Well… I think my Youngest Child shows me a more realistic picture of what I could have been like under best case scenario. That baby needs a lot of love and approval and building up. There’s a leaky hole in them. They struggle to know they are as wanted and loved.

And that’s with drowning the kid in affection since birth. I mean good grief.

I have one child who pluckily declares that her parents almost never get mad unless they have a very good reason and another who is afraid that they aren’t as good as everyone around them. Oh baby. How did we do this?

It’s a stage. I know. Deep breath. Keep doing what you’re doing. Everyone has moments of self doubt. Everyone has times when they feel like they aren’t enough. But you are all you are. Keep working on learning new skills and learning new facts and learning new processes and you’ll figure out what you need to know for life.

Life means so many different things to so many different people. And every single way is right.

Well, if it isn’t right that isn’t because it isn’t the same as what other people do. Maybe folks are doing something what is wrong for them and they ought change that. But that doesn’t mean they need to conform to being just like another person.

That’s never the way.

Do I actually want to die? Or do I just want to be in less pain?

That’s kinda an important question when you are talking about a permanent solution, no?

Or at least people keep telling me.

When I think about many more years with Noah, I want to smile. I will tell Noah that I want a falling star and he will say, “Do you have one in particular in mind or will any one do?”

I’m going to sit in my bath tub and think about how I can be in less pain.

That’s why. The party was pretty darn good given how much I flipped out yesterday. I continue to find it bothersome that if someone I like, who is my friend, asks me how I’m doing I have basically zero interest in answering honestly if I’m not doing well. Lots of folks asked me how I was doing at the party. Ha.

I’m not doing badly for me today. I’m in a lot of pain but I slept well. Once things got going the party was as smooth as butter. I spent a lot of time hugging my people and that was really lovely.

I love you all. Thank you for being part of my life. I wish it were a less bumpy ride.

Why do I like the idea of parties so much? How many of them do I enjoy?

I have so much work left to do.

Why do I do this to myself? I feel so bad.

I feel like I wear a mantle of shame. I don’t do enough to help people. My life is small and selfish and focused on my problems instead of problems that are bigger than me.

Noah told me yesterday about a specific subset of pagans who believe that activism in the political/social arena is the same thing as spirituality. Yeah. That kind of sounds right. My religion is you and I need to serve you in order to be a good supplicant. I try to serve you as best I can. I know I fail more often than I succeed.

But when I feel like I do nothing nothing nothing for humanity… what counts?

I have a complicated relationship with my children. They are me-not-me. Does working for them count as doing something for someone other than myself or is it self serving?

I can’t actually count the number of people who have told me that they have felt inspired or educated or impacted by me. It’s not a small number. I tend to get a handful or so a year. Some years I get more, “I learn so much from you” than other years.

People have told me they are still alive because of me. How does that figure into the count?

Plants help everyone be healthier and better able to breathe. I’ve put a whole bunch in the ground. Does that count as doing something that is bigger than me? I now basically host bird conventions in my yard. I get all the representatives in my neighborhood showing up to fight it out over the bounty of food in my yard.

My actual human neighbors knock on my door to ask for advice and help. I give it when asked. Does that count?

I’m not entirely sure the problem is that I “don’t do anything for anyone but myself” so much as I think I have a difficult time perceiving anything I do as counting towards adding value to the world. Aren’t I just a drain?

I’m really not.

I helped a nice old lady pass her driving test. She hadn’t ever taken it in English before. I helped her study the book and practice what they were asking her. It wasn’t my “job” it was just something my neighbor needed help with. That’s a real thing. That’s helping someone.

I know that in the fullness of my life I want to do more. But I’m not doing nothing.

This is weird and complicated. I want to be a big fish in a very small pond. I’m not interested in trying to be nationally important. I want to be important to a small group of people. Aren’t I already there though? I’m very important to a few dozen people in the world. Isn’t that the right size of pond for me? I don’t know.

I feel ashamed of myself for feeling like I have more help to give than this. It’s a weird feeling. I don’t think I should feel ashamed of this. I fear it is too much like hubris. Too much like being the tallest stalk of grass in the yard so you get cut down fastest.

Is this part of where women feel like staying at home isn’t the same thing as having a job? I would be miserable and feel like I was wilting in the vast majority of jobs out there. I would feel like not spending time with my kids was wasting my life.

Then why do I need to focus away from them so damn bad? What is it already?

I keep reading these impassioned articles from women earnestly explaining why staying at home is the end of a happy life. Oh.

You will never again be treated like you might be good for anything. I’m not sure the problem is with staying at home. I think the problem might be the perception of mothers. We don’t do anything all day, right?

I gotta say: if you are a stay at home mom and your kids believe you “do nothing” then you need to teach those little snot waffles a lesson.

If someone implies that I’m lazy or do nothing my children are all over that like white on rice. “Don’t you call my mother lazy! She never stops working! Be quiet! She should rest more!” That’s right.

Sometimes I feel like a huge asshole because I will not be taken for granted. Nope. If you are going to benefit from my work you are going to hear about how hard I am working. In detail. And you will show appreciation or I will stop doing this work and You Don’t Want That, Now Do You?

Is this the same thing as self esteem?

What counts as doing something for other people? I do some selfish work. I do some self-maintenance work. I do a lot of work for other people. When does it count? When is it enough? When have I bought my right to keep breathing and eating and needing resources?

Maybe figuring out how to change that perception is the kind of thing I could work on in therapy instead of spending that time fighting about how I should take a series of drugs that make me feel like death? Just a suggestion since I’m paying through the nose for the time spent.

Tomorrow is the Easter party. We didn’t max out RSVPs. Phew. Not quite 30 kids. It’ll be great.

Why don’t I mentally count the fun that little kids have at my parties as part of doing something for people? Because really I throw these parties so my inner child can finally be invited to a party.

I am allowed to stand near happy, excited people if I provide enough stimulation, attraction, and diversion.

I’m so happy when my friends tell me that their children bug them for months, “When is Krissy’s party?” I love you too. I’m very happy you want to come. I hope that my surprises for this year are as fun as I think they are. At 10am tomorrow there is a 5% chance of rain. By 1pm it is up to a 65% chance of rain. Hunt fast, children. Ha.

Ok. I have a child laying on the floor tapping her toes at me. She wants me to come look at the horses she transformed into unicorns and this whole “Mom staring at the computer” thing is super annoying, apparently.

I love you all. Even those I don’t.

Yesterday I planted. I’m not sure if I can express how happy this makes me. And miraculously, my arms hurt less than normal. Gardening is good for me.

I have less than a week before I need to have a spiel for my shrink. What do I want from her? How do I want to proceed going forward?

I have spent a lot of time over the past few days thinking that what I would like from a therapist for a while is assistance in forming a more regimented schedule. Part of my ongoing issues is that I don’t treat my body like it is worth consistent maintenance care and as a result it sometimes melts down. During the next round of breeding awful (because this shit is brutal in my body) what I want to do to get through it is figure out a way to have an “idealized healthy schedule” and get me and the rest of the family used to all the tasks involved in taking care of a body. We aren’t great at modeling this shit. We aren’t great at doing this shit… but it matters.

For example there are a bunch of things that ideally would be done daily: go for a walk, meditate, stretch; there are tasks that should be on a weekly timer: gardening is better for me than a pill and a couple of weekly dates would help a lot.

I want to figure out a better more consistent socializing schedule. I tend to go in boom and busy cycles of either doing too much or too little and it isn’t very good for me. I’d like to have several days a month where I put more effort into seeing people. I’d like to have more specifically scheduled no-plans days with my family so that we can sit in our house and stare at the wall in between all the hard work and fun we have.

I want help finding balance and figuring out what that means for me. I want to be able to talk about the nitty gritty stuff in detail and talk about how to adjust things slowly instead of going from extreme to extreme like a pendulum.

I want to spend a solid year working on EMDR for my anniversaries. I want to plan sessions around them in advance so I can do specific processing on the stuff that creeps up like a land mine over and over in predictable ways. I don’t want “Oh by the way it is my brother’s birthday” to be what I drop in the last 2 minutes of therapy before I run out crying like normal. I want to write up a lot of difficult anniversaries in advance and plan sessions for them. I need to figure out a better approach to these days. I need assistance managing that.

I’m bleeding right now so I’m pretty clearly not pregnant yet. I have about a week left of my current level of pot pills. When I go in to the dispensary again I’m going to buy 30 mg pills, which are a huge reduction from the 50mg and 100mg pills I often buy. I crept up again towards the end of the remodel. Pot is more effective for pain than ibuprofen and when I am on the daily maximum dose of ibuprofen, yeah my pot usage climbs again. But I feel like that is getting to a better place again. I want to use the 30 mg pills and try to find a routine where I take them more often. 1)Right when I wake up 2)With breakfast 3)With smoothie snack time 4)With lunch 5)With dinner. That would put me at 150mg/day which is a slight reduction from where I have been for a while but it would have a more consistent load in my body so I don’t have the spikes and valleys. If I can get this routine in place, ideally after a month or two I will lower to 20mg doses for the rest of pregnancy and I’d only be using 100mg/day. I would be really really really content with that considering all the other options I have on the table for helping with stability.

I need to get absolutely fascist that I can disrupt my sleep once maybe twice in a week and absolutely never thrice. Dance classes are too damn late at night and I hate it. What the fuck is wrong with all you night people. (I kid.)

I believe I have a permanently malleable brain. I believe that what will change how it works is: repetition, time, and new experiences. I do not believe a pill can fix me. I believe pot helps me relax enough to let my brain explore new channels of reactions instead of immediately jumping to I’VE HAD THIS EXPERIENCE BEFORE AND IT SUCKED. ALL SYSTEMS AT FULL ALERT. I don’t want more medication help beyond that slight chance to try again on processing what is happening to me.

I hope that some day I won’t need pot but I don’t know. I have a fond internal narrative about getting off pot for a while and using it again whether I need it or not when I’m old just because it is fun. If I live to be 80 I’m going to use an awful lot of drugs for fun. Why the hell not?

I imagine how funny it will be to tell stories, “Puking on dxm sure isn’t as much fun as it used to be. I think I threw my neck out retching.”

Ok, maybe it isn’t as funny to you as it will be to me. I’m ok with that.

Hell, I even wish that for a few months my therapist and I could go through a check list of shit like, “How many servings of vegetables have you eaten this week?” I want help going through all of these processes so that I can get them to the point of being automatic and in the back ground. I want help learning how to take care of myself without it being a physically painful, mentally strenuous task. The only reason it is so painful at this point is because I’m stupid about not taking care of myself and I hurt myself. I’m clever and shit.

Bodies are meant to be used. They are meant to go through a range of motion.

Hey, did I mention that my shoulder appears to be genuinely healing? The damage I did when Eldest Child was a baby is getting better, finally. In time for me to fuck myself up with another kid. Good job there, Krissy.

I spend a lot of time lately going whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy do I want another baby? They are so haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard.

Because my children are why I wake up and go to sleep and I love them so much I feel like I will explode. And they are going to go off and have their own lives. I’m only going to get to share a fairly small slice compared to what I’d like to share. Maybe if there are more of them I will be less suffocating in my need to still be part of their lives.

Sometimes Jenny tells stories about why she is miffed at her mother for her mother’s lack of good boundaries. I cringe internally and think “Oh I’m going to be that asshole. Damnit.”

I have no illusions. I’m going to be a giant pain in the ass.

Maybe if I have more children to share the complaints about how annoying I am then somehow they will manage to put up with me between the group. I know a bunch of families where the mother outlived the father and shuttles between adult children. I could do that. I could get myself a small RV and spend a few months a year in different places visiting folks before I move on.

I spend a really unhealthy amount of time thinking about how horrific things will be for me when Noah dies. No one else can bear very much of my company. I’m hard. Even the people who love me the most can’t really handle too much time with me because I’m hard. I don’t blame them for this and I’m not angry. I’m just glad they put up with me at all. If you can only handle two or three hours in a year with me… at least you come back for those few hours. I’m grateful you think I am worth that much forbearance.

I’m sorta scared that when Noah dies I will be incapable of believing that anyone else wants to spend much time with me and I will spend the rest of my life running away from people. Sometimes I think I want to own this house until I die, maybe rent it out while I galavant around, and sometimes I think that when Noah dies I don’t want to have a tie to a single physical place. I won’t belong anywhere and I will never have a home again when he dies. He carries my home inside of him. Only the kids carry it too. The road trip was so weird. I missed Noah, that was hard. But the kids feel like home.

I want more kids because I want more people who are enculturated to think I’m normal.

Recently I feel guilty for taking the piss out of a friend. She’s really happy about the baby in her life. I’m thrilled she gets to experience the joy of having a kid to love. But this friend is one of quite a few people I knew from the bdsm community who was not real open to hearing about my kids as babies. I have developed a habit of not talking to many of these people about my kids almost at all. Ok, I write about my kids–but that’s different. I write to myself. I write to organize my thoughts. I write knowing that some people read, but I could be writing to no one at all. I don’t write to bond with someone.

Me writing at you is not an exchange. If you feel close to me and bonded, that doesn’t mean I feel the same way about you.

It doesn’t mean I don’t feel bonded with you but that comes from other stuff. I don’t get anything back from this energetic exchange except the ability to feel like I am putting burdens down. I understand me better but I don’t know what you get out of it and I don’t get better understanding of you from this process most of the time.

What matters is how I feel when we are together. If I feel like there is a long list of topics I can’t bring up because you don’t want to hear about them and I feel tremendous anxiety about trying to pretend that huge chunks of my life don’t exist so you can feel more comfortable…. that’s what I impress on. That’s what I notice. I notice that you don’t want to hear about huge chunks of my life.

It’s been hard for years that many of my friends have been hostile to hearing about my children. Many of my friends have made their contempt for my breeding quite clear. About as clear as folks have made their contempt for all “stupid mouth breathers” (which I was one until surgery recently–cheers). (To be clear: different friends are annoyed by the mouth breathing than the breeding.)  I feel wrong all the time. I feel like my choices are offensive. My manner of existing is a problem. How dare I breathe so loudly that they can hear me? I am an affront. I know.

It is very hard if someone who has made a big deal out of not wanting to know about children turns around and wants me to be supportive of their children. That’s hard. It feels incredibly invalidating. It feels erasing. It feels like… it feels like a continuation of this trend where I’m treated like shit but I’m supposed to turn around and be nice to other people because “that’s how it is supposed to be” and it doesn’t matter that I’ll never get it I have to give it.

Like how I went to Camp Everytown and had a horrible, traumatizing experience of finding out I was just about the least privileged/most traumatized person there but I was supposed to shut up and support the kids through finding out that they were in the middle of the pack.

BUT I HAVE THAT WHITE PRIVILEGE GOING FOR ME SO I SHOULD SPEND MY LIFE CONSUMED WITH THE IDEA THAT I’M JUST A PIECE OF SHIT WHO HAS NEVER EARNED ANYTHING, AMIRITE?

I’m not angry at this person at all. I feel sad.

I want to turn around and be generous. Yeah, you couldn’t listen to me but now I should be able to listen to you to model how that should work. So that maybe later you will be able to give that to someone else.

It makes me so grateful for the random neighbors who ask me about my children and who genuinely want to hear the answers. They have known my kids all their lives and they care. Even though they don’t have to. Thank you.

Pam calls me and asks about my children. Pam didn’t necessarily start out wanting a relationship with my kids per se, but she loves me so much that she has created a relationship anyway. She will talk to my kids long distance and read them stories because she wants to be supportive and part of their life.

Almost the first thing Sarah said after getting an apartment that was safe for children to visit was, “Can the kids come for a visit?”

It’s been interesting to talk to the kids recently about trying to live with Aunt Jenny and Aunt Sarah. It didn’t go so well. I was an asshole. I was rigid. I was too controlling. I got too angry about stupid things. We stopped living together because we wanted to try and preserve a relationship and we weren’t going to if we lived together. Sometimes relationships need some distance too. I’ve talked about how Sarah really doesn’t owe me forgiveness. My behavior was wrong. But Sarah has a big heart. Sarah has forgiven me. She’ll probably always have some boundaries up to make sure I don’t hurt her like that again–that’s fair and appropriate–but she loves me enough to talk to me, to spend time with me, to trust me.

D, I am not angry about hearing about your baby. I’m glad you get to have one. I’m glad you get to experience emotionally what the fuss is about. That’s a really good thing. And I just might tie your ass to a chair and make you look at pictures of my next baby. Because at this point it will be only fair.

I don’t feel like I am completely solid on what I want to say to my shrink but my arms are starting to hurt and I have a kid awake. Time to move on to a different activity.

First I’m going to sit here for a minute and go through my mental rolodex of people I love. I am blessed. I am lucky. My life is very good.

I need to write about Taylor. He said that I haven’t really and he brought it up in a way that lets me know it is time. I don’t write about people more because I’m always worried about saying shit that offends someone. I worry about revealing stuff that has been told in confidence. But if my sweet friend says, “I was thinking about it and I don’t think you’ve written about me.” Yes, I have. I wrote about you when we did the garage together. But that was years ago. I’ll do it again. It’ll be easy and fun.

Next time. I need to rest my hands.

Today was interesting. I walked out of my therapy session 1/3 of the way into it. Then I fired my psychiatrist 8 minutes into our session. What a productive use of driving that far.

I then literally drove somewhere to schedule an appointment with a different kind of therapist. Because I’m me.

Because when someone tells me that my lack of desire to conform to what they want from me is proof that I lack a growth mindset I’ll turn around and look for growth in a different direction. Fuck you. It isn’t that I lack the desire to grow. It is that I believe with every fiber of my being that your Standards of Practice are not the path to health for me.

I think I’m going to have a weird and convoluted path that doesn’t resemble the path other people need. That isn’t because I think I can’t grow. It is because I believe that the things I need are non standard. I believe that a lot of what people need is actively negative for me even though it is awesome for other people. I don’t think that is true because I believe I can’t change. I just don’t think I can be what other people are.

I don’t think that means I am incapable of growth. I think it means I’m going to have a weird as fuck growth pattern.

Communication is a two way street. Sometimes people cannot reach a place of understanding and that doesn’t mean anyone has failed. It means that you don’t have shared language or goals or understanding.

Sometimes miscommunication just is.

I traumatize some people just by existing. I have big issues with medical providers that come from me but is also related to the training and belief structures inculcated during the educational process.

It’s me and it isn’t me.

I’m kinda angry that I had a psychiatrist tell me to my face that I have to try every drug sold because some drug out there will be the miracle that will fix my brain and cause my PTSD to go into remission.

That’s not growth mindset. That’s magical thinking.

You don’t want us to build trust you want me to comply with what you want.

Yeah, no.

Guess what I don’t spend a lot of time doing?

Yeah. I don’t spend a lot of time complying with what people want just because they want it. It’s kind of a lifestyle choice.

So expect an obscene amount of navel gazing over the next two weeks. I need to spend some time thinking about what I want to work on in therapy. Or I might need a break from therapy for a while. It isn’t that I’m stable. It is that maybe I have exhausted this bag of tricks and I need to find a different bag.

That happens.

If I didn’t feel this sick anxiety in my stomach about not being done painting I’d be in a much better place right now.

Hahahahaha. Maybe. I’m fucking flipping out. But that’s complicated.

The next few weeks have to unwind some stuff. I just have to.

Every day this week I have thought that I should get up and work. Guess how much I have accomplished? Very little. I’m so tired.

I feel sore as opposed to being in pain. Which I suppose is good.

I don’t know how to not feel butthurt right now. Stupid shit is getting under my skin. I feel so bad and worthless.

My friend who I bought the car for… turns out the car we bought had a busted head gasket. So I loaned her a bunch of additional money on top of already paying more for the car than I had strictly speaking wanted to spend. This is troublesome because it impacts my charity budget. It means I really should give less to other causes/people until I right my budget. So then I feel like a piece of shit selfish white person who isn’t helping because I couldn’t manage my money right.

I don’t have enough to give to feel like I can deserve what I get. My life is so much better than I deserve.

But I’m not meeting some of my long term goals how I want. If I’m not selfish I will fail my family.

My brain feels like Swiss cheese. I’ve been working on this in pieces for hours. That’s ridiculous.

I don’t do pranks. They make me hate people. No thanks. I’m precarious enough in my ability to keep my emotions stable.

I fucked something up for this week and I’m trying to stop feeling bad. I tried to do a nice thing. But intentions are shit. I tried to do a nice thing and to the best of my knowledge no one hates me, but I feel bad. I shouldn’t have overstepped my boundaries.

I like surprising people. I like feeling like paying attention to them is a good thing, but reality is that sometimes things are mixed.

I feel bad that I had to email folks and say, “I invited you to a thing. I shouldn’t have. Oh shit.”

I love every single person involved here (and they love me and they are patient with me). But now I have this feeling of collapse because I’m so terrible and thoughtless. No one wants me to collapse. We need to just reschedule a few things and it isn’t the end of the world. I will see all of these people more.

I’m just not scheduling very well at this stage. I feel like I’m in a state of mental collapse. I want to do a whole bunch of things. I feel like I’m basically done with the remodel so continued hesitation about jumping right back into a full life is laziness, right?

Did I mention that all of my health care providers were really happy when I told them I hadn’t finished painting because my body feels like it is completely toast. “Good! You are listening to your body! This is a healthy thing!”

But I’m a loser slacker who can’t fucking close.

I “know” that isn’t true. I’m exhausted and you don’t bounce back from that in a day or two. But I’m struggling with having patience for myself.

Why can’t I take care of people better? Why can’t I be there for them better? Why can’t I help more? Why am I so selfish and self focused? Why do I care about the fact that I want to feel good about myself for offering ____ kind of help but if that isn’t what you want I feel like you don’t want me?

It’s all so messed up.

I don’t think I did something evil. No one else thinks I did something evil (I think) but I feel bad about inviting someone then uninviting them. You are so important to me and I’m sorry I was callous with your feelings.

And then I haven’t scheduled something to replace it yet because I’m afraid I would cry and cry and cry. I’m trying so hard to get back into the swing of socializing and it is very mixed. I’m exhausted.

I have spent a lot of years wondering if I am an extrovert or an introvert. If I don’t spend time with people I get horribly depressed. I need people. But being around them wears me the fuck out. I love you and I wish I could handle being around you all day every day. The reality is I can’t. I’ll flip out.

It isn’t you. It’s me.

You deserve so much better from me.

I feel like a selfish piece of shit. Everything is about me me me.

I’ve been saying for a few weeks here that I hope to finish by April 1st. That means I have two days to get this done. I took two days off and rested my arms. I don’t feel all rested up or “better” but I feel like maybe I won’t spend the entire day shrieking and crying because I’m in pain and angry about it.

Almost done.

I definitely don’t feel better yet. I think this is going to take months. I’m sleeping a little better: nine hours again last night.

Yesterday someone I’ve known in a distant way for a very long time suggested that I “might want to document my symptoms”. They also said that I might want to consider shopping around and being picky about the doctors I see.

I contained my irritation, but barely.

Oh do keep explaining things to me like I’m stupid, please.

Oh wait. This is why we’ve never been friends. I remember now.

I don’t hate them. They seem like a fine person. But they’ve had the opportunity to know me and they continue to underestimate me with every encounter. Well, that’s fine.

Talk about entitled. My friends come to me with questions about complicated topics. That makes me feel good. People who talk to me as if they know so much more than me so I should pay attention… I’m not in a place in life where I like that dynamic anymore. I did better with it when I was younger. But when you are complaining about “those weird terms” and I can start explaining them in detail because I have worked with them professionally… maybe you shouldn’t be talking down to me. I feel entitled to not having to be talked to like that anymore. I’m spoiled as a motherfucker. Too many people respect me for me to take that step backwards to people who think I haven’t learned shit since I was nineteen years old.

This is part of why I can’t move to Portland. I know waaaaaaay too many people there where I met when I was eighteen or nineteen. I can’t handle dealing with them because they don’t act like I’ve changed.

I am entitled in this area like whoa. I’ve spent the last fifteen years reading and reading and reading and having professional experiences and reading some more. Don’t talk down to me about my subjects. Just don’t.

I like my neighbors. They come and knock on my door to have me explain things because they don’t understand. They know I’m smart. If I don’t understand something entirely, I’ve had neighbors show up with instructions for something that they shove at me so I can read the instructions and explain it. Because I don’t have to start out being an expert at something before I can teach you how to do it. I just need some instructions and five minutes to make a few mistakes.

I’m very very very accustomed to being treated like I’m wicked smart. I’m spoiled as fuck by the people in my life.

Thanks, y’all. Sometimes I can stop and recognize just how much it is true. There are people in my life who have a lot of respect for my intelligence. In fact, most people in my life show respect for my ability to know and figure things out. I understand how true this is when I periodically deal with someone who doesn’t walk in respecting my intelligence.

To be fair, they know shit too. I’m not trying to say I’m smarter than everyone. I’m totally not.

The older I get the more I feel like a feral cat. Treat me exactly how I want or I’m gone.

Life’s too short to spend time pretending to listen to someone who is lecturing me on basic terminology in my field.

I contrast it with the random new-to-me parent who arrived in my house the day before. They spent a few minutes asking questions then figured out that I can answer a lot of fucking questions then we really got into the question asking. That’s more how I like my days to go.

Sometimes I feel like I’m a walking encyclopedia just waiting until you put a nickel in my slot so I have a reason to spurt out information. I spend so much time educating myself for the sole reason that I want to be able to share information. I read so fast and I’m able to cross reference information in my brain to a degree that overwhelms a lot of people. I really love being able to help people understand complex topics. It feels like a purpose. When someone clearly doesn’t want me for that purpose that means I’m around for a different purpose.

I don’t like most other purpose’s. I don’t expect or want people to think I’m “so great” I just want people to think I know a lot of shit. Some of the folks in my extended web don’t necessarily know a lot (I’m thinking in this second of someone I haven’t interacted with much in the last year so don’t think you know who I’m referencing) but they have a desperate need to be Respected For Being So Great. It’s a common dynamic I encounter. I am never going to be popular, but I have intensely loyal friends.

So that leads me to wonder how I’m defining popular. I will never be liked by more than 50% of the population on average. I will always have niche appeal. In okcupid terms, I’m a 5 or a 1. I think in my head “popular” means the vast majority of people think of you as a 3 or a 4 with rare outliers who think you are the best or the worst. Lots of people think I’m the worst. It is a defining characteristic of me that lots of people hate my guts.

Would I like it if everyone loved me? Maybe. But I’m not willing to compromise or change in any way to make that happen. So I accept that lots of people would shoot me on sight. There are religions that believe I should be killed. *shrug* Ok. Usually only the most extreme of sects, so hopefully I’m not actually that far from mainstream ability to ignore my freakiness.

I spend a lot of time being grateful I was born when and where I was. Thank you California, your weirdness embraces me.

I was born in the right time.

I was born in a time of access to information absolutely undreamed about by my foremothers. They could not have imagined the access to learning I have at my finger tips. The access my children will have blows my mind. We are so lucky.

To be fair, I spend a lot of time being surprised that other people are not gorging themselves on this buffet of learning. I get why it isn’t just expected that everyone will spend their time just sitting around inhaling information the way I do.

God I’m so lucky to have time.

I go through periods where I scarcely read: like the remodel. I didn’t plow through books in the last year. But I’m starting to again.

Recently someone said to me that they “can’t” control their children and they are amazed at my control over my kids. You know what? I don’t think I would be able to force my kids to go to school and do homework and then still have the home relationship we have. I don’t think I’m so much better. I think I just have fewer flaming hoops I’m trying to get over with my kids. I’m not better. I made sure I was playing at an easier level. That doesn’t indicate superiority of skill… And there are lots of days you don’t see where I completely lose on the control front. That happens.

I’m not better. I just work a lot harder to make sure I’m held to fewer expectations. That’s kinda the opposite of better.

I blocked Twitter and Facebook on my browser. Let’s see if this helps my emotional ups and downs. I worry about the fact that I won’t have a source of news with this blockage. Maybe that’s ok for a little while, but not forever. I can’t not know what is happening in the world. But maybe I don’t need to know everything either.

Yesterday I… just kinda did nothing. I loaded the dishwasher once and took the kids to class and fed them dinner. Otherwise I just sat around and allowed everyone to enjoy my presence. This happened because yesterday when I woke up my arms hurt so bad I was afraid that doing more work was going to result in permanent damage. I’m at that point. Feck.

My shrink called me because she wanted to tell me that my psych is the humanistic one she has ever worked with. When I started responding like she intended a conversation she said, “I didn’t call to get into this.”

Then why the fuck did you call me? To tell me I shouldn’t be upset so stop it?

Oh reeeeeally?

Can’t wait for next fucking Tuesday.

I will be saying, “If you are calling me intending to give me a monologue that I am supposed to silently listen to… send me an email. Don’t call me and expect me to be quiet and just listen. Nope. You aren’t paying for my time.”

Yeah, I’m kinda an entitled cunt sometimes about expecting my therapist to listen to what I say. And when she tries to cut me off to “answer a question” before I’m done speaking I am just about savage. “Do not interrupt me. I am not finished speaking.” Sometimes she looks like a chagrined little kid.

I get interrupted all day every fucking day. When I am fucking paying you to listen do not fucking interrupt me.

People frustrate me with this whole interrupting thing. In my house I can’t get super pissy because all of us do it to fairly similarly rude levels and that’s just how the cookie crumbles. But when I’m paying you to listen to me? Don’t fuck with my air time.

I’m paying very good money for this time. Because I genuinely need it.

I was good about mostly staying off of Twitter. I read what is going on with my closest friends and I asked something that my daughter wanted me to ask and otherwise I didn’t read. If my daughter hadn’t asked me to post something to ask for feedback from folks I wouldn’t have been on as much as I was.

Yesterday we had a playdate with a family Noah met through the pagan meetup. I was… honestly not real cheerful about this. I was anxious about meeting new people and I took it out on Noah by bitching a lot about him inviting over strangers during my supposed last week of this heavy work. It went really well.

I’m not going to get into how the whole day went or details about the family, but this is a kid who has been emotionally wounded by people being uptight about questions. They cried and asked me if I was going to be angry with them for asking very normal questions. No, kiddo. This is a safe place to ask any of those questions. I’m not going to be upset. Let me tell you what you have to do to upset me. It’s pretty specific. There are these few places in the house that are locked. If you get a lock pick and open one of those locks… I’m going to be absolutely furious. Short of that… dude, you are a strange kid who is trying to adapt to a new environment. How can what you do be so bad? You’re fine.

I’m back to having a ‘yes’ house. Do you know how much that means to me? A yes house means that my bedroom is off limits and these two locked cabinets are off limits and if you open any other drawers I don’t care. If you go in any other part of the house, I don’t care. If you play with something that isn’t “For Kids” but it happens to be down low enough that you can reach? I don’t care.

It’s fine. I’ve set things up so that I almost never have to say no. It’s really lovely and inviting and it makes me really happy to be in my space. I hate telling little kids no all the time. It feels so bad. I feel terrible. I feel like I’m hurting the kid by squashing their curiosity. Kids need to explore. Kids need to be curious. Kids need to ask if they can do things. Kids need to be allowed to try and fail and break things. It needs to be ok.

I’m so grateful that I have my house back. The only books I don’t want you easily accessing are hidden by furniture that’s kinda heavy to move.

You can explore. It’s fine. My sex toys are locked up. I don’t think you are going to see them unless you seriously violate my boundaries and then I’m going to be pissed. That’s a line. They are behind a lock. Don’t fuck with that. I’m maintaining your right to innocence. Don’t mess that up.

I tell my kids, “The things that are behind these locks are things you may not want to know about once you are an adult. If you look now you can never unknow what you know. I wouldn’t look any year soon if I were you. You can’t get that vision out of your head and you may not want it there… ever.”

It’s totally Pandora’s box. hahahaha

But unlike Pandora I tell my kids, “When you are 18 if you are sure you want to see… I’ll show you most of it. But not until then and then you have to have those pictures in your head forever.”

So far they say that they are content to trust my judgement. I think it really helps that I show them anything else. They know I don’t say this stuff about much, only when I need to.

Holy tomato. I got almost ten hours of sleep. Yeah, Lamictal was not my drug. Six hours of sleep with four wake ups? That’s not ok. Ten hours with two bathroom wake ups isn’t that bad. And the second wakeup was after ten hours. So really only one middle of the night wake up. That’s absolutely glorious.

My shrink & psych are happy to reference studies when they feel that I will be persuaded to do as they say. When I respond, “Oh yes, let’s discuss the studies. I can cite them chapter and verse and explain why they aren’t very relevant to me personally.” Then I’m told, “Why are you even talking about studies? If you want to make the case for your personal experience you shouldn’t be arguing with studies.” My head is going to explode. If I don’t read the studies they are wielded like a bat against me. “Studies show that marijuana impacts fertility.” “Let’s get into that! Studies show that there is often a three month cessation of ovulation in ovary-carrying-folks when they first start using marijuana. Studies then show that ovulation spontaneously restarts and no one knows why.” “Oh, why are you arguing studies?”

BECAUSE I STARTED SMOKING ALMOST EIGHT YEARS AGO AND HERE YOU ARE QUOTING A STUDY THAT SAYS THERE MIGHT BE A PROBLEM IN THE FIRST THREE MONTHS OF USE AND YOU ARE TRYING TO SCARE ME.

That’s not a particularly useful/relevant reason for me to avoid marijuana while trying to conceive when you compare it with a brand new drug that will cause my body to flush folic acid like it’s excess vitamin C when that is the basic building block of an embryo’s brain.

Come on now. You really think you can get away with saying, “There are drawbacks to both if we get into the studies” and have me not challenge you with exactly what those studies say?! Who the fuck do you think you are talking to? Don’t tell me that I have to do what you say because of studies then tell me I shouldn’t argue studies because it doesn’t help my case. That’s absolute bullshit and I will be yelling at my shrink about it in six days.

It is fucking relevant for me to read these studies? Why? Because my god damn psych will cheerfully give me drugs and not tell me that I need to increase folate.

So fuck you fuck you fuck you.

The funny thing is: my symptom/side effect list on this drug is identical to the list of problems you get when your body is low in folic acid. How… unsurprising. I was probably manifesting the flushing experience.

God I hate my body.

Looking at the symptom list for being low in folic acid and knowing that I recently kinda “flunked” a gene test about folic acid (I can’t hold on to it–it’s genetics!) it makes me wonder how often in my life my behavior problems have been linked to being low in folic acid. I certainly haven’t eaten foods that are rich in FA for most of my life.

Sometimes I’m very curious how my emotional/health problems are linked with my mostly life long shitty eating habits combined with rare physical activity or exposure to the sun.

I’m reading a book that talks about ACE scores. I have a 30x’s greater chance of getting a whole bunch of health problems than other people do. Just because of what happened in my early childhood. Your ACE score can never be undone or mitigated. I think I’m also 30x’s more likely to die by suicide. I keep telling myself that the brain is malleable.

That kid yesterday was at a point where they were not able to hold in their tears because they are afraid of being rejected for their humanity. Goodness I get it kid. I’ve been crying like that for most of my life. You are ok here. Ask your questions. When I don’t know the answer I will look it up or ask my friends. Because my friends will be glad you want to know. My friends are professional educators and they are so happy when kids like you ask questions that stump me.

I don’t get stumped that often. When I do the people who teach me are happy to hear from me. It’s ok. When you ask a question that is hard you are challenging me to grow. Thank you. I appreciate that you think I am capable.

I understand why so many adults are angry about children asking questions. The adults don’t know the answer and they were conditioned by school to think that if you don’t know the answer you are stupid. That’s a deeply triggering experience for most people. Luckily I grew up thinking there was no bottom to the well of my stupidity so I’m not threatened by not already knowing something. It’s an opportunity to learn more.

It was validating to meet some more neighbors in the last week. Within half an hour of talking they were exclaiming about how I’m such a good teacher. They asked me gardening questions. “I don’t know what to put here.” “I’d put something like ____ or ____ or ____.” “Why?” “Oh because of root competition. So you need to….” I’ve got a long explanation ready. You don’t even have to put a nickel in the slot.

I live for the experience of helping people understand the wondrous variety in this world. Something is only weird because you aren’t used to it yet–try it a few times. Soon it will feel normal.

In the terrible Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves movie Morgan Freeman’s character is a Muslim and he says, “Allah loves wondrous variety” and that line has stayed with me through my whole life. It massively colored my impression of what Islam is and how the world works. Just one stupid line from a movie. Allah loves wondrous variety. That means there is wondrous variety and I need to be ready to accept it all. Because it is supposed to be here. Even if I don’t believe in an omnipresent monotheistic god… I still believe in the pit of my stomach that all of this is here because Allah loves wondrous variety.

When people consent to learning something from me, that’s a gift. When I can help you understand the variety of this world and that it is good you are allowing me to be part of something much bigger and better than myself. Thank you.

I want to help spread joy and understanding so much.

There aren’t many questions you can ask me that will upset me. Yes, it’s ok to ask me questions about my background when my kids make allusions to former problems. No, I’m not going to act like it is a big sacred secret and you are bad for being curious. You don’t know me and you want to understand.

Sometimes when I think about how I feel about book characters who have complicated lives I realize… oh. That’s why people are like, “Holy shit you are strong.” Oh.

Yeah, my parents were mean to me. If you have specific questions about that I will answer them seriously but I’m not going to elaborate just because. You don’t need those pictures in your head unless you specifically ask because knowing answers a need within you.

I’ve changed a lot. Sometimes I can see how. I don’t have diarrhea of the mouth any more. I can have a lot of boundaries around these disclosures now that I wasn’t capable of having in the past. Now I understand what it means that I’m traumatizing people by existing and talking about my shit. I think that is true and not true, still. I’m better able to see which people will be traumatized and I don’t tell them.

I love you and I don’t want to be the reason you are hurting. Do I know you well? No. I don’t have to. You can be a stranger walking by on the street. I love you and I don’t want to be the reason you are hurting.

Why can I believe that I am capable of loving every person who walks by (because I feel these rushes of emotion when I focus on peoples faces) but I get so angry at the UU minister who says that the community is based on shared unconditional love? Why don’t I assume that he means the same kind of love I feel for strangers? STOP BRINGING REALITY INTO THIS RELATIONSHIP.

I’m going to have to sit with my feels for a while about that.

Do you know what I am never ever ever ever going to do if I feel suicidal? Go to the ER. Never. What I will do instead is get on my phone or computer and contact as many people as I need to contact and I will ask them to sit on me. I will ask my friends and my community to create a safe space for me where I can’t ruin the good thing we have going here in our relationship. I’ve done it before and I’m not so full of myself that I think I’m too good to fall down like that again. It could happen.

I don’t genuinely hit the emergency point very often. It is rare that I have to ask for babysitters. But I’ve done it and my friends came through. I wasn’t alone for a week until it was safe.

I could make that happen again.

I think of my teacher, Sobonfu, and how she said there is no such thing as a personal problem. Every problem is a problem for the community. My community doesn’t really want me to go have another traumatizing in-patient-psych-experience. I’m really damaged by the ones I’ve already had. My community wants me to work on healing. As a result, they show up when I say, “I need this support right now.” Partially because I’m good at being explicit about exactly what support I need, but also because I am one of the luckiest bitches alive. I love on people and they love on me back. That doesn’t always happen. Some people pour out love and get nothing back.

I see you. I know you love me. I am so very lucky.

Thank you. I am so grateful you are alive.

I’m waking up to research exercise programs for fibromyalgia. I need to get back into regularly exercising and I need to get better about respecting the limits of my body. I keep injuring myself because of my lack of acknowledgment of my limits. This is a problem.

My chiropractor told me that I shouldn’t run for the foreseeable future. He wants me walking, bike riding, he’s excited about the dance lessons, and he has three specific exercises he wants me to get religious about doing every day: body weight squats, planks, and pose #34 on this page.

Ok, that whole website is really cool. I think I’m going to print that out so that when I’m feeling a sore muscle I can look for which stretch will help. I’m inspired.

But those are the three exercises he wants me to get religious about for my particular problems and pain. He told me to stop listening to Noah about adding weight to the squats. That is for people who have different goals from exercise than I have.

My massage therapist wants me to go in to see my woo woo nutritionist for counseling/hypnotherapy with some of my shit. Given that talking to my woo woo nutritionist does make me feel better I’m highly considering that as a better option than continuing to see the psychiatrist who desperately wants me off of pot.

I need my psychiatrist to stop talking to me about getting off pot. I think I need to express a boundary that for the foreseeable future pot and occasional Ativan are all the drugs I want. I barely use caffeine. Ok, I seriously OD on sugar. I am definitely not above finishing the nitrous in the whip cream container. Sometimes I even buy extra nitrous but it’s pretty rare. In the past few years I can otherwise count my drug usage on my fingers and I have no plans in the foreseeable future due to breeding limitations.

I don’t want other drugs. They do bad things to me. I am not even going to be buying more nitrous.

I barely want Ativan. I want about three pills a month. I feel like that is an amount of risk that might be necessary for me. Pot isn’t perfect for using while pregnant, I know… but the consensus is that I have to be medicated and that is the only option that doesn’t drastically increase how much I want to kill myself.

Uhm, what is the exact purpose of me medicating? Because people worry about me offing myself? Riiiiiiight.

The last week was horrible. I feel so ashamed of myself when I go through life weeping because I am not physically capable of stopping the tears. I feel ashamed when someone tells me they love me and I have to walk away because I want to start screaming NO YOU DON’T. NO YOU DON’T. STOP FUCKING LYING. NO YOU DON’T. NO YOU DON’T. NO YOU DON’T.

I feel ashamed of the way I talk about so much of what happens to me. Like I’m bragging or exaggerating for effect. I describe my life and my experiences because it is in writing them down that I understand them. When they happen to me I often am not physically capable of comprehending what just happened. When I write it down I integrate it into my brain. Without writing it down for myself… I know I miss a lot of nuance. Hell, I miss big obvious points if I don’t write it down.

I don’t know if this is common or if this is part of “most cultures” or what, but I feel like I have to pay a price for being born. I have to pay for what I get or I don’t deserve it. My parents should have paid for what happened for my childhood, of course, but now I bear the price for my life. Only my parents didn’t pay for my childhood. Charity bore a huge portion of the burden for my life. I’m aware into the marrow(what a bitchy word to spell) of my bones that I deserve nothing. But I want.

What do I want?

I want so much. I want so very much. I want love. I want joy. I want ecstasy and connection and growth.

No relationship that exists exists outside of boundaries. Boundaries create our existence. Boundaries create you.

And I just got a coupon from our orthodontic office. In this spring, let us know that as we cause you intense pain in your mouth… at least less pain in your chequebook.

I only ever write out chequebook because I saw Jenny write cheque once and I think of it.

I love you so much more than you will ever know. You shape my very existence by existing. I tell Noah about Lakeside. I say, “There is this woman who follows me who went to my kindergarden. Let me tell you about that school.”

Kerry, you matter.

Thank you all for being part of my story. Cos, do you know that you are part of my story of Boston even though I didn’t spend time with you there? When I think of that city I think of you. When I go to places there I think, “Has Cos been here? Does he like this ice cream?”

I think it is funny that I feel like I hear from P more since she moved to Mexico. I don’t think of her less often. I’m so glad you are happier.

I got to see my Sarah this weekend. She looked happier than I’ve seen her in a while even though she is clearly exhausted. Her life is taking a lot out of her. Gosh I like this company she is working for.

Last night I went walking with two of the fantastic queer, wonderful people who validate for me that I get to exist in this world. I was told that these two beautiful, delicious queer people wish I could be their mother. God that felt good.

We create our own gods. We create our own culture. We create our own priorities.

I wish I could be my mother too.

I wish I could have a mother who looks at me the way I look at the world. “Sweetheart, how can I help you to be more effective?”

Christ if I had someone to help me be more effective?……. Watch out.

When I was younger I knew someone who had the license plate “Ingenue”. I don’t feel bad telling you her license plate number because she is dead. I don’t know for sure how she died but she has been gone for almost seven years. I’m desperately afraid she killed herself given what I knew about her. I think about Jill often. She was so beautiful, so talented, so smart, so driven, so accomplished, so much of what I wish I could be. Knowing her convinced me that I didn’t have any desire to peak early. I don’t want to be so well known for what I did when I was young. I miss you, Jill.

I asked my friend if she could handle taking over the insurance payments for the car I bought her  and she said not yet. Ok, I’ll carry another six months. Dearest, Y, you don’t know what you mean to me. I understand that the current of this life has not been fair to you in any particular from small to great and you are doing the best you can. I am so honored to know you. You are so wonderful.

But mostly I understand that what I have flows from Noah. I am where I am because of Noah. Ok, sure I’m a powerful mutliplier but Noah is an amazing source of energy of his own. Thank you Noah.

My life exists because of Noah. My house exists because of Noah. My ability to help people in the current shape exists because of Noah.

And now, he is the source of French toast. Sorry y’all. I’m hungry.