So someone left a comment to ask if I mean him when I say, “Go the fuck away.” If you are willing to speak to me like a human being, you aren’t who I mean. I mean the people who want to lookie loo and then go talk shit about me behind my back.
Different.
I have a sister who would probably like to put me 6′ under if she could do it without going to jail. I have a brother who hates me and told me it is all my fault his children don’t get to have a family.
But by all means tell your friends to come lookie loo here. The anonymous drop ins do wonders for my emotional self regulation.
I’ve been reloading my stats page about every five minutes today. Every five minutes it jumps hits. Often 5-10 hits. So I’m getting a hit a minute today.
That scares me so bad I’m going to go vomit now.
Yup. Puked.
Whoever you raging cuntrags from hell are who are bopping from one proxy site to another…
I wish a lot of bad things on you. I hope you get gangrene. I hope you get to sit there and watch your body putrefy and have insects and pests in your body eating you alive.
Why? Because when someone says, “Stop doing what you are doing” you say, “Ok I’ll go through a different rude, unwanted door!”
Y’all aren’t much better than rapists. Not really. Consent is on a spectrum. You were asked to go away. Are you doing it? Nope. Because you believe that what you want is more important than what other people want.
What else do you think only your opinion matters on? Who else in your life do you ignore their boundaries? Your friends? Your kids? Your partner?
I would believe absolutely any bad thing I hear about you. Why? Because you have no respect and no boundaries and that means you are capable of anything.
Just like all the other monsters.
I am having a really shitty day. And you decide that it’s awesome to come be amused.
Fuck you with a fucking chain saw you disgusting piece of shit.
I write to share this with Noah. To share with my children in the future why I am so difficult to live with. To share with my friends so that interacting with me is easier.
I don’t god damn write so that you sociopathic disgusting bastards can watch a train wreck.
You disrespectful, nasty, pathetic people. You have nothing better to do? What, your mommy didn’t love you either? Nor your father? That’s why you have no boundaries?
I don’t have sympathy you whining asswipes. I wasn’t loved either. I don’t keep coming back around when someone tells me to go away.
That right there, that makes me better than you. Not anything else about my behavior or personality or parenting.
At least I can fucking take a hint and walk away when someone says to my face they want me to leave.
You aren’t even that respectful. Or is it that you are fucking stupid?
I’m really angry today. I could be ranting about how unfair it is that I have a crack in my ceiling. That’s the day I’m having.
Instead I’m watching my stats page spike with disrespectful cuntrags who deserve a lot of pain.
My brother died in a fire. It hurt him terribly badly. He died slowly and in agony.
I’d be ok with that happening to you.
So folks I don’t know are clearly still here. But, the disrespectful referrer sites are gone. So y’all are hitting google.
I can live with that. I don’t have to like it. I can live with it.
This is totally a day when I would hide in my room and cry all day about how I am a terrible person who should die. I’m so glad to have all of you here to make sure I know that I’m a freak show to be watched for entertainment.
I know I didn’t actually win here. I know that all of the folks who have been streaming in are still capable of getting here. If they are smart enough to figure out the work around. (I sincerely hope they are smart enough for that. If they aren’t I weep for the future of my country.) But it means I don’t have to see direct links from facebook, the troll site, or donotlink ever again.
That feels wonderful. Ahhhhh. I’m tired of watching those specific sites clime to hundreds of direct hits. Y’all don’t deserve a direct hit. You haven’t worked hard enough for it.
The best best best part is Noah said something like, “Well there are blockers…” and I jumped out of bed to look one up, download, and install it within a few minutes. By myself. Because I’m a competent motherfucker.
I am fully aware people can get here any way. Just not from those asshole locations.
I did discover that apparently in 2014 a sex worker shared one of my pro sex work posts on facebook. That was nice of her. Now she can’t direct link any more. Because of whoever the hell you are from yesterday.
There is always collateral damage, yeah?
Yesterday was rough. Noah told me that I don’t have grumpy days like that very often. I sure hope he wasn’t blowing sunshine up my skirt.
This is how bad I felt On the 80% bad days on the trip. I had a few days that felt worse but not many. It is physical, emotional, and spiritual. Pot does a lot for me and I have such mixed feelings about that.
When I have a few months of being a truly consistent daily user (it’s hard to manage that because if I’m going to drive in a day I don’t medicate till bed. So I have a lot of unmedicated days.) I get to this point of trying to talk myself into believing that the pot was a crutch and now I’ve learned the skills to manage my body and I’m ready to stop. Then I take two or threes off. My stomach hurts so bad I can barely eat. My head hurts all the time. I’m mean. I cry a lot. I am grumpier than fuck. It suuuuuuuuuuucks.
Then Noah looks at me sheepishly and says something about how maybe the medicine isn’t all bad?
It’s gotta be like living with a schizophrenic who likes to go off their meds. I get erratic and scary.
Sometimes I wonder if I actually have a higher than usual potential for violence. I’m not sure. As a species we are god damn scary. Given the life I’ve lead I don’t think I am particularly violent at this point. I need severe provocation. Like someone grabbing me and saying they won’t let go till they “give me what I want”. Under those circumstances I’m happy to pull all the stops. I’ll hurt you till *I* feel like stopping.
Folks are arguing with great vigor on the PTSD site about how it isn’t fair that people assume that those with PTSD will be violent. I’m all… not fair? But many of us are violent. So you’re saying to spare the feelings of the non-violent folks with PTSD we should pretend that no one with PTSD is violent? That means folks won’t be able to defend themselves against clear and present danger because they were told people with PTSD aren’t dangerous.
Guess what honey, everyone can be dangerous. PTSD isn’t really what makes us dangerous. Our core personalities do that. PTSD is a problem where we can’t always 100% accurately react to just what is happening in the room with us right now because our brains are stuck in a loop with something terrifying and horrifying and possibly life threatening. So we act out because we feel like animals caught in a trap. That can be violent.
Usually it isn’t. Usually people with PTSD are more likely to hurt themselves than others. So I get why the stigma feels scary and hard and unfair.
But there are people with PTSD who are violent and saying they aren’t is…
I can’t get behind that. I’m still standing here fucking up your plan. Sorry.
I am most inconvenient.
Noah and I kinda had it out last night. Being off meds means things that I can usually brush off… I just can’t. So we had some strong words. I think that is the closest to a fight we’ve had in a very long time. It wasn’t so much a fight as me saying, “Lately you have been doing x, y, and z and it hurts my feelings!” “Oh. I have been. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll work on that.”
So not really much of a fight. But I was really emotional. Then he snuggled me to sleep rubbing my head.
Deep breaths Krissy. I’m feeling very interested in hurting myself. I’m sitting here thinking, “I’m never good enough for anything.” I know it isn’t “TRUE” but today is going to be rough. I think today I’m going to have a lot of suicidal ideation. It’s starting already. I will be gentle with myself. Often my first impulse upon feeling suicidal is to dissociate as much as possible so I’m not conscious of what is happening to my body. I always hurt myself a lot that way. I bang into things. I drop things onto my foot. I have… very little ability to be present in my body while wanting to kill it.
I’m going to try today though. I only have to seriously interact with other grown ups for half an hour. Otherwise it’s hanging at home with my family. The babysitter is coming in the morning and Noah is around in the afternoon.
God I love the babysitter. She makes my life 500% better.
Her mom told me the other night, “It was really smart of you to keep paying her enough for her phone when you were gone. She wasn’t tempted to get a job.”
THAT WAS THE IDEA! I wanted her to spend 6 months underemployed so I could snatch her right up the minute we came back. Of course I’m going to keep paying her basic expenses in the mean time! If I don’t she will get a real job and not be available to me and that would suuuuuuuuuuuuck.
You can’t get better than a religiously home schooled teenager who lives three doors away. That is the absolutely ideal baby sitter in my opinion.
Why? She believes in boundaries and modeling and showing by example. She’s a good role model. She’s a great person. I sincerely like her and I’m grateful my kids get to grow up knowing people like her. AND she’s available during the day. We are so lucky.
Money is power. I learn that more deeply with every passing year.
Later today I will have a book review of Slack. It’s… got high points and down points. I continue to have my raging flood of hatred for corporate/tech people looking down on “non-knowledge jobs”. Just because someone works with their hands does not make them essentially replaceable with any and all people who work with their hands. A plumber probably doesn’t make the best carpenter.
I’m really really really really really tired of this fucking elitism. I have heard it all my life and all it makes me feel is raging hatred towards the “elite”. You motherfuckers act like you are so fucking smart and important and irreplaceable but you couldn’t do the job of 99% of people who work with their hands. So why in the fuck do you feel so superior you fucking piece of shit?
I believe that knowledge workers are not inherently superior to gardeners. There isn’t a thing in this world that will convince me they are superior.
I think we need everyone. Top to bottom. I think every level is as important as the others. I think people need to do what they want to do with their bodies whether that be work with your hands or your brain and there should be no shame.
And fucking CEOs should not be allowed to make so much money. Period. They don’t earn that money. They steal it from people who produce actual value for the company.
I will get around to saying good things about Slack… later…
After I hate on the elitists again. (I am increasingly one of these elitists. Maybe I hate them more because I now fall under the umbrella and it is my self hate reaching out to everyone like me?)
Today is intentionally easy. Let’s see if I rest, eh? My stomach hurts so bad. I had this stomach pain for most of my life. It went away when I started using pot. I miss pot today. Sometimes I wonder if I have “punished” myself by denying food so many times because I sorta knew that eating doesn’t improve the stomach pain and sometimes makes it worse. It depends on how recently I’ve eaten.
If I eat every hour to two hours, mostly carbs and sugar, I can sorta not feel pain in my stomach. Then I get horrible horrible diarrhea cause that’s not food. If I try to eat things that are more complex to digest (like vegetables or fruit) I have horrible grinding stomach pain that can make me cry. Usually followed by horrible diarrhea cause my body is so angry I put that inside me. So I try to eat a lot of meat. Meat is the most comfortable food I can put in my body. I pray that it is nature’s little multi-vitamin and I’m benefiting from all that the animals ate. Please let that be enough.
So was I denying myself out of punishment or out of desire to not have diarrhea? Hard to tell.
Little of Column A, Little of Column B.
I missed my December massage because the three of us were sick. (Me, Noah, and the massage therapist.) We aren’t scheduled till the weekend of Valentines day. My neck hurts. Noah does help, but post-motorcycle days his hands wear out.
I’m totally going to support him being a motorcycle rider again someday. I reallllllllllllllllllllly liked how strong his hands were. *swoon*
We want youngest child to be at least a teenager. So probably 9+ years to go. We will survive. We’ve already been married that long. Surely we can do that time again.
It makes me feel very safe that when I get upset about something Noah is doing and I tell him so (not in the nicest words) he says, “Yes. I did that. I shouldn’t have.”
I feel so safe. I feel like my version of reality is treated like it accords with everyone else’s.
Whoa.
I mean, I have things that are part of my reality that isn’t part of theirs–I have a lot of anger issues. But when I’m angry about something from the past I say it is from the past and I’m sorry I’m bringing it forward. When I’m angry about something right now people act like I’m not crazy. I’m telling the truth about a problem.
That’s very healing. I am pretty sure that I would never have been able to manage the degree of healing I have managed under any other circumstances. I have never before in my life had consistent dealings with a man who will treat me the way Noah treats me.
I hit the jackpot.
It is so easy to forgive someone who rarely needs to say, “I’m sorry” but who does so whole heartedly when it comes up. That is trust building, right there.
I think I’m mixing up a few lines from different books, but I’ve had this thing in my head for a few days, “In perfect love and perfect trust you must create a vessel of the self where the self is not.” I’m not sure if that is pulled straight from a Kushiel book but it might be. I have to look up the line to see if I’m stealing it straight or mixing it with other elements.
I think about that a lot with regards to the incest research I want to do. I have to make myself into a vessel for so much pain it is going to almost drown me. But I am going to have to make sure the real me is not there. I feel like I need to build two things inside of me. A bottomless well and a house right next to it. There will be roses and hydrangeas in the yard. (I’m so upset my hydrangea died–that’s my favorite plant.) The house will be where I put me. Where I keep myself safe from all the hard. All the horrible. All the pain. I can come out of the house to talk to people. I can walk them over to the pool and invite them to cry until they run out of tears. Don’t worry. The pool can hold them all.
Then when they are ready to keep walking I will go back inside my house. Where I am safe. Where I am me. Where the pain gets to be left outside because not all pain is mine to carry. Sometimes it is like being a midwife. I am just here to help you get that thing out. I don’t do the work. You do it. I just stand nearby and make comforting noises and occasionally hand you useful tools.
I love you. I want you to be here. Sometimes you need to purge in order to really blossom into who you could be.
I understand.
I pulled one five gallon bucket of weeds yesterday. Did a few loads of laundry. Did dishes. Read a whole bunch. Stretched. Practiced my Spanish. (3% fluent? Who in the hell is duolingo kidding!?) Took the kids to Rockin Jump and sat on my ass. I typed more than I should but not crazy excessively. Filled the bird feeders.
That was most of my work, I think. That is a light load.
For reasons passing my understanding I prefer to do like 80% of my stretching/yoga on the floor. I’m always afraid of getting dizzy and falling down. Which means I think I’m lacking core stability and strength. I need to find a way to work on this.
Eventually.
With all the other shit I’m supposed to do. Sigh.
I keep thinking, “When am I going to start working on the books!” Then I think, “Not today.”
A friend invited me to a womens retreat this year. That might take the place of the writing conference. I don’t think I want to be gone alone for four weekends this year. Also, the womens thing is in July and otherwise all my outings are over by May.
I *am* going to Sobonfu’s thing this year. I am looking forward to having this experience outside the university setting. I had a hard time with the fact that most of the people at the previous grief rituals were students doing it for a grade so they often didn’t take it seriously. This will be more a retreat for folks who just really want to be there. That sounds way better.
Printed out the registration form yesterday. I’m mailing it in. And I paid for an Impact class the last weekend in January.
I’m trying to fix my brain and my body. That’s complicated. There are so many things to fix. I have experienced serious, noticeable growth because of the grief rituals I have been to. I always walk away feeling like I learned a lot of things I desperately need to learn. Sobonfu doesn’t have biological children. She often treats her clients like they are hers to mother. I’m ok with that.
The Impact class was wonderful. My goal this time: more control and less force. Last time I took an Impact class I proved to my own satisfaction (and to the poor suited instructors) that I hit hard enough. That’s not what I need to keep working on. Accuracy and control. I’d like to graduate onto the advanced classes where you deal with multiple assailants and weapons. They don’t let you do that till you have a lot more control than I demonstrated in my first class. Plenty of force!
Do you know how good it feels to hit a 6′ tall man in the face and watch him go flying many feet backwards?
Oh god that’s a good feeling.
I mean, yes the suited instructors do learn to fall and fall hard so they don’t get hurt. But they weren’t flying like that from the other ladies. I hit hard.
(A few lucky punches from other people had similar effects. I’m not the toughest bitch out there or anything. I just…. can’t tone it down so almost every hit was that hard from me.)
I want to be capable of delivering overwhelming force. I want to have such control over it that it never slips out on accident. That’s kind of a tough combo.
Ok, kids are up. I should stop.
Every time a new “hide me” referrer comes up I can block it.
That actually sounds kinda fun.
There are only specific kinds of control I can have. I’m going to take them.
At least type the fucking url in you lazy pieces of shit.
Noah suggested something brilliant. It is possible to block referring sites.
Fuck you Trolls. Fuck you Facebook. Fuck you donotlink.
It had just gotten back to my normal readers curve. *sniff* I was feeling really happy that my blog readership was back to being people who are capable of treating me like I’m a human being.
So much for that. What did I expect. This is the internet.
If you have the balls to link to my journal from your facebook page, have the balls to tell me who the hell you are.
Or stop sending your friends to me. I’m not happy with the influx of hits today. If you aren’t here in a nice way, could you go away?
I write for people who have kindness in their soul. If you can’t be bothered to say hi before you send this many people to my sandbox I don’t think you have a lot of kindness.
I have now finished reading five volumes of Saga by Fiona Staples and Brian K Vaughan. A friend gave me volume one for Christmas and I had to buy the rest of it immediately.
I’m not normally a big fan of graphic novels. I have been dragged reluctantly into reading them. This book grabbed my attention in the first three pages and I feel kind of cranky I have to put it down now.
It’s about love and family and race and war. It’s about what it means to find and lose love. It is about what it means to be a parent.
It is about the fact that life is always just a bit more complicated than you want it to be.
On top of that the art is beautiful. The characters are fantastically real in their balance of good and evil.
Totally worth a read.
My friend has an annual tradition of asking about the best 5 moments you remember from the year.
I know 2015 was hard for lots of people. It was often hard while it was going on for me. But it was amazing and wonderful and awe inspiring too.
Well last night was super fun. We danced, we played, we talked. That was great. I even got to waltz with my favorite dance partner.
This is the same man who told me that learning to be sexually dominant with me is like learning to ride a motor cycle by being tossed on the back of a Harley. Ha.
Sometimes people let me know that dealing with me is effort… but they are ok with that.
For the life of me I don’t understand why it is worthwhile for them. But they come back year after year. For over a decade now. This came up in my head partially because yesterday Eldest Child asked me if I still know any of my ex’s. I laughed and said, “You know your friends’ dad who is coming over here tonight? Yeah he brought me to this house as his date. That’s how I got here.” Her mouth dropped. It was hilarious.
Then she asked if we still know any Noah’s ex’s. I said, “You know ____?” “But she is _____ and ______ and _______’s mom!” Well she wasn’t a long time ago. A long time ago she was your dad’s girlfriend.
Whoa. Like… whoa.
It was really funny. YOU PEOPLE HAD LIVES BEFORE ME?! WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?!
Bwahahahahaa
And our lives carry on. Sometimes still touching the lives of people we have known in ways that are surprising but still a great blessing.
I know I sound quite scathing when I discuss my ex’s sometimes. But I’m grateful for the experiences I had with each of you individually. I may have big feelings about my collective experience… but I don’t really hold each of you individually accountable. I do. But I don’t. You are part of a system that created people with personality traits I struggle to deal with. Is it your fault? Is it my fault I’m crazy?
Is it my fault I was raped? Maybe someone wants to break it down and I don’t deserve being raped by my dad (clearly) and maybe I didn’t deserve the first few rapes before puberty. But later surely it was all my fault, right? I knew better and I didn’t lock myself into a bathroom for the rest of my life for safety. So it’s my fault, right?
Fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault.
Noah says I shouldn’t care so much about fault.
But if something isn’t your fault, how can you change it? Maybe I desperately want to believe that I am to blame for being raped in the past because that is the only way I deserve any credit for keeping myself safe for the past few years.
But what if I am god damn lying to myself and none of it is my fault. I have gotten lucky since marrying Noah not because I got better at defending myself but because I moved into a god damn protected class.
None of it is about what I did or didn’t do. It is about the perception of me that other people have. It is about what society tells the people around me that they can get away with doing to me.
At this stage…. not many people are stupid enough to fuck with me. Not like in the past. It’s not really because of me and if someone who didn’t have my “position in life” tried to copy my behavior in order to be more safe they would come up against a world of hurt.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Life is too complicated for me.
Happy New Year.
This is gonna hurt.
Last year’s accounting: 2014. The year before: 2013. The year before that: 2012. I do like some forced honesty. Motherfucker.
(Why do I want to type that word so much? I DON’T KNOW. But I love it. It feels good in my metaphorical mouth.)
So we didn’t hit what I expected on income because I wasn’t at home monitoring Mint this year. I always eyeball it a little bit at the beginning of the year and guess our monthly income because what we receive varies slightly through the year. Things like 401k contributions mean that we start out getting much smaller checks than we get at the end of the year. And I didn’t sit on Mint this year cause I was kinda busy. I barely entered transaction data. So this doesn’t line up perfectly. Whatever. Congratulations Noah. This year you made about $173,000ish. Well done! I can’t do that. Fantastic. The $20k from your parents you didn’t earn. But it is… awkward and uncomfortable and yet still nice that your parents send it.
Book sales were $6,440 last year and $8,388 this year. Well done Noah. I’m so proud of you.
Once again: I didn’t really look at Mint for 5 months. Things are out of whack because sliders got put in somewhat random places and I forgot to check back. So ignore the fact that I underspend in Public Transportation. Uhm, whatever.
For all of auto/transport we spent $10,065. That’s a lot of forking money. $4,308 was on car repair. I needed new tires. I had to fix the trailer. I think this includes the transmission repair on the Prius? This was quite a year on cars needing help. $835 on public transit is partially because of tolls and tolls and tolls. Those bastards are expensive. I also put some of Noah’s to/from airports in here because by December I noticed that I totally over budgeted in this area. Oh well. $111 on parking. I ain’t kidding.
$3,372 on gas is actually low seeming to me. Given that I drove around the perimeter of the country and Noah stayed here and did our normal driving. For comparison, last year we spent $2,345 on gas. I wouldn’t think that such an extensive trip merely increased our spending by $1,000. This tells you that I drive too much most of the time! Ridiculous!
Last year bills were over $4,000. I wonder why that went down given that our phone bill went up. Hm.
Ok, maybe Noah making $8k on the book isn’t as awesome since $6,799 turned around and went right back out on book related stuff. Let me tell y’all. Selling shit is hard and expensive. I had no idea.
$4,221 was spent on entertainment. Most of that on museums. I have no regrets.
Noah and I spent money on ourselves. I think we did it in cash and didn’t account for it. Whoops.
$22,630 on food. $10,177 on restaurants. $12,446. My grocery bill was lower than normal. My eating out bill was almost twice what it normally is. Yup. That’s what happens when you travel like that.
$11,754 on health. That’s lower than normal too. I wasn’t home for my norma round of lovely massages.
$64,202 towards my house. $54,000 of that was mortgage. Oh that feels lovely. That’s not accounting for the $5,000 that arrives today at the mortgage company. (Scheduled but not accounted for. Geez, banks.) So I got $59,000 out the door on my mortgage this calendar year.
Let’s not give me too much credit. $30,000 of that was Noah’s signing bonus for this job. Otherwise I only made like two months of extra payments.
(Where the heck is the rest of the money going then, eh? We paid some for the bathroom remodel that failed. Gardener. Home supplies, and property taxes. Pretty valid shit.)
For gifts: $8,837 was spent on Christmas. Given the high number of people I sent presents to who didn’t acknowledge me in the slightest this will be the highest spending year of my life. I’m completely uninterested in ever doing this again. $687 on “other gifts” and $5342 was donated to various charitable causes. I think that in the future Christmas should be under $2,000 (let’s be realistic–we often give electronics. It does have to be kinda high) and charitable giving should be closer to $10,000. That is my stated goal for next year.
$11,419 on kids. That’s a fairly big jump from last year. We did *so many things* this year.
$3,701 on clothes. That’s almost double what we normally spend on clothes in a year. I don’t fee bad. It includes some pretty darn awesome stuff I may wear for the rest of my life.
$554 in undocumented cash spending. That’s not too bad.
$15,859 on taxes. Yup. That’s what it is.
Now we get into the part I feel…. squiggly about.
Holy tomato.
Fee’s and charges. I’ll try not to have those next year.
We got a slight refund from last year’s lawyer. I didn’t spend all of the retainer. Then Dad needed money.
I feel a little weird that we spend this much money on hair but she’s a fantastically good hair dresser that can make a whole crew of funny looking people look good. Maybe she’s worth it? I certainly keep paying for her.
So the spa money… manicures and pedicures and facials and stuff like that. Because other than sitting around or shopping… there isn’t that much to do during the limited windows of child care offered by Disney other than go to the spa that is always conveniently near child care.
$2,693 on books. What a glorious year. Next year: reading. Not buying.
$4,442 on electronics. Well, Noah bought his old laptop from a company. That includes a projector. I’m not entirely sure what else. Good golly we use electronics. (I could look it up. If you couldn’t tell, this is the fast and dirty end of year review.)
$6,720 to 529s. That’s excellent.
$1200 to the mutual fund. Not a lot but every bit helps.
$5,400 to IRA. Better, still not that high though.
$23,279 on the cross country trip. That’s every other bit of paying for anything we did. Really, because stuff kinda got pushed into Christmas, kids, food, auto… we spent more than that. Probably closer to $40,000. Ew.
But it was absolutely amazing and I don’t regret it even a little. I’m just not going to blow money like that any year soon.
$5,654 is deposits on next year’s vow renewal. That cruise will be expensive and awesome. Next year we are probably going to spend ~$20,000 on travel which is way down from this year but still ridiculous.
Ok, we need some frugal years here. Other than the cruise 2016 is going to need to be locked down. 2017 will have to be more frugal still. If I want my old age to be safe and secure that’s the cost.
Have fun while you are young, yes. But make sure you are providing for your old age too.
Short term, medium term, and long-term goals. I expected to hemorrhage money this year. I saved up for it. I planned around it. I wanted to. Now I want to stem the flow and build up my reserves again.
Here, here is the only screenshot that really matters.
This right here? This makes me very unhappy. I let our buffer get really low. I dipped into savings to preserve the integrity of my checking account. That’s bad. It was the only way to hand money to Dad right now, so I’m ok with it. But that’s bad. My buffer should not get this low.
We go through too much money.
My joint checking account shouldn’t get below $30,000. We have months where $30,000 goes out the door. It has to be my floor. That has to be the same as zero.
And I failed on that. I’m not happy with myself at all. I have to build that up again fast. It’s going to take most of this year if I can get there this year. $17,000 extra is a lot. Even for me. Then I really really really want my savings account back at $40k.
I want $100,000 in cash. That’s what I want. That’s what makes me feel safe. I had it at the beginning of this year and I blew it and now I have to fix it.
Isn’t it completely and totally insane that I’m upset with myself for getting down to having $63,255 in petty cash?
Oh how things change. I used to pray for a $3,000 buffer. That was what I maintained for years. That was my safety for a very long time.
But now there are months where we spend $30,000 so I just have to be able to cover it. Period. Things change.
2015 has been quite a year. I’m grateful for all the lessons learned. I’m grateful that I had these experiences. I’m grateful I got to be where I got to be. I’m grateful I got to do all I got to do.
My life is truly extraordinary.
I’ve been thinking really hard about why I’m so dyregulated this week. Other than, “Yup still a crazy bitch” because this is kinda weird. The bouncing is extreme even for me. I’m going way down and way up.
Part of it is I feel like the trip let me see in sharp relief how wonderful my life is now. I got home and have looked around at my life, pointed at people and said, “You do this. You over there, do that.” Folks have responded with good cheer and vigor. It’s intense. I came home to a serious increase in delegation ability.
Traditionally speaking delegating is an area where I have been weak. In order to delegate you have to trust that other people can follow through on your wishes. I’m not really the trusting sort. So delegating has been hard. Then the trip happened and I didn’t have much of a choice. The kids did their absolute best to help. The help wasn’t as good as what I could have done if I had the spoons to do the work. It had to be good enough. I had to not complain. I had to just accept and say thank you and show gratitude for the help I got. Otherwise the kids wouldn’t have had the oomph to do so much work.
You can’t work that hard if you are being beat down at the same time. I needed serious work out of them. That means building them up. That means telling them they are awesome. That means telling them they are capable even when they are only half-ass doing something because this is where they are today.
I hate that shit. That’s what I fucking can’t give to adult white men.
It was probably “good for me”. What fucking ever.
I miss my mom. It is hard figuring out what it means to be a good mom. Is it love? Is it being skillful at helping your unique child figure out how to access the support structures in the world that are best suited to them? Is it being able to help your child conform to what will be expected later? Is it teaching empathy or compassion or frugality?
For reasons passing my understanding most of my immediate family has blocked Noah’s account on facebook (ok that I get) but my mother hasn’t. My mom’s facebook page is still open.
Of course I’m a periodic stalker. Duh. But my stalking goes as far as loading the page, missing her, and closing the page. I’m pretty sure that is legally allowed.
I feel like I’m at a point of integration. I’m trying to heal my body, which means looking into old sources of pain. Which means somatic memories. Which means shitty. I’m trying to integrate the knowledge I gained on the trip and that happened on so many levels I’m not capable of perceiving them all yet. I’m trying to “be present” because I’m told that “being in the moment” is oh so important in life.
Do you know how fucking hard it is to be “in the moment” when you have survived your life by future tripping and you are trying to heal a whole bunch of past shit that lives in your body?!?!
I told my shrink we are starting to meditate before bed. She misheard me and thought I said medicate. As in my sentence was, “We are starting to meditate before bed with the kids.” She heard that wrong. It took at least a full minute before I stopped laughing so hard I couldn’t explain. When I calmed down I said, “You are really worried that at any given moment I’m going to go around the bend and be completely inappropriate, aren’t you?” She said, “It isn’t just you! It’s everyone!”
I don’t think I could be a therapist. My heart couldn’t hold that.
She then tried to justify her mishearing (it was funny and fine) by saying she has friends from Mendocino who totally do that! I said me too. I told her about a woman I know who has been smoking pot with her mom since she was 9. That was how the family managed her severe car sickness. Get in the car and light up the pipe.
Then my shrink carefully asked me if I thought that was a good idea.
Oh good god no.
I mean… if I had a kid who had really severe car sickness I might change my tune. But I don’t have that problem with my children. My kids also don’t have epilepsy or cancer–two reasons I’d absolutely give them pot. But there aren’t many reasons.
Cannabis is a medication I take. Do diabetics freely share their insulin? Not so much. This pot is mine. Thanks.
It is hilarious to me how often my answer to parenting philosophy questions is “NO!” then I have this internal reaction of, “Ok my no is so strong because it would be the wrong choice for me and I recognize that instantly. However under this long list of exceptions I can see how it would be a perfectly reasonable choice and I do not judge other people who need to make this choice. Everyone walks a different path.”
My no’s are so strong because that is what it takes for me to get past my internal, “Not allowed to say ‘no’ filter” and I’m sorry it is broken in this way. It is not a reflection of you or my opinion of you or your choices.
It is about me and my body.
I am so fierce about boundaries partially because my family of origin did not have boundaries. I over compensate because that is how pendulums tend to swing.
That’s a lot of why I’m bouncing this week. If I am patient or compassionate with myself I’m doing very well at a time when I often do very badly. Yes, I’m bouncing. I’m bouncing because I’m trying to change core parts of my identity and life experience.
That causes turbulation. When you change things there is often a consequence. When you are trying to change your behavior and your body…. there will be emotional consequences. I’m happy to face them, don’t get me wrong. But it takes time. I have to actually do it. Ok, I’m not happy to do it. It fucking sucks and I’m tired of this and I’d like to be done with this stage now okthanksbye.
But I persevere. Cause I’m like that. Just keep swimming swimming swimming.
Kid up.
I am trying an experiment. I know Dragon doesn’t work very well with the kids yelling in the other room I’m not sure how well Dragon will work with traffic passing.
Talked to my shrink this morning. It was a good phone call. She clearly expected that I would have had a harder time at Christmas than I actually did. Is that good? Is doing better than expected good or bad? I suppose it partially depends on just how badly you are expected to do.
It was weird telling her that I am both doing very well and having a hard time at the same time. I am waking up first thing in the morning with a racing heart and horrible thoughts. I miss my mother. I miss my mom so much I feel like I’m going to explode. I feel guilty. I feel ashamed. I feel sad.
Then the day goes on and I notice that my life is really good. I notice over and over how nice people are to me. My kids are children so they are annoying, like all children are supposed to be, but they are really kind to me. They try to be considerate. They don’t always do a good job but when they fail it’s because they are literally incapable of seeing what they could not already know. I am so impressed with them. If mere children can work that hard I have no excuse for not showing up and doing the work. It doesn’t matter how much hurts.
My shrink says she expected me to be doing worse at this time of year considering all things. She is happy to hear my upset is mostly being contained to early morning emotions. It is okay that I have feelings; it is even okay that these feelings are often bad. I do not have to have a happy feeling every moment of the day; I do not owe that to anyone else. It is a consideration about whether or not you do it ( it being perform happy emotions) because you genuinely feel that or if you want other people to feel like you feel them.
it also doesn’t help that my arms are burning like fire and Dragon sucks and I just want to god damn type.
I’m sick. I feel awful. Like normal when I’m sick I’m beating myself up emotionally. I woke up this morning missing my biological family something fierce. It hit me like a freight train.
I miss them but I can’t be part of the family. I won’t keep secrets. I won’t act like everything is fine.
The generation after mine got raped too. I can’t pretend everything is fine.
But they can. So they get to have a family and I don’t. Because that’s how the cookie crumbles.
How ungrateful. I have a family. I have Noah. I have my kids. I had sure better not fuck it up. This is all I have.
I feel completely and totally certain that if Noah and the kids all died I would not live 24 hours.
I feel like this is the most sad I have been in a while. This feels brutal. I hurt so much. Part of it is weird bitterness over adopted family stuff too.
I walk away from people so they can’t walk away from me. Which makes it my fault relationships don’t last. Which is easier to bear than the fact that people just don’t like me very much.
I’m in a god damn mood. Pity party, table of one.
I feel sad, keening grief. I feel like I want to cut and beat my head on the floor and…
It’s just there this morning. Just because.
Sometimes I think I beat my head on the floor because I’m hoping I will damage my brain enough that I will stop thinking because what I think hurts me so much.
I am really grateful that today is a slow pace. We’ll have some nature time. It’s the first day of my officially reduced schedule. I’m on the day planner. It’s here. I mean, I haven’t done that much for weeks, but it was an unstructured kind of not doing that much. And not doing that much means I did a fair bit. Cause I’m like that.
But I have big blocks of the day marked as rest. In between other “healthful” activities and shit that I’m supposed to build into my life because supposedly I might hate myself less some year if I keep this bullshit up.
With every passing year I feel more and more ashamed of myself for not talking to my mother. I understand her neglect so much more. She was doing her best.
Her best wasn’t good enough. Is that really her fault?
I don’t know. But I can’t have her in my life and I feel like that makes me a piece of shit. It is hard to not feel like that fact is reason enough to deserve death on its own. I hurt my mama. I am bad.
If I wanted to I could crawl in bed with any of three people and they would hug me and love me and I wouldn’t have to be alone right now. The trouble is, I want my mother. I have wanted my mother my whole life.
It never goes away. Sometimes I don’t think about it. But then a quiet moment comes along and I check in with my body and there it is. This ache that never goes away.
Mama.
There was a woman, for a few years, who told me she wanted to be my adopted mom. I haven’t heard from her in a long time. She has a life of her own. She’s busy. She doesn’t actually have room for me in her life. I’m not really worth the effort.
My adopted mom and my biological mom share a birthday. So every year I keen for the two women I don’t deserve to have love me. I could reach out to them. But I’m kind of done chasing love that isn’t really meant for me.
I was never really wanted. Not really.
But Noah wants me. However I got here. And my kids are stuck with me till they aren’t. We’ll see what happens.
I think a lot about what my mother’s life would have been like if she had aborted me like she should have. It would have been better. Maybe she could have saved Tommy and he wouldn’t be dead. Maybe she could have kept the other kids together after the divorce instead of just getting the “girls”.
If I hadn’t been there so many things would have been different. Easier. I have not been worth the trouble to take care of, ever.
I want to cut really badly. I haven’t wanted to like this in a while. It’s been such a nice Christmas.
Mama mama mama mama.
It always comes back to you. I love you. I love you with all of my black soul.
But you don’t get to hurt my babies. My babies live in a state of perfect trust where the unreliable people are outside the family. Inside their family they are safe and they believe that people tell them the truth. If you were considered inside their family bubble that would be shattered.
You can’t tell the truth to save your life. Because lying was necessary to save your life and you don’t seem to be able to stop now.
Now. What do I know. I haven’t talked to you in five years. But you couldn’t tell the truth then. Given your age I doubt it has changed. It’s not like you are ready to go through puberty now and see the error of your ways.
You had to lie all the god damn time and I get that and I can forgive you for the past. I can’t let you lie to my children like that going forward and you are literally not capable of telling the truth. I think it is because you are incapable of perceiving the truth. If you did you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.
Can I really judge that?
Yes and no.
I have to do what I have to do to get out of bed in the morning, so yeah I judge. I judge that your way of being is not for me and I have to find something different and do it with a vengeance.
That intensity I have that bothers people so much? A lot of that exists because overcoming inertia is hard. It is a basic physics problem. I don’t like me very much. In order to talk to people I have to first pretend I like myself (because if you don’t formulate your interactions based on the premise of liking yourself you will get abused again) then decide what treatment would be right for me if I liked myself then figure out how to manipulate people around me into behaving in a way that will be comfortable for me. That takes a fuck ton of energy, thought, and consideration.
Yes I think about how to manipulate you. I think about how to cause you to have the set of emotions I want you to have so that you will continue to enjoy my company. I’m going to cause you some set of emotions. Indifference. Irritation. Joy. Love. Contempt. Anxiety. Something. Yes, I think consciously about what I would like to be causing and I work towards it. If I don’t do that… I bother people so much.
I have to think about this if I still want to have friends in the future. Even if manipulate is a dirty word. What-fucking-ever.
I think about which people need me to physically move slowly and which people like that I’m generally a quick darting person.
I think about which people can handle which portions of my range of emotions. Some people can only handle the joy. Some people can only handle my anger.
I think about which people will feel tolerant of which parts of my past experiences and I try to cull my stories carefully these days. I have improved these filters tremendously since having children. I used to uhhhh have fewer appropriate stories for all topics. I’m branching out.
I have noticed lately that I have two distinctly different somatic experiences of my approaches to people. Sometimes I don’t feel safe …. engaging. So I don’t say much. I look at the floor and I don’t make eye contact with people. I have a permanent fucking crick in my neck.
Then there are times when I’m ok pretending I’m a main character and I look everyone in the eye and I insert myself into peoples way and I seem to be more charming than not.
I don’t know how to get that pretense of comfort sometimes. Like today I couldn’t do it. Today if I had to be in a group of people I would be monosyllabic. I’d probably cross my arms and rock in the corner. Like I do when I’m uhhhh feeling mature.
Today I feel like I’m stuck in an elevator. Wait, let me back up. Know how I talk about feeling present with many selves/ages all at once? Right now I feel like I’m stuck on elevator between selves. If all the various permutations of me are floors on a building, I’m stuck between Neurotically In Control Adult and Weak And Defenseless Child. Neither is true. Both are true. Fuck everything.
I’m sad. My arms hurt like a mother fucker but I couldn’t sit on this today. I have to let it pass through me and move on. Writing it down helps so much.
I try hard not to make it obvious in my day to day life that my literal survival depends on the survival of the people in this house. That’s creepy. You have to go about your life as if that were incidental to your own survival. But I know it.
I have some incredibly dramatic ideas about how I could ensure that I would absolutely not risk being rescued in time this time. It’s not a call for fucking help. I don’t want help any more.
I want my family and that’s it. If I can’t have them then that’s it.
So yeah. I’m not writing this down because I’m very certain that I would follow through and if you forewarn people they feel duty bound to stop you and fuck that.
But, my family is alive and it doesn’t matter. Hopefully they won’t all die and it will absolutely never be necessary. I want to be with them.
I feel incredibly angry with people who call suicide selfish. Fuck you with a pogo stick. People who commit suicide are people who are in pain they cannot bear. Fuck you for being so selfish that you think they should continue to suffer in order to spare you even the slightest discomfort.
I don’t owe you that.
I owe you neither continued suffering nor silence. I owe you nothing. I do not owe you my life. There are things I’d like to do. I’m going to keep busy as long as I’m alive. Not because I owe people. Because I’m having fun. Because I’m finding out what it feels like to be loved. Actually loved. Shows up every day loved.
Yes Noah, I would throw myself against any rock for that. It is true. Yes I would damage myself over and over and over for that. I did so in the search for it. I didn’t think it would come true. I expected to off myself in desolation and despair before now because no one would ever actually love me.
Lots of people like to fuck me. Some people like to talk to me. It’s different to really love and take care of someone.
Sometimes I stop and realize… my body count is bigger than some peoples whole Monkey Sphere. No wonder I’m capable of seeing more people as real people.
I searched high and low for someone who could love me. Then when he started creeping on me I dated him for a bit and dumped him.
The other day in the car Eldest Child wistfully said, “I hope I grow up and meet someone as perfectly suited to me as you two found.” We both kinda went, “Bwuahahaha. No. We were not suited when we met.” She was shocked.
We changed. We became something different for one another. We became our better selves because that is what we agreed to do for one another. Having someone make that promise and then deliver and deliver and deliver and deliver for a decade now…
This is what trust feels like.
It’s so new.
Sometimes I ask my kids if they can trust me. They tell me that they know I’m telling the truth unless I’m using a silly voice then they know I’m lying. I said, “Actually sometimes when I use a silly voice I’m still telling the truth. Just to mess with you.” They glared a little. But I feel ok with this arrangement. Treat pronouncements in silly voices with great caution. Important life lesson.
I tell my kids that we won’t do everything I plan but we will do everything I promise. There’s an important difference there. I always over plan. I’m an ambitious motherfucker. No matter what you are referencing I over plan. It’s a lifestyle. It’s part of how I save money hand over fist. I plan for 60%-80% of our income. Then whatever comes in over that is extra and I invest it. And I have plans and plans and plans for investing stuff.
You don’t do the things I’ve done if you are a meek or under planning sort of person. That intensity that bothers people? It’s a mixed bag. It drove me around the country despite overwhelming pain. It causes me to get up and try again on being nice every single day with my kids. Because I’ve decided I’m all in for this thing.
There are times when I fail. I’m very careful what I promise. An awful lot of what I promise is that I will always try. I will always apologize when I fuck up. I will not promise perfection. That is folly.
I won’t promise and promise and promise for years that I will take you to do X thing and never do it. Even when the money is there because Other People Come First.
I won’t be my mother. It’s not just about the sex abuse. I know that casual readers often think that preventing sexual abuse is kinda my hobby horse to ride with my kids.
I mean, it’s important. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s really just the tip of the ice burg.
Eldest Child just ran in and jumped on my lap. I may be out of steam for the morning. Hard to hold the laptop on my lap while she wiggles. She is staring intently at the screen and trying to read what I’m writing. She’s getting a few words. Ahhhhh. Time to close this window. My time of hiding in plain sight with my feelings is just about over.
I love you kid.
Sometimes I reflect on the fact that my brain is wired to experience all times as now. I often feel as present with the self I was at three as I will be at sixty-eight. I’m every age all at once. Sometimes I feel like all of my experiences, all of the self I will ever have is loudly banging on the inside of my head demanding attention.
Which self will I manifest in this moment?
This is very present for me when I think about how word meanings have shifted.
When I was a kid I was told I was gonna get licked all the damn time. It meant a variety of things. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t hilarious. It was… a problem. It meant I was going to be hit. It meant someone was going to have sex with me. Getting licked wasn’t a great thing.
I never really liked the ones who insisted on going down on me before fucking me. I sorta knew without knowing that part of the reason they did that was so the saliva could mask the lack of arousal.
The things you know as an adult on the other side.
I’m way more ok with a spit wad in the hand being rubbed on my cunt than fakey foreplay from someone who bloody well knows this isn’t going to be good for me.
How how how can you believe that fucking a fifteen year old is good when you are forty-three? Guess what? That wasn’t rape. It really wasn’t. I know it is “statutory rape” and I know that legally I wasn’t allowed to consent. It wasn’t rape.
I know the difference.
Why is this self coming up today? Why is this bothering me so much right now? Why am I crying over this now?
I don’t know. Noah has been going down on me more. It has been rather awesome, actually. It’s not like what it was. He doesn’t do it to hurry up and get some spit down to ease the friction.
Well. Ok, sometimes he does. But when he does he is also talking very dirty and it is fucking hot and that’s ok. It’s different.
Why is it different?
Because this man takes care of me when I’m sick. Because he only does that to me on days when I’m in the mood and I’m nodding and giggling and he knows that I will catch up to being as ready as him any second now.
It’s different.
I think it is funny that I have learned as much from married monogamous sex as I ever did from being a slut. I’ve learned a lot more about weathering the storms of life. Because life does that.
Let me tell you there is a difference between someone who wants to get off using your pussy and someone who wants to get you off while he (or she or they or…) is in your pussy.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not upset about the folks who used my pussy to get off. At least not the times I consented to being there. I learned a lot. I’m really glad I made the choices I made. Even the ones that weren’t stellar. Even the things that really kinda sucked.
I had a tremendously shitty childhood. Now it is over. Now I can do other fucking things.
But sometimes after playing with my kids and saying in an ogre voice I’m going to lick you I have to stop and consciously stomp on my desire to burst into tears. Because my kids aren’t afraid of me. They don’t think I will hurt them.
They think I am going to be gross and put saliva on their arm. Just like they have always done to me. It’s kinda hilarious in a really gross way.
I am not who I was. But I am. I always am. I always will be.
But I can be something different too.
I’m sick. I have a sore throat. My nose is running. I’m cold and hot at the same time. So fun.
Of course I got sick. I’m supposed to start a new schedule tomorrow. (Graduating into the day planner pages.) Duh I’m sick. That’s ok. A lot of the point of this schedule is to increase the rest in my life. Maybe the timing is even positive.
Ok I wouldn’t go that far.
Must stop. Hands say done.
This year is going to be a radical shift in lifestyle for us. I’m going to have to turn down a lot of socializing opportunities. It has been years since I’ve done this. I perceive Noah to be doubtful but I’m not sure if that is paranoia or more than that.
I have made a schedule. I’m putting it in my day planner. As of December 28th (the day next year’s day planner starts) I get to go on auto pilot. My days are planned out till summer. Then the kids and I will reevaluate what classes they are in and discuss changes. Our semester is set.
I have faith in my ability to stick to a schedule. I’ve accomplished a lot of things this way. College, teaching, marathon training. I create schedules for myself and then I put my head down and plow through. Just follow the plan.
I can do that.
Yoga, resting, and meditation have to become part of every day. Or I’m just going to incinerate myself with sheer nervous energy.
I have to get off the sedatives.
I mean, the only thing I’m still on is pot. But I’d like so very much to not need any medication. I can’t do the around the world trip if I have to be drugged to function. I won’t have that ability as I travel internationally.
I have to just be able to do it.
Shit.
A year is a very long time to power through. Well, at least given the current status of spoons in my drawer.
I have a lot I want to get done over the next three years: remodel the bathroom, pay off the house, write books, homeschool the kids, heal…
It will be a good thing to stay home more. We have a lot to do at home. One of the things I’ve always found funniest about ‘home’ schooling was how little time we spent at home. I need to change that. I want to stay home more. Well, not more than this last month. I want to stay home this much. It’s a big change from before the trip. Frankly, it is lovely.
So much I want to type. Have to stop.
a stalker little Christmas… bring your trolls to my siiiiiiiite….
a wet little Christmas… let your yard come to liiiiiiiiife….
a silly little Christmas…. nooooooooooow
Sometimes I think about the fact that me ending up where I am right now was utterly improbable. Street kids don’t get here. Street kids die on the street. But I’m here.
I need to change how a lot of things work. I need to reflect on my body. (How come Dragon keeps replacing every time I say the word “I” with the word “we”? Dragon you suck.)
This week has involved several really important conversations. I feel more like it is okay for me to do the things I want to do. I feel a lot less like I have to have a conversation I do not want to have. Maybe it is okay to just walk away. It was pointed out to me that a letter might be more tactful.
I’m considering. And I’m done with Dragon because the kids are screaming in the other room and Dragon is picking them up. Yeah, voice recognition doesn’t work when you have kids throwing tantrums within hearing range. Welcome to my life.
Apparently Eldest Child is holding something Youngest Child wants and this is a terrible tragedy.
It’s a good thing I love them so much.
I’ve been talking to doctors. I’m talking to my therapist. I’m talking to people who have been very integrated into my life over the last few years.
I need to devote the next three years to healing. It’s going to take at least that long. If I don’t do that I can’t go on the Around The World trip I want to do so badly. I just can’t go if I am in this kind of pain. I can’t do the work right now. I have to change things if I want to reach these goals.
I want to so very badly.
I need to treat my body like I’m in training for the next phase of my life. This training period is going to be hard and take a lot of focus and dedication. I need to change how I use my body. I need to change how I live my life.
I have hurt myself a lot because I didn’t expect to live very long and it didn’t matter how much damage I incurred. It is hard to change this way of perceiving myself.
But I would really like to be having crazy kinky sex with Noah in thirty years. Just because it sounds like so much fun. That means I have to change what I’m doing.
This is going to be very hard. I hope the long term return is worth the effort. I’m not looking forward to this. In the next week or so I’m going to have to work out on paper what this actually means.
I’m going to need to schedule rest. Daily. For the next few years. I will have to schedule exercise and stretching and meditation. For the next few years. I have to develop this discipline or I’m not going to live much longer.
I’m in too much pain. This literally can’t continue. I have to learn how to sleep without handfuls of sedatives. That means I have to change how much stress I feel. I have to learn how to relax.
I have to.
It would really be best if I could eat and rest without having to be stoned as fuck. That would be ideal.
It has taken more than 30 years to get this broken. It’s going to take time to fix. Not because I’m lazy or incompetent or because I’m not trying hard enough… because that’s how long it takes. Because if you seriously do the work to undo this kind of damage…. yeah. It’s hard.
I’m scared. I’m scared I will do this and see no improvement because it is too late. I’m scared that I’m not worth this investment of time, money, and energy. I’m scared that I will get bored and do something stupid and hurt myself permanently.
That’s totally possible.
This is a really wonderful Christmas already. I feel like I’m shedding a lot of layers of things that don’t work for me. I’m keeping just the most important people and things. That’s really good. I’m keeping the people and situations that demonstrate that they seriously value me and I’m ditching the situations that use me without valuing me.
It’s better this way.
My shrink says she is very happy to hear how I am emotionally placing boundaries around some of the people I am going to keep even though they are problematic. Everyone is problematic. I don’t want to run away from everyone just to avoid their issues.
Like my creepy neighbor. My shrink originally wanted me to figure out how to never see him again. Dude. He lives a block away on my running route. I could avoid him but it would take effort. I think it is better to stare at him and tell him he can’t fucking creep on me. I will take extreme measures to stop you and that would suck for both of us. Let’s just be friends. I sure like being your friend.
There has to be a place for creepy motherfuckers. I’m a creepy motherfucker. My husband is a creepy motherfucker.
We have to be permissible. Or the only reasonable conclusion is we should off ourselves.
There really aren’t other alternatives. Because, “It’s not ok for you to exist like that you have to change” is a non-starter. Nope.
You can say you don’t want to interact with me if I am the way I am. You can say that you don’t like me. You can’t say that I must change in order to be allowed to exist. I am what I am. I can change some of my behaviors, but I can’t change what I am.
I creep people the fuck out. I’m intense. I’m interested in things that really bother other people. I am innately attracted to taboo subjects. I want to talk and talk and talk and talk about things that most folks would like to pretend don’t exist. That’s ok with me. I’m going to keep talking anyway, motherfucker.
I don’t think you have to be like me. The world would be a sad place if everyone had to be like sad, angry, paranoid me.
Over the past few months I’ve watched more current television than I’ve watched in years. How to Get Away With Murder, Jane the Virgin, Call the Midwife, Strange Empire, Grace and Frankie (did I reverse the names?), with only a small amount of time still going to The West Wing.
This is different for me. I’m going to catch up on Fresh Off The Boat this week.
I feel so excited that broadcast tv is seeing so much more variety of people. We live in a wonderful time.
And so much hot queer sex. Yes give me more more more more.
They’ve got my number. Hell yeah. Sounds good. Right on.
I really need to stop typing. This is my most intense self-harming hobby left. Giving it up is not ok. I WANT TO SHARE EVERY STUPID THING I THINK WITH THE INTERNET. COME ON BODY. GET IT TOGETHER ALREADY.
Ahem.
Sorry internet. I’m just like this. I love you. I want you to know me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I want you to understand just a little bit more about how complicated people are. Because I’m selfish. Because when I say I deeply identify with Moll Flanders other people tell me it is completely unbelievable crap.
It doesn’t sound that unbelievable to me. It sounds more like how my life could have gone if I were born before birth control.
I am where I am in large part because of modern birth control and make no mistake. You aren’t one of the more promiscuous people in your country without birth control. Or a lot of babies. I’m probably in the top 3% of women in terms of promiscuity. And I didn’t end up diseased. I had babies exactly when I wanted to down to controlling the god damn birth signs. (We wanted a Gemini and a Virgo. We got them.)
Maybe the things they tell you about what you have to do in order to be ok are wrong.
Just maybe they don’t actually know what is possible.