Category Archives: adult-only

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Reality distortion bubbles

I’m praying I don’t step on toes with this post. I might. I need to figure this out any way.

I’ve had a really hard time since we left Michigan. No, since we left Ohio. Pennsylvania was hard and New York was hard and I had a hard time in New Hampshire.

I think that part of what is happening is that I am running into other peoples reality distortion bubbles and… they live in a world that doesn’t work for me. But when I show up at their house I have to go with the flow. Which means I feel vibratingly uncomfortable and angry and I don’t know how to talk about it as it is happening without shrieking.

Some day soon I will have consistent wireless and I will write a very long post about why I feel so comfortable with Noah. Not today. But it is percolating as I deal with other people. It is both convenient and problematic that Noah can ignore my tone of voice to listen to the meat of what I’m trying to communicate. I can sound like a shrieking harpy and he will say, “I hear that you feel really sad and this is hurting you” and then I can stop shrieking and feel heard and feel validated. I miss you so much.

Other people live in a world where calling people stupid is fine. You have to put up with it. Other people live in a world where their food choices are dictated by what they feel like having right now. I live in a world where I must manage the behavioral abilities of my children. Sometimes they do better than I expect, sometimes when I say, “They are about to lose it” they start flipping out five minutes later. My life is not based on what I feel like doing every minute. I have to respect my limits and the limits of my kids. Other people live in a world where they can say “I don’t approve of people who are/do _____ but I guess you are acceptable.”

I have no desire to be your token exception that proves the rule. Shove it where the sun don’t shine.

Specifically in this case it was, “I don’t approve of home schooling because most people who do it don’t have the education you have. Because you spent so many years in college preparing that it is ok for *you*.”

You know what? I occasionally run into people who home school and think, “Those kids would be better off in school.” About 300 times as often I meet people and think, “That kid would be better off home schooled.”

Yes, there are “unqualified people” home schooling. HAVE YOU ACTUALLY TALKED TO MANY PUBLIC SCHOOL TEACHERS?!!?!??!?!?!?

Many are dumber than fucking rocks.

“Is it possible to make some eggs without onions.” “I am not a short order cook.” “Ok fine. We can leave.”

I’m sorry my bowels have requirements you don’t feel like following. I will go elsewhere to deal with my body so that you don’t have to be inconvenienced.

Onions give me gas. Painful gas that means I spend a long long long time in the bathroom because I’m not sure if I’m going to fart or shit my pants so I can’t just walk around doing stuff.

I ate onions at every other fucking meal here but I’m at the limit of what I can eat without saying something about the problem it is causing me.

But I don’t matter very much.

That’s fine. I can leave. I’ll go somewhere else where my physical needs aren’t inconvenient to other people.

So we are off to Maine today. I never heard back from the home schoolers we know who moved to New Hampshire. I sent a whole bunch of emails. I haven’t heard back in three months. Three months ago they were excited about a visit. Oh well.

I understand that people don’t react to me the way they do because they are trying to be mean to me. They are just living in their own reality distortion bubble.

I feel really guilty about the fact that I never feel comfortable. I feel ashamed. There are always a whole bunch of things that don’t work for me for _____ and _____ and ________ reasons. I don’t know how to deal with that.

Even when I’m doing absolutely everything in my power to be accommodating I’m still told how scary, rude, and inconvenient I am.

No, I really don’t want to sit and watch tv with you. It is not a bonding exercise for me. It shows me that even though we haven’t been in the same room much for years and years… you would rather listen to a tv show you could hear any day (it’s on fucking Netflix) than talk to me.

Ok. I can go.

Just keep walking.

Just keep walking.

Exhaustion is a real thing.

I’ve slept eight hours in a row three nights in a row. I guess this is a good place to sleep. I am still so tired I feel like i’m existing in a mental fog. This isn’t great. There is “so much to do” and I’m not doing it all because I’m too tired.

I go back and forth between castigating myself for not being “more fun” and not playing more and feeling like most mothers tell me flat out they couldn’t do what I’m doing. I am playing. We are doing fun stuff. But I’m also spending a fair bit of time collapsing. I’m so tired I can barely function.

Keep moving.

My friend wanted me to watch tv with them last night. So I paced around packing while the television was on. If I had tried to sit through the whole show I would have passed out. It was funny watching the show. QI? Something like that. A British storytelling quiz show. It was funny because the show had “laugh” prompts and “awww” prompts. They never occurred when I was having a natural reaction. When I laughed I was the only person laughing. When they said to laugh I didn’t think it was funny.

I’m just not built for tv. My friend kept giving me odd looks because I laughed in strange places. Sorry, it struck me as ridiculous…

I’m getting more of that “you are a scary, terrifying person” thing. I’m told I am much more in control than I was ten years ago.

Time to keep walking. I’m scary. It is never that other people have trouble managing their own feelings and that is a problem. The problem is that I’m scary.

What have I done that caused you to feel fear? I raised my voice? I jumped up and down? I was really angry? Did I touch you? No. Did I insult you? No. Did I say I am going to hurt you? No.

But I’m scary. Ok. I’ll keep walking.

My friend and his partner have been wonderful and inviting. They’ve been really sweet with my kids.

It is still time to keep walking. It is fascinating how I want to do these trips in large part because when I get home I relish the fact that I don’t scare my neighbors much. I’m sure they think I’m weird (they said so in my birthday book) but they know I have boundaries (they said that too).

I appreciate being appreciated for my boundaries.

I spend so much time feeling like I am just “too much”. I should “calm down” so that I’m not “scary” for people.

Maybe you being scared isn’t really about me. Maybe I’m just the one standing here but you have these feelings anyway and you want to blame them on me.

Some people are interpreted as more scary than others. It is kind of fascinating how that works. Usually it is people with big feelings who are scary. Want to know what is hilarious? Folks are rarely scared of serial abusers. Serial abusers have massive self control and they only show their problematic side to victims. Every one else sees a “perfect” person they will defend all day long.

I don’t think people who have big feelings are scary. I think they are very honest. Then again, I’m better at managing people who have big feelings. At least I can see what they are feeling instead of trying to guess through the layers of lies most people wear. “Oh I’m fine.” Whatever.

I’m an intense person. I can’t change that and I’m not going to try. I will always scare some people. It’s ok. I can keep walking.

Historically speaking I know that I’m safer if I keep walking. If I stand in one place too long I irritate people and then I must be silenced. For the good of the community, don’tcha’know?

Keep walking. Keep walking.

Ithaca is already easier.

For one thing: the streets don’t scare the shit out of me. For another thing: staying with my friend is really rad. This is the dude I went to Alaska with all those years ago. I went to Alaska with him in 2004. Now I get to spend time with his rad wife too. This is going well. Last night we walked for ice cream.

Today I think we will go to the Sagan Planet Walk and science museum. Tomorrow we will go look at gorges.

Cause Ithaca is gorges. Hahahaha. Ahem.

Also: like magic yesterday I started having normal poop. WHERE DID YOU COME FROM AND WHAT CAN I DO TO MAKE SURE YOU STAY WITH ME LONGER?!

I’m having normal poop. Eldest child is constipated. To the point where she is complaining about it hurting. But she resists eating vegetables when they are available. Dude, you are creating your own problem. If you refuse to eat salad don’t bitch when it hurts to poop. Yes, it hurts. Duh. You don’t want to eat roughage.

Another thing that Ithaca has going for it: I can walk from my friend’s house to everything we want to do. Which sounds absolutely wonderful right now.

I think it helps that I have gotten 8 hours of sleep two nights in a row. I think my inconsistent sleep is part of what is making my mood suck so much. I spent the five hour drive yesterday trying not to cry and I’m not entirely sure why.

Pittsburgh was an anxiety fest from hell. I spent that section of the trip with my stomach on fire and trying to pretend I was calm so I didn’t flip out at every one. It was a bad day for me to go to a birthday party at the home of someone whose wife makes me nervous.

She’s one of those “good women”. I don’t usually get along with them. They usually think I’m kind of a dirtbag with no manners. (Accurately.)

Didn’t help that Eldest child had to be spoken to about her manners. Of course that means I’m a bad mother.

FEELINGS THE FUCKING SIZE OF ALASKA.

I feel incompetent, stupid, useless, and worthless. It’s been a bad few days.

I keep messing things up. Apparently the birthday party was on the same day that my buddy wanted me to be at his roller derby game in a different part of Pennsylvania but I didn’t track it very well. So I just missed the roller derby game because I thought it was the next day. Whoops.

Details like this are getting really hard to track. I feel like I am treating people disrespectfully because I’m just barely getting from place to place and I’m not doing a good job of tracking what other people wish were happening. I’m just barely making it.

Most of the people we’ve visited so far wish we were coming a few days earlier or a few days later. So I feel wrong basically all the time.

No, I can’t mesh my schedule around everyone. I just… can’t.

And I’m missing people because I just don’t have the spoons to chase everyone down. My ex-girlfriend never responded to my pings, that makes me sad. I really wanted to see her.

My inside voice is turned up high and doesn’t like me much right now. That is making everything challenging. Having to get up every day and get things done while my inside voice is ranting at the top of its lungs about how I’m stupid and pathetic and I can’t do anything right is hard.

It is really hard getting up every day. Right now I’d like to climb into a hole and not come out for a few weeks.

The kids and I are talking with great longing about how we don’t want to drive at all in December. I’m not sure I will even be up for Christmas decorating. Noah is talking about getting it started for us in November because otherwise I may just be a failure this year.

96 days to go.

I don’t think we will make it to Maine. Maybe a day trip. From here we go to a friend’s house in New Hampshire. (It’s kind of awesome to me that a very high percentage of my “friends” on this trip are folks I slept with many years ago. I’m grateful that didn’t make people leave my life.) New Hampshire to New Jersey to Washington DC. Supposed to see a friend in Virginia but she isn’t answering email. Then Dollywood, then Nashville, then a friend outside Atlanta. From there to Savannah to Orlando.

I’m looking forward to the Disney World stay. I’m glad I didn’t break it up into as many different resorts as I considered.

Maybe we dodged a bullet.

When I was pregnant with Shanna Noah and I seriously considered moving to Pittsburgh. We flew out here in January to visit snow and see if I could maybe stand it because it is so much cheaper. Right now I feel like we dodged a bullet. I don’t think I would have done well here. I’m not sure what all it is, but I think I would wither here.

For one thing, driving around the city is panic attack central. I haven’t had panic attacks in months and months (I can’t remember the last one–but I wrote about it so it was a while ago) and I’ve had two here while driving. That sucks. The roads are super narrow. Sometimes intersections are absolutely terrifying and I’m convinced I’m going to kill everyone. That’s not even an interpersonal thing–that’s just about the lay out of the city.

It is so dark. It is summer time and it is uncomfortably warm… and it is still dark. The buildings obscure the sun.

I have met some nice people. I met an awesome woman I know from Twitter. I know I could find people I would like. It’s not just that the folks I wanted to stay with didn’t work out.

It’s complicated.

I’m glad we get to move on to New York now.

I feel guilty that I haven’t already written long thank you notes to everyone who participated in my birthday present. My mind is blown. 44 letters submitted by people who like/love me. That is very intense. I love you all so much. Thank you. I will be writing to everyone individually.

Holy tomato thank you. Thank you for loving me. I will spend my birthday reading and rereading your letters.

Yes, I choose you. I choose being in your life and I hope I can invite you into mine.

Watching whiteness work.

Tonight I watched something that upset me a lot. We were down at the hotel pool. We were there for a while when another family showed up. Two kids, both looked to be in the 3-4 range.

The daughter looked to be clearly a biological child. The son was clearly of a different race than everyone else present. He was a medium brown.

The daughter taunted the son. The “mother” proceeded to take away the boy’s flotation device and torture him.

I can’t think of another way to describe a mother forcing a little kids head under water while the kid screams “no, please stop mommy.”

The mom said, “Stop yelling you little pussy.”

We left. I don’t know these people and it isn’t an incident that the police would take seriously. I can’t report them to CPS because I don’t know who they are.

The world is such a sad place.

I hope that little boy has someone protect him at some point. I will spend tonight weeping at my helplessness. I feel so useless. He deserves better.

I didn’t intervene because it has been fairly well documented that intervening in situations like that often escalates the problems for the kid. I felt so completely useless.

So tired.

So far Pittsburgh is the roughest stop on our trip. Lots of little interpersonal bumps. As I told Eldest Child today, “Hey making mistakes is part of life. At least you won’t have to see these people much in the future.”

It’ll be good to move on.

Whine.

I’m having big feelings. Pittsburgh is not my favorite city so far. Driving here is nerve wracking and scary. The folks we are staying with (camping in their driveway) are not folks I actually know well. I don’t feel comfortable. I don’t like being called stupid.

There is a very big part of me that says that tomorrow when Noah is here he needs to help me pack up camp because I don’t want to be stuck here doing it alone after he is gone because I feel so very uncomfortable.

It isn’t the wife or the kids. They are fine. I’m just… not feeling ok about being on the property of a guy who feels free to tell me I’m stupid this often. It feels like setting myself up to be in another situation where I am going to end up screaming at someone and then I’m the mean nasty bitch.

Literally he called me stupid in the first two minutes of conversing. Then he repeated it again about a different topic in less than two hours.

I’m fucking flipping out.

Hey, white people…

We kinda have a problem in our country. We have major racial segregation and stratification.

That’s a big problem.

In my opinion, if you want to think you are a good person… you have to believe that black lives matter as much as the lives of your children. If you don’t think that then…. yeah. You aren’t that good of a person.

Why?

Because the children born of my body (or yours) are exactly as important as the lives of children born to non-white mothers. And that is why we must scream from the top of our lungs that Black Lives Matter. (Yes, I know that other minority races are killed at rates that need looking into. We need to go after the police.)

Why?

Because that is just how it works. There is no superiority hierarchy. There is no reason to believe that being white is better than being any other race. If you think that people are more deserving of a good education if their parents can pay more money, either through private school tuition or through higher taxes in a “better” school district, you aren’t that good of a person and you need to work on that.

This shit really is that basic.

“Higher property taxes mean better schools” but then later you say that black people earn less money as adults because they are lazy.

Bullshit. They earn less money because people like you, with money, are selfish about it. That fucking sucks.

If we want to have a country where everyone has genuinely equal opportunity to succeed you have to start with the basic premise that the schools in Compton, Detroit, or East Palo Alto should be as good as Beverly Hills High, Hunter in New York, or Los Gatos High School.

Or you aren’t that good of a person. You should work on that.

I’m not saying I hate you for having biases towards your kids/clan. I’m saying you need to work on that. It’s a character flaw. I have tons. I know how much it sucks when they are pointed out to you.

Nevertheless… get busy working on that. I love you. You can do better. We can do better.

We, as white people, make up more than 70% of the country. If we don’t get our heads out of our asses we are going to be on the wrong fucking side of history.

While I’m at it: police violence. Why in the motherfucking hell did a black woman get vaginally searched on the side of the road for marijuana?! Her name is Charnesia Corley. She deserves better from her government. She deserves to get the same therapy for the rest of her life paid for by her government that I got because I was a victim of a violent crime that was sent to court. She was raped by a police officer. On the side of the road. Let me motherfucking tell you. Having someone you do not know, like, trust, or want to be intimate with shove their fingers into your vagina is rape.

Over marijuana. Which is rapidly being legalized around the country.

This situation is insane. This is absolutely around the bend terrorism.

This has to change.

If you aren’t willing to make some noise about this needing to change… then you aren’t being a very good person.

I hear folks regularly try to justify the police killing citizens because “They have a dangerous job.” LOTS OF PEOPLE HAVE DANGEROUS JOBS. THEY DON’T GET TO SHOOT PEOPLE WITH IMPUNITY WHEN THEY GET SCARED.

What a ridiculous, nonsensical, mean-spirited justification. No, not mean-spirited. It is evil.

Yeah. If you defend the American police institution… you are on the wrong side of history. Look into that. The police kill 25 citizens for every 1 of them that die. That means you are ok with your government executing people when they feel scared.

Really? You believe it is ok for government officials who are sworn to serve and protect to execute people when they feel scared?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Whoa.

We have to change this. Seriously.

Offline notes from Michfest–that crummy day

Off-line notes from Michfest

Today is that big feelings day of the month. I’m on day 25 of my cycle. I have approximately 31-ish day cycles. For PMDD they say that the last 5-10 days of your cycle are the worst. Today is hard.

I’m not sure why today is so hard. I dropped the kids off at childcare around 1:30 pm and haven’t been able to stop crying for the last hour. Not sure entirely what I’m sad about. I tried to go hide in the woods to cry until I was done. Then the ants started biting me. Fine. I’ll go back to my tent and type on my computer away from you little assholes. You can have your fucking woods.

So let me say that anything and everything I say about Michfest right this minute is shaped by the fact that I’m already crying and I’m not sure why. I’m a bad mother. I’m a bad person. I should kill myself. I don’t know why.

I think if I had come here 15 years ago when I first heard of it I would have had a very different adult life. I’m not sure what would have happened, but I think it would have been different. I think there would have been a much higher chance that I would not have ended up marrying a man.

I’m not saying that I’m sorry I’m married to Noah. I’m not. I like him very much and I don’t plan to leave him–not even for political lebianism.  But I think if I had come here 15 years ago instead of listening to my friends who said “It isn’t trans-inclusive and going means you hate trans people” I would have had a different life path.

For the record, there is a big camp of people here rallying for trans-inclusion. Yes, there are some TERFs. (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists) There are *so many kinds of womyn here*.

I actually had a great conversation this morning with a 72 year old retired school teacher. We talked about the profession and how it has shifted over the past 50 years. She thinks it is smart to keep my kids away from Common Core. Her words: “I haven’t seen such state sanctioned mass abuse of children in all my life.”

To that I say: you obviously don’t live in areas where there are mostly children of color. (She doesn’t. I asked.)

But Common Core even hurts the white kids! Oh man. I feel like that is where it has to get in the conversation before people really see how fucked the topic is. No really, most of public education has been state sanctioned mass abuse of children of color for years. Look at the rates of suspensions and detentions based on race. Look at how teachers discipline *preschool* children of color. We’ve always had state sanctioned mass abuse.

I see a lot of white women here. There is a noticeable section of non-white women, but of course it is nearly 90% white. I have a hard time with how many of the white women “go native” and pick sacred regalia as “cool ethnic” clothes. I know just enough about other cultures to know that if something is meant to be worn by high status people of a certain group to signal their years of training…. it isn’t for me.

I read a neat thing comparing “new age” stuff with Native American spirituality. It certainly had nothing nice to say about folks who want to be called shamans outside of one Native tradition. That’s complicated for me because I had a relationship for a very long time with a white man who really wanted to be a shaman.

I’m having so many feelings.

I’m having tons of conversations with people about trans inclusion and exclusive spaces and race. One person said a couple of gems and I asked for permission to quote her words (she preferred without her name which is totally cool) she said that Michfest is not a utopia–it’s an agreement. It isn’t safe space, it is safe enough space.

Those two sentences have been sitting hard in my belly.

(For one thing… utopias aren’t good things. Go read the book. It’s Not Good Stuff.)

I like the idea of safe enough space. I appreciate that the womyn here have been sharing their experiences through years of coming.

I’m having a hard time with my feelings today. Oh man. I’m cranky that all of the interesting workshops happened first thing this morning and my kids wouldn’t get their shit together so I could go. So I get a day of just kind of sitting here. Woo.

I have to work a night shift in the child care tonight. That makes me want to lose my shit all over people. I am not a good night person. This is going to be horrible. I have to be there till midnight. I didn’t register for shifts early enough and everyone who uses daycare has to work in the daycare. The fact that I normally go to sleep one hour into the only available shift really doesn’t matter. Suck it, bitch.

I’m really feeling nasty towards me today. As I was walking a long a couple of womyn asked me if I was ok. (I’m not that subtle when I’m bawling and I can’t stop.) I just tried to get away from them as fast as possible. Which feels mean too.

The whole time I just kept saying to myself that being a crazy bitch isn’t anyone else’s problem. I am no one’s problem. Just mine. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Crazy. Bitch.

Several womyn who were walking past me took the time to tell me that it isn’t ok for me to say shit in front of my children. Thanks for your feedback.

Meanwhile this other vibrant, wonderful woman is screaming mother fucker from the stage. Hallelujah.

There is a decided old dyke vibe. My kids regularly jerk on my arm and whisper to me, “I thought there were only womyn here and I see a man.”

No honey. You see a womyn. Womyn come in an amazing variety of shapes and sizes. They dress in a lot of ways. Womyn aren’t just one kind of creature. All these people you see? They’re womyn.

And yes, there are transwomyn on The Land. Apparently for 15 years now. Rock. Fuckin’ On.

I hear that this community has had major growing pains over the past 40 years. Apparently in the early years black womyn were regularly harassed for possibly being men. The organizers grew to understand that WOC deserved a separate safe area. Then the BDSM folks caused a big uproar. They have their own space now. I uhhh accidentally walked through it on the first day when I had the kids. Whoops. Luckily we were there during the day and folks hadn’t really gotten going yet.

There are over 300 kids here this year. I hear that before there were so many children it was an all chick all the time orgy. I’m sad I missed that.

I can’t help but think, as I listen to all the beautiful old lesbians share their tales, that the problem isn’t trans-inclusion. The problem is: how much can a particular human being adapt/evolve?

I get the impression that Lisa Vogel, the woman who runs this event (Disclaimer: haven’t met her) is just tired. She can’t up and reinvent herself anew anymore. She’s getting older and she’s tired. Maybe it is time for someone else to start something else.

I’m sad that this event is just ending. The first few days we were here were pretty magical for me. I don’t usually feel like I belong places. I had a little of that for a few days.

No really, they want *all* womyn here who were born with a cunt. They don’t care if you are hetero, queer, or lesbian. They don’t care if you are femme or butch. They have safe space for all kinds of marginalized demographics (recovery, Deaf, disabled women) but… not a separate safe space for trans-folk. There are quite a few transmen joyfully welcomed because they’ve been coming since before transition.

I honestly have squiggly feelings about that. Transwomyn aren’t fully welcomed but people who have eschewed being a woman to become a man are allowed? WTF?

That’s a kind of biological essentialism that I just can’t cope with. My pussy is not the defining part of my life.

But you know what? There are a very high number of very butch womyn there. I bet they hesitate to put a cap on that end of the spectrum of acceptability. If you were born with a pussy you count.

We spent last night introducing a nice Australian family to s’mores. That was awesome.

I’m not still weeping. I don’t know why I was weeping beyond the usual: I suck and I don’t deserve to steal oxygen from worthy people. Whatever.

Today is warm. We had a brief sprinkling of rain. It is very grey and I bet it will rain more later.

Last night taking a shower was cool. They have outdoor showers. Six heads on a frame that looks like a swing set. Lots of nekkid womyn just hanging out doing what they need to do for their bodies.

I am so glad my kids are getting to see this diversity. Several older womyn have asked me if the nudity is troublesome for my kids. Nope. We think it is great.

One nekkid womyn saw us bundled up and she said, “Oh no! Am I wearing too few clothes?” I said, “You’re perfect.” Eldest child said, “Oh no! It’s totally legal for you to be naked at the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. Rock on!”

The womyn laughed. Turns out she lives much more rurally than this in somewhere colder than this and she spends most of her life naked. I said, “We are from a mediterranean climate. This feels brutal.”

Last night when we were showering we found the Santa Cruz crowd (of course) and it was funny that I was the least cold person. I’ve rarely had that experience.

I find it fascinating that very few womyn wear makeup but the ones who do wear FULL FACE. It’s a costume not about looking natural. I love that most of the womyn wear brightly colored saggy, baggy, not stylish clothes. That is so awesome. My people!

Oh no!

I lost the contact information for one of the womyn I met at Michfest, which is a huge bummer because I’ve already lined up several people who want to hear from her. I sure hope she emails me soon. Eeek.

I have emailed everyone else who gave me their contact information. I feel super guilty about the data I lost. Crumbs.

I am so tired. Tonight the computer goes off at 9pm. I have to sleep. I’m catching up on laundry because the kids don’t have a single pair of pants or dress left. They can’t go about their day in underwear and a shirt so I guess I need to do laundry.

So. So. So. So. So. tired.

Product endorsement: pussy lube

I can’t find this brand on the internet… which means I won’t be able to order more. Which might make me cry because this is so awesome. I am not making any money off this endorsement.

I bought a product at Michfest. The brand on it is Litha and the subtitle is “organic intimate skincare”.  Specifically the product I’m describing is labeled “Sweet Spot”. I want a tub the size of my bath tub.

It is described as being a moisturizer for your vulva/labia but I like the word pussy more. It smells good. It tastes good (to encourage licking). It helps with chafing and rubbing. It means that my crotch no longer feels like I’ve been rubbing it with sandpaper. (I want to go home to my family cloth and get the hell away from hotel toilet paper.)

This is awesome. I want more. More. MORE! I’ll figure this out. Oh goodness this is helping.

Bitch Better Have My Money

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

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

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

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

Ok… even I know that sounds stupid.

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

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

What has been my cut?

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

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

Community, family, and support

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

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

I miss my mother so much I physically ache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whiplash

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

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

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

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you know what? Fuck the police.

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

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

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

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

Michfest was kinda a big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I felt seen and important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I feel completely staggered by that. Thank you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I swear to goodness that blew my mind.

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

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

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

Off-line warning

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

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

Growing up is good

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one is perfect.