Category Archives: mood tracking

Kids are wonderful and tiring

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I want to write but my thoughts are scattered and my arms burn like fire. This hotel room table is at a bad height for me ergonomically and I never let that slow me down. I’m kinda dumb.

I’m over reacting to a lot of things. I’m having trouble not screaming over little, stupid things. It doesn’t help that the kids truly are being irritating. What is happening is: I’m pushing them away because I need space and time to calm down in my body. When I push them away they feel freaked out, rejected, and needy so they cling harder and whine the whole fucking time they are grabbing at me in ways that hurt and piss me off.

Next week the kids have scheduled child care. They asked. I feel a little guilty because Eldest Child flat said, “Mom can we arrange a bunch of childcare next week? I know it will be expensive but I’m pretty sure it will be good for all of us.”

Holy crap. How did I get a child this wonderful? This insightful? This aware?!?!?

My shrink regularly tells me that Eldest Child is preternaturally aware of how people work. “7 year olds just don’t care that much about other people. She’s unusual.”

This because my kid can graphically go through verbally describing why people get upset and which contributing factors are likely to bother which person. “It makes sense that you are angry mom. It is very frustrating when I do _____.”

I don’t know if it is weird. This is all I know. My kid behaves this way because I model it. I don’t really know another way to parent.

My kid understands that in some situations she messed up, sometimes I’m the one who messed up, sometimes Youngest Child messes up… the kid is just good at saying, “Ahhh I think this mistake happened because x person was tired and we haven’t eaten. Let’s fix that.”

I worry about teaching her to take too much responsibility for other peoples stuff, but at the same time she’s quick to not take responsibility when she wasn’t involved so… I don’t know. Maybe it will all work out? Who knows. But she is an amazing person. I am so grateful I get to stand near her.

My Eldest Child is so breathtakingly willing to accept consequences for screwing up that I can’t possibly avoid them for myself when I screw up. When I am inappropriate with the kids we discuss making amends. “What do you think I should do to help make up for this mistake?” Because I talk to them the same way about their behavior. No one is above making amends.

If you screw up you must take responsibility and find a way to solve the problem as best you can. Some problems can’t be fixed and you just have to live with the guilt of knowing you hurt someone/broke something. But you can learn how to not make that mistake again.

Everyone makes mistakes. The best people make mistakes every day and learn from them and make new mistakes tomorrow.

You can’t get through life without mistakes. You will never learn all you need to know. Mistakes teach you about fringe cases and important details. Mistakes teach you about how your awareness needs to spread to more areas.

Mistakes are as mandatory as breathing. You can’t grow without breathing and you can’t grow without making mistakes.

It’s ok. We all mess up. Sometimes the mistakes kinda suck and someone gets mad and maybe there’s screaming or a fight or grounding. But then you pick yourself and you keep going. Because that is what life is.

I check in with the kids after I scream at them. “I was a jerk and I was too loud… but I didn’t go over the line and start insulting you or calling you names, right? Was I in bounds that way?”

Once Eldest Child said, “Actually you slipped and called us brats. Don’t do that again.”

Yes ma’am.

I haven’t done it since.

And my children have never had the experiences I had at their ages. They have never been told that they are stupid, worthless, unworthy, a bitch, a cunt, a whore or that they are too pathetic to deserve life.

I have to tell myself that an occasional errant “brat” isn’t the end of the world. Especially when my children have the self confidence to turn around and tell me that saying “brat” is over the line and I need to knock it off right now.

This trip is causing me to see both of my children in a bunch of different settings so I’m feeling increasingly certain that Eldest Child needs to be evaluated by someone other than me. She has a lot of sensory issues and avoidance behaviors that she is developing to cope. I don’t want her to get locked into avoidance as the only way to cope with sensory overload. I did that with food as a kid and it is part of why I have so many health issues.

I’m really grateful that for all that she is hypersensitive to a lot of things… she doesn’t have the food texture issues I had. Thank goodness.

I’m watching her struggle with the same things I struggled with as a child. The things that made me feel helpless, incompetent, and like I was a failure as a human being. I have enough education and awareness at this point that I recognize that these patterns mean there is something not wired correctly. Help is available in the world. We just have to figure out what kind of help is needed and access it.

She struggles at the same things that used to cause my brothers to laugh at me and tell me if I “couldn’t even throw a ball I was too pathetic to deserve to live.” I’m not really sure why sports are so fucking important.

She doesn’t need to have the years of self-hatred I had. We can find help.

I feel sad and happy at the same time. I know enough that my kids won’t have to suffer like I did. But there is this part of me that can’t stop grieving over the fact that no one gave a shit about me for decades.

I know it isn’t true now. I know that I am loved and cared for now. I know that if I am in need of help now I can find it and/or pay for whatever I need.

But I still hurt. I feel like a pathetic, self-pitying bastard. It doesn’t feel like it is ok for me to keep mourning all these layers of shit from my childhood. But I hurt so much.

I’ve barely cried in months because I don’t like doing it around the kids and I don’t have privacy. I’m sure that is contributing to how backed up I feel emotionally. I don’t have a lot of release available to me when I’m alone with the kids. I really and truly need private space for the ongoing processing of trauma.

I have really big feelings about that. I’m feeling a lot of shame and guilt that I’m sitting here crying and whining like a dog because I can’t stop because I haven’t cried in a while.

The kids and I have been watching a new show, “Call the Midwife”. It’s borderline inappropriate for the kids because it deals with some really harsh truths about life in poverty. But I’m not one to shelter my kids from the fact that other people suffer terribly. They don’t deserve to go through life not knowing that other people have it shitty. No one deserves that, in my opinion, and I kind of hate the parents who bring their children up in a bubble such that the kids can’t understand suffering of other people.

Anyway.

Last night the episode talked about the “Workhouse Howl”. The keening, crying screaming noise that only happens when people suffer horribly for years with absolutely no chance of ever stopping that suffering.

I felt kind of freaked out because when the character started the cry… I knew that I make that sound. My kids kinda looked at me when the crying was explained. Yes, I make that sound sometimes.

It isn’t true that I have no chance to stop the suffering any more. But once your body starts crying like that… stopping it isn’t a voluntary thing. It just happens. Once you have been in that much pain for that long… you can’t always keep it in for the convenience and happiness of everyone around you.

Suffering and pain are really complicated and layered. I would like to believe that some day I will get to the point where I no longer hysterically scream/cry sometimes without volition because I have so many pent up emotions I can’t suppress the noise.

Being rich doesn’t fix these problems. Being rich means you can slowly begin to get help, but getting help is a confusing, horrible process. Even though I can pay for help, I have to know where to go for help, who to ask for help, and what kind of help I need to ask for.

That’s hard.

I have to find the solutions and then find people to help me implement the solutions. It’s hard. I understand why people who are struggling with poverty just can’t.

Trauma impacts you forever. I’m kind of tired of people acting like trauma isn’t a big deal and you should just “get over it”. You know what, motherfucker? I am getting over it. I am making progress. It’s still a nightmare. It’s been a nightmare to be in my body for decades. It is slowly improving but I have trouble believing that being inside my body is ever going to be a pleasant experience.

I wish I could stop crying.

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A writer I admire had a good post: http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2015/09/on_dependence/

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about home schooling our children, a topic that comes up a lot at this stage of our lives. We were talking about how to help kids develop these specific physical skills and we were brainstorming approaches.

I remember, when I was a little girl, I used to go to my mother and cry and say, “But I’m not good at doing anything but reading. I’m so useless.”

My mama would tell me, “You aren’t useless. Maybe you don’t know for sure what you are good at yet but give yourself a few years. You aren’t dead yet.”

That’s an intensely positive memory of my mother and I’m grateful I have it.

At some point in the past few years I recognized my talent: I can teach. On one hand it doesn’t seem like a big deal. On the other hand… I’ve been teaching for a while and I recognize how few people really have it as a talent.

I’m not trying to brag. I’m trying to be self aware.

I am incredibly good at seeing that someone has trouble doing ______ and helping them figure out how to do it. Not doing it for them but helping them brainstorm how to do the task. I’m good at showing people ways their bodies can move to accomplish things they didn’t know they could do. I coach people well.

I can do it with physical skills–even skills I’m not that great at. I can look at what a person is doing now, ask some questions about where they want to be, and help them bridge the gap. “Oh, you don’t see that you have to also move this finger over here like that in order to get it. Yup you nailed it!”

I am good at seeing the potential people have. That’s a real skill and not one everyone has.

Sometimes I don’t even realize how many skills I possess and how much stuff I know until I realize that someone else doesn’t know it yet and I can teach it. I am an accomplished, experienced person. I’m not a single subject expert at much of anything–my standards for “expert” are too high. But I’m acceptably good at a ridiculous range of skills.

Thank you, mama. You told me I’d figure something out and you were right. Thank you.

I am not always the best person to execute a plan of improvement. Sometimes I have to delegate to someone who has more steadiness for long-term execution.

A few weeks ago someone online said there are three kinds of leaders: visionaries, sustainers, and builders.

That really touched my heart. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

I’m not a sustainer and it breaks my heart. I want to be. I wish I was. I’m not. My Auntie was a sustainer and I have admired her and loved her my whole life, I can’t be like her.

I’m somewhere between a visionary and a builder. I’m not someone who feels strongly motivated to put a lot of physical energy into building things for other people. I’m a selfish bastard. I’ll build in my house and in my yard.

Which leaves me with visionary. I’d better start writing more.

I have some ideas for books. That’s pretty exciting for me. I should start making notes. I’m actually fleshing out a solid outline for a speculative fiction book in my head.

That’s kind of a departure from my normal…

I have no desire to work for policy change. I know that is the route to real difference in the future but I don’t have it to give. I get so agitated and angry and upset. I can’t sit in the room and be calm like that. But maybe I could give the people who do have such energy a few ideas? It’s worth trying anyway.

Never doubt that you can influence people. All you have to do is talk and talk and talk and then act in front of them. For better or worse you will influence them.

Seeing Frida Kahlo’s work in Washington DC motivated me in a profound way. I’ve had men flat tell me that women don’t do anything worth paying attention to.

Maybe for you. I disagree. Many women have done things I want to pay attention to. Let me cut you off instead.

I honestly believe that at this stage my primary duty as a home schooling parent is to teach my children self regulation. That means teaching them to be aware of their bodies and their emotions and figuring out how to manage them. It is hard. I learned most of these skills as an adult, I didn’t know how to regulate myself when I was a child and that fact complicated my whole life.

My children will never have such difficulties. They will be privileged to always have an awareness of themselves.

It can be taught from childhood, this privilege. I recognize it in healthy families and I try to emulate it. I see parents I respect talking to their kids about, “Well sweetie lets talk about what you ate today and lets see if we can figure out why your belly hurts.”

Don’t block them from having experiences. Stand there with them and help them interpret the experiences. Yes, that’s what we’re doing here!

If you do something for your child to make it “easier” for them you aren’t actually helping them. You are handicapping them. All children need to have the experience of struggling through difficulty towards mastery. This is how they learn to walk. This is how they learn to speak Hindi. This is how they learn to throw a ball. If someone helps you by doing it for you… you can’t learn.

Watching your children struggle isn’t always fun, but I’m finding it very validating and rewarding.

Oh. That’s why things were so hard for me as a kid. Because I was a kid. Oh. Ha.

People are just people.

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One thing that struck me on my last chat with my therapist. She said, “It isn’t surprising to me that you do so well with other disabled people. They have had to learn how to set boundaries and they are comfortable with you having boundaries.”

Yes. Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. YES. That.

I like doing a lot of reflecting on my behavior and the people around me. I’m trying to slowly, over time, change my behavior and that means paying attention to how things are going. I can’t lie to myself or I can’t get better.

On this trip I have stayed in the homes of twelve friends. Of them, the only ones I had problems with… were the people who have no specific listed disability. Sometimes those problems are MINE and just consist of me crying and feeling anxious as I deal with someone. I have a hard time with Blacksheep sometimes because I am completely paranoid that somehow I am going to offend the fuck out of her and she will go postal and hate my guts forever. So I feel a lot of anxiety around her but we had no negative interactions. We talked about how we are trying to replace the negative inside voice I hear for her with a more positive voice because really she’s not a negative person. But I’m scared shitless that I’m going to fuck this one up so I don’t calm down very well and it’s hard.

Ok, Blacksheep is the one with no diagnosed disability that I’m aware of that I had small problems with that were clearly all in my deluded little head. I see that.

The other folks I had a hard time with… I don’t think it is just me in the same way that it clearly is all me with Blacksheep. These other people engaged in behavior that… was problematic or triggering and it isn’t just me who would have a hard time.

I can name thousands of women who would go off like a roman candle if you told them that women stay in domestic violence situations because they are “poisoned by their estrogen” so I don’t think it is ALL ME having the problems.

I’m trying to figure out how much I’m being ridiculous and how much I’m having a predictable and acceptable range of reactions to a variety of stimuli. No one gets along in 100% of situations.

I do very well in poor households and rather badly in wealthy households. In poor households they appreciate that I show up and do not dump work on them. They appreciate that I try to be a help and not a burden. I show up in rich houses and they actually rebuke me because I am not… I don’t know… demanding enough? I got told it is offensive to offer to do dishes after someone cooks for me.

Well, maybe to you.

A year or more ago I talked to some friends at home about “guest” behavior and we had an interesting discussion. They noted out loud that other people don’t put as much effort into hosting as they do and that is something they were trying to decide how they felt about. I put it into context to them. They host approximately 1-3 people every other month. That’s it. Rarely do they have a month where they host 5 people in a month. In contrast, we regularly have 10-30 people over a week.

I can’t put the same effort into people that they do. I can’t. It literally isn’t physically possible.

Everything is relative.

This was floating through my head because my shrink asked me why I think I handle people who are disabled so well because normally it is hard for folks to adjust.

(This was asked after I relayed the series of “rules” a friend has. She has OCD. I don’t say OCD when I’m being cute and trying to say someone is a neat freak. OCD is a debilitating condition that severely interrupts lives. OCD is not a joke and it isn’t funny. It can be really sad and hard. I’ve had many friends who literally couldn’t leave their house for extended periods because they couldn’t stop turning the light switch on and off. That’s not a game. That’s super hard.)

So anyway my shrink initially laughed when I said my friend had OCD and I said, “Don’t laugh. I ain’t playing.” She asked for clarification. I started to explain the layers of rules around “This cloth is for this kind of mess on this surface and that kind of cloth is for that kind of mess on this surface and…..” There were at least seven types of cloth I was introduced to for a less than 48 hour visit. They all have very specific uses and purposes and cross-using is NOT OK.

My response to this was, “Excellent! You have a system! Please explain it to me so I can be correct in your system.”

My friend was very happy to have me over.

My shrink says, “That right there. That is what you do. You act like people are ok how they are. Do you know how rare that experience is in the lives of people with severe mental illness?”

Well, I don’t think the piles of cloth are harder to learn than the computer shit my friends babble at me and I have to develop enough of a lexicon to deal with them. Why isn’t OCD worth just as much effort?

Why shouldn’t I care about my friends OCD the same way I care about my other friends having musical or color or texture or food preferences? People are people. They take work to learn and that’s ok.

We are all different. Thank you for being different from me. You teach me about you and about me.

I just had a thought but it feels really judgmental.

I do well with people who don’t act like they are “all right” and I’m broken. I do well with people who think they are kinda fucked up and I’m kinda fucked up and together we can find a way.

The problem with Blacksheep is that she presents an aura of “I’m alright” but when you talk to her in detail you find out that she knows reality. She isn’t full of shit. (That’s why I keep her and keep fighting through this fucking anxiety. Some day I won’t feel intimidated I’ll just feel ok.)

I’m not even mad at the folks I had actual confrontations with. I’m trying to figure out how I want to manage things differently in the future, or even if I do.

I think I handled the dude who told me DV is from estrogen poisoning well. I argued until he shut up on that topic. When I hit done I left his house. I never called him a name and I didn’t start screaming profanity. That was handled as well as I’m going to handle such things. *pat self on back*

I want to get better with Blacksheep. I want to get better about the friend who told me over and over how scary I was while also not being willing to hear a soft “no”.

I think that the next time some dude calls me stupid I won’t wait 24 hours to process I’ll just stop mid-stride and say, “Well this won’t work out. Bye!”

But I think leaving in 24 hours and not starting a fight was still good. I’m proud of me.

So I’m not where I want to be. I want to have better sensors on what is “safe” and what is “unsafe” and I want to have more security in myself that my instant reactions are “ok”.

Which means I need to stop feeling so anxious about Blacksheep. That’s not the right reaction.

I’m working on it. My anxiety goes up and down over the years and I keep coming back.

I will get where I want to be.

I think that part of the reason my Lizard brain freaks out about Blacksheep is the same reason I worry about DSH and J and T and and.

They are independent, strong, fierce women and I admire them so much that I’m afraid they are going to find out “the truth” about me and they will hate me/shun me. I don’t conform to being like them and that screams danger to my Lizard brain.

I’m not saying these laudable women want me to conform to being like them. I think they like me how I am. This is my Lizard brain, which ain’t exactly known for being “rational”.

Men are different. I don’t feel like I need to conform to their behavior in the same way. I just… don’t. I believe I should emulate the wonderful women I know because they are all better than me anyway.

What do I mean by “better”?

I don’t even fucking know. I could go down the list of these people and say, “Are they better at handling money? Sex? Relationships? Mothering? Jobs? Reading? Writing? ETC” and come up with a whole spectrum of answers some being worlds better than me, some being on par with me and in some areas… I do excel. I am good at some things in ways that others aren’t.

I can read faster than almost anyone I’ve ever met. Whoopdie fucking do.

Clearly I don’t think my “worth” or their “worth” is based on these factors. But I still feel this shaking sickness in my belly because I’m wrong and they are right and I am going to be killed for not conforming.

Do I think Blacksheep wants me dead? Oh good grief no. No no no no. She likes me a lot and she has demonstrated that through words, actions, time spent, and money spent on stuff that wasn’t “for her”. That woman has absolutely proven her devotion over more than a decade. I still flip out around her. She is so strong and I don’t feel like I am.

Which is funny and stupid at the same time. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think she is “stronger” than me across the board. Yes, she is intensely superior at sports she has trained at for decades. Physically she is stronger. Duh.

I’m not sure how that translates into personhood though. I’m not saying I think she is actually a weak person masquerading… I’m saying I need to deal with my fucking feels.

I want to change this reaction.

Blacksheep is kinda like Jenny for me. Not exactly the same, but similar in terms of how much energetic response I have from just thinking of their names. These are women I’ve decided are Important. And I don’t know what that means. I have a poorly defined understanding of what our future together will look like so I feel intense anxiety.

I don’t feel as anxious about some other people, like Sarah or Kira, I think because I have a neater and tidier imagining about the future. I’m not sure I will be right but I have more of a comfortable imagined future going on.

If I’m really honest I suspect that a small piece is I see what I have to offer Sarah and Kira. I really don’t see what Blacksheep or Jenny get out of knowing me. I don’t see how I support them the way they support me. I do see how I sometimes support Kira or Sarah. I see specific exchanges that happen. Some of them are purely emotional, but they are clear to me anyway. I see the back and forth.

I sometimes kinda feel like a vampire when I talk to Blacksheep or Jenny. I want all of their attention and energy. Give it to me me me me me me and I’m not sure I’m as good about paying attention to them. I try like fuck. I don’t know though.

IT IS ALL SO COMPLICATED AND I’D LIKE A VACATION FROM MY FEELS, PLEASE.

I’d give just about anything for a day of feeling…. nothing. I’d like a vacation from feeling.

I’m so tired.

We’re heeeeeeeeeeere.

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At Disney World that is. Yesterday was intense. It took more than eight hours to get from one hotel room to the next. It was about four and a half hours of freeway driving. I’m not counting the driving time where I got lost in forking Orlando. That took a while. Grocery shopping was sorta epic.

As we drove out to the resort I started shaking and my stomach hurt and I felt like I was about to puke. I kept up a steady chatter to myself, “Krissy it’ll be ok. This will go fine. This is Disney. You are late for check in… they will have people waiting around who are happy to help you. It’ll be fine.”

It was rather ridiculous but hey, do what you gotta do.

We got to the driveway and I started asking just about anybody in a uniform, “I’m new here, which step do I do first?”

They all smiled at me and directed me to where I needed to be.

They are all thrilled to get a Californian. These are the Disney Vacation Club properties, so they see owners and that is a fairly set group of time share people. Variety isn’t as common as you’d think for a hotel.

I had a lot of questions and I said flat out, “I’m going to feel anxious until I have a few concerns addressed.”

You know what? Like magic extra employees kind of backed over to where I was talking to the nice desk clerk. They all smiled like they were super excited that they might get to help.

I fucking love this place.

You know what? They addressed every concern right down the list. I do have to unhitch my trailer, but that’s ok. It means we will be more likely to sneak off to Universal Studios to see the Harry Potter exhibit and that’s exciting.

Oh, parking is right next to our room. This is so fabulously convenient I have no words. I thought it would be a hike. I feel so spoiled. After three months of continuous travel I now think that one of the biggest luxuries in hotels in nearby parking.

I had a very nice person help carry my stuff in from the van with a dolly so I didn’t have to make eleventy billion trips. He thought it was hilarious that I wouldn’t let him carry the heavy stuff up the stairs. It was his first day back at work after a back injury. You aren’t carrying my heavy fridge up the stairs! Heck no!

He thought that was funny. He asked a lot of questions about me and what I do. He was thrilled to meet a writer. He said he had never met one before. Over and over he said, “Whoa. You are one hard working woman. I’ve never seen a woman rush to carry heavy stuff up the stairs for me before. And you home school your kids. And you travel around the country. And you write books. Whoo. You wear me out.” He must have said it twenty times. I laughed.

He asked for information about my books. I gave him all that he needed to find me. Who knows if he will follow up.

It’s a bit awkward to tell people, “I wrote about my experiences growing up in an incestuous family. It’s intense.”

Trigger warnings, baby.

This was all after a hilarious incident with a conservative postal employee in Georgia. I’ve never seen a federal employee retract their implication that there is anything wrong with being queer so damn fast in my life. With a smile.

It’s funny what conclusions folks jump to when they find out you are home schooling.

Nope. I ain’t teaching the Bible. We don’t pray.

I mean, we have many Bibles in the house… but I teach it as one set of mythology among many that humans have come up with over many thousands of years.

It’s just one path out of many. They are all ok.

We were kind of a hilarious experience for my newly adopted niece in Georgia. (Long story.) she is growing up with a Baptist mother and a Catholic father. They attend church regularly. It’s a big deal.

I leaned over and said, “I’m a Godless Heathen.”

Her eyes went wide.

Yeah. That was wonderful.

I said, “You are going to hear a lot about people like me and when you hear those things you can decide for yourself if you agree or not. I’m just one person out of many. I don’t represent ‘all the weirdos’ of the whole world but I do represent a lot of them. When you hear people say nasty things about people like those know that they are talking about me. And think about that.”

She nodded slowly. I was an intense experience for a 9 year old.

I really loved settling into the room here at the resort. We have a system. I explained it to the kids. We all relaxed once the system was discussed and the kids stopped chafing at boundaries every other second.

It was palpable. I didn’t take my medication until after this experience occurred so it wasn’t just that all of a sudden I was stoned and I didn’t care any more. The kids stopped fighting.

It’s been a rough few days. I’m not proud but I screamed and screamed and screamed in the car. They would not stop beating on each other. I mean… they stopped when I went a little nutty. But they would not stop until I went berserk screaming about how they had to Stop Stop STOP.

I felt kind of bad about it until we talked about it later in the evening. I said I was sorry that sometimes I was an asshole when more gentle methods failed but sometimes I really need to be effective. You can’t hit each other.

Eldest Child nodded and said, “Oh I know. We really couldn’t even hear you until you broke our concentration.”

Youngest Child nodded and said, “Yeah… uhh… it’s hard to hear you sometimes when we get into it.”

Then my eldest child looked down, and brushed her head bashfully like we were in a damn movie and apologized.

It was… kind of weird.

YC didn’t apologize exactly but there were amends made. At five it isn’t always a verbal apology yet and that’s ok.

I asked if we could make an agreement to ask for rest any time and every time we feel tired so we don’t whine or get cranky with each other and everyone agreed. They know where their free feeding snack food is. They don’t have to ask me every other minute if they can have _______. It’s glorious freedom.

I think it is hilarious that they both, separately, echoed something that Noah said to me a long time ago in almost exactly the same tone of voice.

“One of the things I like about you is that you make every place feel like home” with a happy sigh to follow. This is in reference to how I set up and organize hotel rooms to within an inch of their lives if I am going to be in them long. I have to or I can’t find shit and that makes me crazy. I have to know where all my stuff is. We have a lot of stuff. That’s a lot of things to put my hands on over and over and over so I can know exactly where it is when I need it.

This is how I comfort myself. This is how I create the order I need. This is how I create the structure and the scaffolding to teach the lessons I want to teach. We are not working on the in-the-room-manners here. That lesson happens elsewhere. Here, we rest. It’s so relaxing and nice.

Only we rest and relax with a pool and a playground a 3 minute walk away so we get lots of exercise right before bed so we go to sleep easily.

This is why I pay for this. Because having people leap to help me with a smile has a cost and I am happy to pay it. I’m told that privilege can’t be bought, but advantages can. If I’m going to be a fucking rich person I’m going to occasionally pay for some fucking advantages.

Oh this is wonderful. And I have to not swear so I’ll get it out now.

Ahhh. Maybe not. I’m feeling pretty mellow. That was a happy fuck.

Cause I’m like that.

Thank you Noah.

I have quite the set up for our little mini kitchen. We don’t get a stove or a full size fridge so I brought our fridge up. The freshest food goes in the apartment fridge so the kids eat it first. The stuff they are allowed to grab at will is in an open container at a tempting eye-height. Other snacks are organized by priority in drawers cause I’m a neurotic fuck.

Tier two foods are things that we will access a lot on the trip for breakfast but they shouldn’t be freely snacked on during the rest of the day or we won’t have breakfast for the rest of the trip. We’re here almost three weeks. Be strategic.

Tier three foods are meal foods that probably require adult help because the microwave is hecka high.

Seems reasonable, right?

Ahhhhhh. Freedom.

It is funny watching them stop asking for things every few minutes. It is kind of weird every time I see this tremendous example they just want to find out what the boundary is.

I can work with that.

Apparently, there is a certain level of beating on one another in the car that brings very unpleasant screaming.

Dude, I was going 60 miles an hour on the freeway, how am I supposed to react? I’m in an unfamiliar area during a frigging interchange. STOP FIGHTING RIGHT NOW.

I get kind of upset sometimes. I’m told I can be intimidatingly loud.

Well if you’d stop when I asked in a more moderate tone dozens of times.

I genuinely don’t know what else to do. I mean, sometimes I use the radio to startle them. But a good loud blast of sound is the only thing I can figure out to do when they go at it in the car.

I do not use the screaming method outside of the car. I separate them. In the car… THEY HAVE A TUMBLING MAT BETWEEN THEM AND THEY STILL REACH AROUND IT TO BEAT ON EACH OTHER.

Oh my. Yeah. Sibling stuff is complicated.

Mostly they get along really well. Sometimes… yeah. We have a long way to go on impulse control. But I don’t have a lot of room to complain. I was way the heck more violent than them.

This trip has had highs and lows, like all trips. I think being at the resort is going to be a high point. We are really excited to explore. We are ready to not be in the car.

The first thing we are doing is going over to child care to talk about options and schedules so the kids can pick times they want to be there.

I’m not sure what I’ll do. But I’ll go do something.

I feel a little weirdly guilty and ashamed. This is such a stupid thing to want to do. What a waste of money and time.

But it will be… so fun.

I love you Disney. Thank you for smiling at me.

Crash day

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I’m having a hard day. Lots of self-harm urge. Lots of suicidal ideation. I want to beat my children then strap them into the car seats and drive off a bridge.

Not really. I don’t want to do that. I’m not going to do that. But today my disordered thinking is taking up waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much room in my brain.

I feel frantic, angry, like I can’t control what I’m thinking, like see… this is why I should be killed. Because I have these terrible thoughts and I deserve to die.

I suspect that part of the trigger this morning was telling a friend that I couldn’t do a favor she asked me to do. She was nice about it, but I never feel good about saying, “I can’t”.

What is the point of me existing if I have nothing to offer?

I drove much slower than usual today and a 4 hour drive took almost 6 hours. Not because we broke for lunch. Because I stopped and got out of the car every half hour or so because I didn’t trust myself to stay alert for a long haul. I am not reliable today. I need to be monitored.

But there is no one here to monitor me but two people who are not in a position to tell me anything. So I have to monitor myself. So I’m trying to be careful.

This is hormones (my period tracker said I could start ANY DAY NOW) plus exhaustion plus general stress plus homesickness plus… I’m just crazy.

I’m trying to convince myself that I haven’t self harmed in years and I am not going to start today.

But I feel like shit. My chest hurts. My heart hurts. My head hurts. I’m tired of crying.

It’s not that the last visit with a friend went badly. The last two friends-visits have been among the best of the trip. The kids and I had a wonderful time with both friends.

I’m just….

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Ode to Noah then I wandered, of course.

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Maybe my internet will work well enough to hit post. Maybe not.

Noah told me a few weeks ago that he had a lot of anxiety heading into this trip. He thought that either I would decide that I was done with him and not really come back or I would decide that I never want to be away from him again.

Let’s go with option B. I can see why he was nervous about me wanting to leave–I’m kind of an asshole like that. But let’s go with option B.

The things about Noah that please me fill a very long list.

I am pleased by the fact that he puts a lot of effort into being cheerful for my benefit even though he might instinctively default to having a resting bitch face. Instead he knows that I am severely impacted by what he tries to reflect into the world and he works hard on being cheerful for me. The longer I am away from him the more apparent it is to me that this aspect of our interactions has a massive impact on my whole life. I feel so sad right now.

Noah cares about my body. I don’t mean he thinks I’m hot and he wants to fuck me. I mean that he has put a lot of effort into learning how to cook for me so that food can taste good and not make me sick. Literally no one else has ever put the amount of effort into caring about my body that Noah has. I don’t think I have tried as hard as he has to figure out my food issues. He’s … he is so nice to me.

Noah can listen to my words and not get tripped up by my tone of voice. This is wonderful and terrible, as I mentioned before. I feel safe with Noah because I can tell him why I am having an issue and I don’t have to worry about him getting upset with me because I expressed my issue in a tone of voice that would bother someone else. He just doesn’t care.

When something bothers me, there is a very short window where I can try to say something about it before it becomes a BIG DEAL and I will start yelling. I usually handle this badly. (I handled it horribly with Sarah and she’s the grown up other than Noah I’ve had to work on this the most with. I’m still trying. At this point I feel like my failures with Sarah are the biggest and most important fuck ups of the last decade and I am trying to compile a list of “No really fix this” so I can maybe one day actually deserve the honor of her friendship. I know I am not there now.) I kind of whisper/hint that I’m having a problem. If someone doesn’t jump on it and ask for more details and try to figure out just how big of a deal this little issue actually is… I stop talking about it. I won’t talk about it again unless I hit a point of screaming and screaming and screaming such that I can’t stop without just leaving. It really sucks. I wish I was better at this. I’m better than I was but I’m still in a really shitty spot. Once I get to the point of screaming it is really hard for me to calm down. I scream like that because I feel unsafe, intimidated, and like I don’t matter. It is really hard to get out of that mindset.

I know it isn’t fun for other people that I act like an animal in a trap. Noah can catch the whisper window and say, “Wait… I think you just brought up an issue. Is this a big issue or a little issue? How much should I pay attention to this?”

You know what? I didn’t even fucking realize I did it this way until I noticed Noah’s consistent reaction. He is very good at paying attention to me and noticing, “Ahhhh. If I catch her in this window it is easy. If I wait… it gets bad.” I don’t notice those windows very well. I don’t think I am very important. I don’t think that the first whispered request for someone to please pay attention to _______ is very important because I’m not very important.

Which means I either stop dealing with someone and walk away or I scream and then they don’t want to be my friend any more. Because I’m scary. Because I’m mean.

I’m leaving triggering situations on the trip as fast as I can. I got away from the guy who called me stupid. I have no reason to pursue a relationship with your family now. It would be toxic for me. Nope, there isn’t a second chance on this. There was a very small window during which I could find out if I can get along with your family and now I know y’all ain’t safe. You think I’m stupid and your wife thinks, “He wouldn’t say that.” Ok, I’m moving on.

I had a hard time with my friend’s dad in New Hampshire. I left days before I thought I would because I just can’t deal with being nice on his turf. Not when mild requests are responded to sharply. I’m going to just leave and deal with my body and my children where I don’t need to fucking ask for your permission.

So I feel like I’m improving. I’m not always looking for conflict.

I worry most about my handling of my friend in Ithaca. I was in a bad mental place before I arrived which means I had fewer spoons to give to dealing with him. I had a hard time with aspects of the visit but he wasn’t an asshole. He wasn’t insulting. He wasn’t a problem. He just… has preferences that aren’t mine. That is hard. When I say in a small voice that I think it is a good idea to stay in and cook and you insist on going out… well I will stop arguing because I can’t keep arguing and not turn into a raging bitch. That’s on me. But when I say no more than once…

I feel really sad. I don’t know how to defend my boundaries without behaving in a way that causes people to tell me that I’m a scary bitch. I’m really tired of people ignoring my soft “no” so that I can be told I’m a scary bitch when I say I SAID NO.

There is no way for me to win here. (This friend hasn’t ever called me a bitch. I’m conflating two situations. One current and one in the past. I’m not sure I will ever get over being pulled to the front of the room during a workshop on how to have boundaries as an example of what not to be like. “You don’t have to be like the biggest bitch on the beach when you say no”. Although the friend I was staying with told me repeatedly that I was scary. So it’s kinda triggering and these two events are kinda blurring together.)

I’m not feeling like I am ok.

In Pittsburgh one of my kids said something that was fairly rude to another kid. The other mother (appropriately and civilly) rebuked my kid. I am not upset about the actions of the mother–she was fine. I feel embarrassed and ashamed that my child behaved that way. I feel like it is a demonstration that I am a failure as a parent. I haven’t taught my kids how to be polite.

Noah is good at convincing me that I am not the center of everything and other people (including my children) are probably behaving as they are for reasons of their own and not because of me.  I feel stupid that I need to be reminded of this so often and it really doesn’t stick as a lesson. Thankfully Noah keeps telling me.

Noah acts like being with me is pleasant. Not many people act like that. People tell me that they learn a lot from me. People tell me that I can be interesting or entertaining. But I wear people down. I scare them. I am disruptive and hard to get along with. Noah acts like I’m really an average level of difficult. The longer I travel the more I recognize what this means in my life. I’m tired of being just too much work for everyone.

Noah is patient with dealing with my body issues. I am frequently in overwhelming pain. He is nice to me about it. He doesn’t get impatient. He doesn’t act like I’m inconveniencing him… even when I am. When I was pregnant and so sick he acted like taking care of me was a necessary part of the deal and he wasn’t bitter.

For the whole rest of my life I am going to remember how nice Noah was about handling me when I was pregnant. I am so grateful that I never accidentally got pregnant with all of my slutting around. I have never in my life known another man who would have been as nice to me.

Noah is the only guy I’ve ever been involved with who liked that I was slutty and who didn’t try to control it. I feel completely offended by the many people I dated who thought they should be able to pimp me out when it is amusing to them. Never. Fucking. Tell. Me. I. Should. Fuck. Someone. Because. I. Said. They. Were. Cute. Who I fuck and when is under my control and your input is not welcome or wanted or appropriate.

I mean, I accept limitations better than I accept people telling me I should fuck another person. Never treat me like I am your whore to loan out. Never. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. This is an issue that makes me feel so fucking angry and degraded. How dare you think that you should have ANY input on what I do with my pussy.

My dad told me I should go fuck people. I don’t want to hear it from my friends or lovers.

Noah acts like my boundaries matter. He looks for my boundaries and he remembers them and he acts like they are important.

Noah acts like I am a person. Not a role to fulfill his needs.

I appreciate that Noah talks to me like I am smart. I think he is the man who has treated me like I am the smartest. I know a lot of smart guys. Mostly they think I’m stupid or they will give lip service to thinking I’m smart but in casual conversation it is obvious that they don’t think I’m that bright. Noah honest-to-fucking-Gawd thinks I’m smart. Noah is the only man I talk to on a regular basis who treats me like I might be an actual authority on some topics. Noah has physically watched me do research and no one else ever has. No one else has ever wanted to spend time with me when I’m not focused on them. Noah is ok with me being a complete person. Not every minute has to be focused on him.

Noah wants me to grow and change. He doesn’t want me to stay the same so that I can fulfill his bullshit adolescent fantasies forever. I’m not supposed to remain an immature 23 year old kid forever just obsessed with looking for new sex partners. It is ok with him that I change what I want and how I act. It is so very validating.

Noah encourages me to travel and have adventures. I haven’t met a man on this trip who is so encouraging of their partner. I am grateful I picked the man I picked.

To be fair, he is the one who showed up out of the blue to ask me to marry him–not the other way around. But I was going to ask him to knock me up. He was the best choice. I was so right.

I should… do something other than type.

Gosh I miss you Noah. I’m glad I get to see you in a week. I’m already fucking flipping out that I won’t see you at all in September. I’m a fucking idiot for planning a trip this long. WAAAAAAAAAAA

Whine.

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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.

Offline notes from Michfest–that crummy day

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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!

Growing up is good

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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.

FEELINGS

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

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

I’m a baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just…

feelings.

Doesn’t help that I feel physically bad.

The feelings, they burn in my belly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heh.

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

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

Whatever.

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

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

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

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

Context is important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to white men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. I need to stop defining things for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahem. Not that I’m looking.

Ahem.

I’m being good.

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

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

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

This is the kind of problem I like solving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure. But it hurt.”

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

So she did. Verbatim.

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

He looked surprised.

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

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

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

We are so funny.

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

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

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

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

Journal notes from offline time. (long)

10 Replies

Started in Utah. Continued on all the way till South Dakota. Dumping now.

I don’t believe in fate. I think life is what you make of it. I don’t believe in God and that’s part of it.

At the Temple in Salt Lake City, of course I ended up talking to some of the lovely missionary ladies. It is kind of creepy to me just how much they all dress up for the work. Anyway. I had a lovely chat with one. She wanted to suss out what I knew about the church and God and Jesus and what have you. When I said, “Well I was a door-to-door missionary for the 7th Day Adventist Church so I’m pretty familiar with God and Jesus. I’ve also read the Book of Mormon. I think they are nice stories written by men. I don’t believe in God.”

She was sad, like a missionary is sad when you tell them that. I said, “The experiences in my life are such that I need to believe I’m on my own. Or I just feel hatred towards God. Don’t tell me, “God works in mysterious ways.” Only a monster would watch children suffer like that and do nothing. I don’t want to believe.”

She told me that she wishes me healing and she knows God has a plan for me and she hopes things get better.

Things are better. Things improved dramatically when I stopped looking to God to improve my life and instead I have worked hard to improve my life on my own. I’m anything but perfect, but I’m where I want to be right now.

I talked to my shrink today. That was a good thing. I haven’t spoken with her in 5 or 6 weeks. I wanted a solid month off of therapy to see how the trip went before I talked to her again. I’m glad I waited. I’m glad I talked to her again.

One of the many things we talked about is why I blog vs. journaling.

I like being public. Then I’m accountable for what I said and did. I record my actions and other peoples actions. You don’t want people to be able to know what you are doing? Guess what? Not my problem. If you want your actions to be secret then make sure you don’t involve writers.

She asked me what I get out of blogging over journaling. I said that I have tried to journal hundreds of times… I never manage to get more than two or three entries in a row then I just… never come back to that journal. Journaling isn’t cathartic in the same way.

Blogging is useful because I purge myself and I do it in a public way. Then I move on. The awareness of an audience changes how I am allowed to handle things. If I were only writing in a journal there is the very real possibility I would still write about my rapes over and over and over and over. Every detail rehashed in infinite detail. I don’t blog like that. If I blogged like that I would bore the shit out of my friends and probably be bored myself. So I don’t. I move on. I have New Exciting Problems! Yay.

I have lengthy relationships. Many of them involve lots of compromise and me having to modify my behavior. I have had friends tell me that I am intimidating them and I need to stop. I did. I respected their request because they treat me respectfully.

What I won’t do is agree that I don’t have the right to get absolutely furious when I’m physically assaulted.

My shrink asked me if I was partially upset about this incident with the home school group because there are echoes of the past. I said “No! That’s what sucks so much! I tried something different!”

Usually I just leave after the assault. No one ever hears from me again. Or they run into me years later and I will *maybe* tell them why I disappeared but mostly I don’t. I write about my life. I don’t talk about it much. I don’t know how. I try. I really try. I did try to work this out. I talked to the mom. I talked to other folks. When I noticed that the result was as shitty as shitty gets… I stopped talking to folks.

But I’m done with the group. I know that I made one actual friend there. Not sure if I made more than that. I’ll find out in a year or two when I see who is still in my life. Mostly I notice that the folks there are disappearing from the group…. I doubt I’m the only problem.

My shrink said, “You’ve been talking about having problems with this group for a very long time. This feels like the final nail in the coffin… not like it is actually a huge deal. They aren’t a healthy group for you.” I think she is right and I’m glad she is an objective observer to give me feedback on how I feel over time. She was mostly of the opinion I should leave the group months ago. I said I wasn’t ready.

I’m not nearly as sad as I would expect. I’m *angry* but I’m not sad. I don’t think I have it in me to be sad about losing relationships where I’m treated this way. I feel relief.

For quite some time now I’ve had a growing paranoia that… no really they don’t give a shit. Now I don’t feel paranoid. I feel correct. And that’s freeing. Now I don’t need to feel pressured to drive an hour each way to sit in the park with people who aren’t my friends and who make me feel like I’m an insect.

I am very happy that I will no longer have to go along with doing stuff I hate so that I can be part of a group. That’ll be really nice. My shrink commented that I will probably never feel like part of any group. Every group prizes group loyalty over individual safety. That is always true. That’s not a specific negative thing about this group… that’s people.

I wish I had left a year ago when I had the niggling feeling of, “This is not right for me.” I should listen to my gut more. I didn’t leave my Owner until I *knew* it was over either. I don’t leave until I’m done.

Now I wish I had peed on the dishes before I gave them to that bitch.

Yup, I’m going to call her a bitch. Probably forever. If your kid kicks me in the throat and your response is that it is my fault… I get to think of you as a bitch forever.

No I have no desire to rethink my behavior. I have the right to not like people who cover up assaults of my body. If you think I don’t have that right… I don’t want to know you.

My shrink pointed out that anyone is free to write about any experience they have. If you don’t want to be written about poorly… don’t act like an asshole.

A few days back I woke up in the home of one of my oldest friends. I’ve known him for more than 20 years. On this journey I have woken up in the home of friends of 10-15 years duration. Clearly I am not just a failure at all relationships. I have incredibly loyal friends.

I don’t really need people in my life who want to treat me how that group treats me. I do have better.  This morning I woke up and wrote long chatty letters to many of my friends. Folks who have been in my life for a decade or more. I am not desperate for people in my life. There is no reason for me to put up with people who do not prioritize my physical safety. No reason at all.

The group organizer kicked someone out of the group for calling her a bitch and arguing with her. But I’m not allowed to get upset about someone kicking me in the throat. What.Fucking.Ever.

Maybe the problem is that I talked about it publicly. Yeah… I’m not playing that game. I don’t keep dirty secrets.

My shrink and I talked about how my self control is going and time off and resting and such. At the end of the conversation she said, “Yes you have had bad moments but if you have had bad moments in 26 days of travel you are doing *very well*”

I lost it yesterday. I am horribly ashamed of myself. And by extension I feel so much pride in my children that I can feel my chest swell enough to burst my buttons. I asked youngest to dry the dishes off. I walked away to do something. When I came back kid had stuffed the drying cloth into his mouth and was laughing. I had spent days watching every adult in sight smack every kid in sight. I thwapped her arm. Not hard enough to sting, let along bruise. But I gasped in horror as soon as I realized what I had done.

Before I could say anything my little kid ripped the cloth out of his mouth and said, “That’s over the line! You don’t hit me! That’s NEVER OK!!!”

On one hand I feel ashamed of myself. On the other hand I am bursting with pride. THAT’S RIGHT, BABY!!!!

I am told I have a daughter and a son. Ok. I like you no matter what. You are not better nor worse to me based on the gender you tell me you are. I mean, I have all these issues with white men… but we’ll raise you to not be the sort of boy who thinks you have the right to kick someone in the throat without consequences. You’ll be awesome.

My shrink recommended not jumping on the full trans* wagon at this point because kiddo is so young. She recommended talking about having “parts of yourself” and it is ok that some are more masculine and some are more feminine. I don’t feel snotty about her suggestion, but I feel like that isn’t going to be my approach. I’m going to roll with it.

We did have to have an awkward conversation about the Michigan Womyns Music Festival. He agreed that we just won’t bring gender up and we’ll let them make their wrong assumptions. Apparently they don’t know that some boys have vulvas. Their ignorance is not our problem.

I have mixed feelings about sneaking a trans* kid in under the radar. But he’s a trans* kid who still prefers dresses to shirts. I think everyone will live. It’s the last  event of this kind ever. They will deal with a 4 year old who is gender ambiguous.

I did tell my shrink about smacking youngests’ arm. She said, “It’s not illegal. It’s not even that mean. But that’s not the relationship you want to have and you need to never do it again.”

Ok, I didn’t cross the line on legality. That’s comforting. I still feel like a dirt ball piece of shit. It’s not ok that I lose control like that. It’s just not ok.

Eldest also felt the need to talk to me about my behavior. She said, “You keep talking about wanting to hit me. You need to stop. I know you won’t do it, but when you say something over and over you teach yourself to think that more. Stop talking about hitting us.”

Ok. Yes ma’am. For you I will do anything.

We are in South Dakota right now. Crossing the border from Wyoming to South Dakota was like magic. All of a sudden I saw *trees*. I had no idea how much I have missed trees. As soon as I saw them I started smiling and I felt my spirits lighten.

I’m still sick, but I felt really happy.

Oh, I have a fever. I feel like I’m going to vomit. Thank goodness I didn’t do so during the drive. And it’s going to fucking rain. Whee.

I got to take down and set up a camp site in the fucking rain while I have a fever. Life is awesome.

But it is *beautiful* here. I fucking love South Dakota. And I’ve had multiple pick up conversations already! I like this state so much more than Wyoming.

This KOA is forking awesome. This is the second biggest in the country. The only bigger one is near Disney World. There is *so much to do*. In fact, I should stop typing and go sign us up for activities.

We were too late. But we had an overly festive dinner at the restaurant. By overly festive I mean the kids were acting like they were outside at a campground instead of in a restaurant. I was… annoyed.

We may be eating in our campsite for the next few days. Even though there is a nice restaurant.

Internet doesn’t work here and we have no phone reception. Somehow I suspect this will be good for me. I might get more sleep.

I worry that I create my own problems. When I think about how my behavior overlaps with other people I’m scared the difficulties are all because of me. Then I think, “People want me to go along with saying that a throat kick is no big deal and I need to promise to not be scary any more.” Then I think… “Nahhh, I’m not the problem.”

But the problem is partially that I *speak* about my experiences in ways that people can’t ignore. The group organizer would have just pretended nothing happened if I hadn’t written about it. There is only a “problem” because of my writing. If it was just the kick, no one gives a shit. See, I’m the problem.

I get into this position a lot. I’m the only one talking about the problem so I must be the only one with a problem.

I appreciated that my shrink said, “No I remember this injury. It was serious. You weren’t making anything up.”

I feel like people often want to tell me that the reality I’m experiencing isn’t the reality they choose to acknowledge so just shut up already. As a result I feel like I create my own social problems. If I’d just shut up there would be no problem.

Then I think of all the people who have ridden with me through the decades of writing. The people who are willing to listen, to accept that other perspectives might be valid, who think that everyone makes mistakes and we have to face up to them and grow instead of denying that there is a problem… they stay.

Maybe I create the problems I need to have?

I haven’t thought the home school group was healthy for a while. It’s kind of a cult of personality around someone who doesn’t have much of a personality. That’s hard to make work. There are only a few “core” families who have stuck it out and… they have priorities I don’t have. I don’t know that they have the “wrong” priorities (besides covering it up when your kid assaults someone–that’s the wrong priority) but they aren’t what I share.

I have no interest in driving two hours so my kids can spend three hours dancing in water fountains at a university. That’s…. a serious waste of time, energy, and gas quite frankly. Let’s pollute the planet a whole bunch so we can… do what we do in the back yard. No.

I don’t share the belief that unschooled children should be entertained or stimulated all the time. Doesn’t mean other folks are wrong.

I like the fact that my kid got so bored she taught herself how to sew and made a pillow. I like that they can cook better than I could cook at 18, because we are around the house and they like helping.

I’m not interested in training children to expect entertainment and that’s a lot of what was on the schedule for the group. Plus much driving. That’s not my thing. That’s not healthy for me. Driving a lot hurts my back (I am in so much pain on this roadtrip–I’m mainlining Vitamin I.) and is a waste of resources.

It’s ok that other people want to be drivers… I don’t.

For a variety of reasons I seem to have alienated all the local people though. I can tell why with three families. Not sure about the rest. One of the local people is the one who kicked off this shit storm in the home school group. I guess we won’t be life long best buddies then. Oh well.

It’s a good thing I have Jenny and Grant, who have been my friends for 21 years and counting. I don’t really have a hole in my life for people who are going to be … not so nice.

Part of “getting over” things is finding a way to change my perspective so something doesn’t feel like a loss any more. That’s hard because losing people is tough for me. I miss my Owner something fierce. I have no desire to pursue a relationship with him for a million reasons… but I miss him. He was my first non-blood Daddy and he was good at it.

Frankly I think Guy in Washington is doing a more sustainable job and my Owner would be a shitty grandparent.

My shrink is worried about my habit of codependency with Dad. I told her I was going back north to help him in January or February and she started “Ohhh… hmmmmmm.” I don’t plan to make a big habit out of helping him. I want to help him clean out the storage units because I have known him since before he had them and I understand why he hasn’t been able to emotionally do it. This is going to feel like closing the door on him ever having a better life.

Dad isn’t like me. He doesn’t spend his time preparing for the worst. He has a hard time facing it when bad has happened. He doesn’t want to admit to himself how far his fortunes have fallen. I get that. I just… don’t have to indulge it. Yes, your fortunes have fallen. Let’s help you regroup so you can make the best of where you are now and where you will be in the future.

I don’t plan to make trips north a more regular thing than they are already. I go about once a year. Ok, so this time the trips will be 6-7 months apart. That’s ok. I won’t go again in 2016.

I think she is worried because I told Dad that if he is in *trouble* with money he should ask for help.

When I met Noah I had a very hard time with his attitude towards money. His attitude was, “If I’m out to dinner with a student, an artist, or an otherwise poor person… I pay. I make plenty and then some.” He was someone who was quick to share his resources and I was not all that nice about it.

Instead of changing his attitude I have worked to change mine. We *are* in a position where we can help people without it being a problem. Over the past few months I’ve picked up Patreon accounts for a bunch of Women of Color who write things I admire. White men can get jobs as professional culture commentators and it is hard for Women of Color to do so. I want to hear their opinion so I will help make it easier for them to keep speaking.

It is only this easy for me to speak because of Noah. I’m safe because of the security he provided me.

I can share that.

I don’t feel worried about sharing because I share 1%-5% of our monthly income and almost 50% goes into long term savings. No, I’m not shooting us in the foot. It’s ok to help people. Long term our giving will get to be 10%-20%. I’m paying off the house first.

It is fascinating talking to Mormons because we have a lot of similar ideas about “how things should work”. Communities should take care of one another. People should pool resources for the good of everyone. If an elderly person in your neighborhood needs help, you fucking help them. We will all get there. We all want dignity.

I am a harsh and sometimes uncompromising person. I believe in apologies and making amends. I think that without apologizing and making amends there is no route forward after problems.

I feel horribly offended that neither the kid who assaulted me, the party host, nor the group organizer feel I deserve an apology for being assaulted. To me, 85% of my problem would evaporate if the kid apologized and the adults stopped fucking defending him. The adults defending him is the other 15%. The fact that the adults want to cover up instead of grow from a mistake.

We all make mistakes. If I listed all of mine I could start typing now and not be done till Christmas. Of course I have to take bathroom breaks. Without bathroom breaks maybe I’d finish by Thanksgiving. But then it would be really gross.

My problem isn’t the mistake. It is the result of the mistake. The institutionalized belief that the way to solve problems is to silence the injured party.

Not good people.

I understand this is standard group dynamics. Know why I’m not part of groups? Right here. This’ll show you why. I may never try again.

I don’t like groups. They prioritize the “group” (whatever that means) over people.

Any school, business, or social group is like this. I don’t really get it. Without the individual people… you don’t have a group. But we like to believe that humans are like ants and they are interchangeable. If one person is a problem kick them out. Someone else will take their place and everything will be fine.

I’m sure it will. Y’all will continue to have great fun without me.

And I will go have the kind of fun I want to have. I hate driving around the bay area, but I will drive across the country. I have no need to walk a well trodden path hundreds of times. I’ve been to Stanford, thanks.

Me and Robert Frost are the same kind of pretentious asshole.

I have every intention of going home and basically giving up driving for months. It’ll be handy that I’m not part of a group any way. I will drive to individual houses for the kinds of relationships I want and otherwise stay home and avoid toxic people who make me have a lot of stomach pain from anxiety. Sounds delightful. I will be grateful to get away from the creeping “These people don’t like me” feeling.

It’s not like there are no people who like me. What is the point of spending time around the people who dislike me?

I can be popular enough for me.

My shrink asked me which friends were coming up soon in the road trip. I said that the next person is my Internet Girlfriend and I am so happy I get to see her. I am sad I don’t get to fuck her, but life is hard all over. Can’t have everything you want.

After that the next person we know is Noah. He’s flying out to see us three times in August. The first visit is the first for the trip and we need it because we are going bananas. We miss him so much. The second is because he’s overlapping with an event for one of his friends in the city we will happen to be in. The last is for youngest’s 5th birthday. We will see him in Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Washington DC.

See how he gets out of the work of camping? I see how it is… (Kidding.)

I fucking love South Dakota and this KOA will keep us very busy. I think this week will be fun. We have pools and giant inflatable jumping mats and gold panning and tie dye and horses to ride… We will run out of time before we run out of activities. I told the kids we *are* going on a bike ride on the bike trail. Youngest said he will ride if I walk so I can help. Ok, that’s reasonable.

I no longer worry that I will wuss out and come home early. If I’m womaning up to work through being sick like this, I can make just about any hurdle. I do worry that towards the end I will be less willing to do drive/camp and I will instead have drive days + hotels then longer camp stays in between. I can cover a lot more distance if I don’t have to set up camp at the end. It is hard doing 4 hours of driving then 2 hours of camp set up plus food prep. Then dishes. Then… I wear out. Then I get shouty.

I want the shouting to be less. That means I need to decrease how much pressure I have on myself. It is *ok* for us to stay in hotels sometimes. I have almost $40,000 in the bank in the main checking account. I’m not going to screw us over if we stay in hotels sometimes. It’ll be ok.

But I feel like I should be doing this as close to free as possible. Lots of free camp sites on the way. But is saving the money worth screaming at my kids? No. No it isn’t.

If our life circumstances were different I would have no choice but to make different choices. I have options.

Yesterday when I was feverish and getting really dizzy I taught eldest child how to put together most of the tent. She is so awesome. There were bits I had to do, but she did almost 75% of the work with verbal guidance.

Then by dinner at 7:30pm she had *no* self control.

Makes sense.

I need to not be a grumpy asshole about them running through all of their control early in the day. I do that too.

Today is our 28th day of travel. Only 137 days to go. Oh that’s sounding brutal right now. Take it one day at a time. I’m having a lot of interesting time dilation. I feel like I’ve been traveling like this for half my life. Which is a gross exaggeration even if you consider the early moving. I didn’t travel like *this* then.

We are all looking forward to Orlando in September. I think mostly because we want to have multiple weeks of not having to deal with camping. I’m tired and it is only going to get worse as time goes on.

I haven’t taken sleeping pills in a couple of night because I don’t want to get in the habit of daily dosing myself just as a matter of course. Understandably that means I don’t sleep as well. I’m tired. I’m sick. Come on body, get it together.

I’m tired of diarrhea. This is the fierce kind. I’m going 5-9 times a day. I feel like someone took a cheese grater to my crotch. I hate toilet paper. Sad face.

Last night I got to be an interpreter. Someone wanted to ask one of the cleaning staff about some missing items. The cleaning lady didn’t speak English, but she spoke Spanish. I certainly know enough to talk about the topic of a little kid losing clothes. It was kind of weird. When we left she kind of smiled and said “Goodbye.” I said “Adios” and her face lightened. I bet she doesn’t hear that much Spanish in South Dakota. I feel ashamed that I can’t have a full conversation with her. I can just ask about her ability to meet other peoples needs. That feels really bad to me. I need to change that.

I do feel a little thrill of pride that I can get all the basics in another language. I am not truly mono-lingual anymore! That’s something I never thought would change.

For most of my life I believed that I was too stupid to learn another language. Learning another language involves a lot of repetition and that is one of the biggest things missing from my life. I don’t do the same things over and over and over. I do different things. That makes learning languages hard.

I’m fucking myself up doing Hindi, French, and Spanish lessons in the car. I can’t keep the languages straight. But I’m having fun and my conversations with people are sometimes funny. I start out in one language and wander and then have to say, “Oh wait! Wrong language!” People laugh at me, but in a friendly way that doesn’t feel bad at all.

Oh, we had one negative-ish situation happen in Wyoming. The kids were playing at the playground and apparently youngest told the kids that he is a boy. This lead to all the other kids laughing and saying no you aren’t a boy. Youngest came to camp crying because people said he isn’t a boy.

I said, “Well honey you can let ignorant strangers make you cry or you can ignore the idiots. I know it hurts when people tell you that you aren’t something that you know you are. But you can cry or you can ignore them. It’s up to you.”

Hilarious because I can’t ignore that kind of thing to save my life.

My kids tell me on a regular basis that I give very good advice and I should listen to it more. I think that’s funny.

I haven’t given up on cosleeping with the kids. Even though they kick me in the face and I’m very done with that. It’s going a little better in sleeping bags. I haven’t been kicked *once* with folks in sleeping bags. That’s awesome. Last night it was bitterly cold so we all slept in one doubled up grown up set of sleeping bags. In our warm jammies. With an extra wool blanket on top. Because it was damn cold. Eldest didn’t flip so that her feet were at face level till 7 am. That’s impressive. Ha.

It is fascinating traveling and seeing the range of weather folks experience as “summer”. Freezing to burning. I’m sure the temperature change is part of why I’m so sick. I never handle that well.

I had intended to make breakfast. Right now that sounds like a dizzy hell. I don’t wanna.

One of the things I love so much about my marriage is: we both agreed we are responsible for carrying the marriage. If something happened to Noah and he couldn’t work I wouldn’t hesitate to start beating the pavement for work. Even though he wanted a dependent wife… I can fulfill any role I need to fill. He can too. We both cook, clean, and help with the kids. We have things we each tend to do more of based on natural preference, but we agreed specifically to be adaptable. I’m more interested in tons of time home schooling the kids. He is more interested in computer programming and people are willing to give him gobs of money for it. When I can’t do stuff at home I feel bad… but Noah picks up the slack. When I’m traveling like this with the kids the only person who can pick up the slack is eldest child and her carrying load is WAY smaller than mine so she can only pick up slack if I give her very few duties to start with.

I am seriously appreciating my husband. In every way. The best thing about this trip is how much it is causing me to appreciate Noah. He is so gosh darned awesome. He cooks for me. He talks to me for hours and hours and hours about intense and difficult topics. He fucks me exactly how I want to be fucked.

I’m noticing the abstinence. Oh man.

Took a break. I should break up these entries somehow. Right now this is getting long.

We went and rode in an ATV! I drove VERY FAST! It was exciting. We came out filthy and soaked in water. Of course, in the first 20 minutes I got stuck in the mud pit I *had* been warned about. I didn’t see the cut off to avoid it. Whoops. I managed better ever other time through that corner.

The lady who runs the ATV company had to come and pull me out. That was exciting, actually. When I got stuck the kids got *hysterical*. They were freaked out by the ATV for the first 2 hours we were in it. Then they relaxed and asked me to go faster and go through puddles again. When we were stuck in the mud the kids cried and said, “We will *never* get out. We will *die* here.”

I laughed.

No honey, we are some bad ass babes who got stuck in the mud. No big deal. Another bad ass babe with a truck will come along and help tow us out and we’ll be just fine. You wait and see.

It was pretty easy to do the lacing of the tow strap. It was… more challenging to try and figure out how to rock and gun the engine to help us get out of the mud. It took a few tries. It was exciting! I was laughing so hard the whole time.

It was wonderful.

That’s one of the most redneck things I’ve done in a long time. It was awesome.

I’m not interested in riding an ATV as a regular hobby. For the love of toast I will never own one. I won’t feel the need to rent one again for years if ever. But it was super fun and I’m glad I did it with the kids. We went around and around and around on the trails until they weren’t scared any more.

That moment when eldest child stopped saying, “Slow down!” and instead yelled, “Faster!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

That made my heart soar.

Youngest child is having a bit of a hard day. Lots of screaming and temper tantrums over things like sibling touching the thing that is the color that younger child likes. Oh good grief. We walked away from a BINGO game because youngest wouldn’t stop screaming about the fucking blue chips.

Nope, we aren’t staying so you can make everyone here miserable.

Back to the tent for a *nap*.

And I’ll sit outside and charge my phone and type and read a book and *not be in charge of watching you* for a little while. My shrink says I have to start doing this. Daily is best. I pay professionals to help me learn how to take care of myself because I’m not very good at figuring out what I should be doing some days. I follow the advice that seems tailored to *me* and *my* situation. I ignore the rest.

People are so different. What works well for one person will be toxic or harmful to another person. Not because either is doing something wrong, because that’s how things go.

I can understand why groups need to function in the self-protective way they do. Groups that don’t work to eliminate friction cease to exist. But the thing is, groups that continue to exist at the cost of eliminating friction… that’s a real cost. There are a lot of people who will leave because of that. I will leave with fireworks. Other people will just leave.

I think of that group as being a cult of personality but the leader doesn’t have all that distinct of a personality. She’s very… almost withdrawn. I’ve known her for more than four years and I don’t know that much about her. I think I would know her for ten years and feel the same way. I’m not saying anything *bad* about her personality. Except for this whole “don’t be intimidating” and “don’t write about people in public” thing I don’t have much bad to say about her. She is a very nice person who is just… nice. I’m sure there is a there there, there are clear indications. But whatever her personality is… it’s not for the group. Or at least it wasn’t for me. Maybe I was just not … her friend. That’s very probable.

How many bridges do I want to burn? Not sure.

You have to go to the group because you want to hang out with the group organizer and her kids. That’s why I think of it as a cult of personality. You aren’t supposed to invite your own friends, everything must be curated through her. Which is fine.

But it’s not a group for me.

I’m sure people would be happier if I worked out my feelings without writing publicly about them. You know what? Lots of people like her and her kids so it is totally cool for the group to work the way it does. And she doesn’t want a lot of drama. That’s fine. The people who can abide by that will stay and be happy.

I don’t want to be mean about the group. Beyond this group of three women I’m having feelings about… the people have been awesome. I’m having feelings because of the resolution of one specific big problem. I am not aware of many other specific problems.

I have enjoyed a lot of the time I’ve spent there. I’ve had a lot of anxiety and I’ve felt unwelcome a lot of the time too. I’ve spent a lot of time acknowledging to myself that me feeling unwelcome does not mean anything about the behavior or intentions of the people around me. But it’s a thing. If I don’t feel welcome then I don’t feel welcome and it’s been building for a long time. I’ve been talking to a lot of people about it so that I would have the external validation that this has been a growing issue for me.

I don’t think it is their fault. Not *Really*. Even though I’m pissed about how the assault was handled. I understand that this separation just needs to happen because it isn’t the place for me.

Maybe I should have just walked away from the group the day of the assault. At least that way I could have still vaguely nodded at people when I ran into them in public. Now it will be excruciatingly uncomfortable. I barely went to kid places for a year after the Dear Jane letter. I was so afraid of running into that woman.

Now I’m going to be afraid of three different families in one go. Shit. That sucks because my kids love all of their kids. Shit. Shit. Shit.

If you make your bed you get to lie in it.

Want to know something really weird? The fucking pine trees helped. As soon as I crossed into the Black Hills and saw the beautiful forest I started feeling… more ok. More like things will be ok.

I was ok before I found the group. I’m ok now. I will be ok in the future.

Riding the ATV was kind of part of that. It’s weird. We went really fast and it was exillarating. (Can’t spell and don’t have internet.) It’s not a big deal. Driving an ATV is not exactly an epiphany ridden experience. But it reminded me that I can go do things that are entirely outside my life and do just fine. I can adapt.

While we were driving I talked to the kids a lot about the mechanics of driving the buggy. I talked about what is easy about it and what is hard about it. How is it different from a car and van and a sports car and a forklift? I can describe all of those differences. “This is what you look at. On other vehicles you look here____.” “This is what you look for before you corner. Watch the angle. How does it feel? Let’s do a corner slower and I’ll bank wrong. Yup that was scary. Feel how we almost went in the wrong direction? Yup.”

We’re gonna be ok. With or without any group in particular.

I am so glad I came on this trip so that I could do this instead of sitting in my garage and crying because people don’t love me. What.Fucking.Ever.

Life moves on. I have ATVs to ride in South Dakota, motherfuckers.

I’m going to Disney World. *In September when I fucking wanted to go anyway.* It’s going to be wonderful. We’ve had tough moments in every day of this trip. But we’ve had wonderful moments in every day too. We’ve had way more wonderful moments than hard moments. Probably at a 20:1 ratio. I feel very happy with how this is going. The kids are doing really well.

I fucking love the Mount Rushmore KOA. This is the most ethnically diverse place we have been since we left the bay area. The trees look like *trees* to me. I like conifer trees. <3<3<3 They look like real trees to me. I just don’t like deciduous trees. Even when they are massive they still… don’t look right. They still look like an overgrown bush and where are your fucking trees?

These aren’t redwoods. The very tallest look to be 50′-70′. I’m really not sure that any are as big as 70′. It’s hard to judge. But they still look right. They look like baby trees, but they look like they are trying hard! Grow little baby trees, GROW!

They make my heart happy. I love the way they do their burn piles in the forest here. We got to look at them up close and personally because of the ATV ride. It was really fun to ride through where the cows were pastured and talk to the kids about animal husbandry practice and fertilized soil and bio-diversity and what we are learning as a species. This really is a wonderful and exciting time to be alive.

We have never before as an animal had the access to so much *knowledge*. It’s like magic.

I feel like the modern public education is designed for the Industrial Era and the Technology Era has begun and we need a much more diverse way of educating kids.

Basically I’m doing my best to be an Illustrated Young Ladies Primer.

It is exhausting. Because I have to go learn all this shit to talk about it. And then I have to talk and talk and talk and talk.

This trip is teaching me interesting things about my extrovert/introvert stuff. No really, I wither like a fucking plant without casual conversations with people. I’m an extrovert. It’s not even that I need in depth conversations with people I love and trust. I need that *being seen by random people* feeling. Or my body shuts down.

I have had an insanely active day. We started out on the trampoline. My fever is gone. I haven’t eaten nearly enough calories but I feel so energetic I could go run 5 miles. Yeah, this is a nearly manic bounce.

But I’m going to control it and husband my strength carefully and appropriately. Tomorrow we are going on a horse back ride in the morning. It’ll be super rad.

This place gets my adrenaline up. The folks at the camp site next to ours… are new home schoolers. They’ve been doing it for a year and the oldest is 12-14ish. I didn’t ask. There are three younger kids including one much too young for school. Maybe only two had been in school previously? We had a great conversation about how that transition is going for her family. She had a lot of insecurities. I said, “It sounds like y’all did some excellent deschooling. Good for you.” She laughed.

I come alive when there are people to look at me. The kids aren’t enough and I hate that about myself. Noah and the kids will never be enough. The home school group could never be enough. The bdsm community was never enough. The theatre community was never enough. The various reenactment and dance communities were never enough.

I think this hole is in me. I’m not sure it is a problem with the communities.

I have to move on.

I don’t mean in this moment from this community. I mean that is my mode of operating in life and I feel like that no matter what happens. I haven’t been assaulted in all of these communities. I didn’t flee from problems most of the time. I just… developed aversions to going. I just felt like I wasn’t welcome. I just felt like there wasn’t a place for me.

So I left.

I carried with me the 2-5 people from each community who made the effort to really get to know me. I don’t miss the other people.

I miss feeling like I am part of a Golden Period for a community. I’ve managed to show up for the best parts of being in a group several times. It’s really awesome. Euphoric. I really like building communities.

Then I move on.

I usually try to leave before I’m asked to leave. I like feeling like I can visit once in a while. I’m sad that I blew it with this group.

I don’t think there was a way to stay in the group. Probably not in any case, but definitely not after I was kicked. Sometimes the truth hurts.

You know what? Most kids spend 2-5 years with a group of kids then move on. It’s not traumatic… it’s normal.

That’s just how our society does it.

There will be continuity, but the main part of the group changes. The district lines for elementary schools, middle schools, and high schools often overlap in weird ways.

People move. People develop aversions. Mostly they aren’t expressed in long-form on blogs but hey… what can you do?

My therapist asked me what I get out of blogging that I don’t get out of journaling. I said, “Knowing that I will be publicly accountable, that people who love me have been reading my blogs for *over a decade* means that when I record my racing thoughts I have to get to the end of them. I have to move on. I know about a specific core group of readers and I write for them.”

She said, “That’s pretty powerful. That’s a lot of witnessing. You are very lucky.”

Yes. I am.

I have more people who regularly read my blog than many people have friends. That makes me very sad. I want to see you. I mean, I don’t define my friendships by who reads my blog. Many people in my inner circle don’t read. They frankly tell me it is overwhelming and they can’t deal.

You know what, that’s ok. There are people who can handle me. They opt in. They show up when they can, how they can. That’s all I need from anyone.

I mean… I want other things. But I’m capable of putting on my big girl panties.

The audience helps. I feel sad that Sarah stopped blogging when we broke up because it didn’t feel safe. I can understand that it did. I support the decision. But I feel sad that my ridiculous rage caused her to feel like she was not safe enough to be seen like that.

I have to be accountable for that. My writing does have power. The folks in the home school group felt intimidated and I really couldn’t give a fuck. But Sarah felt, maybe still feels intimidated. That’s a real problem and something I will have to spend many many years repairing and maybe I never will.

Some things get broke and can’t be fixed.

But I will try. And I will try. I will try new things and I will explore new ways of being.

I won’t stop writing about people who fuck with me. I shit you not.

And don’t rag on me about not being anonymous enough or I’ll use the fucking names.

I’m not trying that hard. I’m trying to give the basic kindness of a non-Google link. I’m trying to announce a missing stair. If you don’t want me to that is not my problem.

That’s why people like me exist. So the missing stairs can be spoken about. Someone has to.

Most of the men I have named as my rapist I’ve had other women come to me and say, “Me too” because of my writing. I don’t fucking feel bad. If I *ever* hear another story about this kid I will start using names.

Watch me.

And I won’t feel bad.

All I am doing is recording my experiences in life. It isn’t my problem that you want to believe that the stuff that happens to me isn’t real.

I know why so many bad things happen to me. I put myself out there. I interact with people. I am a physical person. I wrestle with kids. But you know what? I’ve wrestled with at least a hundred children. *One* kicked me. I don’t feel like that is a statement about me. I’ve been raped a lot but I’ve also fucked an astronomically high number of people. I’ve been in a lot of sexually stimulating situations. There are a lot of people in the room who suck at boundaries. If you put yourself out there enough… law of averages says…

But there are people who have similar histories who don’t have my problems. They have an instinct I lack. I’ve gotten to hear a lot about it from a few friends who are sex workers. Sex workers are the only people who can talk to me about issues surrounding the basic fact of a high number of partners. It’s very educational. The ones who are successful have learned something I just… don’t seem to be able to grasp.

I think it is that I wait for the kick. I don’t go all Gavin DeBecker “Gift of Fear” this is starting to feel icky I should leave. I wait for the fucking kick. Because I know that I’m always scared and I have to face that down. That’s just the way life works for me. My understanding is that is how it works with PTSD. But there is something there that I need to take apart. There is a “this isn’t right for me” that I ignore for… reasons.

I don’t *want* to give up on a home school group. I’m hurting my kids. No. I’m not. I’m being a twat. What will hurt them is if I turn this into a thing. It’s time to move on. The driving was worth it for a while and now it isn’t. It’s time to explore southward. No biggie. There are *hundreds* of home schooling families in the bay area.

I’m not going to stop looking for new people. That’s the good part.

I mean… that’s not fair. I’m really devoted to the people who stay on after I move on from a group. I’m not discounting the people who *show up* and are my friends.

If you haven’t gotten a postcard it is probably because you aren’t in my address book. Or because I’m feeling afraid that you don’t like me for some reason. I’m pretty stupid that way.

It’s fucking hard to convince me that you like me.

But I get so much evidence that people *don’t* even when they lie and say they *do*.

It’s complicated!

Life is complicated.

I need to wrap this up. About time to round up the kids and feed them. They are playing with the family in the next campsite. I am ignoring everything. It’s been an *awesome* hour. We need to eat and get over to the depot. We are on the 6:45 shuttle to see Mount Rushmore. This way I don’t have to even unhook the forking van from the trailer at this stop. That makes my life *so* much easier. Hooking the van to the trailer is always harder than it fucking needs to be.

Tomorrow we go on a trail ride. In the evening we’ll ride a chuck wagon to a dinner out in the woods where we will be entertained by a local guy. He’s supposed to be funny. I’ll let you know what I think.

There are cabins here. And awesome RV hookups. Frankly I like the RV idea better because then you don’t have to walk to the bathroom. Ha! They have a septic drain at every spot!

Yeah. That sounds better than a cabin where you have to walk outside to use the toilet or shower.

I want to come back here. I mean, *maybe* not to this KOA and just to the area but I’m willing to bet I want to come back here. Noah it’s so pretty it takes my breath away.

I talked to a lady at the front counter for a while. She was born and raised within 50 miles of here. Now that’s retired she and her husband go live in Arizona every winter but as soon as spring starts coming she has to come back to the green and the mountains.

She isn’t really retired. She works at the KOA in the summer and that supports them through the winter. *Awesome*. Fucking go you.

That’s budgeting I can respect.

Ok. I have to go.

I DON’T WANNA.

Ok, the monument was cool.. I mean, I didn’t enjoy it like eldest child did. She bounced and screeched and hollered the whole way. LOOK AT THAT MOUNTAIN!!!

Pretty much she says that her face is next. Ha.  We’ll see about that.

There was only a little bit of rain last night, not enough to make a problem. Phew.

Once again, I raided the book shop. I’ve spent almost $1,000 on books I’ve never heard of before. Most of them about women in history, the largest chunk about non-white women.

Gosh I didn’t expect these gift shops to have such excellent book stores. This is home schooling money. This isn’t cross country trip money. I’m quite thrilled about the feminist library we are acquiring. It’s going to be impressively filled out.

On the bus coming back last night a nice grandmother sat next to eldest child. Hoo boy can that kid talk. When we got off the bus the grandmother said, “You have a very interesting girl.” I said, “Yup. She’s got opinions.” The grandmother nodded and said, “Strong ones.”

That’s my girl.

I could hear Shanna talk about black/white crime issues and why she wants to be president, she rattled on about drawing and why she likes horses so much, she talked about the trip we were on–both duration and where we were going and what she was enjoying, and she bragged about how she did on her one time at a martial arts class and and and.

When we were back in the tent I was probably less than tactful. I told eldest that of all the stuff she said on the bus, the martial arts part was the only bit that was questionable. “If you tell everyone that you were a black belt expert after one class in martial arts…. you sound like a liar. It sounds like everything else you say is also an exaggeration and there is no point in listening to what you say about your other skills…. which is a bummer. You are a genuinely talented, genuinely accomplished person. Stick to listing the things you *really are that good at* instead of trying to say you are an expert on things you tried one time. That blows your credibility. You really are that talented at drawing because you’ve been working for *years*. You are not an expert at martial arts.”

She was a bit subdued. But it was almost 10:30 because the shuttle was a late night thing.

I’m not sure how useful that feedback was for her. I’m not sure if I was an asshole or what. But man it took me years to figure out how to tell stories about myself without lying. I was at least 13/14 before I realized I should stop telling people I had skills I couldn’t back up.

For me… it was languages. I moved around and I would talk gibberish and tell people it was some random language. I felt very isolated and alone and excluded from every group and community. Pretending I had a language that was what I shared with some other not-here-group made me feel better.

It makes eldest child feel better to think that she is an expert at defending herself. When we get back we will start actual lessons. So she can be the expert she wants to be.

I said, “If you want to say that you took one lesson and you feel you were a natural and you look forward to learning more because you really want to be an expert… people will believe you and nod and think that’s reasonable. That’s presenting where you really are. No one is an expert in one day. Being an expert means years of practice. That’s pretty much what it means.”

Her response to most of that was, “Thanks for saying I’m really talented.”

I said, “Well you know I don’t say things unless they are deserved.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s really nice that you think that about me.”

Honey, how could I not? You blow my socks off.

Kid I think you are not good at things you haven’t had much practice with. I think you excel at pretty much everything you *decide* to focus on. I have faith in you.

Watching my kids feels magical sometimes.

I was surprised in the ATV because eldest was scared for a full two loops and was fussing and whining and asking to stop because she was too scared. Youngest had fun pretty much the whole time. He said it was exciting.

I wasn’t expecting that. I mostly find that eldest is the braver, more outgoing child. Not this time. I’ve been surprised before by eldest being timid and youngest being bold. I don’t think I have them figured out yet.

Four hours till horse back riding. I hope the kids sleep through most of that time. They went to bed at least 90 minutes past when I want them to be in bed.

I can’t believe the stamina they have. Yesterday was *busy*. I bailed on BINGO but then they came back to the camp site, rested for an hour, and played with the home schoolers next door.

These kids have been *going* for 12+ hours a day. I’m shocked at how well they can hold it together. They have limits, like youngest screaming at the top of her lungs about the fucking blue chips for the game, but… that was the hardest moment out of yesterday.

Whoa.

Youngest is stretching absolutely to the limits of his control. I’m impressed.

I had no idea he was as capable as he is. He’s still a baby to me. He’s going to be a phenomenally competent person in a few years.

It is wonderful to me how my indoctrination of “Some people don’t like to work. We like to work. We are workers. If you work hard you get to play hard” has worked! Both children spout this shit without prompting now! They walk into spaces and say, “Ok what work has to be done?”

My heart *melts*. They are the people I’ve always wanted to know.

I made them. Holy fucking shit this is so awesome.

Right now I’m feeling a bit annoyed that I don’t have a single map of this part of the country and data isn’t working on my phone so I can’t use any mapping program. I sorta wish Google Maps had an offline “Just look at the damn map” feature, but no. Darn you.

The next few hops are going to feel a bit brutal. I’m thinking about driving extra long and staying at a hotel when we leave here. I’m not up for six days of driving where I have to set up camp five times. That is sounding brutally hard right now. My joints hurt.

I haven’t started bleeding yet. This is that pre-period joint pain flare. It’s so fun.

I think I’ll call M in Duluth and ask if we can show up a few days early. Then we will be there for a full weekend. Then we can camp in her driveway for 7 or 8 days. That’s sounding really nice right about now. I’m enjoying the longer stays. I get so tired with set up and striking camp. I wish it didn’t take so much out of me.

Yeah, I want an RV.

It isn’t that setting up camp is so hard. It’s that it is about 2-3 hours of spoons. If you add that on top of driving, which is *really* hard on my back…

I’m doing 6-8 hours a day of labor that hurts my body when I strike, drive, and set-up camp. I can do it. But I can’t have much other fun. The kids really need me to be fun sometimes.

I’m having a hard time with how much eldest is telling me that I’m not her favorite parent because she has to see me all the time and she gets really sick of me. Thanks kid. I love you too.

We all miss Noah. But I’m starting to feel a little pissy about how often I’m told that he is better than me because he is more fun. I said it is a lot easier to be fun when you have a non-physically demanding job and only limited exposure to kids.

It gets fucking exhausting 24/7. I can’t be fun all the fucking time.

Eldest told me she would probably like me more if I got a job and didn’t bug her all the time.

I almost cried.

I said, “Yeah but your dad has no interest in spending this much time with you. You’d be in school and after-school care and you would see both of us as much as you see dad now. And then he and I would have to split all the housework during the time we were both home so we would both be less fun. He’s so fun because I do all the god damn housework when he isn’t there to even see it.”

“Oh. That doesn’t sound very fun.”

I’m running into that little problem where children don’t understand the perspective on what they have so they are… kind of annoying sometimes.

Youngest is telling people that he was a home schooler but after the road trip he wants to start school. I have no idea how this will play out. Eldest is convinced that she wants to home school until college.

Eldest just woke up. As soon as her eyes were open she said, “You should probably get breakfast going because it sounds like the neighbors are up and we want to have an artist party.”

Well bite me.

I’m not doing very well at being the grown up right now. I’m frustrated.

But, I’ll live. Life is like that sometimes.

Apparently my lazy ass has been deputized to cook now. Fuck. I’m thinking cheesy toast and eggs because we have bread, cheese, eggs, and ghee. Gotta eat it up.

Time for a break from writing.

H’okay. I’m back. Today was a mixed bag. I am not sure I had a manic burst. I think I was just in a good mood. Yesterday I didn’t feel sick. Today I feel like shit on a Triscuit. I definitely have a fever. I am taking Kaopectate and I still have diarrhea. Probably need way more doses than I’m doing. My throat hurts and I’m starting to lose my voice.

I think I’m going to book it to Duluth, stay in hotels on the way, and collapse at my friend’s house for longer than intended. I think I need a serious rest. Resting at my friend’s house in Utah was mixed because his mother in law was in the house all day and she is ultra conservative and non-approving of… basically everything I believe in and do. So it wasn’t as restful as it could be. Resting in Wyoming was hard because of weather problems and a few logistical issues.

I haven’t felt well rested since Washington. I miss Dad. I miss Noah.

I took sleeping pills last night because I was worried I would end up hurting the kids out of frustration because of lack of spoons. That’s not ok. I *have* to take care of myself well enough to keep the kids safe.

We went on a one hour trail ride and to a chuck wagon dinner show. We had a lot of fun at both. I feel… like I was hit by a truck.

I’m emotionally crashing. The ‘ok’ I had yesterday is not here today. I’ve cried a lot. To the point where it is kind of ridiculous and publicly embarrassing. I’ve spent a lot of today feeling embarrassed that I exist and I’m so disgusting and repulsive.

The grandmother who sat next to eldest child last night was at the show with her husband and grand kids. They stayed *really far* away from us. To the point where it felt conspicuous and kind of weird. But I’m in a bad mood and I’m going to look for reasons to feel bad. As we walked towards the boarding area for the chuck wagons my kids ran through a huge mud area. The grandfather tried to warn me and tell me to keep them out of it. I said, “We make being dirty and wet kind of a lifestyle choice.” He looked at me with great scorn and said, “I can see that.”

I took a fucking shower 5 hours ago.

I just washed every item of clothing we own. What the fuck are you glaring at? That they got some mud on their shoes? Why in the hell do you care?

The girls asked if they could sit up with the driver and his son when we came back from dinner. They were allowed and spent that 15 minute trip talking at about 300 words a minute. Everyone sitting near them in the truck said they were hilarious.

I felt embarrassed and I hated myself for that. They were fine. Why am I being like this?

Because I’m sick and I want to crawl into a hole and let *nobody* look at me. Even someone looking at me with approval and delight feels like a slap to the face.

This isn’t about other people. I hate my body.

I still haven’t started bleeding. I’m in the “Hate yourself and want to die” window. I hate this. I hate that I do this so much. YESTERDAY WAS AWESOME!

Today involved spending 3.5 hours yelling at Shanna to just finish the dishes already. There weren’t very many dishes. There are three people. Three plates, three forks, one pan.

Oh. My. God.

I didn’t start yelling until the end of the second hour.

At that point I felt like the top of my head was going to come off. YOU CAN DO THIS IN 15 MINUTES. WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?!?!?!?!?!?

I don’t have the spoons right now to be patient.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal if both kids weren’t scream/whining at me that they wanted to go plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

THEN DO YOUR CHORES AND SHUT UP.

You know how I had to cook the food when I feel like living death? WASH THE 7 FORKING ITEMS. OH MY GOD!!!!

And then when she washed everything she didn’t rinse anything. That was three hours in. She put the still visibly soapy dishes away.

I was *so pissed*.

I know it doesn’t matter. If I didn’t feel like shit I would be as upset. I feel like I’ve jumped through a lot of hoops for the kids in the last few days. They asked for a lot of big ticket entertainment items. And then they refuse to help without it turning into a half day nightmare.

Know what made her finally do the dishes? I said, “Fine. Then I’m walking to the office and telling them that we won’t be at the dinner.”

The dishes were done ten fucking minutes later. I was so pissed.

I don’t think I’m booking anything big and fun for them for a while. I’m feeling too resentful.

The last few days have been intense and fun but I’m done.

I’m going to bed now.

Next morning. Today we roll out of Mount Rushmore. It’s 6:30 in the morning. The campsite is *mostly* packed up already except for the stuff the kids are using to sleep and the stuff that lives on the trailer. I’ve been working for over an hour. I woke up and just felt like I *had* to start. I’ve been puttering for almost an hour and a half. I do a few things then sit down.

Last night I stayed up till 10 finishing Dragonfly In Amber, the second book in the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. A friend asked me what I find so appealing about the books because they borrowed the first from me and just can’t get into it.

I spend… probably a majority of my time trying to manage thoughts and feelings. I am absolutely spellbound by the options to really see into other peoples thoughts and feelings… even if it is fiction. Non-fiction rarely involves actual feelings and the most horrible thoughts someone has. People aren’t usually that honest. (Then there’s me.)

These books aren’t about the plot. This is not an adventure story. This is about a woman and the journey of her life through a lot of intense, unusual, often traumatic events and the author is good at showing what Claire thinks and feels and why she has those impulses.

And, I like layered political drama. But I don’t like the male version of layered political drama in books. It always seems to involve an obsessive, masturbatory amount of time describing the large guns and you know what? The blowing people up part isn’t what is interesting to me about politics. Yeah, Diana Gabaldon has her characters move through several major wars and she’s very accurate in her details about the battles… but we don’t ever see three pages of description of artillery. Yes, I’ve read fucking books by men that involve three pages of description of artillery. Even though it wasn’t really the focus of the story. It’s a masturbatory thing, I swear.

I want to hear about what people felt more than I want to see three pages of descriptions of the fucking trees.

These books are *all* the moment by moment thoughts and feelings of the characters. *Swoon*

And because the series covers like an almost 40 year span (so far!) and each book is a HUGE book… that’s a lot of squishy feelings to roll around in.

Last night I finished this book mostly so I could have a nice cathartic cry. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed so hard the kids were a little freaked out. But I put ear plugs in and told them I wouldn’t be helping them manage the fact that I’m reading a sad book. Ignore me.

The end has some fantastically sad parts. And I LEFT THE THIRD BOOK AT HOME! Oh man.

Good thing I’ve read the series more than a dozen times and I’m not really on a cliff hanger. *phew* Instead I can plow through some of the new books about actual women. I won’t get many thoughts or feelings. I will get other people describing the mechanics of their lives. Because that’s how most books go. Sigh.

I mean, the mechanics are interesting. But I want squishy feelings.

I feel purged this morning. That cringing, embarrassed feeling is gone. I hate it when I’m like that. Everything I do feels magnified by 1000 and is extra embarrassing.

I ran towards horses yesterday because we were late getting out of the bathroom and I felt embarrassed that we were late because of my inability to control my bowels. Everyone there was uhhh appropriately stern with me to get me to stop and walk around safely.

I felt so stupid.

On the worst day or two of the month little things like that make me want to go to the bathroom and carve.

But this is a new day. I haven’t made any mistakes yet. I’m well on my way towards being on the road.

Once I get to decent cell reception I’m calling my friend in Duluth and asking if we can show up early. I’m so tried. I feel like the fever broke. I hope.

Kids are up.

Moving south

5 Replies

Today we leave Dad’s house. That will be hard. I have really enjoyed my time here. Although it will also be a good thing. I’m sleeping for shit. I’m thinking a thousand thoughts a minute about all the things I want to say to him and we save our conversations for after the kids are in bed so… I’m way short on sleep. I need to move on before I hurt myself.

The talking has been wonderful. You know how I sometimes go on these really big tirades and write and write and write about politics and race and rape and incest and money and class and… heh. You know how I “sometimes” do that? Yeah he got the in person version over the last week. He has looked kind of stunned. I’ve never uhm shared my opinions on such a diverse array of topics quite so freely before. He’s kind of re-meeting me.

You want to claim you are my Dad so you need to get to know me. We’ve had several pointed, “Are you committed to this relationship?” conversations.

Apparently his bio-daughter is not very happy about me. I can understand that and I hold no rancor in my heart. I’m sorry that my existence makes her uncomfortable. I can understand why it does. All of the other “daughters” have been girlfriends who moved on. I haven’t. I’m not a girlfriend and I never have been. I’m an adopted kid. Who he has beaten and fucked. Because that has been part of my relationship with all of my dads.

I can understand why that would make someone uncomfortable. I’m on a fucking weird life path.

But he’s ok walking that path with me and I don’t really care if other people approve or not. He is adapting to the changes in our relationship. We have had an incredibly frank and detailed conversation about the changes in boundaries in my sex life. “What if I did ____?” “Well you’d have a time of untangling your fingers from your internal organs after I ripped your arm off and shoved it down your neck.” “Ok then. So you’re saying that is off the table.” “Yup.”

Quite frankly I think this is an incredibly healthy transition for both of us. We are consciously committing to a mutually supportive relationship that doesn’t have to be based on hurting one another. The hurting one another wasn’t a problem when it was where we both were. I’m not there right now. Are you with me or not?

He says he is with me.

He is scared about some of my choices. He asked me last night if I was truly aware of how much I was risking my life with some of the choices I make in terms of activism. I said I was fully aware that women who speak publicly about the things I choose to speak about often get killed. I’m aware that the status quo doesn’t like what I think.

Dad got to hear about the full extent of my suicidality this trip. He’s had dim awareness that I was a cutter.

It is kind of funny to me how people claim to know me… but don’t read my blog… and wow… they don’t know shit. I think I unload my emotions on fewer people than I think. I’m really hard on the people I unload on… but the list isn’t that long. I think I perceive myself as someone who dumps on everyone who walks by… but that isn’t how it goes. I have more boundaries than I think I do.

I am continually surprised to find out that people have known me for a decade and a half and they don’t know major facts about my life.

I can recite your fucking bio in my sleep. I know details about your life before I met you. I can rattle off your hobbies and accomplishments and fuck ups with great specifics.

What the fuck do you mean you don’t know much about me?! WTF!?

I’m self absorbed. Everyone should function like me. Ahem.

I’m going to miss Dad. And I am never going to live near him full time. Our relationship would dissolve and I like it very much. I like the support I get when I see him. He doesn’t have the stamina for me. He can’t be the kind of consistent I need on a regular basis. I can handle what he has to give when I visit once a year. I don’t resent his limits this way. I just adapt while I’m here.

I ask tactless questions a lot to frame how ridiculous we both are. “So my control freak issues are running into your control freak issues. Which part of this one is your real bug-a-boo? The process or the result because you vary from issue to issue.”

He kind of glares at me for a minute as he thinks about it. Then we discuss it and work out how we can adapt to one another.

It is weirdly a lot of fun for me. He is really ok with blunt negotiations. The bdsm community has been good for him. If you can say, “What I really want to do is tie your legs wide open so I can single tail your clit” you can have a conversation about just about any stupidly specific and personal topic.

Ok.. that isn’t actually true about everyone in the scene. But it is true of the two of us and I love that about him.

We’ve talked a lot about eating and dietary choices with the kids. Exercise habits. Modeling and why we do the things we do. Being responsible to and for our kids and how that creates a permanent reason to take care of ourselves because… we owe them a long life.

He says I have made him think about many of his choices in new ways. I believe that.

Last night he told me he feels adrift and he isn’t sure how to get ahead of the curve. He’s had a really hard several years. I said, “That sounds like a request for advice.” He said yes.

Oh I gave advice. “What you need to do is over the next year ask for help from Person A and Person B and Person C and go through the house and the storage unit. Sell anything you don’t have a really strong desire to keep. Donate what you can’t sell. Time to downsize. You don’t need a big house and property and you can’t keep up with the work. Sell before you degrade the house and can’t make money back. Buy something outright. Buy something small and manageable.”

He has inherited the estates of three rich people. He has an overwhelming amount of stuff and he simply can’t afford to keep the shit. He didn’t get the money. That went to charities. He just got burdened with the shit.

People are hilarious. They really don’t think about what they are doing to the people around them.

Get it in your head that you are putting the house on the market in June of 2016. That will be the end of your time here. 14 years in one spot.

It’s going to be hard to leave. His second marriage had its whole life here. But she’s gone and he has to move on. He can’t support this household without her.

Life is about constantly changing your goals as your resources and abilities change. Things go up and down and you have to be realistic about your capabilities or you will over-promise and under deliver. Or you can sell yourself short and never attain the things you are capable of doing.

Re-evaluate yourself. Where do you want to be putting your time and energy? Do you really want to have to spend 30+ hours a week on cleaning and house maintenance only to watch it fall into constant decline because it really needs 60 hours of work every week? That’s depressing. You feel like a constant failure even though you really are doing your best.

I’m going to cry a lot when he moves. This is Francesca’s house. She loved me here. She made me feel safe here. She is a lot of the reason Dad and I worked out some bumps in the early years. I miss her very much. But our obligation to her is over. It is time to sell off her stuff and her step-dad’s stuff and her mom’s stuff and move on.

She died before we could pay our debt to her. That’s a guilt we have to bear and move on with.

We can take that and pay it forward. That is how she would want us to do it. She wouldn’t want us to wither at home with shame and regret. She would want us to pay it forward. She would say we don’t owe her. We owe the universe. It’s never really a two way street.

That’s what is so hard about parenting. It’s never really reciprocal. I have taken more from Dad than I’ve given. Mostly… what I can give at this point is support as he transitions to a different sense of self.

He’s not a swinging bachelor of means. He needs to stop trying to act like he is. That time of life is over.

There are consequences to not seeing how you are changing. How many do you want to have smack you in the face?

He asked me if I believed he was capable of change at this point in his life. I laughed and said I wouldn’t be in his house if he hadn’t changed and changed again over the last decade and a half. Yes. I believe you are capable of changing. It’s not the tooth fairy. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you adapt. I’ve seen you resolve to improve on how you manage specific issues. Yes, there have been back slides in some areas, but you continue to improve in broad swaths.

But life is complicated. As you improve in some areas you completely screw up other areas. That’s how it goes.

It seems to me that wisdom is partially understanding that you will never be good at everything. You will never have the inter-personal abilities plus money abilities plus physical abilities plus education abilities and and…

Look at what you actually do with your time. You are good at parts of it. The rest… well… it’s done enough. THE HOUSE DIDN’T BURN DOWN. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!

I don’t cook much. I can’t do it. I turn into a screaming banshee.

It’s not that I “can’t cook”. I can actually cook quite well. But I need to be calm and have a lot of patience and a lot of quiet and a lot of time and nothing else going on in order to do it in a peaceful way. Or I start twitching and shrieking things like, “JUST GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN BEFORE I STRANGLE YOU OH MY GOD WHY DID YOU THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO DO?!?!?!!?!”

I understand that this is part of an age old tradition between mothers and daughters. But with the whole home schooling thing… it’s a problem if I won’t show them how to do things. So it’s complicated.

I’ve been priming the pump with the kids about how things will shift when we leave Grandpa’s house. We are going to a dun dun dun… screen free house. Ok, they own a tv. A big one. But they don’t turn it on. Or they use it for internet browsing. They watch very occasional cooking shows or Myth Busters. They are basically a kid screen-free house.

So uhm, don’t spend all day talking about video games and cartoons. You can talk about books, games you like to play, imaginary stuff you like to do… lots of topics. Don’t spend all day talking about the Minecraft tutorials. That is horribly boring when someone isn’t interested. We won’t be there very long. Be polite.

I have no idea if Shanna is listening. We’ll see.

We came here from Aunt Cookie’s and her only tv watching is Martha Stewart show reruns and Mayberry because her parrot will repeat things from the television. She won’t risk a peppery word in her house. (I kind of horrified her. And the kids taught the parrot to say “poop poop poop”. She was not pleased.) It’s not like we can’t get along with folks who don’t do video games. But she had to listen to a lot about the tutorial makers. Her eyes glazed over. I tried to rescue her.

Shanna can give you a full run down on the benefits and deficits of different tutorial makers and I think it is hilarious. I only half listen. I stood and listened to the new one for a few minutes last night. I wasn’t pleased. He’s an asshole. I told her flat out, “I like so-and-so and I like that other guy because they are silly and kind in how they give instructions. I don’t like this new guy. The way he is saying his friend might not really be a boy because he hasn’t seen proof? That’s bullshit. That’s a jerk thing to do. Questioning someone else’s gender is not ok. If I ever hear you do that, you aren’t watching this channel any more. If you want to know that assholes like that exist I’m not going to stop you from finding out they exist. But you had better not become one.”

Her eyes were kind of big. She nodded and said, “I wouldn’t do that. I just thought it was cool how he built _____.”

“That’s fair enough. He did build a cool ______. I can see why you would admire it. Feel free to learn his Minecraft skills. Don’t learn his interpersonal skills.”

“Got it.”

Man this is a quoting-myself-heavy-post. I want to share it with Noah. I miss you, oh my witness. I WANT TO TALK AT YOU FOR ABOUT TWELVE HOURS STRAIGHT.

I miss you.

I’ve gotta say, it’s kind of wild talking about a lot of the things I write about. To an entrenched white male. Oh man. It’s interesting phrasing and efforts. I have extreme biases. I’m aware of that. I’m working on and with where I am right now.

Dad is a soft sell on many of my more radical ideas. He will listen and help me construct rebuttals to arguments. Not necessarily on purpose, but he argues with me and that gives me practice debating the things I’m going to need to be able to debate without shrieking.

Not sure I can ever be a cook in a high pressure situation though. That may be beyond me in this lifetime.

Lots of big feelings

2 Replies

The trip is going well. I am so gosh darned tired I feel like I might slip into a puddle and never solidify into a solid being again.

I had a hard time with Noah’s aunts. They grew up in particular times and places and they believe what they believe. Unfortunately for them there is a whole bunch of evidence proving that their beliefs suck.

I am highly dysregulated. I am having a hard time calming down. Too many conversations about poverty and homelessness and race. I really don’t respect the opinions they have.

One aunt spent a long time telling me about how much she enjoys reading the journals of settlers and colonials. They only killed people when they had no choice.

Uhm… go read something written by the folks that the settlers barely avoided killing. You will hear a very different story.

No. The white assholes who showed up on this continent because they were being chased out of their European homes did not kill Native Americans because the Natives were trying to persecute the white people. No. No. No. No.

We are interlopers here. We do not get to claim that our existence here is just about our basic survival. We are stealing in order to survive.

Depending on how you look at it, all humans have been thieves since the beginning. We steal from plants and animals in order to survive. That’s complicated. It’s a hard ethical conundrum. Vegetarians believe that by not eating flesh that you are fine for how you are stealing. Vegans think it must be even more strict and milk and eggs are also over the line.

But no one ever objects to stealing from the artichokes or carrots or cauliflower. We’ve decided they can’t matter.

But that’s kind of funny.

Throughout history many groups of human beings have decided that other groups of human beings don’t matter in similar ways. Sometimes we make these evaluations based on race. Sometimes based on economic privilege. Sometimes based on work choices. If you look around the planet, folks feel free to shit on sex workers in almost every country that exists. Even though sex work is one of the most universal, oldest professions that exists. We still want to punish any individual who engages in it.

Why?

One of the aunts spent a lot of time telling me that she hated the Occupiers and she thinks folks who are homeless are just lazy and they need to get a job.

I told her, are you aware that it takes two or more full time jobs to afford rent, not including utilities or food or a car in most states for people who work minimum wage? You bought your property in 1981 with help. No, other people can’t do what you did. It is really awful for you to think that people who can’t do what you did are lazy. How dare you.

You bought a property for fairly cheap. You had help for 20 years of your mortgage. How dare you say that other people who can’t do what you did are lazy.

Are you aware that historically speaking black people have been shut out of owning property?

This is not about lazy.

Are you aware that the largest race riot in our American history was white people who were jealous that black people were doing too well? But we’ve had a lot of race riots. Mostly they erupt because white people are persecuting non-whites. It is bullshit.

I don’t deal well with people who are incapable of seeing the layers of privilege that built their lives. We are all made up of support and relationships with people. Unfortunately there are major demographics who have traditionally not received support. And they are currently struggling much more significantly than demographics that have traditionally received more support.

I want to equalize that. We can’t go back and fix everything bad that has ever happened. I don’t want to. That’s not the point of life. But we can make it so the people who are alive right now have more access to ways to better their lives.

We don’t have to punish people for being disadvantaged. We don’t have to punish people for being icki and poor and not what we want to look at. We can choose compassion. We can choose to help people just because they exist and they should exist.

I want you to exist. Even when I don’t like you. Even if I want to shout at you because your opinions are just flat terrible.  You do worthy things. Even if those things don’t benefit me in any way shape or form. Not everything is about me.

Not everyone has to benefit me in order to be worthy.

I’m getting better at defending the intensity of my opinions without having to scream at people and tell them how much I hate them for having the opinions they have. I’m glad for that. I am modeling better behavior for my children. I am teaching them to be fierce, but not mean.

I’m trying. I’m trying to model what I think should exist. Have strong opinions. They matter. They help. They are important. But try to express them in a way that will educate instead of alienate.

I really suck at that.

Last night was so awesome. Dad and I got stoned together and I unloaded on him. He’s not an emotional guy. He doesn’t really want to hear about feelings. Ha ha mother fucker. You adopt me and you get what you get. If you want to be my Dad you get to find out what I’m like. And that means listening to an hour or so of emotional unloading every other year or so. Suck it, buddy. Just cope. You can manage.

He did. He’s wonderful to me. I listened to what was going on with his life. He is struggling more than I am. That’s… kind of weird to me. He’s supposed to be the stable grown up. Only now I’m the stable grown up. How the fuck did that happen?

He’s had a hard time since his wife died. Things have been rocky. It makes sense. That has been seven years now. His business failed and that was really hard financially and emotionally. He likes his current job, but it doesn’t pay that much and he has a lot of bills. Complicated. He’s really depressed.

He expresses admiration for my obsessive saving. Which is awkward. I appreciate his positive feedback on my skills but it is uncomfortable too. I don’t think I should be doing better than other people. That is not my self-perception. If I do something well, emotionally, I want it to be because any one can do it and it isn’t very hard. That isn’t true any more though. I’m good at a lot of things that most people suck at. I am an incredibly skilled person.

That’s hard to accept sometimes. I don’t ever get to use the excuse that I just can’t any more. I can find a way. That’s daunting. Overwhelming. Too much pressure. I don’t want to be able to find a way. I want to have the excuse that I don’t have to.

But I’m exceptionally competent. If I don’t do something it is probably because I choose not to and not because I can’t. That’s…

Shit. I’m out of excuses. I like excuses.

Talking to Dad is intense on a variety of levels. As the years go by I am increasingly willing to share my opinion on what I see. “You are selfish in a short sighted way. If we could get your selfishness to see the long-view then I think your romantic life would improve.” He is strangely willing to listen to me now whereas ten years ago he snorted and said what the hell do I know.

Now he’s had two marriages go badly and mine is doing well and he’s willing to listen.

He spent a lot of time questioning whether I was on the road trip because my marriage is rocky. He had a really hard time believing that Noah would be ok with this kind of separation unless we were on the verge of divorce.

Nope, we are very happy together. Lots of sex. Lots of good conversation. We really enjoy one another’s company. But I’m a traveler and he’s not. He loves me anyway just like I love him for being a home body. We are ok with supporting one another through divergent experiences. We don’t have to do everything together. It’s ok if we are different.

It is part of why I am so very happy to be married to Noah. He doesn’t want a Mrs. Noah Gibbs who is there to facilitate his life. He wants to be partnered with Krissy Gibbs. Who is bad ass and does cool things.

He’s bummed when people think I’m cool because he married me. He thinks that is missing the point of me. I am not cool because he sticks his dick in me. I’m cool so he wants to stick his dick in me. People should get the order right.

I really like Noah. I am ridiculously happy to be married to someone who trusts me and who works as hard as he works. I like hard workers. I like people who pick goals and then put their head down and accomplish them come hell or high water. I really like Noah. He inspires me. He also taunts me and I want to punch him for it. But I don’t because we do not have that kind of relationship.

Noah causes me to think really hard about my ever expanding repertoire of skills. He isn’t ok with me minimizing my abilities. He says, “Nope. You don’t get to think you are incompetent any more. You probably never were but you don’t get to think it now.”

I cannot express what knowing him has meant to me. He believes in me. He believes in me the way other people believe in G-d. He thinks I can just do things. So I can.

Thank you.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen to the world if everyone had someone who believed in them as much as Noah believes in me. It would be a really incredible planet. I wish I could see that planet.

I want to be part of a world where people build one another up instead of tearing each other down. That was the hard part of dealing with the aunts. I didn’t want to tear them down in the process of educating them and that is hard. Tearing people down is so much easier than building them up.

How do you teach people to see that they are privileged because they grew up with a highly educated parent who had the ability to teach them a variety of skills that other people never know exists? How do you teach people to see that they are lucky and blessed because they got to have abusive help for a period of time?

Some people get no help at all. Not even packaged with abuse. No one wants to help them from the get-go.

Can we get over this idea that people need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps? That’s a crock of shit. The people who survive and who do well are people who have neighbors who show up to help. Not people who do it alone.

I’ve tried doing it alone and I’ve tried finding a network of support. Finding the network is horrifyingly hard. It is emotionally draining and hurtful. There are hundreds of false starts. It feels hopeless most of the time. But then you notice that this time when you fell down someone was there to grab your elbow and keep you from landing on the concrete.

I believe in the MonkeySphere. I believe my connections to human beings are the reason I am alive. Mostly through Shanna and Calli and Noah, but my friends are important. My friends matter so much.

If I weren’t at Dad’s house I wouldn’t be able to see the extent of how much he loves me and would do if I needed it. He’s never going to be able to provide financial support–he might need it in the future. But he has been emotional support for almost 16 years. He has supported me through many different changes in my life. He adapts with me as I change radically and he really wishes he didn’t have to.

I see you. I appreciate you.

Looks like my kids are going to be his grandkid experience. His bio-kids are respectively one and two years younger than me. His son is only going to have children if there is a catastrophic accident and he’s considering pre meditative surgery. Just to be safe. Dad’s bio-daughter is 30 and doesn’t have a partner. Her mom would like her to have kids but she isn’t real interested in single parenting and things aren’t lining up.

It is weird seeing that I am creating a place for myself. I am in the middle of generations. I help interpret going up and going down. I really appreciate that I get to spend so much of my life teaching people how to get along. Kids and adults. That probably isn’t how other people see how I spend my time… but it is how I see what I’m doing. I give other adults a lot of feedback. I try to do it in ways that won’t cause them to turn around and yell at me to back off (I’m pretty deft) but I’m a bossy motherfucker. I’m going to volunteer my view whether you like it or not.

And there are people who keep me around even though I’m highly obnoxious. My life is great.

Last night I told Dad that I feel very safe unloading on him at this point because I know that he likes having me around. He laughed and asked why I am so sure. I said, “I’ve watched you for a lot of years. When you are done with people you get mean. Your jokes are more and more cutting. You point out their flaws more frequently and with more venom. It is hard to watch when you are doing it to people I like. It is part of why I don’t spend more time with you. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. You have never treated me that way and I want to continue this trend.”

He got quiet and thoughtful. After a while he nodded and said, “You are right. I do like you a lot. I’m not sick of you.” He didn’t say that much more about it. He’s not the sort.

I’m sitting in Dad’s back yard resting. I’m thinking about doing some weeding. He’s been really sad and just isn’t keeping up with the house and yard. I cleaned his pipes this morning. If you are going to pollute your lungs, at least don’t do it through an inch of tar, come on.

I’ll clean the kitchen after lunch and before I make dinner. Boy it needs it. I’ll probably clean the bathroom tomorrow because there is mildew starting. This house is more than twice the size of my house, I can see why he is having a hard time keeping up. He used to be able to pay help and now he can’t. I think he should down size but it’s complicated.

Everything is complicated.

Maybe the girls and I will come out here and weed his beds and run over to a nursery. We can put a handful of low-maintenance veggies in so he continues to feel loved after we leave. It is weird how plants do that. I don’t understand it, but I’m starting to see it and exploit the loop hole. Yay for exploitable techniques.

Holy moly we’ve been seeing great yards. Aunt Cookie and my friend W have gorgeous yards. These ladies are accomplished. It was a real treat to visit and see the results of their hard work. I feel so inspired. I need to touch some dirt. I need to put in more plants. The planet needs more plants.

Maybe I can ask him if one of his beds can be a wild flower seed mix for birds and butterflies. So when the flowers come up he can think of us.

We love you and we want you to be here.

I love pot. Today I’m not driving so I’m heavily medicated. Right in this moment I feel like if the biggest burdens in my life are dealing with some classist, racist, mostly decent people… I can work with that. I like educating people. I will learn how to talk about these topics. It is very important to me that people like them learn why they are wrong. I understand that they will be more likely to listen to someone they perceive as being like them. They see me as being like them.

They are wrong as fuck, but that’s ok.

It’s an exploitable loop hole. No, I’m not like you. But I know how to ape some of your class markers and I have learned to do so out of self-preservation. I have learned how to make people like you stop hitting me. I’m not like you.

I’m never going to stop being a fierce person. I believe it is necessary. But I want to learn how to temper it when I choose. I want it to be more under control. I want it to be a tool in my tool box and not the defining explanation of what I’m like. I believe that being capable of violence is necessary for self preservation. I’m going to get better at being lethal and learn how to stop the bullshit posturing.

I don’t need to win the dick contests. Even though mine is bigger.

I don’t like what I win. How is being the biggest dick a good thing?

Well, it’s a good thing when I can get men to back the fuck off of being bossy and/or controlling but quick. There has to be another way.

I struggle with the grey area of wanting to be more open and inviting and wanting to be all go the fuck away.

What is the path? Who knows. I’m just walking.

Holy crud out of the blue

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I was sitting at dinner with my lovely family and out of the blue I had really strong visualization of cutting myself really badly. Cutting myself in flamboyant, very attention-getting ways. Razor blades from the wrist to the elbow. Screaming and flailing at the same time.

I have no idea where this visualization came from. It was sudden. It was intense. I had to really consciously choose to not beat my head on the table because my first impulse was to try and get it out of my head by beating my head on the table. Like I almost slammed my face into my dinner. It was disorienting and weird.

I have no idea what the fuck is up with that. Not fun.

Otherwise I’m pretty sure I’m done packing other than perishable food. It will take about 15 minutes to round it up.

We leave in just over 17 hours. I’m tired and feeling kind of flattened.

I’m going to sleep a lot. Tomorrow I want to take a very very very long bath. With epsom salts.

I find it weird that I had the intense visualization given that my general anxiety level has been going down all day. As I get closer to “go” I’ve been settling down. I’ve been feeling better. All of a sudden I feel completely not ok. But I’m going to sit on this.

How I feel doesn’t really matter. What matters is what I do. I noted to Noah, “I’ll write about it later. This is when it started.” I’m pretty sure that other than blinking more times than usual I didn’t otherwise act inappropriately.

Right this second I’m scared of going so long without a consistent witness. Who will make sure I’m appropriate?

Well tonight Noah asked/gave Calli permission to call me on having a negative attitude. I suppose she will be the one to make sure I’m not too much of a bitch.

Have I mentioned lately how much I fucking love that my children have the courage to stand up to me? Grown men are afraid of me. Not my bad ass little babies.

Shanna is developing a very negative attitude about the trip. She doesn’t want to leave Noah. I’m… trying to be ok with it. I’m being supportive of her having feelings. I am sympathizing. I’m still implacable. “We’re going. Why? Because we have things to learn.”

I feel like I am drowning in waves of guilt. We are leaving because I want to run away. Because I need a break. Because I’ve been standing in one place too fucking long. Because I have always wanted to see what the country is like. Because I wanna.

Because I wanna and I’m selfish and you have to come with me.

For just a few years you have to keep me company. I hope it isn’t too awful. I hope you will have some fun. Calli is acting like she will have fun.

I’m trying not to be an asshole about “At least one daughter likes me.” Shanna does like me. But she really likes her dad and her computer and she wants to stay. Not too long ago she was happy to follow me to the ends of the earth and I was enough. I’m having feels. I’ll get over them. This is appropriate.

I hope we will have fun together.

I hope she will not remember this as something her crazy mother dragged her through. I pray.

Both kids are still absolutely adamant that they want to keep home schooling. I’m not dragging them through everything. Shanna says that if Noah were coming with us more she wouldn’t feel resistant to the road trip. That makes sense. She says the around-the-world trip sounds awesome because he will be with us.

Yeah honey… but there are steps here we need to figure out. If we can’t make this work we can’t spend a year away. We have to manage five months away first.

We can do it. But will you still like me?

I like you. I know there are going to be years where you don’t like me much. I’m trying to be ok with it. I know it isn’t personal. It’s normal and appropriate. Lots of books tell me so.

Sometimes I find it startling how “normal” and “text-book” my kids are. They have normal, happy people problems. I love watching it. And I will continue to do whatever I must to not beat my head in front of them. I will not cut. I will not let them see me harm myself on purpose. Just no.

I will not be how you learn about these behaviors. Or, rather, you will not learn about them by watching me.

I will teach you to love your body, to say kind things about it, and to be gentle with yourself. That’s my job.

Every single time I’m having a hard time emotionally I want to say mean/petty/vindictive things. So far I have managed to bite my tongue because I chant in my head, “Their negative inside voice will not come from you.”

My goal is to ensure that my children never hear nasty tapes in their head of my voice dressing them down. That will not be our relationship.

I hear my mom scream that I am a stupid cunt. A bitch. Unwanted. Dirty. Nasty. Pathetic. I don’t know how to stop those tapes.

I can’t stop them in my head but I can make sure I don’t put them in my daughters’ heads.

I mean… I tell my kids that they are obnoxious and annoying… just like their parents. I grin while I say it. It generally comes out something like, “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TURN OUT AS ANNOYING AS ME?!?!?!” They laugh.

“You are supposed to be obnoxious. If you weren’t obnoxious you would have to turn in your kid-badge.”

When I’m being scary my kids will stand there, straight and tall, and tell me, “You are using a mean voice and you need to stop.” Sometimes they are crying… but they do it. I tell them they are right and I do stop. Thank you for telling me.

I’ve had an interesting thing with Shanna lately. I love her hair. I have always loved to stroke her head and she has mostly barely tolerated me touching her. Since it was dyed… I uhm… I’m being annoying. I want to play with it and braid it. I PAID SO MUCH MONEY! I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE COOL TOY!!! Uhm… Shanna has these opinions about it being her body or some bullshit.

Who has been telling her this crap?!

Anyway, I was trying to cajole her into letting me braid her hair. Cool pink and blue streaks are super duper fun and I like playing with plaiting. Shanna resisted some and I cajoled some.

At some point I said, “You know what… I’m pestering which isn’t cool; it is your body. If you really don’t want me to play with your hair I won’t.”

She said, “I feel like you haven’t been very respectful of my body lately.”

I felt like I got sucker punched.

I said, “Oh. Well, I think what is happening is that your boundaries are changing and I didn’t notice. We are going to have to have lots of conversations over the years. We started out with you being a little lump I carried around at all times and it was ok for me to touch you whenever I wanted. That will change slowly and sometimes quickly and I’ll need to be told. I can’t read your mind to know when you change. Also, I’ve been pushing harder on brushing your hair for a few reasons. Know how we make a lot of unconventional choices like not going to school?”

She nodded.

“Well, when you choose to not do what most people do most of the time then you risk people having to come check up on you. Unfortunately when folks from the government come to check on kids… one of the first things they look at is whether you are clean and your hair is brushed. It’s stupid. It isn’t a measure of how well you are taken care of, not really. But people can look at it from a distance. I’ll try to be more respectful though.”

She asked a few more questions about the government checking up on families and then agreed that a basic brushing is reasonable daily. I’m to back off on wanting to play though.

It sucks.

I have watched a lot of movies about mothers and daughters this year. Lots. Dozens maybe. I’m on a kick. It is surprising to me how mother/daughter relationships are twisted around appearance and hair and the perceptions of other people. My relationship with my mom was complicated. She wanted my hair to be about 2″ long so that she didn’t have to be embarrassed all the time about how bad I looked.

I have to respect it when my daughters say no. Even if I don’t want to. Even if it would make *me* happy to ignore their wishes. I’ve got a long game going. I want them to be my friends in thirty years.

Given how cool I am at 33 I bet Shanna is going to be way fucking cooler at 37. Yeah, I really want to know them in thirty years. I want to be friends. And that means I have to be appropriate when they are kids.

It is harder some days than others. Today being appropriate is hard. I think I did ok though.

We went to get passports. We went to the bank; both girls are now square when it comes to allowance. Their savings accounts are up to date. My kids get $2/week for saving. So Shanna has over $700. It’s… honestly a bit weird. I couldn’t have imagined having so much when I was that age. Heck, it isn’t real to her. The $5/week of walking around money is what she sees. I’ve been talking to them about the save money for a while. They only kind of get it.

I drew the watering diagrams for the yards. I’m ready. It’s time to go.

I love you, Wonderland. I’ll come back.

Stuff is moving around

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This week I’ve been thinking about how people have very different things to offer and very different things they want. That’s for the best. The world would be boring if everyone was the same.

If you can take people for where they are and accept the best they have to offer, you can call that friendship. Even if what they have to offer isn’t very much. I have folks in my neighborhood I would call friends. We don’t have that much to offer one another most of the time, but we enjoy the conversations we have. We enjoy the interactions we have.

What are acquaintances then? I don’t know. They just don’t exist these days.

There are a lot of sombodies that I used to know. I wouldn’t say I know them any more. I would say I’ve met them.

One of my friends uses the word “pals” to indicate the people you spend time with but with whom you don’t necessarily feel safe.

Maybe I should adopt it.

I want community. I want to watch kids grow up. I want to support people and be supported. I have spent a lot of my life looking for my circle of friends a la The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Where are the women who will take my children aside and tell them everything about me so that they can repair the damage I will inevitably do?

It has never appeared. The window is past. It will never happen. No one has ever been able to see enough of my life. I don’t stand still long enough. People only know hearsay.

Which means I just can’t fuck up very much. Because there is no one who will fix it for me. Not with my kids. With everyone else in the whole world… if I fuck it up… I will move on. They will move on.

I can’t hurt my kids.

Noah has wisely suggested that I take a few days off between now and the road trip. I don’t have a lot to give right now. My attempt to put spoons in my drawer has manifestly failed so far. I only have 38 days to go. I need to change how I’m behaving fast. This is my absolute last chance to stock up.

Big feelings

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I didn’t sleep last night. Trying not to feel like I’m drowning in failure.

Why is it so hard to believe that I am capable of doing anything right? Why do I feel like I get everything wrong?

I feel so sad it is hard to find the energy to stir my tea.

Today is clearly maxing out the “depression” symptoms as opposed to the anxiety symptoms.

And I’m off smoking pot till December. Edibles it is. Oh man. They don’t do mood elevation. They level out anxiety but don’t cause me to feel more cheerful.

45 days until we leave. This minute it feels like the most mind-bendingly stupid thing I could do. I am too stupid to pull this off. I’m going to get stuck and hurt my kids and…

I’m very scared. My whole body hurts from fear.

Half an hour into baby sitting and I’ve barely moved. I haven’t finished a cup of tea. This much typing in that length of time is… barely moving. I can type 3,000 words an hour. 150 in 30 minutes means I’m mostly not thinking.

I think I’m going back to bed.

Come down like a box of hammers.

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I was thinking about the idea of “safe space”. I hang out in the lobbies of a lot of communities that are very focused on this idea. Places where people are safe. It means very different things to different people. I was thinking about what it would mean to me.

I believe that children need to hit. I believe it is part of the developmental process and …yeah it happens. I believe that the appropriate response is coming down like a box of hammers. On any given day my children get one chance for hitting someone. If they hit a second time we are going home right the fuck now and we will be having an unpleasant conversation the whole way home about how you do not have the right to hit people.

I believe that a safe space for me would involve people caring more when their children hit other people.

I don’t live in a world where that is true. Well, there are always people who over react. I don’t scream hysterically at my children for hitting. I don’t hit them. I don’t ground them for extensive periods of time. I don’t take away a bunch of privileges. I sure as hell don’t punish them once we get home–by then they bloody well forgot anyway.

I react in the moment. You get one chance per day. Not three fucking chances on hitting people. I don’t think so. Unless someone else hit you first, and then ok fine you can hit.

But quite frankly… my kids rarely hit back with anyone other than one another. They like fantasy violence quite a bit. They definitely egg on “fighting”. But they are very aware that if they hit a non-combatant mom is going to explode like a fire cracker. No. No. No.

You do not hit someone unless you have their consent. Did you ask them if they want to play a fighting game with words? No? Then what in the world makes you think it is ok to hit them?! IT IS NOT OK TO HIT SOMEONE WHO HAS NOT CONSENTED TO BEING HIT.

Lots of people will agree to play fighting games if you ask. It’s fine to ask.

But I don’t feel like other people have the consent fetish that I have. I need things negotiated and spelled out. Other people… not so much.

I’ve got to say, when my kids were habitually hitting the punishment did continue to the house. When it was happening almost every time we went somewhere we had groundings at home over it. It is a normal developmental stage.

The important part is how adults handle it. If adults act like it is fine… well. That’s a fucking lesson. If adults teach that you are allowed to hit as long as you don’t get caught… that’s a fucking lesson.

My kids don’t enjoy my blistering lectures. Do they “get” all of them? No. They don’t. I talk as if they were adults and they aren’t. They “get” a fraction of what I’m saying. But these conversations are cumulative. They will remember that from as far back as their memory goes their mother was absolutely consistent you do not hit someone who has not consented to being hit.

I understand that other people don’t think this is a message that should be consciously taught. Maybe they just never think of it as an option as opposed to making a decision. I don’t really know.

But it won’t work any other way in my house. I’ll drag you home from the park yelling at you about how you have no right to strike someone else. I won’t feel bad. I DON’T GET TO HIT YOU. YOU DON’T GET TO TURN AROUND AND HIT OTHER PEOPLE. WE DON’T PLAY THAT SHIT AROUND HERE.

Play fighting is different. That’s a game. Know how you know something is a game? You asked someone if they wanted to play before you got started.

But Shanna seriously has issues about getting in other peoples personal space bubbles. I suspect that is part of what causes kids to feel motivated to hit her. She gets right the fuck in their face and most people aren’t taught what to say. Maybe she’ll learn. I’m not sure how many more times she will need to be hit though. I couldn’t begin to count how many times she’s been punched. We talk about it a lot.

So much for home schooling meaning that my kids won’t be beat on. At least I’m there and I get to take them fucking home after the third hit of the day.

If my kids get one chance, why do I give other people two chances? Because one kid hit both my kids once and the other time… man those two have a long running sorta-feud. Given how many times Shanna has punched him… well. What did she do this time? And he does apologize. Usually even without prompting from an adult.

So how many chances do I give? I don’t know. I’m very tired of being hit. Very very very very very very very very very tired of being hit. And I am even more sick of my kids getting hit. And I notice that they are usually the ones who come crying because they got hit.

I’m not sure if they are bigger whiners or if they are actually hit that much more often than other kids.

I’d like to go a whole fucking year without being hit nonconsensually. I’ve never had a year like that. Not one.

I feel very triggered. I wasn’t “pushed out” of my biological family because I prosecuted my father. But I was told through actions that in order to be allowed to stay I would have to accept that everyone around me would rewrite history. “It didn’t really happen.” “He never did anything like that to anyone else.” “You are the problem. We were fine until you caused problems.”

I’m the problem. I should apologize. I should promise to not be a problem any more.

The only way I can promise that is if I die. I’ve never been anything but the problem.

Cue round of intense suicidal ideation. THIS IS A SHITTY TIME. I HAVE AWESOME KIDS IN THE HOUSE WHO ARE BEING NICE TO ME AND LOVING ON ME. WHY IN THE FUCK AM I IN THE YARD CRYING BECAUSE I FEEL UNLOVED AND WORTHLESS AND LIKE I SHOULD DIE.

Because I can’t not cry if I’m in the room with them right now. And Noah is here. It is being handled.

I’m not going to die over this. These people are so not worth it. If losing my mother isn’t going to do it… hell no. But turning the movie screen surround sound system off is hard. I have a lot of willpower to abstain from following through; stopping the thoughts is harder. I feel like I have run most of my life on sheer hate. I’m not dead yet because you will not win, motherfucker.

Which motherfucker, precisely? I don’t even know any more. Take your fucking pick. I’ve got a whole fucking card deck full of names.

Do something different. Yes, the crying and typing is an improvement over the cutting and the head banging, fine and dandy. (Though the arm pain means that this is maybe actually one of the most self-harming actions of my whole life. Cutting had far less chance of crippling me. Ok, banging my head could have caused a stroke. WHATEVER.)

I should fucking know by now. If you have a problem with people you have to shut the fuck up. People are not actually interested in “working through differences”. They want confirmation bias that they are right and you are wrong. I should never have bothered to talk to that fucking mother in the first place. I knew she wouldn’t give a shit about her kid hurting me. Why in the fuck was I so fucking stupid?

I am the problem. Clearly.

If I didn’t have a house full of kids, whoa. I’d make different life choices.

But if I didn’t have the kids I wouldn’t be dealing with these people anyway. So maybe it’s a wash.

Why don’t I just walk away? Why is this worth bothering to try for anyway? Mostly because I’ve kept my kids here for four years and I’ve told them to bond with people. Now I feel like a monster.

Everyone I tell them to bond with I eventually run off. I am a piece of shit. I suppose it will be a good thing that I have bonus kids here tonight. I will have something to do while I’m awake anyway. They always need a lot of help at night. They haven’t done that much sleeping outside their house. Lots of checking in, “Yes, you are still with Krissy and Noah and Shanna and Calli. Yes, you will see your parents again soon. Yes, we love you. Yes, they love you. It is time to sleep now so we can play tomorrow.” I can fucking smile on cue to be reassuring. I’ve worked hard.

I believe that children deserve to have an adult who wants to meet their emotional needs around. It doesn’t have to be a parent full time. It is healthier if it isn’t. Children need to learn that having needs is ok. Needing reassurance is ok. Needing to have help feeling safe is ok.

I can feel safe here. If I can’t feel safe other places, well… if I weren’t such a fucking problem maybe I wouldn’t have so many problems.

I’ve never been able to find a way to not be a problem other than staying home. Or dying.

I want to run away so bad. I’ve lived here too long. I’ve used up my welcome. People are tired of my bullshit. I don’t blame them. I’m tired of it too. If I could run away from being inside my head I would. I want to turn the movie screens off and I can’t.

I keep coming back to swimming out into the ocean. That really does seem to be my first choice. If I go far enough it is pretty fucking sure. I didn’t do so well with over dosing. My body is so sensitive to medications these days I don’t think my body would permit an overdose. I couldn’t use a gun. I converted my garage so I can’t follow my dad. I’m really not a big enough asshole to use Tommy’s method. That was seriously traumatizing to the people involved in the rescue. That’s not fair you fucking asshole. If you are going to kill yourself, at least don’t make a bunch of fucking spectators watch you burn. Not cool. People don’t get over that. Hell, I didn’t even see it and I can’t get over it.

Swimming. Yes, swimming straight out into the Pacific Ocean sounds great.

I have kids! Can’t! Calli tells me all the god damn time that I have to die of very old age. I’ll try, baby.

I’m definitely having temporary problems right now. In ten years this won’t matter at all. Stop being so melodramatic. Err, I’m diagnosed with reasons why I react this way. Fuck you, negative-self-talk. I am fucking improving. I god damn held it together great today. I didn’t start crying till bedtime. That’s doing just fucking fine, ok?!

Whether something is good or bad depends on your point of view.

So sad.