One Month Down...

End of January and hitting all my numbers. Which is good. When you are already not hitting them in January it makes for a really big struggle year. 

I read the bio, read the self help book, read the Stranglings book, cleared a couple of books off my Kindle and a couple extras. 

Writing I hit the one fiction piece a week, two pieces to Dana, three nonfiction plus a few more. I sat down and wrote more days of the week than I didn't. 

Working out, that was a start and stop stutter step get it going thing. I worked out 17 times last month which means on more than half the days so that's not terrible. 

Did Picture of the Day again and made some progress around getting the house settled and sorted out. 

So now I'm looking at February. 

The reading and writing stay the same. That's a yearly overarching goal so that's steady. In fact at some point today I need to sit down and start on Dana's piece. I've been sending her something that is a little different than what I typically write, at least the part I'm writing now it is. It's a weird thing. Started as a flash in my head of a scene then automatically started filling in this super wholesome backstory that did not fit with the original scene at all. So I'm trying to figure out what the bridge is. Where does it all go so terribly wrong...or does it never go there and that first scene will never play out?

If you're thinking it's mean of me to talk about it and not post it, first off, thank you for liking what I do, and secondly I'm keeping it in my pocket for the weeks that will surely come where I'm too busy, stressed or out of pocket to write something new and then I'll post it as my weekly fiction piece on the blog. Planning...I can do it. 

Workouts I'm switching up a little. Which I do every month. Even though I wasn't as consistent last month as I could have been I'm still doing a little shift this month. I'll finalize tomorrow but for right now it's weights on Monday and Friday and cardio Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Thinking of doing the little 3-12-30  (3 mph, 12% incline, 30 minutes) one day a week, maybe two. It's supposed to really get your heart rate up so I'm thinking of testing it out. If it's too hard on my knees I'll go back to flatlandering at a higher speed.

I'm not going to do Picture of the Day this month. The list just didn't really grab me. I mean I'll still post way more pictures than anyone ever really wants to see but there just won't be that one themed one. Though I added back in Selfie Saturday on a whim that first Saturday in January and I'll keep that up for awhile. So at least one day a week it was kind of a wash. 

Still thinking about that word of the year idea. Ocean. And staying in that flow feeling. Doing what I need to do to get in to that feeling of balance. I've been trying things here and there seeing what feels good. Trying to make sure that I don't get stuck doing things just because they are habit. Mindful floating. The ocean will drown you if you don't pay attention after all.

But I'm pretty pleased with how January went. Though as I mark my progress on those yearly goals I am looking ahead wondering what the hell I was thinking. I've got 11 more months of four blogs a week and two nonfiction slow reads a month. It seems a little daunting right now, not going to lie, but it's why I do it right? I like that feeling at the end of the year when my boxes are checked and my tallies are marked. Can't get there without this part.

I hope your first month went well. And also, as a side note, I figured out how to make January not seem so long. Skip Dry January. Honestly, Brent and I were talking over the weekend about how crazy it was that it was already almost February and how fast it went. Then realized we didn't do Dry January this year. I could count the number of drinks I had on one hand and have fingers left over so it was a barely damp January but just not having the YOU CANNOT hanging over our heads made it much more bearable.

Life of the contrarian...

Face the Truth...

It was a good gig. It wasn't strictly legal, but it was a good gig. And because she was more protected than the people who used her service she felt fairly confident that she'd never get caught. Or at least it would be hard to get caught. 

When the technology first became available, the combination of CRISPR, 3D Printing, and Nanotech, very few people understood the possibilities. Hollywood was there first, of course, with some fabulous facelifts. Instead of looking rested, celebrities suddenly looked like they did 20 or 30 years ago. Their own faces, just de-aged. Then you saw the spread into wealthy communities, facelifts and plastic surgery that really did change you into the version you always wanted to be. 

But she grasped that you could use it to become someone else. Over and over again. She hadn't yet found the limit and she'd done it a few hundred times. Changed everything she could to match a provided ID card. Eye color, face structure. She didn't really worry about body shape and height, those could be faked with shoes and clothes as long as they weren't too far out of her normal range, but the face? She could, and had, changed that so many times she wasn't even sure what she would look like now if she hadn't started altering years ago.

But she liked what she did and didn't mind seeing a different face in the mirror every few weeks.  And she felt like she was really doing the world a favor. 

She was a professional jurorist. Nobody liked jury duty. Well nobody normal at least. But she loved it. The stories you heard. The chance to make a difference in someone's life. The power. She was good at it. She believed that too. She was really good at being a juror. She didn't have a lot of preconceived ideas about who people were. Except that they didn't like jury duty. That one she could almost guarantee. But she had been so many people, seen so many different things, that she had a deep understanding of how you didn't know anything about someone until you spent a few days wearing their face. 

People contacted her through a webpage that was masked and hidden and buried so many times there was no way to trace where it originated. She ran fairly extensive background checks on potential clients. Most of the time wondering why they were willing to go through as much trouble as they did to get out of jury duty when just showing up and doing it would probably take about 4 hours of their time. Most people didn't get called to sit on a jury. She usually did, which was part of why she was so sought after. If you sit on a jury you are cleared from being asked to serve for 5 years instead of just 1 if you don't actually get on a jury. 

And the first time she met someone in person she made sure she looked like their mother, or their sister, or their best friend. If they were trying to set her up it would make it very uncomfortable when their own loved one was called in by the police for questioning. 

But, for the most part, she didn't worry about that. She just donned her face and showed up at court for the selection process. Her favorites were the big cases. She normally only took federal summons but would take a state or local if there was a big case working its way through the system. Just to see if she could get lucky and serve in one of those trials. 

She had to make sure she didn't act too excited when she got to the court houses, or too familiar with the layout and the people. Because nobody liked jury duty. 

Except her. 

Bad Dreams...

I had a doozy of a nightmare last night. One of those that is so bad when you wake up you are a little apprehensive about going back to sleep again just incase it's still there. I had to reach out and put a hand on Brent's back so I could relax enough to fall back asleep. Just awful.

It's always weird how dream logic and dream reality works. I mean I knew when they pulled the canister out of the bog with the other supplies that it was a bad idea. I could feel the dread in my body. That heavy feeling you get in your chest when things are about to go really badly. I tried to keep the diver from opening the jar and releasing the contents and then...man when they got out and started exploding everywhere? Just so scary. 

And as I was telling Brent about it this morning he laughed out loud. I mean, I don't know why he didn't think weaponized crickets sounded terrifying but for some reason he just didn't. 

I mean, I can still see it in my head now. And...

Well yeah, it's a little ridiculous. 

But at the time...terrifying. 

Just that feeling of dread.

I imagine that's what people who suffer from anxiety feel. The rest of us see nothing to be worried about and they see weaponized crickets. 

--------

I've been sitting here staring at my screen for the past half hour. I was going to go someplace else with this piece when that part about people with anxiety fell out of my brain on to the screen and sort of derailed everything. I mean how do you go into something else when you've just stumbled into something like that?

I have friends and family members who suffer from generalized anxiety. Which sounds like not a big deal right? I mean all of us have been generally anxious for the past 6-8 years. With things ebbing and flowing, better and worse. But things have been tense. So we've all been a little anxious. 

It's kind of like when you are depressed about something so you think you understand how someone with Depression feels. You know, you were sad and then you weren't so they should just try not being sad and see how that works for them. 

You were anxious about the pandemic and then you got vaccinated or bought new masks or decided that you were going to get it at some point so you just stopped worrying about it so they should try just not being anxious anymore. 

I mean, it's just some bugs, it's not like they are weaponized crickets.

I think understanding the difference between being a little of something vs. having something that dictates your behavior is hard for people. Like when people say they are OCD because they straighten a picture on a wall. Not understanding that they like the way that picture looks straight but if they had been in a hurry they could have left the house with it crooked and might have even possibly forgotten about it until the next time they saw it. Instead of having to get the level from the garage and make sure it's straight and all the others are straight and then possibly having to rehang everything anyway because they aren't spaced correctly and if you don't fix it it feels like your brain cannot focus on anything else. At all. Like there is an itch deep in your skull that cannot be scratched until all of the pictures are fixed. And maybe you just should take them all down because they are never going to be perfect but then you will need to patch and paint and now you're late for your appointment...

One is a preference. You like things to be tidy and neat. One is an obsession. The obsessive part of OCD. You HAVE to do it. It HAS to be done. You HAVE to wash your hands even though you just washed your hands and if you wash them again they are going to get so dried out they crack and bleed. But you still have to. You HAVE to touch that sweater and see how it feels. If you don't you are going to be distracted from the entire conversation happening around you. You are going to stand there trying to figure out if you can subtly touch a sleeve without seeming weird and would they notice and oh crap they've asked a question and you have no idea what they were saying...

I have a few friends  who suffer from various forms of OCD. I get small flares when I'm manic. That need to touch things is strongest on an upswing. I've talked before that I'm lucky. My swings are small. I get a little manic (usually) I get a little depressive (usually). I don't medicate because I don't have the debilitating form. I can manage through diet and exercise to regulate my moods. When that doesn't work I generally can ride the wave in either direction until it ends. But a sign of a coming manic phase is an uptick in OCD like behavior. I HAVE to touch that sweater, shirt, wall, flower, whatever it is. And if I don't I can literally feel my hands itch to do it. I have had to sit and hold my hands together to keep from touching things that aren't mine. And I'm lucky, the urge passes. It's small. I have friends who if they weren't taking medication to help would HAVE to touch, or talk, or wash, or straighten.

I have a few little bugs, they have weaponized crickets.

I've talked more than once in this blog about how we don't take mental illness seriously in this country. How we like to blame it for things that we don't want to deal with otherwise, like our problem with gun violence. And I think this is one of the ways that we justify not dealing with the problem of not making it easier for people to get treatment. We minimize the issues. We co-opt the language. We talk about it all like it's funny or not a big deal. I don't think most of us do it maliciously, but I do think that if you catch yourself doing it you should stop. 

I don't really have a wrap up for this piece, or even a place I was going. Like I said I had a different idea in my head when I started and then was just struck by how awful that would be to deal with awake. It was bad enough in a dream. 

So yeah....

Pride...

Last night the Winterhawks did their annual Pride game. They started it about three years ago. It's actually an initiative through the NHL and down to the WHL called "Hockey is for Everyone" Part of it is about being more inclusive because it's the right thing to do and part of it is making sure your customer base keeps growing because capitalism. 

So basically just like all Pride now. A bit of actual pride and a bit of overt consumerism. Take the good, take the bad...

I think most of us know that if you ever doubt the need for continuing Pride days, parades, and festivals all you have to do is look at the comments underneath a public Pride post. Yup..there is it. Bigots on parade. 

This year there was a lot more than there had been. And a lot of the old talking points. Calling homosexuality a mental disorder, for instance. Wow, haven't seen that one in a bit, but I guess the classics are classic for a reason. And then the whole "Stop shoving this down my throat!" which just makes me wonder why they are so fragile that a shirt is the same as, oh I don't know, having references to a god I don't believe in on my money, my country's anthem, the pledge, and every ending of a political speech. Wonder why you are so freaked out by a rainbow jersey while you don't even notice how many people wear crosses on a daily basis. It's constant. 

Still hasn't made me convert though, so I think you should understand that that rainbow, and even the acknowledgment that there are gay players, isn't going to somehow convert (or sorry, I guess the new nomenclature is groom) you or your kids.

But no matter how vile they got in the comments, and some of them went full bore vile, The Winterhawks did Pride. They had new t-shirts and hoodies and replica jerseys in the team store. We went down early to make sure we could get what we wanted. And even then I have a larger hoodie than I would have bought because they were already sold out of my size. We stood in line at the team store for 20 minutes before we could check out. Which is amazing because according to a lot of people in the comments "Nobody wants  this." Hunh...just me and my nobodies hanging out in line. 

There were people at the game having a great time that we don't normally see. Seems like if you advertise that this is a space for you, people feel freer to come. Kind of wrecks a lot of the "Why do you even need a Pride night, nobody said they couldn't be there" argument. 

And then the Winterhawks did something that I thought was brilliant and Brent thought was actually really bold too. Drag Queens. Right at the entrance. Three local queens in Rosebud (the cheer team) outfits greeting everyone as they came in. Drag Queens are such a flash point right now. Somehow I'm supposed to be scared one of them might sit me down and tell me a story... But as a middle aged, white, lady, I am powerless in the face of a Drag Queen. Seriously, just like catnip! YASS QUEENS! When they changed into their sparkled finery to ride the Fanboni during the first intermission I was THRILLED. 

And I am glad the Winterhawks and their new ownership have gone further than just a little bit of rainbow tape on the sticks during warmup and a new t-shirt. I'm glad they have had people come talk with the players about what it's like to be gay in a sport that hasn't been traditionally open, and quite frankly has had a lot of homophobic rhetoric used towards players. (Which is probably most men's sports) I'm glad that there was a good sized crowd last night and that the new merchandise was pretty. 

I'm glad they had representatives there from local groups that support the LGBTQIA2S+ community. I was able to make a donation to a group that is working with trans youth to help give them much needed support right now. 

I'm also glad that I recognized one of the nasty posters from the comment section at the game and that he and his wife both looked miserable. What a shitty moment for them. Posting about how nobody likes this, how nobody needs this, how if you go woke you go broke and then to be surrounding by so many people smiling and laughing and having a great time all while wearing the new merchandise, or their own rainbows. I hope it burns the hate right out of them, or at least, you know, burns. 

It was a good night. The special jerseys looked sharp. The new merchandise was fun and colorful. And we won 6-3. Just a good night all around. 

Go Hawks!

They even had pretty stickers.

 

Permission...

Grief is weird. 

I've talked about it a lot over the past few years. There has been a lot to grieve. Personally and as a society. And we all grieve in such different ways and on such different timelines. And grief is one of those emotions that people seem to think they know how you should react. What the appropriate timeline is. What the basic steps are. 

We've all had those stages drummed into our heads for so long that when you read about how they came to be and find out that they are nonsense you feel betrayed. There are no steps. There are no stages. There is no universal stages of grief.

Grief and grieving is personal. 

Now, all that being said...

I am giving you permission right now, blanket permission to use as needed, to find moments of joy even if you are grieving. 

Keep it tucked in your pocket for the day you need it, because odds are, sadly, some day in the future you will need it. 

Lately there seems to be a rash of people who stop themselves from joy because they are grieving. And I get it, there is a flash of guilt that can happen as you find yourself laughing at a joke or appreciating a sunset and almost (but not quite) forgetting for a moment that your world is torn apart. You get that moment of "I shouldn't be laughing, I'm too sad, what will the neighbors think?" and I'm here to tell you that it's okay. You can do both. 

I come from a family of inappropriate laughers. I've talked about it before. So this hasn't really been an issue for me. We tell jokes and laugh as part of the grieving process. But not really been an issue isn't the same as never been an issue. Though the problem I've had is people telling me things like "You seem really happy for...(insert recent tragedy)"

Do I? What should I seem like? Torn clothing and ashes on my head? Performative grief? 

Because that's what it would be. For me. Performative.

I will share how hard things are. I write about it, as you all know. I will tear up as I talk about it. I even know that there are times and things that are harder to deal with than others. Like August. August just sucks. 

But August can also be really lovely. The weather can be gorgeous. The cake can be delicious. 

Both can be true. It can suck because waiting around for your mother to die leaves a mark that doesn't go away. And it can be lovely because life is often lovely. And neither one cancels out the other. And neither one is the wrong way to feel about it. 

So if you are right now in the newness of grief, or even feeling stuck in a grief that doesn't want to let go, and you have a moment where you feel that deep solid joy, don't talk yourself out of it. Don't tell yourself that you cannot possibly be happy right now because you are grieving. 

Just check your pocket and look at your permission slip. 

Denise says you can be happy and grieve at the same time. 

Anyone who disagrees can take it up with me and I'll give them grief over it. 

Teach Your Children Well...

Brief exchange with a friend this morning about high school drama (as in plays not as in whatever it is that Becky thinks she's doing) and realized that I would hate school now. 

I didn't quite hate it when I was in high school. I would have had to care more to hate it. 

It's always one of those regret things. I wish I would have handled it differently. I wish I would have advocated for myself a little more, gotten into classes that were more challenging and interesting. I wish I hadn't had prerequisites that had to be filled before I could take the more interesting things. But I'm also really grateful that I missed what we do with school now. 

See the only thing that really kept me engaged at all was the plethora of English credits I accumulated by taking Drama and Speech and Journalism. I was able to sample a few of those things and I enjoyed them. Also since I needed to be at the school to work on whatever play we were currently doing I might as well make it to a few classes. If it hadn't been for that I'm not sure I would have graduated. I could imagine getting my GED and moving on. 

Like I said, hate would be strong, but I was apathetic to the point where I couldn't bother to make it to class very often. I still was able to keep my grades up (the boredom issue) and it wasn't until our class graduated that the mandatory attendance numbers were put in place (one of my lasting legacy moments, though to be fair our entire graduating class was not so diligent about attendance). 

But now? Now that all of the classes are geared toward the standardized tests? And if you are testing well then you get to do AP classes that are geared toward another test? Oh my gosh I cannot even imagine how much I would hate that. 

Because why? Why do I need to learn the things on that standardized test? Why do most people? Why are we teaching test taking instead of how to learn? How to process information? How to actually figure out what you believe and why?

I know none of this is new. We all complain about it a lot, but today was one of the first times I stopped and thought about it as it pertains to me. To who I was in school. To the fact that I would have been lost to the system. And I was a bright student. I was not the student that you think of as faltering. The ones who struggle. But it would have been a struggle for me. It would have soured me on school forever. I mean high school when I went almost did that, I cannot even imagine how much worse it would be now, testing from elementary school on. No chance at all to explore other areas to find things that are interesting and engaging. 

How many people are we losing in the system right now? I already know from my friends how many teachers we are losing. The burn out level is high. They are facing it daily. Administrations that are rigid in how and what has to be taught. Kids who listen to their parents talk about how teachers are overpaid and get so much time off and why are they complaining about their jobs and so the kids treat their teachers with the level of respect that sort of talk breeds. And the kids who are BORED out of their fucking minds having to learn to a test that they could ace right now, or have no need to ace ever. 

For kids like I was our education system has been stripped of the things that make it worth being there. It has been narrowed down to a space that doesn't even make sense for the majority of people. Not everyone needs to know calculus, but everyone needs to know how to process information. Not everyone needs to learn geology but we should all have a good handle on geography. Not everyone needs to speak a foreign language (though it's a good one to encourage) but we should all have a good handle on our actual history. And we should have art, drama, music, shop, mechanics, creative writing, A/V, all of those extras that capture a kid's imagination and then springboards them into more.

I mean if you are loving music and you find out that math is just music you are going to have an easier time. If you are loving your art classes and realize how geometry will make your art better you will study it much more willingly. If you are interested in being a fine actor and realize having a multitude of accents at your disposal will increase your odds then foreign language study becomes very exciting. 

We need to look at our reasons for what we are teaching, and beating the Chinese in standardized testing is a lousy reason, and we need to look at how we are encouraging our kids to learn. 

I know, we all have varied ideas on what school should be, but for me? What we are doing right now? It wouldn't have worked. I wouldn't have made it. 

Would you? 

The Notebook...

Or maybe I should have titled this THE notebook.

Every writer I know has a soft spot for notebooks. I have, right now, at this very moment six different, wait no, seven different notebooks going. And that's not including the binders I use to store printed versions of my blog because I want a physical copy someplace I can search when I'm looking for something I've written before.

I've got two spiral bound lined paper notebooks for temporary quick notes and lists. I've got one moleskine style but hard covered notebook for story notes and goal setting year to year. I've got one moleskine style but has unprinted calendar pages that I was going to use this year instead of a calendar but then realized I really want an actual month and weekly preprinted calendar with room for notes as well, so now I use both. And then two notes programs on my phone. One for lists and one for lists, links and notes. 

And even with that many notebooks I am always half searching for a new one. 

I wrote about getting rid of my Ravenclaw notebook when I finally just ditched all HP stuff because Rowling got too toxic for me to have anything associated with her around. It was the hardest thing to let go. One, because it was a gift and it was such a great gift. Two because it was a great notebook. Fancy but not so fancy you were scared the pages were going to disintegrate when you wrote on them. (Onion Skin pages look so pretty but are so not practical) And three because I had some great ideas started in that notebook. They turned into stories or blogs or goals but they got their start on those pages. I took some comfort in reading over them and knowing that no matter how it feels on that day on another day I made good art. 

When I was younger, before smartphones and apps and even computers that were more than just word processors, I always had a notebook stashed in my purse and in the glove compartment of the car and on my desk at work. I wasn't writing at the time but just incase I felt the need to take a note on something I wanted to make sure I had a notebook. I tended to use steno notepads. The spiral is along the top so no worries about trying to warp my hand and wrist to keep it out of the way. I was really particular about which kind as well. When we would get someone new ordering office supplies I'd have to give them the wrapper from my last pack. I want these. Not the ones that are like them but not them. I want these. I will make you take them back if they are the wrong ones. Don't care what's on sale. Don't care what you like or someone else likes. These are the notebooks I use. Order these. 

Even not writing I needed the perfect notebook. 

The other thing that happens with most writers I know is if we find a notebook that we think might actually be the perfect notebook, the cover is perfect, the pages are the exact right weight, the line spacing is perfect, the color is exquisite, this is THE notebook, well we have a hard time writing in it. I know! I mean that's the whole point of finding THE notebook. It is going to be the magical book that unlocks all of our creative genius and we are going to make the most wonderful art because of THIS notebook.

But...

What if we write something lame in it? What if we take this perfect notebook and ruin it with our ideas? Our sketches? Our outlines? What if it becomes a beautiful piece of promise filled with shit? What then?

I mean, then, obviously, it wasn't THE notebook, it was a pretender and we need to keep looking. 

Couldn't be us, that would be crazy. 

I've stopped hoarding blank notebooks. Finally. A few years ago I pulled all of my stashed supplies out and started working my way through them. They became notebooks full of notes. And when I reached the last page I would flip through and decide if they were done. Had I expounded on all of the ideas? Had I used all of the information I'd stored? Did anything need followed up on? And if there was unfinished business I would copy those ideas into the next notebook on the pile and start again. I didn't keep all of the filled notebooks. Though I know a lot of people who do. I only keep the notebook as long as there is room for new things to be written in them.

And now I'm at the point where if the notebook I'm using fills up I have to find a new notebook to replace it. 

Which means I get to keep hunting for the perfect notebook. 

I swear it's out there someplace. And when I find it? Watch out world... 

Not So Nice...

Looking at a post on my On This Day feed this morning and could feel my eyes rolling as I saw a person who was commenting. Then I read through the comments and just had to shake my head. Not only at his comments but at mine. 

I was just so nice. 

The comments were in response to Beyonce singing to a backing track at Obama's inauguration. That tells you how long ago it was. And the person first claimed to not even have any idea who Beyonce was. This was ten years ago. Beyonce was already a major superstar. I believe that was just a few weeks out from her singing at the Super Bowl too. It doesn't matter if you listen to that style of music or not you would know her name. And he also gave up his game by starting out saying he wasn't a fan of Whitney Houston then later claiming he didn't even know who she was. 

Now ten years ago me was really polite about the whole thing. Today I would say "if you don't know anything about the topic then don't comment" or something like that. Hard to say because this person is no longer on my friend list. 

A few months after that conversation (I want to say, it might have been sooner) we were talking about something else. Having a debate about something political, when he said something about Obama that made me come back with, "Oh! You're a birther. Okay, now I get it." which he then was insulted and asked what that was supposed to mean. And I said it let me know that no matter what facts I presented him with he would not be moved by my argument because he believes in nonsense. He tried to keep arguing with me about the birther nonsense and what we were originally discussing in the first place. Called me narrow minded because I wouldn't engage with facts that I didn't agree with. I told him I would for sure engage with facts that I didn't agree with, but he wasn't dealing in facts. 

Shortly after that he was dropped from the friend list. 

I kept his wife for a while after that. She had been the original friend after all. I have a rule that if the spouse of someone I am friends with sends me a request I automatically accept it. I am not going to be part of anybody's drama. But eventually I dropped her as well. She wasn't as overt as he was, but if you are married to a birther odds are you are also a racist piece of shit. You just might normally hide it better. But my guess is they are both election deniers and maybe should have their January 6th travel records looked at.

See? That's me now. Back then I was nicer about it. Oh you believe nonsense, let me try and explain why it's nonsense. Now? You know that's racist right? Then; let's discuss things where I choose my words very carefully and try to make you understand that pretending to not know who Beyonce is just makes you look out of touch. Now? Oh fuck off. You don't have to like her music but you know who she is. 

I can still be really calm and rational in a discussion. I can still present my points with clarity and reason. If I believe you are arguing in good faith. But I don't believe everyone is and for those people, the ones who just want to spout nonsense I have zero patience anymore. 

I've stopped being nice. 

There is probably a Real World or a Road House joke in there you could make...

In a way when I read those old posts I feel badly about the shift. I sort of wish I had the patience that past me seemed to possess. But I also can see the progression as the change happened. I can see the disingenuous engagements from people. There was another person on my list who would argue to make talking points. And I was always like, keep up, sunshine, that's not what we are talking about. But I realized, eventually, that that was what he was there for. He wasn't trying to have an honest discussion about a difference, he was trying to score hit points and gotcha moments. And since I don't do gotcha moments, rarely if ever am I actually got, he was just spouting nonsense and rhetoric that I was trying to be nice about. Then I just wasn't and I dropped him off my list. I can also see the points where despair has taken over and I've had to claw back out of that. So my lack of niceness is well earned. 

And to be perfectly honest, nice is overrated. Often nice is just a word we use to try and control other people. Especially women. We are socialized to be nice. Now be nice. I cannot even tell you the number of times I've had people say that to me in my life when I wasn't being mean. I was just stating a fact. Or telling someone that what they were doing was something I didn't appreciate. Now be nice. Oh fuck that, you be nice if you want to, but I won't be nice to someone who doesn't deserve it. 

I work toward being kind. I will always try to be kind to people. Kind is an actual thing you do. You choose words that are helpful. You give assistance where you can. I hope that people think of me as being kind. 

But who the fuck cares if they think I'm nice?

I'm sorry past me, I know you tried, and I know your heart was in the right place. And I know you were actually fully shocked at times at what people thought and believed, or at least admitted proudly that they thought and believed that instead of hiding that shit away like the embarrassing secret it should have been. I'm sorry you got the niceness burned out of you that way. A little. Maybe. Okay, not really. Nice has never been a super comfortable fit.

Teenage me could have told you that if you had told her to be nice to someone she didn't think deserved it. 

I mean she'd have told you to fuck off, but you'd have gotten the idea. 

The Crypt Keeper...

Art

Tabby walked through the gallery, stopping and admiring some of her favorite pieces. The Crypt was not for everyone and she was okay with that. She had cultivated her stable of artists and the pieces she displayed very intentionally. 

She hadn't named her gallery The Crypt. She had inherited the name when she bought the space. It had originally been a bar. A developer from California trying to cash in on the "Keep Portland Weird" vibe without really understanding what "Portland Weird" really was. He bought the basement space on NW 23rd and turned it into a wine bar. With a vampire theme. Dark walls. Deep red leather booths. Only served varieties of red wine. All of the waitstaff and bartenders dressed as creatures of the night. If he had leaned into the camp aspect it might have worked out. But before it could really get off the ground The Willamette Week had called it that Twilight bar and it was all over. 

She had taken the property off his hands for a song. She kept the dark walls, the small bar and the name. She tore out the booths and repurposed a small handful to make a circular seating area in the middle of the space. She kept the lighting dark, placing small spotlights to light the art pieces. The Willamette Week called it the best art space of 2010. She understood "Portland Weird."

Originally she had planned on calling her gallery Nightmares and Dreamscapes but she wasn't sure if King would allow her to use the name. Keeping The Crypt was a lot less expensive and she felt it worked almost as well. Even if the previous owner hadn't understood the Portland market he did use a good graphic designer for the logo. 

She stopped in front of one of her favorite pieces. It was a series of paintings called The Picnic done in an impressionistic style. The first was clearly an homage to a Monet or a Renoir. A couple in a park having a picnic. Everything gauzy and unclear. Each painting after had an element done in a more realistic style. The couple and park still hazy but now you can see the food is clearly rotten. Another showing that what you had thought was a picnic basket was actually their gas masks tossed to the side. Finally the last one where everything was done in crisp realism except their faces were still impressionistic. Until you realized that they weren't, they were melting. Disturbing and beautiful. 

Much to the frustration of some of her patrons none of the art in her gallery was for sale. She made her money off of the bar and the merchandise she sold. T-shirts, coffee mugs, originally they were things left over from the previous owner but when she saw the demand for them she had reordered and added to her little shop. Crass commercialism according to some of her critics, but as those critics were generally owners of other galleries that couldn't even draw a crowd on First Thursday she wasn't worried about their opinions. 

She would, on occasion, act as a liaison between artist and patron. They could commision their own pieces if the artist was amenable. And if she knew who the artist was. 

She didn't always know who was providing the art in her gallery. Some pieces just came to her. One of her most prolific artists, Ian U, would send her pieces to display, the only marking on them being his signature in the corner, no return address, no way of contacting him. Just the piece. Gorgeous, disturbing works that seemed to capture the patron's attention in deep ways that the other work didn't. She would often find someone standing in front of one of his works moved to tears, or rendered speechless. On more than one occasion she had to walk a patron to the door because they couldn't tear themselves away from what they were seeing. 

She liked being able to provide that for people.

She remembered her first Escher viewing. Getting lost in the stairs. Up, down, sideways. She had been amused and then disturbed by the line drawing. Seeing something so normal, so every day, so common and then realizing it was not. That there was nothing right about those looping stairs. That it was the stuff of your nightmares. Similar to ones she had about elevators that went sideways, out of control. Or running and running and running and never getting anywhere. Escher was the stuff of her nightmares. Seeing it on a canvas was oddly soothing to her. It made her feel like someone out there understood her fears and was able to capture and tame them. 

That had been the start of her collections. 

Then eventually her gallery. 

She knew the pieces weren't for everyone. Not all of them were even for her. Some of them were so disturbing she had only really studied them once. And some never made it out onto the gallery floor. They were either returned to the artist or wrapped and put in the vault if the artist was anonymous.

She was also fairly certain more than one piece on her floor was a faithful rendition of a crime that had been committed but as long as she had plausible deniability, and the art was well done, she would display the piece anyway. 

Today as she walked the floor she was taking notes on which pieces would come down to be replaced by new. She rotated the artwork every few weeks only keeping a few core pieces up continually. She wanted to bring in new people who were curious about pieces like The Picnic but she also wanted to continue to bring in those that had come before. The blend of familiarity and novelty.

She thought back to her speed dating disaster. If art was just a scam she was going to be the best scam artist she could be. 

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Endings...

You all know I'm not big on trigger warnings, but I will make exceptions if I feel they are important. Today's blog is all about suicide. If this is a topic you should not participate in then please back out now. Also the suicide crisis line in the US is 988. You can text or call that number any time, any day and find someone to talk to.

Okay.

I have really complicated ideas around suicide. I've written about it before. I wrote about it when I felt one way, I wrote about it when I felt another. It's been a shifting relationship. 

Part of that is due to religion. You don't really realize how deep those threads go when you first leave a religion. How many of your beliefs are tied to those religious beliefs. How fundamental they are to your foundation. Then something happens and you have to reexamine why you believe something, why it's part of your moral compass. You have to justify why you believe what you do but without the "God says so" piece. 

I was raised that suicide is a sin. It's murder. It's of yourself, but still murder. If you kill yourself you will not go to heaven. And that feeling that suicide was just wrong stuck with me for a very long time. In fact when I first wrote about it, with that attitude in place, a random comment on my blog page was one of the first times I actually started to rethink my position.

I had said that it's a permanent solution to a temporary problem and talked about how awful it was for the surviving family. But someone that I didn't know commented on the blog that maybe it's just a point where you have realized you cannot take the pain anymore and decide that you need to stop it. 

I pushed back against that. I wasn't ready to listen to that point of view. Not yet. But it did stick in my head. Which often happens. It depends on how deeply ingrained an idea is on how long it takes to change a mind. That was the first step. 

The next came with death with dignity laws. Which I am in favor of, and have been forever. However, I didn't think of it as suicide. I would make sure to couch it in terminal illness and extreme pain. But then I started to think, who gets to decide what is extreme pain? And why does it have to be physical? Doesn't mental anguish count? And if you've tried multiple treatments and they've not worked why do I get to say you cannot just stop. 

So it kept worming it's way into my head that I was probably wrong about it. That it was a much more complex issue than I was giving space to. 

A few weeks ago a friend and I were talking about another friend (being vague, I know but it's a sensitive topic for some so I'm trying to respect that). I haven't heard from our mutual friend in awhile but I said I was afraid to go looking. They knew exactly why. There is a good chance one of these days when we check in on them they will no longer be with us. I know it's coming. See, our mutual friend told me that they were going to kill themselves. 

We were having a conversation and they dropped that in there. Along with a "Don't panic, it's not right now" but they wanted to let me know that they had already decided there would be a time where they were done and would go out on their own terms. That there was nothing I, or anyone else, could do to change their minds, and that there was nothing that I, or anyone else, had done to trigger it. It was just what they wanted. 

Wow.

Okay then. 

But is that so bad? I mean, they are a grown ass adult. They've made a decision about their life, and honestly it's more realistic than my decision to live to be 100. Shouldn't I just take it in stride and understand that this is what brings them a level of comfort in their day to day existence? Because I believe that knowing they have an out planned does bring them that level of feeling in control that they want. Who am I to say that they are wrong?

I've also known people who had Depression and end their own lives. I'm never exactly sure how to phrase that now. It used to be we would say they killed themselves. Or they were depressed and killed themselves. But now the understanding is bit broader. Depression is a disease. Different things can help, but Depression itself is just like diabetes or cancer or any other disease. We used to differentiate between physical and mental but more and more studies show how Depression is about brain chemicals and the way synapsis fire. That's physical. Just because we don't see it like we do a tumor doesn't mean it's not a physical disease. But because it's brain based we use mental. Which is also fine, except I think people don't tend to take mental illness as seriously. 

Like they think it's something that doesn't count as much. 

Not everyone, for sure, but enough people that we talk about it in weird ways. We try and blame mental illness for a lot of things that it doesn't cause. We try and explain away criminal behavior as mental illness instead of just a lack of give a fuck about other people. 

So anyway...Depression can end with the person suffering stopping their suffering permanently. The disease kills them. Just like cancer can kill or diabetes can kill or any number of other diseases can kill. Sometimes they don't, sometimes they are controlled with medication or other treatments, sometimes the diseases go into remission but sometimes the person suffering from one of those (and many other) diseases dies. 

But we just get really weird when it's Depression that kills them. 

We don't have those complicated feelings around cancer or other diseases. Even when they are terminal and the person chooses death with dignity. We say that's their choice and we respect that. Mostly. I mean some people fight against it because their religion says it's a sin but you all know how I feel about your religion dictating other people's lives. 

But here is the other place where it gets complicated. 

There are things we can do to reduce suicide rates that we don't do. Trans kids who get support are less likely to kill themselves. Multiple studies have shown this. The same with the other members of the LGBTQIA+ alphabet family. If we stop telling them that they shouldn't live they stop trying to agree with us. And that's what you are doing when you say you can't read a book about a gay couple. Or you can't get gender affirming care. Or you cannot marry the person you love. Or you can just pray your Alphabet Letter away. You are telling them that the way they are, who they are, isn't right and won't ever be right. And if you buy into that bullshit (as kids are wont to do with their parent's bullshit) and you know that praying every night for God to fix you hasn't worked well then often you look at a life of misery and think, yeah, no. 

This is the waste. This is the ruin. This is where I want to prevent as much as I can. I want to embrace people with their differences and let them know that it's okay. They are okay. There is nothing wrong with them. It's the other people who have to believe in a supernatural deity to tell them how to behave as a human. And that even with that they are failing the basic love one another that their deity supposedly told them to do. 

So I'm a little torn. I believe it's your right to do with your life what you choose. Even if that is ending it. I also want you to explore every other possible path that you can before you make that choice. Because it is a permanent one. That's my belief. I don't believe in an afterlife or reincarnation. I believe this is it. 

Which makes it all really complicated. 

So what set me off on this path? 

Yesterday walking down to check the mail I could see a car with its lights on in their garage. Some of the garage doors here have frosted glass panels all the way down. I thought to myself, "I hope you have an electric car, you really shouldn't start your car with the garage door down that's a good way to kill yourself" Then I thought..."what if they are killing themselves?" And I thought should I do something? Like I don't know these people, should I go bang on the garage door? Should I ring their doorbell? Should I call 911? Or should I mind my business? If it's their choice is it my place to stop it? I got my mail and thought, "well you're going to have to decide now" and they had pulled out of the garage while I was around the corner so no decision needed.

But it stuck with me. What should I have done? What would I have done? 

I don't know. I don't know what the right answer is. Part of me thinks, for sure the right answer is always to stop someone. To make sure they don't take that pill, jump from that bridge, start that car. But is it really? Or is that stepping in where I am not wanted, needed or should have a choice in the matter?

I still don't know for sure. 

I think I would have knocked. I was leaning toward knocking, like pretty much decided I would. Because if I am wrong and overstep then they can try again when nosy neighbor isn't around. But if I'm doing the right thing and giving them another thought and they decide to stay and try again maybe it will get better. But if I do nothing then the end is there. And if they could have used one more chance it's too late. 

It's a complicated subject. I have complicated feelings. I think it's absolutely your right to choose to end your life if you want to. But I hope you don't make that choice. I hope you keep going. 

Seriously, 988, any time day or night. 

Sort it Out...

I am in the process of updating my look. I've talked about it before here and there. It's been a process. A decade long one really. Or a decade plus.

See when I was in advertising I dressed up a bit more. Office wear. Even though after Jack sold the agency the dress code relaxed. A lot. I could, and did, wear jeans to work if I wasn't going to be seeing clients that day. But if I was seeing clients it was dresses, skirts, dress pants, jackets. A stepped up look. 

When I left advertising and went into massage therapy I created a uniform for myself. One, it helped brand my business if I was working at a health fair or out on a call. Two, it sort of worked as a way to get in the right headspace. It was super simple, bootcut yoga pants and polo shirts I had made with my logo on them.  

Then I sort of fell into just jeans and sweaters or jeans and t-shirts. I would look at dresses or skirts and talk myself out of them because I didn't really have anywhere to wear them. Brent would say, you can wear them anywhere. But don't be ridiculous...

Then the pandemic hit and it was soft clothes for over a year. We didn't leave the house really so why bother putting on anything structured? It was like the thing a lot of us did for ourselves to make it not seem as bad. Sure, we're all just stuck here in our houses, but we get to wear comfy stuff all the time. 

As we started to transition out of that I remembered how uncomfortable jeans are. At least for me. From my knees to the top of my hips I'm wider than most jeans are cut and my waist is smaller than most. So I'm constantly tugging at my jeans. To fit my hips they are too loose in the waist. And because they are tight around my thighs but not my knees as I walk they kind of slide down. I have found a few brands and styles that are better than others but I'm still yanking up my jeans constantly, but can't go down a size or they wouldn't fit over my hips to zip up. 

I've talked about discovering Snag tights and how wonderfully comfortable they are. I finally figured out why they are so much better than the tights and fishies I wore when I was in advertising. They aren't control top.  See, when I was in advertising everything I wore was control top or compression. Fit but look smaller. Suck it in, smooth it out, firm it up! (I was not any bigger than I am now, in fact I was smaller, but I hadn't yet made that body shift)

So, the Snags and skirts and dresses are comfortable. Why not listen to Brent and just wear what I want and who cares if I "have anywhere to go?'" Though, I will say, when I first started doing it he would say, "You're awfully dressed up." Dude...don't make me feel self conscious about this after years of saying don't feel self conscious about this. He's made the switch to "You look nice." Which works for me. 

But what has happened is as I've been searching for new clothes and buying things here and there I lost control of my closet. Like I have all of these random pieces but what goes with what? What works together? Do I have things that work together? I found myself reaching for the same three or four pieces over and over again just because I knew they would work. Time to sort it all out. 

This morning I spent a few hours, yes hours, pulling everything out and trying it all on. Putting some things together and seeing how they looked. Figuring out what I need to add and what I have plenty of.  The good news is everything fit. Absolutely everything that I pulled out and tried on fit. That's a big deal for me. I hadn't bought anything "for later when I lose five or ten pounds" and I haven't kept anything "just incase I gain ten or twenty pounds." Everything I touched fit. And I liked most of it. There were a few pieces that have just run their course. I've had them for a long time and they aren't as crisp as they used to be, or they are worn out (I keep my clothes for DECADES) or they were just a style that I don't really wear anymore. They were fine, but not my favorite. All in all I think I pulled out about 6 things to get rid of. 

And I realized my wardrobe right now is mostly split between really girly dresses and skirts and super casual jeans and t-shirts. Not a ton of middle ground, though I do have a few soft pants for house lounging still. And I think that's how it's going to stay. Some days jeans are just more practical. Most of the time when we head to sporting events I will want jeans to wear. Though I did wear a skirt to a hockey game last month and with the woolie tights I was plenty warm enough so...

BUT...It's a split. 

And as I tried on things and looked at what I bought and when, I realized that having a trans daughter had given me permission to embrace my girlier side. Weird right? Like I'm cisgendered. I'm AFAB and still totally fab. You wouldn't think the dresses and skirts would have ever been an issue, right? But in a lot of ways they don't really fit my personality. I'm not super girly. I don't care for chick flicks or the color pink or romantic shit. It's almost a joke at how hyper feminine the shape of my body is with how not hyper feminine the shape of my brain is. But...when I was helping look at clothes for Katie as she has been figuring out her personal style I found myself drawn to a lot of the dresses and skirts. They were really cute. There were a few times last summer I would send a link to a dress to Katie to see if she liked it and I would also buy one for me. 

Looking at things with fresh eyes for her style made me see them differently for myself as well. I always preach against the binary and why are we expected to fall into this or that instead of yes and...and yet here I had gone and this or that-ed my wardrobe into a binary choice. I'm not super girly so I don't wear that. Well why the fuck not? It's comfortable, I look really cute in it. Why not both? Why not have my dresses and skirts and also my jeans and sports team t-shirts? 

I think at 54 I'm finally starting to get my head wrapped around what I actually like being okay to like. That I don't need to fit into some sort of weird "this is appropriate for that" sort of box. A box I made myself, with societies help, to be fair, but still one I created for myself. So now I can take that box fill it with all of the rules I've made around what I can and cannot wear and send it to the trash.

It's a nice feeling.

So expect to see me in swing dresses and wiggle skirts and jeans and t-shirts and sometimes soft clothes and just know whatever it is, it fits. It fits that day. It fits that mood. It fits me.

About fucking time.  

Art...

Speed dating had seemed like it might be a fun idea. So far she had had three brief "hey, how are you? what do you do?" conversations that could have all been with the same person for how much they stuck out. At least this guy was a little different. 

"The Scream hunh?" He was gesturing to the print on her handbag.

"Yes."

"Art is a scam you know."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's all about fake elitism and money laundering. You always hear that artists we know today were penniless in their time right? That's because it's not about paying the artist, it's about passing money around the obscenely wealthy. It's all about endowments to museums and then museums using those endowments to buy an art piece that they could have just handed over, but then what would they get? Oh yeah, a tax write off. It's all a scam."

She started to say something but he was on a roll.

"Warhol kind of got it. At least at the beginning. When he had his Factory cranking out pieces. He started out showing that it was all bogus but then once he started making real money off of it he decided to talk about art being a fraud but still make fraudulent art because he wasn't going to be a sucker right? And now we have Banksy who is like painting public buildings so everyone can enjoy his art, but he's not even that great of an artist right? He makes was looks like stencils of other people's work but since he keeps his ID secret people think it's a giant political statement."

She tried again but he kept on.

"And what about that painting he auctioned off that was shredded as soon as it was purchased? I'm supposed to believe that nobody knew that was going to happen? I mean there is no way that the frame didn't feel different. The art house had to know. And there were too many really good recordings of it happening. So now the buyer owns a very expensive box of shreds that are probably worth more than the picture would have been and he can donate it to a museum or sell it to a collector and the world keeps on going. It's all a scam."

"It seems like you are saying the business of art is a scam, not art itself."

"Same thing."

"Not really. Take this for instance. You recognized it as The Scream, but which version is it taken from?"

"What?"

"He made multiple versions. And it's not originally called The Scream, that's a translation bit. It's The Shriek. It's the shriek that echoed through nature. The figure on the bridge is reflecting that shriek. It's not screaming."

"Okay..."

She held up a finger, "And he continued to use this particular figure as almost a signature in multiple other pieces he created. Why would you think he would do that? Marketing?"

"I..."

"Time to switch!"

"Oh darn. And we were just getting started." She reached out to shake his hand.

"I'm sorry, I sort of went off on a tangent there and wasted our time. I'm Gary, I'm an Account Executive for Bartles and Briggs, maybe I'll see you here again sometime?"

"Oh I doubt it. But if you want to stop by The Crypt at some point I can show you around."

"The Crypt? You mean the.."

"The art studio over on NW 23rd. I own the place."

He had the good graces to look at least a little embarassed but couldn't really say anything as the next date was already trying to take his seat.

Munch kept himself sane by putting the shriek he heard in his head on paper. And he had to keep doing it and keep doing it. The Crypt featured her favorite local artists doing their version of that. Trapping images on canvas or in sculpture to get them out of their heads. When she opened, The Willamette Week had reviewed her gallery as "The nightmare space you didn't know you needed." But that wasn't fair. They weren't all nightmares. Some of them were crimes. 

"The Scream? I never really got that one. More of a Dogs Playing Poker guy I guess..."

Speed dating was probably not for her. 

The Crypt Keeper

Whose Bright Idea Was This?

Looking ahead at the year realizing that I will need to just keep sitting down and writing more days than I don't and wondering why I thought this was a good idea? I mean I don't feel like sitting down and writing today, but since I didn't write Saturday or Sunday if I skip today I'd be setting myself to fail.

Which it's not really a failure if it's a made up goal right? But it would totally be a failure. 

I set it up to be hard this year on purpose. I mean, I did that. Me. To myself. I looked at those numbers that were well beyond any total I'd ever hit before and thought, That's a lot. Like A LOT a lot. Maybe I should cut that down a bit. And THEN TALKED MYSELF OUT OF IT. 

What the fuck, Past Denise? Why you gotta be like that?

And that's why goal setting is so hard. That's why so many resolutioners have failed on their New Year New Me promises by February 1. It's that long stretch of year ahead of them...I have to keep doing this? But I already did for a whole month... When I had my gym membership I used to use it as a pep talk..."the crowds will thin each week until February when only a small handful will remain." 

We always have a lot of faith in our future selves to get stuff done that our present selves don't want to do. 

We procrastinate then rush around to get things finished swearing we will stop doing that, until the next time we do it. We set up unrealistic goals that if we had a shot of getting them done we would have done them already. We are just sure that something is going to come along that is going to turn future us into a much better version of ourselves than we are right now. 

For me, the one thing I do know about future me, is that just like present me she hates to set a goal and miss it. She loves those gold stars. That feeling of checking off a box. Complete. Did that. 

So I use that combination, that optimistic feeling about future me and what she can do with that extra piece of telling people I'm going to do those things and I'm going to give myself gold stars when I do. 

I know myself.  

And right now I really feel a little tricked by myself. 

I mean what the hell? Why would you set us up like that? 

And why would you put the three people who read this blog through that? I mean it's only halfway through January, do you know how many filler blogs there are going to be this year? TONS. TONS of them. How rude...

And there will be tons of them. Because that was part of the negotiations when Past Me was setting up that almost impossible blog total. They didn't all have to be gems. In fact if 3 of them are reshareworthy gems that's a good year. I don't need to write a lot of great things this year, I just need to write a lot of things. I just want to keep the writing flowing. 

The same reason why I work out. I keep moving so I can keep moving. I'm going to get my brain and fingers oiled up and running smoothly this year. Running out of habit. Running out of need to keep going. 

And at the end of the year if I don't feel like it did what I wanted I'll do something else. 

But for now I am just going to curse Past Denise for knowing how to manipulate Present Denise and think about how easy this is going to be for Future Denise. 

No really, it will be. I'm pretty sure she's brilliant and highly motivated. 

Help Yourself #1.A

Remember when I wrote about the monthly self help book that I said I'd actually read two this month? Well here we are to talk about the second. 

It was actually one of the "clear it off the TBR pile" books. I didn't realize it was a self help thing at all until I started or I probably would have saved it for a month. But it was incredibly short, took less than an hour to read, and now it's off the list so that was good. 

Kevin Hart's This is How We Do It: A Pep Talk.

This is actually a really good example of the sort of thing I read a lot of in my 20s and early 30s and gives me a good perspective on how I've changed. It was good, I want to get that out of the way. Enjoyable read. If you find him entertaining at all there are parts where you can absolutely hear his voice speaking to you. And it was just exactly what it claimed to be, a pep talk. 

It was around what he called his 15 tools to live your best life. Basically, be positive, be dedicated, work hard, do what you say you will those sorts of things. Nothing groundbreaking but a good go get 'em sort of message. 

Now here is where my 20s me (and even probably into my 40s me) would agree with him and my 50s me takes a different older, wiser, more empathetic to the world view. He talks a lot about being positive. About being likable. About ignoring that negative mindset. And this works for me. I preached it for a long time. Choose to be happy. Focus on gratitude. And I still do it. For myself. But what I learned later in life is that advice like that can actually be really frustrating to people who are depressed. Or anxious. 

Be happy. Oh! Okay, why didn't I think of that? sort of thing. If it was that easy they would have done it a long time ago. I will say that I've always (and he does too) given the caveat that if you need medication or outside help seek it. Get what you need to feel better. But the relentless drumbeat of just be happy can be really awful for people who are fighting their brains all the time and can't JUST be happy. So for those sections I had a voice in my own head thinking "sometimes it's not that easy."

But then there was a great nugget in his 15 that he labeled nonreactivity. In the Four Agreements it was Don't Take Anything Personally, I call it developing a sense of Unfuckablewithness. It's basically that you cannot control what other people say about you or feel about you. There are going to be people out there that just don't like you. And there are going to be people who will go out of their way to let you know. And there will be people who go behind your back to tell others. None of that has anything to do with you. 

And it's a hard one to master. I work on it all the time. But it's one that will change your life. There is an Eleanor Roosevelt quote out there, "What other people think about me is none of my business" and it's such a solid one. When I'm feeling a little more feisty I might go with "To care what you think about me, I first have to care about you."

And even with people I do care about I try to remember that unless what I'm doing is hurting them, their opinion of me shouldn't be stronger than my opinion of myself. 

And it's not just when people are trying to drag you, it's daily stuff. Last week Brent and I were talking to a friend of ours and he was apologizing for something that neither of us had taken as a slight. I told him he would have to try harder than that to insult me. And that's unfuckablewithness. You have to try hard. You have to make an effort. I mean, I don't want you to, but normally if you do something shitty to me I'm either not going to really pay attention, assume you've had a shitty day and just lashed out, or you want a reaction.  

And if I give you a reaction because you were shitty you will be shitty again. So...

And often I am sort of amused by it. Like I see you out there thrashing at me for whatever reason you have but I've turned you into a toddler throwing a fit in my head and I'm just going to let you burn yourself out. The other thing I try to do is look at what you are doing again. Are there two ways to take this? One is that you are being shitty and one isn't? Go with the isn't. 

I'm not perfect at it. Not by a long shot. But I am a lot better at it than I was in my 20s. 

When I first came across this principle in life, that you don't have to react to everything, It sort of blew me away. I was glad to see it in his pep talk. 

It was a clever book, there was some good stuff in there, and it was also a great perspective book for me. Reading it when I was younger I would have thought Yeah! I need to get up earlier and be there longer and always focus on positive things and....and now at my age I read it and thought, that's super interesting that this all works for him. I hope he doesn't burn himself out. 

If  you want a Kevin Hart pep talk and you've got an hour and a Kindle I think it might even be a free download still. 

Vivid...

She had always had the most vivid dreams. When she was very young her mother had even had her talk to a child psychologist about her "fanciful life." She had thought she was lying about adventures she was having when she was actually just telling her about her dreams from the night before. The psychologist had basically told her mother to lighten up and even if was just "fanciful life" talk that that would be okay too. 

But it had been a good lesson in not sharing all the details of her sleep.

Sometimes she would remember the whole dream clearly when she woke up and sometimes it was a phrase or a scene in her head. Sometimes that is what would wake her. Shouting out something in her dream. "Stop!" and she would wake with her own voice echoing in the house. Stop what? She would wonder what was going on but those dreams were normally fading away as soon as her eyes opened. 

She also had repeated dreams. She called those her greatest hits. Part way through the dream she would think, "oh I've been here before! I know what happens next!" and if it was a good dream she would wait for it, and if it wasn't she would wake herself up. 

That had been a trick she learned when she was younger. Now they called it lucid dreaming. Being aware that you are in a dream and changing it. She had taught it to herself to get out of nightmares. When you are a vivid dreamer you also have vivid nightmares. 

And she had dreams that would continue. Not quite the same as the repeated dream but at some point she'd think, "I've been here before. I know these people." then she would be lost in the dream again. Knowing it was just a continuation of one that had come before. 

Her dream life was almost as real as her waking life. In fact there were times when she woke up she'd find a bruise or a scrape on her leg from falling down in the dream the night before. She had assumed she must sleep walk and worked bumping into the furniture into her dreams. She just made sure that there was an alarm on the house that would sound if she tried to leave and warned anyone who might be staying the night that she might be a sleepwalker, but didn't actually know for sure. 

She almost felt sorry for people who didn't have dreams like hers. Okay, that wasn't true. It wasn't almost. She did feel sorry for them. For the people who would claim that they didn't dream at all. She felt like they were only living half the life that she was. And the boring half at that. 

I mean in dreams anything could happen. And often did. You never started running and ended up flying in the waking world after all. And dreams could help you with problems you were having when you were awake. People talked all the time about how their dreams had given them answers to questions they had been stuck on.

Writers found stories there. 

People solved problems there. 

Everyone had adventures there.

She felt horribly for those who didn't dream. 

Imagine being trapped in a life where the colors were just colors, not over the top brilliant hues. Where the animals never spoke. Where you couldn't recognize a problem and just change it, or wake up and leave it all together. If that was her only life she wasn't sure how she would handle it. 

She didn't want to ever find out. 

Especially now. 

Janet from across the street was telling her about how Greg had just disappeared. Poof gone. Nobody had seen him in weeks! Wasn't that weird? Not that she was really upset that he was gone, I mean, he was fairly awful wasn't he? Creepy and so rude. And people coming all times of the day and night. She thought he was probably a drug dealer and one of his customers or maybe his supplier had had him offed. That was the right word, right? Offed. That's how they said it. Offed. But anyway he was gone. The police were asking around to see when people had seen him last so she shouldn't be surprised to get a knock on her door sometime. But really with the way he was, so rude, it wouldn't be a shock that he was just gone. Maybe now the Peters would get a decent renter in there. Though maybe if they were really lucky they'd clean the place up and sell it. Renters really never took care of the place as well as..wait was she an owner or a renter? Well she was the exception surely. Not all renters were as great as she was, no offense meant...

She just smiled and nodded. Letting all of Janet's flood of words wash over her in a wave. 

Two weeks ago. That was the last times she had seen Greg. But it had only been through her peep hole on the front door. He had started coming by more and more. Just being friendly he'd say, but she really didn't trust the way he was looking at her. And looking around her to see into her house. She had started not answering the door. Hoping he'd take the hint. And she had been thinking about what to do about it. Should she give up her great little house with the affordable rent and move? She hated that idea but sometimes you had to do what you didn't want to do. 

Two weeks ago she had woken up in the morning from a really great dream about gardening. She had planted roses that bloomed in colors never seen before. She was going to be famous for her flowers. And they were planted in the backyard of her adorable affordable rental house. So she knew her heart wanted to stay. She'd figure it out. Vivid dreams were the best dreams. 

The dirt under her fingernails had been a little concerning though...

Help Yourself #1

Finished my first (and second but we'll get to that) self help book of the year. 

This month's choice was some deliberate counterprogramming. Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls: A Handbook for Unapologetic Living by Jes Baker. I felt like it would be a good choice to dive into when the barrage of January BE THIN TO BE HAPPY advertising started. 

I liked a lot of it. I really wished a lot of it had been more prevalent when I was growing up. Which if it had been there probably wouldn't be a need for it now, but still...I can wish. 

It's about not just body positivity and body acceptance and all of those buzzwords that you hear but about loving yourself, and giving yourself permission to love ALL of yourself and all of the wonderful diversity around you. And also how to advocate for yourself and how to not limit yourself and how to push back on people that try to limit you because of your size. 

It was aimed at someone younger and heavier than I am, I think, but it was still good to read and I took things from it. 

Some things I didn't agree with and I had to sit with those things and think about them. Did I not agree because I'm 54 years old and have been steeped in diet culture my entire life or did I not agree because my own research and life experience has taught me differently? And sometimes it was one, sometimes it was the other. 

I reached a point about 5 years ago where I decided to stop struggling with my weight. To just stop. It wasn't doing me any good. It was making me feel badly about myself every day. I mean it's right there, struggle with my weight. I decided that I was the size I was and so I was just going to make sure I was in the best physical shape, best healthy state, I could be in, size be damned. And so I focused on what I was eating, eat real food not processed pseudo foods, and I focused on working out. I can lift heavy things, I can walk quite a few miles, I'm good. 

I went through my closet and got rid of any clothes that didn't fit. All of the things I had been saving for "when I lost the weight" I cleared it all out. Some of you remember that. It was something like 6 bags of clothes to Goodwill. Oh how I wish I hadn't done that...

BUT at the time it was really important to do it. I needed to clear out that feeling of failure every time I looked at that super cute black dress with the multicolored polka dots that I had only worn twice before I got too heavy to fit it. And all of those jeans in various sizes that I couldn't have pulled past my thighs no matter how much I was lifting at the gym. Everything I touched needed to fit. And I need to love it.

No punishment clothes. Because that was a thing I would do when I was at my larger sizes. I wouldn't buy anything nice because clearly I didn't really deserve it. I bought utilitarian things. Things that I didn't really like, thinking it would encourage me to lose weight. But I hadn't lost weight. I had been the same size for a few years. This is what my shape was and I needed to stop punishing myself over it. I wasn't all the way to body positivity, but I was working on body acceptance. 

And then the pandemic hit. And it was a terrible year with personal trauma and societal trauma and so I baked. A lot. And we ate. A lot. And I stopped wearing anything with structure. Soft clothes every day. Which, again, at the time was how we dealt and I think it was fine. But I gained even more weight from where I had been for years and now I was looking at a whole new closet clean out. If I ever stopped wearing soft clothes, which I wasn't sure I would. 

But about a year into the pandemic I tried the food elimination process to see if my joint pain could be caused by what I was eating. Okay, wait, that's not exactly accurate. That's what I told Brent we were trying it for, but really I was trying it to see if it would help him with some acid issues he was having. Our doctor had recommended he try an elimination diet before but he wouldn't do it, too much hassle, didn't want to force me to cook special foods, yada yada yada...So when I read Michael Symon's book Fix it with Food I knew I had an opportunity to see if it would work. We had actually been planning on doing it the year before but then... see the above paragraph... 

So I did the elimination diet and discovered that yeah, food was an issue. I was eating things that were making me feel lousy. (We did not discover what was triggering Brent's issue completely, but did discover that nightshades are no bueno for him) And I lost 25 pounds. (Really wish I had kept those clothes.) 

But I didn't lose 25 pounds because it was a diet. I lost the weight because I wasn't holding on to so much fluid anymore. I lost the weight because of the decrease in inflammation and the accompanying decrease in pain. I was able to work out more because I hurt less. I was smaller because my body stopped trying to protect me from the poison (to me) I was eating daily. 

And that massive weight loss did trigger a small stretch of "oh I should lose more" but I got it nipped in the bud and I have settled out at the same weight (in a range of 5 pounds) for the past two years. This is where I am comfortable. My knees don't complain, my body feels healthy, I can eat intuitively. 

And as I read this book I thought, I wonder if I had been raised with body acceptance if I would have figured out that there are certain foods that make me feel unwell sooner than I did. Instead of believing that all of my health issues were because of my weight, if I had realized that being overweight isn't a health issue unto itself, if I would have figured out how to treat my particular body well earlier. 

Because for years we have all been bombarded with the message that being fat is the problem, instead of looking at weight gain being a symptom of a problem (sometimes) or not having anything to do with the problem (most often). Like take diabetes, we've been told for years that being heavy is a cause of diabetes. Lose the weight, get your blood sugar under control.

But is that right? 

Not really. Being heavy and having diabetes often do go hand in hand but not that being heavy causes diabetes. The same thing that causes diabetes, your body's inability to process or regulate sugar, and the food choices you are making, causes weight gain. It's why you often lose weight AND get your diabetes under control when you change the way you eat. It's not that the weight caused one, it's that the sugar issue caused both. See?

And I sort of knew it. Or was figuring it out much earlier than the recent research has shown. Think about the problems right now with Ozempic. It's a great drug for helping control diabetes. But people are using it for weight loss. Because it changes the way your body processes blood sugar. It helps manage that and a side effect is you aren't hungry. So you lose weight.

When we did Atkins years and year ago it was the same thing. It's a diet that a lot of people have used to get their blood sugar under control and you lose weight. The thinking (when we did it) is that the weight loss is what triggers the good blood sugar. But it's the fact that you aren't hungry that triggers the weight loss. I figured out once how many calories I was taking in a day on Atkins and it was scary low. But I was never hungry because of what I was eating so I didn't worry about it. 

But I didn't quite put it together.

It took years to figure out that my weight and my health weren't really tied together. A change in doctor helped too. Not ending each appointment with "lose weight" was a bigger relief than I ever thought it would be. The only caveat to that is that I do have more knee pain with my arthritis when I'm heavier. Even heavy and fit is more pain than if I'm a little lighter. Which makes sense in a way that a lot of other things don't. A joint that is damaged is going to feel better supporting less weight. It's also why it feels better when I keep up the muscle work around it that helps support the joint. Keep moving to keep moving. 

But anyway, the first self help book of the year was around diet and fitness...except not. It was partly around how the diet and fitness industries have completely warped our understanding of how our own bodies work and how the advertising and glorification of thinner bodies over fatter ones has made us all think that thin is better. As I said, I think the book was definitely aimed at someone younger than I am, and someone larger (in her description of plus vs. straight sizes I am firmly in the straight sizes category, I just have a plus size mentality), but I also believe it would be a good read for just about anyone. 

We all need to learn that all sizes and shapes of people are just that, all sizes and shapes. And apply that to ourselves. I have gorgeous, sexy, stunning and handsome friends of all sizes, I could just never apply the lense I saw them through to my own mirror.

Eat good healthy food. Give your body the best foods it needs to run the best way it can. 
Be active. Get your heart healthy. Give your muscles some work to do. 
And enjoy your body. Every bit of it. Dress in what you like to wear. Get clothes that fit your body and your style and go be fabulous. 

The Power of the Divine

I've been thinking about the power of the divine goddess lately. 

I know right? Not my usual. Or at least not unless I'm deconstructing it for a story. So...

But lately I've been playing with the idea of it, what it means, who it involves. 

Hecate, The Triple Goddess, the maiden, the mother, the crone. How does that translate to now? 

Then yesterday Kevin's father let me know that he was ready to memorialize Kevin's facebook pages. He sent a really lovely message to me and to Nadine, another friend of Kevin's (and mine). And he talked in his message that he felt Kevin really had found soul friends in each of us. And how people are lucky to get one in their life, let alone two. 

I think it's a reflection of the man Kevin was that there are a lot of people out there that would feel that way about him. That he really was part of them and they were part of him. I've talked about it before, he was always just so very Kevin that he allowed space for people to be so very much themselves. And for a few of us that are already that way it allowed a sort of click of recognition and sense of place. 

Now, you cannot know another relationship from the outside looking in so the next part is all about what I feel. I could be really far off but it's my feeling.

This email dovetailed into my thinking about Hecate. In my friend group there is a lot of feminine energy. A lot of us that fill different roles at different times. But I think Nadine and I tend to hold the anchors most of the time. 

We are close in age, but I am firmly in the mother/crone position and she is maiden/mother (though more like fun auntie). All of our friends fill positions as they feel they are needed. The feminine is fluid in my world. I see it all the time. We all adjust and move. 

But this feeling of who we are influences how I see those soul friendships Kevin's father saw. 

I was crone. 

Nadine was maiden. 

Nadine and Kevin were playmates. And I don't want that to sound dismissive. It's not. Have you ever watched kittens or puppies playing? It all looks like fun but they are growing together. They are mirroring skills that they need in the rest of their lives, but are also able to snuggle up and take a nap when playtime is over. They got each other in that playful sort of way. Which helped when things got harder and they could help each other in the real world ways. And also snuggle up safe and warm when needed. Their bond was deep and intrinsic and important. They sent each other jokes and videos and just checking in. They fed each other literally and metaphorically. They played together and loved each other deeply. 

I am only 10 years older than Kevin but firmly mother/crone position. He would check in with me with questions about "how do you see this?" We had very different world views and life experiences, but he respected mine and I respected his. He sent me videos and notes as well, and a lot of them were funny, but it's not the same flavor. It was more, I know you like this thing, here see it. I sent him the same sorts of things. And also the sort of things moms send their kids, look at this thing we talked about that you could go do. I wrote about the last message on his old account where we were disagreeing and that was firmly mother/crone energy.  

That was our energy. I loved him deeply and I know he loved me as well. But I wasn't his playmate. We could play, but I was crone. I was the bit of advice when things got out of hand. I was the stern lecture when needed. He had a really good relationship with his own mother. I heard a lot of stories about her and I loved her through him. And I think that was why he and I were able to be as close as we were. He saw that energy as a positive thing. I was also a safe place to crash when needed.

Maiden, Mother or Crone we are all always that, a safe space to land.

I play the role of mother/crone a lot. When my friend Skippy was going through chemo and getting ready for reconstructive surgery her doctors told her she needed to stop smoking. There were people in her life who were telling her that she had been through so much if this was too much for her to bear she didn't need to. So she called me. And I told her not to be stupid. I didn't sugar coat or slow walk. We had a long conversation and I was just this side (she would probably say the other side) of harsh. But she didn't need a playmate or a friend she needed a mother, a crone. She knew who she was calling and what she needed to hear.

We all play roles in life. 

For some I'm closer to mother (or even fun auntie sometimes too), for others I'm full crone. I've lived it, let me help you live it. But with zero tolerance for bullshit. 

I am glad Kevin had both of us. Had that balance. Had his deep soul friend in Nadine. His playmate. His companion. His safe space to be.

I am glad he had me. 

And I am glad we both had him. 

I warned you all that I would be processing this loss for a long time. 

You never get over it, you just learn how to move forward with it. (great Ted talk)

I'm learning where and how to carry this one. 

I'm glad I have all of my Hecates to help me. 

Start the Week...

I just sent Dana our first exchange piece of the year. For my part I told her I'm sending her all the half formed, half baked, I'm not sure if there's anything here ideas. 

Today's was a prime example of it. I have an idea that's sort of formed. And it's an idea for a much longer story than I normally tell. Like possibly novella length? Maybe like Witches in the Wonky Tower. 

But then again maybe it's not. Maybe it's just a scene in my head and there isn't anything else? 

So I wrote up what I had, both ways, and sent them off to Dana. Here, you read this now. Or don't. But at least it's out of my head and can breathe for the next week while I decide if I write another section of it to send on or if that's it. 

But at the end of the year I'll have a folder of work that is or isn't something. Some of it will probably end up posted here for my fiction piece for the week. And who knows maybe something will strike me enough to send off for a submission again. It's been awhile since I've crushed my muse's heart in that way.

I keep thinking I've reconciled myself to not publishing. At least not publishing outside of this venue. I just don't want to work at it like that. Driving to dinner Friday night Brent and I were talking about it. About the work that it takes to actually publish a book, or do creative work at all. I said I had watched Shay and Melynda and Dana and Conor and other friends of mine and what all they went through and go through and I was like...yeah, no. 

And he got quiet and then said, "I don't want this to sound as insulting as it might but...you don't like to work. I mean you can, don't get me wrong, you can be really head down dedicated, but if you have the choice you'd rather just..." and he trailed off. 

"Have fun."

"Yeah."

Now I can see why he'd be worried he was being insulting, but I'm not insulted by that. I spent a lot of years working. Head down, succeeding at what I did. Hearing my Dad's voice in my head that if I was going to do something I always had to be the best. Now, not that he said I had to be the best, it was just his assessment of my personality. That anytime I decided to take something on I had to be the best. And it's true. I didn't want to do things if I couldn't be the best.

And because of that I missed out on a lot of really cool things. 

I never allowed myself to do things just for the fun of them. There was always an end game. If I had a job I was working toward the next promotion. I had to be employee of the month. If I decided I liked a class I had to be the best in the class. And then when I realized that ruining the curve for everyone else while at the same time being bored out of my head in class kind of sucked I decided to not strive and to just do what I had to do to get by. Which I regretted senior year as I saw the top ten in our class standing on stage and realized that I should have been there. I should have been one of the best. Freshman year I was absolutely in the mix with that group.

Most of you met me after those years were over. You know the me that has coloring books and weird goals around writing and reading and just lives my life with zero fucks about what anyone else thinks about it. The sort of person who does not get mad when their spouse says, in so many words, "I'm not saying you're lazy but you aren't what I'd call driven."

I do worry about it, just because since I've chosen this path Brent has a lot more money pressure on his head, but as he will point out, that's his personality anyway. And my "hey! slow down and pretend to be a rose." way of living helps keep him from burning out. It's not like I force him to succeed, he just succeeds and I force him to enjoy the fruits of his success instead of looking to see what the next level might be. 

Or at least, that's what I tell myself.

And he agrees. As we talked about it more he also said, "You'd be really happy with a lot less." A nice way of saying I'm pretty basic. Now do not get me wrong, I love a lot of our fancy things. I love being able to fly first class to Hawaii and lay on a beach (for five minutes before I drag him into the water). I love that I don't have to worry about the fact that eggs have doubled in price this year. I love that if I see a new dress I can buy it without months of budget rearranging. But...I'd be fine if none of that had happened. And I never view that as mine. 

Which is weird. And Brent does not agree. 

But I always view it as I am lucky enough to live Brent's lifestyle. The one he strove for and worked to get. I am lucky enough that he brought me along for this fabulous ride we've had. But...

I'm a burgers and books kind of gal and I'm okay with that.

I'm okay that I don't feel the need to stress over if my writing will ever be good enough. I did that for a long time and what it did was make me not want to write. If I can't be the best... 

But shifting back to not needing to be the best. Not needing to do anything beyond the part that makes me happy. The creating a story and sharing it with at least one person who hopefully enjoys it. That shift makes all the difference in my life. 

I'm a basic bitch hedonist and I'm okay with that. 

Sorry, Dana, you're going to get a lot of crap this year because of it. But maybe it will be what you need to make you see how freaking good you are at what you do. 

And as for the rest of you reading this, I hope you find something to do in your life that you do just for the joy of it. Not to be the best at it, but just because it makes you happy to do.

Gems...

...or how they can't all be one.

This is the real challenge for you all. When I set write a lot goals it means that sometimes I reach a point where something needs to be written but I really don't have a solid thread to write about. 

There is some political stuff going on. I guess we can talk a little about that, but I don't know how much I have to say. Let's see!

Today is the second anniversary of the attempted coup. The Insurrection. Trump's Treasony Day.

Or just January 6th. 

Isn't it interesting how some dates just get that shorthand. When you talk about 9/11 people don't have any doubt which 9/11 you mean. January 6th is reaching that point. Or has already reached it, at least for now. 

The current batch of Republicans in the House of Representatives are marking their dubious anniversary of trying to not certify the legal and correct vote for the President of the United States by not electing their own Speaker. 

It's not a violent attempt like came later with January 6th but the day is young. 

I say that as a joke, but it's not uproariously funny. It's not really even ha ha funny. It's more smirk and knock wood funny. 

Because those people are nuts. They have bought into this really odd world view and another large group of people have bought into it with them and now they are able to force that world view on the rest of us. 

Right now it's all about dismantling the government because they don't think it works. And the more the stop it from working the more they say "See? It doesn't work!" Well, it doesn't work if you keep stopping it. But when you do your damn jobs it works pretty well. I mean you can Google a list of things the Biden administration has been able to accomplish in the past two years. Working with just the slimmest of bipartisan margins. 

But we are up to, I think, 12 votes for Speaker without McCarthy winning yet. He keeps promising the holdouts more and more and more to get that vote. Which is making him the weakest Speaker and he hasn't even started yet. Because one of the things he's said he'll do is make it easier to remove him. Oh my gosh, cripple yourself before you start running why don't you?

Think about the debt ceiling votes that have turned into shit shows over the past decade. And let me remind you, that raising the debt ceiling is all about paying the bills we have already incurred. The party of "personal responsibility" and "I had to pay my own college tuition (or at least my rich daddy did) so you shouldn't get a break on yours!" is fine defaulting on payments for bills already incurred when it's the United States on the hook. 

So anyway...they use something that shouldn't even be in existence (I believe the passing of a spending bill should be an automatic of course we will pay this moment) as a cudgel to try and get their way on whatever they are throwing a fit about right then. Now they can use taking away Speakership from McCarthy in the exact same way. Whenever they don't get to impeach the Biden administration person of the week BOOM Speaker vote.

And right now, until they get this passed NOTHING is being done. 

Which suits the obstructionists just fine. 

But there are things that need done. I mean there are always things that need done. 

And then there is the just human decency part of it. (Yeah, I know, what the hell am I thinking here) But a lot of the Reps brought their families to Washington to see them sworn in. I mean, it's kind of a big deal to represent your state on the federal level. But now they've been there for three days. Three days of hotels in DC.Three days of not being at home for the kiddos who school started for this week. Three days of meals in restaurants. Three days of waiting around for this nonsense to end.

Honestly, I think it's just a preview of the next two years. A lot of disfunction. A lot of things done and said just to get time on right wing news. A lot of shouting and sleeves rolled up from Jim (I don't care if your kid is being molested, it's not my problem) Jordan. I'd be fine if they got nothing on their nasty agenda done. 

But...

As is always my hope. Maybe this time it will be enough. Decent people will see this and think, we just can't with this anymore. Let the government run quietly in the background. But for fuck's sake let it run. Fix the bridges. Fix the electrical grid. Feed the hungry. House to homeless. Facilitate healing for the sick. There are so many things a functioning government could do. Maybe we are finally getting to a point where it's so fucked up and broken that people actually decide to fix it?

Okay, yeah, I read it too. 

But there is still part of me that hopes.