Monthly Archives: December 2015

And now, the accounting

This is gonna hurt.

Last year’s accounting: 2014. The year before: 2013. The year before that: 2012. I do like some forced honesty. Motherfucker.

(Why do I want to type that word so much? I DON’T KNOW. But I love it. It feels good in my metaphorical mouth.)

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So we didn’t hit what I expected on income because I wasn’t at home monitoring Mint this year. I always eyeball it a little bit at the beginning of the year and guess our monthly income because what we receive varies slightly through the year. Things like 401k contributions mean that we start out getting much smaller checks than we get at the end of the year. And I didn’t sit on Mint this year cause I was kinda busy. I barely entered transaction data. So this doesn’t line up perfectly. Whatever. Congratulations Noah. This year you made about $173,000ish. Well done! I can’t do that. Fantastic. The $20k from your parents you didn’t earn. But it is… awkward and uncomfortable and yet still nice that your parents send it.

Book sales were $6,440 last year and $8,388 this year. Well done Noah. I’m so proud of you.

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Once again: I didn’t really look at Mint for 5 months. Things are out of whack because sliders got put in somewhat random places and I forgot to check back. So ignore the fact that I underspend in Public Transportation. Uhm, whatever.

For all of auto/transport we spent $10,065. That’s a lot of forking money. $4,308 was on car repair. I needed new tires. I had to fix the trailer. I think this includes the transmission repair on the Prius? This was quite a year on cars needing help. $835 on public transit is partially because of tolls and tolls and tolls. Those bastards are expensive. I also put some of Noah’s to/from airports in here because by December I noticed that I totally over budgeted in this area. Oh well. $111 on parking. I ain’t kidding.

$3,372 on gas is actually low seeming to me. Given that I drove around the perimeter of the country and Noah stayed here and did our normal driving. For comparison, last year we spent $2,345 on gas. I wouldn’t think that such an extensive trip merely increased our spending by $1,000. This tells you that I drive too much most of the time! Ridiculous!

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Last year bills were over $4,000. I wonder why that went down given that our phone bill went up. Hm.

Ok, maybe Noah making $8k on the book isn’t as awesome since $6,799 turned around and went right back out on book related stuff. Let me tell y’all. Selling shit is hard and expensive. I had no idea.

$4,221 was spent on entertainment. Most of that on museums. I have no regrets.

Noah and I spent money on ourselves. I think we did it in cash and didn’t account for it. Whoops.

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$22,630 on food. $10,177 on restaurants. $12,446. My grocery bill was lower than normal. My eating out bill was almost twice what it normally is. Yup. That’s what happens when you travel like that.

$11,754 on health. That’s lower than normal too. I wasn’t home for my norma round of lovely massages.

$64,202 towards my house. $54,000 of that was mortgage. Oh that feels lovely. That’s not accounting for the $5,000 that arrives today at the mortgage company. (Scheduled but not accounted for. Geez, banks.) So I got $59,000 out the door on my mortgage this calendar year.

Let’s not give me too much credit. $30,000 of that was Noah’s signing bonus for this job. Otherwise I only made like two months of extra payments.

(Where the heck is the rest of the money going then, eh? We paid some for the bathroom remodel that failed. Gardener. Home supplies, and property taxes. Pretty valid shit.)

For gifts: $8,837 was spent on Christmas. Given the high number of people I sent presents to who didn’t acknowledge me in the slightest this will be the highest spending year of my life. I’m completely uninterested in ever doing this again. $687 on “other gifts” and $5342 was donated to various charitable causes. I think that in the future Christmas should be under $2,000 (let’s be realistic–we often give electronics. It does have to be kinda high) and charitable giving should be closer to $10,000. That is my stated goal for next year.

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$11,419 on kids. That’s a fairly big jump from last year. We did *so many things* this year.

$3,701 on clothes. That’s almost double what we normally spend on clothes in a year. I don’t fee bad. It includes some pretty darn awesome stuff I may wear for the rest of my life.

$554 in undocumented cash spending. That’s not too bad.

$15,859 on taxes. Yup. That’s what it is.

Now we get into the part I feel…. squiggly about.

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Holy tomato.

Fee’s and charges. I’ll try not to have those next year.

We got a slight refund from last year’s lawyer. I didn’t spend all of the retainer. Then Dad needed money.

I feel a little weird that we spend this much money on hair but she’s a fantastically good hair dresser that can make a whole crew of funny looking people look good. Maybe she’s worth it? I certainly keep paying for her.

So the spa money… manicures and pedicures and facials and stuff like that. Because other than sitting around or shopping… there isn’t that much to do during the limited windows of child care offered by Disney other than go to the spa that is always conveniently near child care.

$2,693 on books. What a glorious year. Next year: reading. Not buying.

$4,442 on electronics. Well, Noah bought his old laptop from a company. That includes a projector. I’m not entirely sure what else. Good golly we use electronics. (I could look it up. If you couldn’t tell, this is the fast and dirty end of year review.)

$6,720 to 529s. That’s excellent.

$1200 to the mutual fund. Not a lot but every bit helps.

$5,400 to IRA. Better, still not that high though.

$23,279 on the cross country trip. That’s every other bit of paying for anything we did. Really, because stuff kinda got pushed into Christmas, kids, food, auto… we spent more than that. Probably closer to $40,000. Ew.

But it was absolutely amazing and I don’t regret it even a little. I’m just not going to blow money like that any year soon.

$5,654 is deposits on next year’s vow renewal. That cruise will be expensive and awesome. Next year we are probably going to spend ~$20,000 on travel which is way down from this year but still ridiculous.

Ok, we need some frugal years here. Other than the cruise 2016 is going to need to be locked down. 2017 will have to be more frugal still. If I want my old age to be safe and secure that’s the cost.

Have fun while you are young, yes. But make sure you are providing for your old age too.

Short term, medium term, and long-term goals. I expected to hemorrhage money this year. I saved up for it. I planned around it. I wanted to. Now I want to stem the flow and build up my reserves again.

Here, here is the only screenshot that really matters.

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This right here? This makes me very unhappy. I let our buffer get really low. I dipped into savings to preserve the integrity of my checking account. That’s bad. It was the only way to hand money to Dad right now, so I’m ok with it. But that’s bad. My buffer should not get this low.

We go through too much money.

My joint checking account shouldn’t get below $30,000. We have months where $30,000 goes out the door. It has to be my floor. That has to be the same as zero.

And I failed on that. I’m not happy with myself at all. I have to build that up again fast. It’s going to take most of this year if I can get there this year. $17,000 extra is a lot. Even for me. Then I really really really want my savings account back at $40k.

I want $100,000 in cash. That’s what I want. That’s what makes me feel safe. I had it at the beginning of this year and I blew it and now I have to fix it.

Isn’t it completely and totally insane that I’m upset with myself for getting down to having $63,255 in petty cash?

Oh how things change. I used to pray for a $3,000 buffer. That was what I maintained for years. That was my safety for a very long time.

But now there are months where we spend $30,000 so I just have to be able to cover it. Period. Things change.

2015 has been quite a year. I’m grateful for all the lessons learned. I’m grateful that I had these experiences. I’m grateful I got to be where I got to be. I’m grateful I got to do all I got to do.

My life is truly extraordinary.

Emotional regulation

I’ve been thinking really hard about why I’m so dyregulated this week. Other than, “Yup still a crazy bitch” because this is kinda weird. The bouncing is extreme even for me. I’m going way down and way up.

Part of it is I feel like the trip let me see in sharp relief how wonderful my life is now. I got home and have looked around at my life, pointed at people and said, “You do this. You over there, do that.” Folks have responded with good cheer and vigor. It’s intense. I came home to a serious increase in delegation ability.

Traditionally speaking delegating is an area where I have been weak. In order to delegate you have to trust that other people can follow through on your wishes. I’m not really the trusting sort. So delegating has been hard. Then the trip happened and I didn’t have much of a choice. The kids did their absolute best to help. The help wasn’t as good as what I could have done if I had the spoons to do the work. It had to be good enough. I had to not complain. I had to just accept and say thank you and show gratitude for the help I got. Otherwise the kids wouldn’t have had the oomph to do so much work.

You can’t work that hard if you are being beat down at the same time. I needed serious work out of them. That means building them up. That means telling them they are awesome. That means telling them they are capable even when they are only half-ass doing something because this is where they are today.

I hate that shit. That’s what I fucking can’t give to adult white men.

It was probably “good for me”. What fucking ever.

I miss my mom. It is hard figuring out what it means to be a good mom. Is it love? Is it being skillful at helping your unique child figure out how to access the support structures in the world that are best suited to them? Is it being able to help your child conform to what will be expected later? Is it teaching empathy or compassion or frugality?

For reasons passing my understanding most of my immediate family has blocked Noah’s account on facebook (ok that I get) but my mother hasn’t. My mom’s facebook page is still open.

Of course I’m a periodic stalker. Duh. But my stalking goes as far as loading the page, missing her, and closing the page. I’m pretty sure that is legally allowed.

I feel like I’m at a point of integration. I’m trying to heal my body, which means looking into old sources of pain. Which means somatic memories. Which means shitty. I’m trying to integrate the knowledge I gained on the trip and that happened on so many levels I’m not capable of perceiving them all yet. I’m trying to “be present” because I’m told that “being in the moment” is oh so important in life.

Do you know how fucking hard it is to be “in the moment” when you have survived your life by future tripping and you are trying to heal a whole bunch of past shit that lives in your body?!?!

I told my shrink we are starting to meditate before bed. She misheard me and thought I said medicate. As in my sentence was, “We are starting to meditate before bed with the kids.” She heard that wrong. It took at least a full minute before I stopped laughing so hard I couldn’t explain. When I calmed down I said, “You are really worried that at any given moment I’m going to go around the bend and be completely inappropriate, aren’t you?” She said, “It isn’t just you! It’s everyone!”

I don’t think I could be a therapist. My heart couldn’t hold that.

She then tried to justify her mishearing (it was funny and fine) by saying she has friends from Mendocino who totally do that! I said me too. I told her about a woman I know who has been smoking pot with her mom since she was 9. That was how the family managed her severe car sickness. Get in the car and light up the pipe.

Then my shrink carefully asked me if I thought that was a good idea.

Oh good god no.

I mean… if I had a kid who had really severe car sickness I might change my tune. But I don’t have that problem with my children. My kids also don’t have epilepsy or cancer–two reasons I’d absolutely give them pot. But there aren’t many reasons.

Cannabis is a medication I take. Do diabetics freely share their insulin? Not so much. This pot is mine. Thanks.

It is hilarious to me how often my answer to parenting philosophy questions is “NO!” then I have this internal reaction of, “Ok my no is so strong because it would be the wrong choice for me and I recognize that instantly. However under this long list of exceptions I can see how it would be a perfectly reasonable choice and I do not judge other people who need to make this choice. Everyone walks a different path.”

My no’s are so strong because that is what it takes for me to get past my internal, “Not allowed to say ‘no’ filter” and I’m sorry it is broken in this way. It is not a reflection of you or my opinion of you or your choices.

It is about me and my body.

I am so fierce about boundaries partially because my family of origin did not have boundaries. I over compensate because that is how pendulums tend to swing.

That’s a lot of why I’m bouncing this week. If I am patient or compassionate with myself I’m doing very well at a time when I often do very badly. Yes, I’m bouncing. I’m bouncing because I’m trying to change core parts of my identity and life experience.

That causes turbulation. When you change things there is often a consequence. When you are trying to change your behavior and your body…. there will be emotional consequences. I’m happy to face them, don’t get me wrong. But it takes time. I have to actually do it. Ok, I’m not happy to do it. It fucking sucks and I’m tired of this and I’d like to be done with this stage now okthanksbye.

But I persevere. Cause I’m like that. Just keep swimming swimming swimming.

Kid up.

Dragon: the yard edition

I am trying an experiment. I know Dragon doesn’t work very well with the kids yelling in the other room I’m not sure how well Dragon will work with traffic passing.

Talked to my shrink this morning. It was a good phone call. She clearly expected that I would have had a harder time at Christmas than I actually did. Is that good? Is doing better than expected good or bad? I suppose it partially depends on just how badly you are expected to do.

It was weird telling her that I am both doing very well and having a hard time at the same time. I am waking up first thing in the morning with a racing heart and horrible thoughts. I miss my mother. I miss my mom so much I feel like I’m going to explode. I feel guilty. I feel ashamed. I feel sad.

Then the day goes on and I notice that my life is really good. I notice over and over how nice people are to me. My kids are children so they are annoying, like all children are supposed to be, but they are really kind to me. They try to be considerate. They don’t always do a good job but when they fail it’s because they are literally incapable of seeing what they could not already know. I am so impressed with them. If mere children can work that hard I have no excuse for not showing up and doing the work. It doesn’t matter how much hurts.

My shrink says she expected me to be doing worse at this time of year considering all things. She is happy to hear my upset is mostly being contained to early morning emotions. It is okay that I have feelings; it is even okay that these feelings are often bad. I do not have to have a happy feeling every moment of the day; I do not owe that to anyone else. It is a consideration about whether or not you do it ( it being perform happy emotions) because you genuinely feel that or if you want other people to feel like you feel them.

it also doesn’t help that my arms are burning like fire and Dragon sucks and I just want to god damn type.

Stomach hurts

I’m sick. I feel awful. Like normal when I’m sick I’m beating myself up emotionally. I woke up this morning missing my biological family something fierce. It hit me like a freight train.

I miss them but I can’t be part of the family. I won’t keep secrets. I won’t act like everything is fine.

The generation after mine got raped too. I can’t pretend everything is fine.

But they can. So they get to have a family and I don’t. Because that’s how the cookie crumbles.

How ungrateful. I have a family. I have Noah. I have my kids. I had sure better not fuck it up. This is all I have.

I feel completely and totally certain that if Noah and the kids all died I would not live 24 hours.

I feel like this is the most sad I have been in a while. This feels brutal. I hurt so much. Part of it is weird bitterness over adopted family stuff too.

I walk away from people so they can’t walk away from me. Which makes it my fault relationships don’t last. Which is easier to bear than the fact that people just don’t like me very much.

I’m in a god damn mood. Pity party, table of one.

I feel sad, keening grief. I feel like I want to cut and beat my head on the floor and…

It’s just there this morning. Just because.

Sometimes I think I beat my head on the floor because I’m hoping I will damage my brain enough that I will stop thinking because what I think hurts me so much.

I am really grateful that today is a slow pace. We’ll have some nature time. It’s the first day of my officially reduced schedule. I’m on the day planner. It’s here. I mean, I haven’t done that much for weeks, but it was an unstructured kind of not doing that much. And not doing that much means I did a fair bit. Cause I’m like that.

But I have big blocks of the day marked as rest. In between other “healthful” activities and shit that I’m supposed to build into my life because supposedly I might hate myself less some year if I keep this bullshit up.

With every passing year I feel more and more ashamed of myself for not talking to my mother. I understand her neglect so much more. She was doing her best.

Her best wasn’t good enough. Is that really her fault?

I don’t know. But I can’t have her in my life and I feel like that makes me a piece of shit. It is hard to not feel like that fact is reason enough to deserve death on its own. I hurt my mama. I am bad.

If I wanted to I could crawl in bed with any of three people and they would hug me and love me and I wouldn’t have to be alone right now. The trouble is, I want my mother. I have wanted my mother my whole life.

It never goes away. Sometimes I don’t think about it. But then a quiet moment comes along and I check in with my body and there it is. This ache that never goes away.

Mama.

There was a woman, for a few years, who told me she wanted to be my adopted mom. I haven’t heard from her in a long time. She has a life of her own. She’s busy. She doesn’t actually have room for me in her life. I’m not really worth the effort.

My adopted mom and my biological mom share a birthday. So every year I keen for the two women I don’t deserve to have love me. I could reach out to them. But I’m kind of done chasing love that isn’t really meant for me.

I was never really wanted. Not really.

But Noah wants me. However I got here. And my kids are stuck with me till they aren’t. We’ll see what happens.

I think a lot about what my mother’s life would have been like if she had aborted me like she should have. It would have been better. Maybe she could have saved Tommy and he wouldn’t be dead. Maybe she could have kept the other kids together after the divorce instead of just getting the “girls”.

If I hadn’t been there so many things would have been different. Easier. I have not been worth the trouble to take care of, ever.

I want to cut really badly. I haven’t wanted to like this in a while. It’s been such a nice Christmas.

Mama mama mama mama.

It always comes back to you. I love you. I love you with all of my black soul.

But you don’t get to hurt my babies. My babies live in a state of perfect trust where the unreliable people are outside the family. Inside their family they are safe and they believe that people tell them the truth. If you were considered inside their family bubble that would be shattered.

You can’t tell the truth to save your life. Because lying was necessary to save your life and you don’t seem to be able to stop now.

Now. What do I know. I haven’t talked to you in five years. But you couldn’t tell the truth then. Given your age I doubt it has changed. It’s not like you are ready to go through puberty now and see the error of your ways.

You had to lie all the god damn time and I get that and I can forgive you for the past. I can’t let you lie to my children like that going forward and you are literally not capable of telling the truth. I think it is because you are incapable of perceiving the truth. If you did you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.

Can I really judge that?

Yes and no.

I have to do what I have to do to get out of bed in the morning, so yeah I judge. I judge that your way of being is not for me and I have to find something different and do it with a vengeance.

That intensity I have that bothers people so much? A lot of that exists because overcoming inertia is hard. It is a basic physics problem. I don’t like me very much. In order to talk to people I have to first pretend I like myself (because if you don’t formulate your interactions based on the premise of liking yourself you will get abused again) then decide what treatment would be right for me if I liked myself then figure out how to manipulate people around me into behaving in a way that will be comfortable for me. That takes a fuck ton of energy, thought, and consideration.

Yes I think about how to manipulate you. I think about how to cause you to have the set of emotions I want you to have so that you will continue to enjoy my company. I’m going to cause you some set of emotions. Indifference. Irritation. Joy. Love. Contempt. Anxiety. Something. Yes, I think consciously about what I would like to be causing and I work towards it. If I don’t do that… I bother people so much.

have to think about this if I still want to have friends in the future. Even if manipulate is a dirty word. What-fucking-ever.

I think about which people need me to physically move slowly and which people like that I’m generally a quick darting person.

I think about which people can handle which portions of my range of emotions. Some people can only handle the joy. Some people can only handle my anger.

I think about which people will feel tolerant of which parts of my past experiences and I try to cull my stories carefully these days. I have improved these filters tremendously since having children. I used to uhhhh have fewer appropriate stories for all topics. I’m branching out.

I have noticed lately that I have two distinctly different somatic experiences of my approaches to people. Sometimes I don’t feel safe …. engaging. So I don’t say much. I look at the floor and I don’t make eye contact with people. I have a permanent fucking crick in my neck.

Then there are times when I’m ok pretending I’m a main character and I look everyone in the eye and I insert myself into peoples way and I seem to be more charming than not.

I don’t know how to get that pretense of comfort sometimes. Like today I couldn’t do it. Today if I had to be in a group of people I would be monosyllabic. I’d probably cross my arms and rock in the corner. Like I do when I’m uhhhh feeling mature.

Today I feel like I’m stuck in an elevator. Wait, let me back up. Know how I talk about feeling present with many selves/ages all at once? Right now I feel like I’m stuck on elevator between selves. If all the various permutations of me are floors on a building, I’m stuck between Neurotically In Control Adult and Weak And Defenseless Child. Neither is true. Both are true. Fuck everything.

I’m sad. My arms hurt like a mother fucker but I couldn’t sit on this today. I have to let it pass through me and move on. Writing it down helps so much.

I try hard not to make it obvious in my day to day life that my literal survival depends on the survival of the people in this house. That’s creepy. You have to go about your life as if that were incidental to your own survival. But I know it.

I have some incredibly dramatic ideas about how I could ensure that I would absolutely not risk being rescued in time this time. It’s not a call for fucking help. I don’t want help any more.

I want my family and that’s it. If I can’t have them then that’s it.

So yeah. I’m not writing this down because I’m very certain that I would follow through and if you forewarn people they feel duty bound to stop you and fuck that.

But, my family is alive and it doesn’t matter. Hopefully they won’t all die and it will absolutely never be necessary. I want to be with them.

I feel incredibly angry with people who call suicide selfish. Fuck you with a pogo stick. People who commit suicide are people who are in pain they cannot bear. Fuck you for being so selfish that you think they should continue to suffer in order to spare you even the slightest discomfort.

I don’t owe you that.

I owe you neither continued suffering nor silence. I owe you nothing. I do not owe you my life. There are things I’d like to do. I’m going to keep busy as long as I’m alive. Not because I owe people. Because I’m having fun. Because I’m finding out what it feels like to be loved. Actually loved. Shows up every day loved.

Yes Noah, I would throw myself against any rock for that. It is true. Yes I would damage myself over and over and over for that. I did so in the search for it. I didn’t think it would come true. I expected to off myself in desolation and despair before now because no one would ever actually love me.

Lots of people like to fuck me. Some people like to talk to me. It’s different to really love and take care of someone.

Sometimes I stop and realize… my body count is bigger than some peoples whole Monkey Sphere. No wonder I’m capable of seeing more people as real people.

I searched high and low for someone who could love me. Then when he started creeping on me I dated him for a bit and dumped him.

The other day in the car Eldest Child wistfully said, “I hope I grow up and meet someone as perfectly suited to me as you two found.” We both kinda went, “Bwuahahaha. No. We were not suited when we met.” She was shocked.

We changed. We became something different for one another. We became our better selves because that is what we agreed to do for one another. Having someone make that promise and then deliver and deliver and deliver and deliver for a decade now…

This is what trust feels like.

It’s so new.

Sometimes I ask my kids if they can trust me. They tell me that they know I’m telling the truth unless I’m using a silly voice then they know I’m lying. I said, “Actually sometimes when I use a silly voice I’m still telling the truth. Just to mess with you.” They glared a little. But I feel ok with this arrangement. Treat pronouncements in silly voices with great caution. Important life lesson.

I tell my kids that we won’t do everything I plan but we will do everything I promise. There’s an important difference there. I always over plan. I’m an ambitious motherfucker. No matter what you are referencing I over plan. It’s a lifestyle. It’s part of how I save money hand over fist. I plan for 60%-80% of our income. Then whatever comes in over that is extra and I invest it. And I have plans and plans and plans for investing stuff.

You don’t do the things I’ve done if you are a meek or under planning sort of person. That intensity that bothers people? It’s a mixed bag. It drove me around the country despite overwhelming pain. It causes me to get up and try again on being nice every single day with my kids. Because I’ve decided I’m all in for this thing.

There are times when I fail. I’m very careful what I promise. An awful lot of what I promise is that I will always try. I will always apologize when I fuck up. I will not promise perfection. That is folly.

I won’t promise and promise and promise for years that I will take you to do X thing and never do it. Even when the money is there because Other People Come First.

I won’t be my mother. It’s not just about the sex abuse. I know that casual readers often think that preventing sexual abuse is kinda my hobby horse to ride with my kids.

I mean, it’s important. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s really just the tip of the ice burg.

Eldest Child just ran in and jumped on my lap. I may be out of steam for the morning. Hard to hold the laptop on my lap while she wiggles. She is staring intently at the screen and trying to read what I’m writing. She’s getting a few words. Ahhhhh. Time to close this window. My time of hiding in plain sight with my feelings is just about over.

I love you kid.

Many times

Sometimes I reflect on the fact that my brain is wired to experience all times as now. I often feel as present with the self I was at three as I will be at sixty-eight. I’m every age all at once. Sometimes I feel like all of my experiences, all of the self I will ever have is loudly banging on the inside of my head demanding attention.

Which self will I manifest in this moment?

This is very present for me when I think about how word meanings have shifted.

When I was a kid I was told I was gonna get licked all the damn time. It meant a variety of things. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t hilarious. It was… a problem. It meant I was going to be hit. It meant someone was going to have sex with me. Getting licked wasn’t a great thing.

I never really liked the ones who insisted on going down on me before fucking me. I sorta knew without knowing that part of the reason they did that was so the saliva could mask the lack of arousal.

The things you know as an adult on the other side.

I’m way more ok with a spit wad in the hand being rubbed on my cunt than fakey foreplay from someone who bloody well knows this isn’t going to be good for me.

How how how can you believe that fucking a fifteen year old is good when you are forty-three? Guess what? That wasn’t rape. It really wasn’t. I know it is “statutory rape” and I know that legally I wasn’t allowed to consent. It wasn’t rape.

I know the difference.

Why is this self coming up today? Why is this bothering me so much right now? Why am I crying over this now?

I don’t know. Noah has been going down on me more. It has been rather awesome, actually. It’s not like what it was. He doesn’t do it to hurry up and get some spit down to ease the friction.

Well. Ok, sometimes he does. But when he does he is also talking very dirty and it is fucking hot and that’s ok. It’s different.

Why is it different?

Because this man takes care of me when I’m sick. Because he only does that to me on days when I’m in the mood and I’m nodding and giggling and he knows that I will catch up to being as ready as him any second now.

It’s different.

I think it is funny that I have learned as much from married monogamous sex as I ever did from being a slut. I’ve learned a lot more about weathering the storms of life. Because life does that.

Let me tell you there is a difference between someone who wants to get off using your pussy and someone who wants to get you off while he (or she or they or…) is in your pussy.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not upset about the folks who used my pussy to get off. At least not the times I consented to being there. I learned a lot. I’m really glad I made the choices I made. Even the ones that weren’t stellar. Even the things that really kinda sucked.

I had a tremendously shitty childhood. Now it is over. Now I can do other fucking things.

But sometimes after playing with my kids and saying in an ogre voice I’m going to lick you I have to stop and consciously stomp on my desire to burst into tears. Because my kids aren’t afraid of me. They don’t think I will hurt them.

They think I am going to be gross and put saliva on their arm. Just like they have always done to me. It’s kinda hilarious in a really gross way.

I am not who I was. But I am. I always am. I always will be.

But I can be something different too.

I’m sick. I have a sore throat. My nose is running. I’m cold and hot at the same time. So fun.

Of course I got sick. I’m supposed to start a new schedule tomorrow. (Graduating into the day planner pages.) Duh I’m sick. That’s ok. A lot of the point of this schedule is to increase the rest in my life. Maybe the timing is even positive.

Ok I wouldn’t go that far.

Must stop. Hands say done.

This is how I do it

This year is going to be a radical shift in lifestyle for us. I’m going to have to turn down a lot of socializing opportunities. It has been years since I’ve done this. I perceive Noah to be doubtful but I’m not sure if that is paranoia or more than that.

I have made a schedule. I’m putting it in my day planner. As of December 28th (the day next year’s day planner starts) I get to go on auto pilot. My days are planned out till summer. Then the kids and I will reevaluate what classes they are in and discuss changes. Our semester is set.

I have faith in my ability to stick to a schedule. I’ve accomplished a lot of things this way. College, teaching, marathon training. I create schedules for myself and then I put my head down and plow through. Just follow the plan.

I can do that.

Yoga, resting, and meditation have to become part of every day. Or I’m just going to incinerate myself with sheer nervous energy.

I have to get off the sedatives.

I mean, the only thing I’m still on is pot. But I’d like so very much to not need any medication. I can’t do the around the world trip if I have to be drugged to function. I won’t have that ability as I travel internationally.

I have to just be able to do it.

Shit.

A year is a very long time to power through. Well, at least given the current status of spoons in my drawer.

I have a lot I want to get done over the next three years: remodel the bathroom, pay off the house, write books, homeschool the kids, heal…

It will be a good thing to stay home more. We have a lot to do at home. One of the things I’ve always found funniest about ‘home’ schooling was how little time we spent at home. I need to change that. I want to stay home more. Well, not more than this last month. I want to stay home this much. It’s a big change from before the trip. Frankly, it is lovely.

So much I want to type. Have to stop.

Reflect

Sometimes I think about the fact that me ending up where I am right now was utterly improbable. Street kids don’t get here. Street kids die on the street. But I’m here.

I need to change how a lot of things work. I need to reflect on my body. (How come Dragon keeps replacing every time I say the word “I” with the word “we”? Dragon you suck.)

This week has involved several really important conversations. I feel more like it is okay for me to do the things I want to do. I feel a lot less like I have to have a conversation I do not want to have. Maybe it is okay to just walk away. It was pointed out to me that a letter might be more tactful.

I’m considering. And I’m done with Dragon because the kids are screaming in the other room and Dragon is picking them up. Yeah, voice recognition doesn’t work when you have kids throwing tantrums within hearing range. Welcome to my life.

Apparently Eldest Child is holding something Youngest Child wants and this is a terrible tragedy.

It’s a good thing I love them so much.

I’ve been talking to doctors. I’m talking to my therapist. I’m talking to people who have been very integrated into my life over the last few years.

I need to devote the next three years to healing. It’s going to take at least that long. If I don’t do that I can’t go on the Around The World trip I want to do so badly. I just can’t go if I am in this kind of pain. I can’t do the work right now. I have to change things if I want to reach these goals.

I want to so very badly.

I need to treat my body like I’m in training for the next phase of my life. This training period is going to be hard and take a lot of focus and dedication. I need to change how I use my body. I need to change how I live my life.

I have hurt myself a lot because I didn’t expect to live very long and it didn’t matter how much damage I incurred. It is hard to change this way of perceiving myself.

But I would really like to be having crazy kinky sex with Noah in thirty years. Just because it sounds like so much fun. That means I have to change what I’m doing.

This is going to be very hard. I hope the long term return is worth the effort. I’m not looking forward to this. In the next week or so I’m going to have to work out on paper what this actually means.

I’m going to need to schedule rest. Daily. For the next few years. I will have to schedule exercise and stretching and meditation. For the next few years. I have to develop this discipline or I’m not going to live much longer.

I’m in too much pain. This literally can’t continue. I have to learn how to sleep without handfuls of sedatives. That means I have to change how much stress I feel. I have to learn how to relax.

I have to.

It would really be best if I could eat and rest without having to be stoned as fuck. That would be ideal.

It has taken more than 30 years to get this broken. It’s going to take time to fix. Not because I’m lazy or incompetent or because I’m not trying hard enough… because that’s how long it takes. Because if you seriously do the work to undo this kind of damage…. yeah. It’s hard.

I’m scared. I’m scared I will do this and see no improvement because it is too late. I’m scared that I’m not worth this investment of time, money, and energy. I’m scared that I will get bored and do something stupid and hurt myself permanently.

That’s totally possible.

This is a really wonderful Christmas already. I feel like I’m shedding a lot of layers of things that don’t work for me. I’m keeping just the most important people and things. That’s really good. I’m keeping the people and situations that demonstrate that they seriously value me and I’m ditching the situations that use me without valuing me.

It’s better this way.

My shrink says she is very happy to hear how I am emotionally placing boundaries around some of the people I am going to keep even though they are problematic. Everyone is problematic. I don’t want to run away from everyone just to avoid their issues.

Like my creepy neighbor. My shrink originally wanted me to figure out how to never see him again. Dude. He lives a block away on my running route. I could avoid him but it would take effort. I think it is better to stare at him and tell him he can’t fucking creep on me. I will take extreme measures to stop you and that would suck for both of us. Let’s just be friends. I sure like being your friend.

There has to be a place for creepy motherfuckers. I’m a creepy motherfucker. My husband is a creepy motherfucker.

We have to be permissible. Or the only reasonable conclusion is we should off ourselves.

There really aren’t other alternatives. Because, “It’s not ok for you to exist like that you have to change” is a non-starter. Nope.

You can say you don’t want to interact with me if I am the way I am. You can say that you don’t like me. You can’t say that I must change in order to be allowed to exist. I am what I am. I can change some of my behaviors, but I can’t change what I am.

I creep people the fuck out. I’m intense. I’m interested in things that really bother other people. I am innately attracted to taboo subjects. I want to talk and talk and talk and talk about things that most folks would like to pretend don’t exist. That’s ok with me. I’m going to keep talking anyway, motherfucker.

I don’t think you have to be like me. The world would be a sad place if everyone had to be like sad, angry, paranoid me.

Over the past few months I’ve watched more current television than I’ve watched in years. How to Get Away With Murder, Jane the Virgin, Call the Midwife, Strange Empire, Grace and Frankie (did I reverse the names?), with only a small amount of time still going to The West Wing.

This is different for me. I’m going to catch up on Fresh Off The Boat this week.

I feel so excited that broadcast tv is seeing so much more variety of people. We live in a wonderful time.

And so much hot queer sex. Yes give me more more more more.

They’ve got my number. Hell yeah. Sounds good. Right on.

I really need to stop typing. This is my most intense self-harming hobby left. Giving it up is not ok. I WANT TO SHARE EVERY STUPID THING I THINK WITH THE INTERNET. COME ON BODY. GET IT TOGETHER ALREADY.

Ahem.

Sorry internet. I’m just like this. I love you. I want you to know me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I want you to understand just a little bit more about how complicated people are. Because I’m selfish. Because when I say I deeply identify with Moll Flanders other people tell me it is completely unbelievable crap.

It doesn’t sound that unbelievable to me. It sounds more like how my life could have gone if I were born before birth control.

I am where I am in large part because of modern birth control and make no mistake. You aren’t one of the more promiscuous people in your country without birth control. Or a lot of babies. I’m probably in the top 3% of women in terms of promiscuity. And I didn’t end up diseased. I had babies exactly when I wanted to down to controlling the god damn birth signs. (We wanted a Gemini and a Virgo. We got them.)

Maybe the things they tell you about what you have to do in order to be ok are wrong.

Just maybe they don’t actually know what is possible.

Damnit, body

I’d like to write about 10,000 words today. I have them in me. But I can’t.

I’ve been looking into physical recovery from the kind of damage I’ve done to myself. Conservative estimates put the time frame between 18 and 36 months.

I think I need to change things about my lifestyle if I’m going to make it to being an old lady.

Lots of thoughts.

Phew

I just got off the phone with my shrink. It was a good phone call. We did talk about the hair pulling thing. I am quite relieved to hear that we are on the same page again. We communicated extensively about the fact that I do not consider hair pulling to be a primary go to best practices parenting thing to do. It is not a great idea. It is not something to do in place of slapping your children as a habitual act. She was feeling nervous. Fair enough. No, I do not think I should spend a lot of time yanking on my children’s hair.

I am relieved that once I explained what actually happened she was no longer upset. Phew.

she is very happy to hear that I want to find a local therapist who specializes in children.

I want so badly to be better than I am.

Shockingly well

I went over and had a chat with my neighbor. The grabby dude who likes to tell me that he wants to fuck me. I’m surprised by how well it went. I talked to him a little bit about PTSD. I talked about how at this point in my life it is incredibly difficult for my brain to stop in a panicked moment and tell if I’m safe or not. He was patient and considerate. He expressed some sadness over the way I kicked him last time and I apologized. He asked me why I freaked out.

I told him that at this point in my life I have worked very hard to ensure that I will never again go numb and just let things happen to me. I have had too many men grab me, beat me, and rape me. I have worked very hard to make sure that my instinct is to fight with everything I have. I have taken classes that will help me be physically capable of putting people in the hospital. I don’t want to fight him like that. I don’t want to fight anyone I like that way. At this point in my life you just can’t grab me like that. It is too late. It is not safe for me and it is not safe for you. He nodded and told me he understands. He said he will be very careful not to touch me again. He said he wants me to feel safe.

Yeah, I totally didn’t expect that. This is why I bother to keep trying. People surprise me all the time. This is why I try. You never know what will happen.

Mixed bag

I feel like I am doing better physically. The pinched nerve still hurts but not like it did. Emotionally I am all over the place. I feel both happy and sad. As usual I’m missing my mom so much it hurts. I wonder if this will ever go away, this feeling of aching for her. I’m up to more than 30 years of it so I don’t hold a lot of hope at this point.

Luckily my children continue to inspire me and with every passing year Noah becomes more of a reason to stay alive all by himself. I truly could not have imagined a love this nice.

Oh, delicious taunting

One of my favorite people to beat the shit out of just sent me a little note to let me know he’s thinking of me. And he’d be happy to have me kick the shit out of him.

Oh you say the sweetest things. Swoon.

This is something I will have to consider most carefully.

Oh Dragon, I do hate you. But I’ll keep trying. I am a masochist

I’m going to try to use Dragon this morning. Let’s see how bad this is.

I was thinking about something. I was thinking about the connection between cultural values and what it means to be a functional adult. One of the many things that was valuable on this trip was getting to see that it means so many different things to be functional in different parts of the country. There really and truly is not one way to be a functional adult.

What does it mean to be prepared for life?

Noah spends a lot of time telling me that I shouldn’t care so much about what other people want to think. Then again Noah appreciates the perspectives I have because I have spent so much time doing exactly that. It is easy for me to figure out what somebody else might feel in any given situation. I don’t always care. I don’t always change how I act based on what somebody else might want. But if I sit down and try hard I can figure out what somebody else might feel. It is a skill.

I know that this type of emotional labor is considered somewhat standard for women; I have had to work very hard for the level of skill I have earned. My life has not been much like other people’s lives. As a result I have had to work very hard to understand the depth and breadth of human experiences. If I had just stayed focused on myself I am pretty sure I would have ended up a monster.

I spend a lot of time looking out, looking at the wondrous variety of people in the world. I have an enormous problem with having contempt towards my own group but I have a very hard time seeing how other groups could earn the same level of contempt from me. I don’t understand the way most human beings do group loyalty based on what they look like. Pretty much everyone who has hurt me has been white. The structural support system that has created white supremacy has not really worked well for me. That system depends upon having people who are on the very bottom upon whom everyone can take out their frustrations.

There are people in this world who are treated like they are important and there are people in this world who are treated like they are disposable. White superiority treats all white life as superior to lives of other races. But there is still the bottom fraction of white people who are considered expendable in the process of the people on the top getting what they want to get from life. We are considered collateral damage.

I have had the incredibly unusual experience of surviving being treated like I was worthless. Most of us die.

I have a lot of survivors guilt. There is no deserve in this life and I know that part of the reason I survived was because of that fucking white privilege. I don’t pretend that I can say I know what it means to be a person of color in this country. I can read and read and read and that will still never actually teach me what it means to be that kind of person.

I can only have the experiences I have had. My experiences have shown me quite a range of human possibility.

I want to drag everyone up with me. I did not deserve where I ended up. No, I do not deserve where I have ended up. No one could deserve the degree of luxury I experience. But I get it anyway. Is it fair? No. But it is.

I spend a lot of time telling my children that with great privilege comes responsibility. If you were born blessed in this world if you were born with a full hand then you have an obligation to share. There are many people in this world born into extreme want through no fault of their own. No one asks to be born. Many of us were not wanted at all. It is not our fault that our parents could not provide a way (I said adequately. Dragon heard a way. That is an interesting contrast.) for us.

(Side note: I have been talking for half an hour. I feel like I could have written 10 times that much if I were typing. I only had to stop and fix a few things. There is a part of me that wonders if maybe it might actually be good for me to slow my thinking down anyway. The experience of talking to the computer today was really weird. It felt a lot more like trying to translate my emotional experience into a second language. It is kind of funny to me the way that I have found a voice through my fingers in a way that hurts me very badly because using my actual voice is so very hard to use.

Literal speaking out loud it’s harder. It is terrifying. Speaking my opinion has often caused a lot of problems for me in this life. In my experience, Noah is literally the only person with whom I have been able to have a consequence free relationship when it comes to having opinions he doesn’t want to hear.)

Squeek. Joy.

One of the women I met on the trip wrote to ask me for advice about handling money stuff. She has some specific big goals and she isn’t sure how best to get there.

Holy. F’in. Shit.

Yes. I’ll talk to you about your plans. Oh, hell yes.

Thank you for asking me. I feel honored that you consider me worthy of asking about this topic.

And I will not gush all over you in email because that’s kinda creepy. I have a sandbox for that.

Holy. F’in. Shit. She wants my advice.

Holy shit holy shit holy shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Yay!

Of course before I give one word of advice I start out with a whole long list of questions. I can’t give advice unless I know what you want to do. It doesn’t matter what I’d do with $X. I have different goals. Tell me about your goals.

It would give me more pleasure than I can possibly express to help you get to a place where you are safer and more secure.

If I can manage to plan a way out of your situation… that’s one of those things that justifies taking up space in the world. You are having some serious troubles.

Managing money… that’s something I’ve learned about. I started with a rather small amount and it has snowballed like mad.

I seem to be… good at this. There is, like, actual literal proof.

Whoa.

This is on the list of things that Noah and I talked about. He’s really proud of me. He thought I would be good at this. I’m so very glad he was right.

I mean, we aren’t dead yet. There is time for me to fuck everything over still. But so far I’m doing pretty darn well by his investment in me.

Holy shit holy shit.

What an honor. You respect my opinion. I am overwhelmed with gratitude to find out I have earned such esteem.

I didn’t offer. I didn’t bring it up. I just talked about what I’ve done.

Not many people start out in the bottom 5% and end up in the top 5%.

For the record, no bootstraps were involved.

Went to the chiropractor. He uhm, said he is surprised I survived taking that many sedatives.

I laughed. Honey. You don’t even know.

I mean, I’m glad I survived too. I’m not sure I was at that much risk. I got up to those doses slowly over time. I can acclimate to a pretty fantastic amount of medications. This is why I try to use them as rarely as possible. My tolerance levels go through the roof.

Yes, it is dangerous.

Not sleeping is also dangerous.

I spend a lot of my life standing between a rock and a hard place. If you know how to make a more comfortable standing spot, let me know–ok?

Getting slicker, thanks

I have not yet managed to talk myself into no longer looking at stats. But even though I still have an unusually high number of hits, they aren’t all coming directly from the troll site any more. And you’ve figured out “donotlink” too and you aren’t doing that either.

So, thanks. I can see that you are clearly trying to respect some of my boundaries if not all of them. It seems as though y’all are actually trying to not cause me to have panic attacks seeing where you’re coming from. Thanks.

That’s… a very kind sort of manipulation. I actually appreciate it quite a bit. No sarcasm.

The number of hits is still scary, I’m not used to that. But I don’t feel like I’m being loomed over by a disapproving crowd who is just waiting for me to slip up enough so they can call the police on me.

It really isn’t a lot of fun being in my head.

I spend a lot of time worrying about my behavior and trying to do better. I know that I fail pretty spectacularly sometimes and I’ve never been sure what that means. We live in a time and a place that would much prefer to punish people who fuck up rather than retrain them. I’m rather lucky I’ve slipped through the cracks as much as I have and I’ve avoided a lot of punishment I maybe should have gotten.

If I weren’t white I would have had a much harder road. I was incredibly disruptive for my entire childhood. That is barely sorta tolerated in white kids and treated as if it is a capital offense from black children.

I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. It is fucked up, wrong, and it happens every day.

I spend a lot of time wondering what could change things. What could make society safer?

I actually think that if we … uhm… don’t kill me for this, ok? I actually think that if we significantly lowered the penalty for rape we would be able to effectively prosecute it more and provide more healing and closure for victims. At this point the penalties are so high that there is a whole Good Ol’ Boys Network in place to prevent women from ruining the lives of those nice boys.

What if it didn’t ruin their whole lives? What if it was just… one more thing that lived on your permanent record that could be looked up about you. So that patterns could be detected and only serial predators faced serious serious charges?

I don’t know.

I think there should be a whole different system of redress but I don’t know what it should be.

What if all people who have been named as rapists are required to donate x% of their salary forever to a therapy fund for any rape victim who needs help paying for therapy?

That would change the dynamic quite a bit, don’t you think?

I increasingly believe that prison isn’t a solution. It is an expensive stop gap that is ruining more lives than it helps. We have found that out pretty decisively.

A lot of the problem in our country is that we are a blending of so many kinds of cultures from severe authoritarian to permissive that is really hard to find a cohesive law system that can work with such a broad range of “acceptable” variance.

As a nation we don’t have one set of principles about what is wrong and what is right and we are so very large. But we will never be able to solve problems the way China does. China gets away with being uniform because China has been a “do what you’re told” country for a very long time. The entire group of people is enculturated to respect power.

We… don’t have that set up and we never will.

What does that mean?

In my head I keep coming back and back and back and back to this idea of a universal income. We need it so badly. At this point in my life I am absolutely convinced that a high percentage of the problems we have could be mitigated that way. Not solved, but made less severe.

Of course I think of all the disabled people who are much more expensive to keep alive than people who aren’t disabled. How are they going to make enough more money to meet their needs? I think about these people because I love many of them and I want them kept alive. I watch how much they have to struggle to even get to “average”. I’m scared of making things harder for them.

I can’t say, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that there aren’t people who would be severely harmed by a minimum basic income. There are probably some people currently living on a mix of food stamps, disability, social security, and something else I’m unaware of who will see a quality of life drop.

This would have to be looked at by people far smarter than me. How many of them do you know? Maybe we are fucked.

Maybe there would still have to be a supplemental disability fund? No more unemployment or social security, but we still have a supplement for folks who are disabled specifically to pay for gear and assistance they must have to stay alive?

I know people who have to have live in helpers to keep their body alive. You know what? If they didn’t have the funds to pay for it I’d be happy to supplement. I want them alive. They do add to the world.

Sometimes I think the most disabled people exist partially because without them we would not understand the full complexity of what it means to be human. People are born in all kinds of bodies with all kinds of ranges of possibility.

Every single aspect of it has value.

I mean, the real reason disabled people exist is because there is variance in nature. It’s as simple as that. There is no “meaning” to any of it, not really. People just are. I don’t believe God puts people here as a lesson to be grateful that you are not like them. That would be a seriously asshole God if you ask me.

People just exist. And they have value as they are. What is that value? Shit that’s complicated and we have to go through it case by case by case.

I have spent an unusual amount of time in hospitals. I spent a while in my childhood having a best friend who was a quadriplegic from polio. We played a lot. I learned a lot about how to include people in games, even if they cannot move their hands and feet and all play is verbal. She was a really good friend. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch with her when my brother transferred to a different hospital. But to be fair, my life was so chaotic and I was eight and I had literally no money so it’s not like I could buy a stamp to write a fucking letter.

So I can’t feel too guilty. But I can remember her and be grateful that she was my friend for a little while.

I learned a lot about verbal descriptions from her. She had one of the most beautiful minds I have ever encountered. In her head, whole worlds existed.

Everyone has value. Everyone has something to teach you. Even the people you hate. Even the people you have to protect yourself from.

I’ve been too chicken shit to go talk to my old man neighbor yet. I’m not going to enjoy having this out but I have to.

Just like I’m still worried about another conversation I have to initiate. I think I have finally recognized that it just has to wait till January. I literally can’t before then.

I hurt. I’m so tired.

Yesterday was a quiet productive day and it was lovely. The kids have pediatrician appointments and classes lined up and a dentist appointment. I did a whole bunch of shuffling online stuff I have to deal with. Made yet more appointments with doctors.

I am serious about this hunt for a local shrink to help me with parenting stuff. At this point I have seven names. (I had eight yesterday. I changed my mind about the dude after looking at more of his website.)

They are all women who work within ten miles of my house. They are all people who specifically talk about parenting, PTSD, and long-term help. I had to narrow it down from a much bigger list of people than I expected. That’s really wonderful to see. It didn’t used to be like this.

One woman is black. Two are Chinese (as in mention being immigrants who speak Mandarin). Four who look white and there is no cultural identifying information about them. In my experience in the past… I deal best with black women. But I think I should talk to all seven.

I do not believe that it is appropriate for me to say that I have endured a level of trauma that is indicative of people who are black, that’s bullshit. I will say that when it comes to getting advice, the delivery style of the average African American woman works better for me than the delivery style of the average white woman.

It is important to recognize things about yourself.

Why is this true? Partially because black women don’t get to be wishy washy or passive aggressive the way white women do. If you must get things done then you act as if you are going to get it done. Period. That’s more my experience of getting advice from black women.

White women let you have more wiggle room and whining and but I don’t wanna.

In my experience of seeing black therapists versus white therapists…

One memorable line comes to mind, “Well that plus a quarter would have bought you a phone call a few years ago. You’re going to need more than that now.”

I know who my first phone call will be to. But I’ll call them all.

I have a hard time perceiving the hair pulling thing to be as far out in left field as other people do. But maybe that means I need to have it explained to me by someone who really understands why it is a problem so that I can change.

I really and truly want to do the absolute best I am capable of doing for my children. Along the way we are going to discover a lot of things that don’t work or that are fucked up. Because that’s what happens when you try a lot of things because you don’t know what will work.

I know some big land mines to avoid. I am far from omnipotent though.

Ok, someone on the troll site did say that they thought I was doing very well given where I started. I’ll acknowledge that with a “Thanks”.

It isn’t good enough for me though. It isn’t good enough for my kids.

But how do you change if you can’t see who or what you are well enough to figure out what you have let alone what you want to change to?

I have a hard time believing I am that bad of a parent. My children are too joyful and healthy. But I believe I could be better. It matters to me that I hit my potential and I don’t stop at “not that bad”.

Part of the problem with being better: do you know how people get good at things? They fuck it up a lot and pay attention to how they fucked up and then they improve on what they had been doing. You need experience to get good. You need to be wrong to get good. That’s terrifying to me. I don’t want to fuck up like that with my kids.

One of the most wonderful things about the kind of brain we have as human beings is we are capable of learning from other people. We don’t have to actually do everything ourselves.

Why in the hell do you think I read so many books?!

Speaking of the books… I’m getting closer and closer to being willing to talk into a tape recorder and pay someone to do transcription. I could save so much damage to my body that way. I know that Noah is 100% on board with paying for anything that reduces the damage I do to myself.

The weird thing is it won’t be that expensive.

Not if I can get to the point where I have more books for sale and people buy them once in a while. I’m going to get there. I’m just being a chicken shit right now.

No. I’ve been busy with other things. The writing career thing was not actually on my original agenda and it is being shoehorned in on top of a lot of other things.

It’s kind of funny. But I really do feel like I have whole books just sitting in weird boxes in my head kind of tapping their fingers waiting to get out.

There are many, very specific, messages I want to share with the world. I don’t know how much I will actually change people. But I sure as hell want to find out.

I don’t think of my blog like that. This is documentation. I’m not trying to talk you into anything.

This is not my art.

This is my salvation.

But! This is practice that will make me better at my art. Yay!

I’m trying to talk me into being the person I want to be. The person I can believe in. I want to prove that someone can really and truly be the way I want to be.

It would be a lot easier if I just decided I was a fuck up and went on with my life. Sigh.

Do you know what is going to break my heart? In the end, when it finally feels like it will be my turn to get to speak and speak and speak and speak? That’s when it will be most important for me to smile, nod, and hand the mic to someone who does not look like me.

Because they need to speak more than I do.

I’m very selfish and petty though. That’s going to hurt. I’ll do it. But it’ll hurt.

I’ll probably confess to you my mixed feelings, oh internet. But only if I can do it without undermining the message I’m trying to get out.

My experiences have been highly unusual for a long list of reasons. We need to hear from the people who have absolutely typical experiences because those are the patterns that can be broken.

Who in the hell is going to be able to catch the falling stars like me? We are so battered in so many places from coming down so fast.

I had help. That help is not available to most people who don’t look like me. How do we change that?

Everyone should be able to get the help I had. Why? Because I got a very little bit of help from a whole fucking lot of people.

Many people expressed shock and near horror that I let a friend live here while their house was being renovated. Uhm, the kids need a safe place to be. Why in the hell would I say no? Because it is inconvenient?

You people are fucked up.

Life is inconvenient.

Side note: I find it funny that people who think it is totally appropriate to have a kid have to sit all day in school doing boring shit that wastes their time (there are studies showing that less than an hour a day of school involves serious learning time) think I am awful for making my kids learn how to put their own laundry away and empty the dishwasher.

I am a defensive asshole, yes I am.

Our baby sitter really is a big sister. It’s wonderful. When the kids are whining about doing chores she talks to them and helps them. It is really sweet. I’m so lucky this kid is in our neighborhood and she has this kind of time free. It is funny to me that she is terrified of asking for accommodation. Every time she has to say, “I can’t work ____day.” She always apologizes and kind of cringes. Dude! If this job doesn’t work for you it will be the first thing that goes from your life. It’s totally ok if you can’t work on a given day. I’ll manage. It’s all good. Thank you for your help. Thank you for what you do. Thank you. It’s ok. Do what you can.

I have learned a lot about what I can and can’t do by myself. I’ve learned a lot about how nice I am capable of being when I am doing everything by myself.

I’ll work around your limitations, honey. You let me do me in a much nicer way. Thank you. I appreciate any and all help.

I was literally not capable of feeling that way twenty years ago. Someone asking for one day of being absent meant that they were abandoning me for all time and I would walk away furious. Possibly forever.

Ten years ago… slightly less explosion. Slightly.

I’m really proud of where I am now.

I feel kind of ashamed that there wasn’t a person on this earth who was worth me changing this much until my children were born.

Even though I love you all… I don’t love you like I love them. I owe them everything. I owe them everything I can ever give them. That is just the deal. What I get back is what they freely choose to give and I am not allowed to have expectations about that.

I do believe it is ok for me to tell them how I feel. But I don’t get to tell them what they have to do with that knowledge. Sometimes my kids choose to do stuff that I hate. That’s ok. We all know it and we are all ok with that.

There is a difference between the things I keep you from because it is my job to keep you safe as a child and the things where it is not my place to control who you are.

I think that is a lot of why I enjoy my relationship with my children as much as I do. They are incredibly loving and affectionate. I don’t force it. They are just that way.

I honor my promises. I say I love you every day. When I fuck up I state exactly what I did wrong, why it was wrong, and what I should have done. I rarely repeat mistakes (other than raising my voice–this is a continual battle).

Do you know that my kids are equally at home in the swankiest of expensive hotels/restaurants as they are in the most run down of mobile home trailers? They don’t blink. It is all perfectly normal and just how people are. They have a compliment to offer in any location. “Oh I love how you did _______.”

Sometimes they blow my fucking mind.

I have worked so hard for this. This is what I wanted. Children who feel comfortable in the world. Children who know lots of kinds of people and who see them all as wonderful. My children are not so sheltered that they think that only good people exist or only good experiences exist.

But they believe that if you are good to people it comes back to you. They believe that they were born lucky, with enough to spare and they really owe it to the world to give back. They consciously spend a lot of time talking through things they could do to make the world a better place.

We do little things and big things. We can’t do everything but we do what we can.

This is what privilege means. Having the time, the freedom, the ability, the money to do this.

We can make things better.

Wow. It is such an intoxicating feeling.

Will there be regressions? Yes. Are there still problems? Oh goodness yes. So many problems. That just means we have our work cut out for us, don’t it?

Dolly says that we’d better get to livin’, givin’ and throw in a little more givin’ and love along the way.

It occurs to me that it is a lot easier to stay positive when you have as much money as Dolly Parton. Or me.

Is this what being a grown up means?

Dad and I talked today. We had a very extensive conversation about his financial situation, his goals, plans, and needs. You see, he was laid off last week. He’s been in a rough spot since his wife died when I was pregnant with my oldest child. Things have to change dramatically. Starting now.

But he needs a runway to give him the time to get the house ready to sell. He has a lot of stuff to do to dismantle the life he has had up to this point and downsize to the point where his future income will be able to support him. He knows it is coming. He’s just about to Social Security being his option. He will have to be able to make it on that.

It was a hard conversation to have. He’s not my biological father. I don’t owe him what someone thinks they owe their blood. But he is the only Dad I have. I have other Daddy’s… yes… but they aren’t my Dad. I have very different relationships with each of these men. Only one of them provides the Grandfather role to my children. It’s different.

He and I talk through stuff he doesn’t want to talk about because he is willing to help me because that’s the deal. He has opened his heart and his home to me consistently for extended visits for over 15 years. He has absolutely obeyed every boundary I have ever set. He pushes his luck till he finds a boundary. Then he is absolute.

I can live with that.

I’ve already trained him.

I’m scared about sending him this much money. It’s a lot of money. This is a huge trust exercise. I give people small amounts of money just about every day. That doesn’t stress me out.

You know what? Sending a whole slew of people $50/month doesn’t bother me any more. I have acclimated to that. It’s a small amount of money.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

This is a lot of money to send him. We are going to chat again in February or March and it’ll be possible that he needs the same amount of money again to make it through till June. That’s the explicit agreement right now. I can’t float him a six month runway today. I can do halfway and negotiate again and probably do it then.

That’s terrifying to me.

I trust this man. I have watched the series of steps his life has taken. I know all of his wives. I’ve known his girlfriends way too well in my opinion. I know his “real” kids.

He isn’t going to cut and run. His whole community would come down on his head like the fire of God. He is a deeply invested man. He just needs six months of help.

And because he’s white and he’s upper class, he has access to a network that can float him that kind of money just for the asking. That blows my fucking mind.

Why am I not willing to lend that money to other people? Because I don’t think they can give it back and that is too much for me to take away from my family permanently as a gift. I’m ok with giving away $1,000 or $2,000 at our current income level every month. I don’t need it back. That’s extra.

But the amount of money Dad needs cuts into my ability to pay off my mortgage by 2018. That’s… that’s personal. That hits at one of the pillars of security in my life.

I mean, I could just stop giving the “smaller” amounts to all the other people and make it back…

But no. I give that money to women of color who have children to support. I’m not going to stop doing that so I can help a fucking white guy.

HELL NO.

All of these decisions about who to help and when and how much and where and…

They hurt. They are never fair. They are always made by your gut in the spur of the moment.

Why in the hell did I invest in that coffee shop?! Because they are my friends. Because I wanted it to survive. Because I get to feel joy that it still exists. It did work out. I did get what I wanted from the deal even though I lost money. I didn’t need the money back.

But I could have put it on my mortgage. Enh. I’m operating within the parameters I set for myself. I hadn’t expected to accelerate the mortgage with that money. I don’t feel like it is going missing.

Money is so very weird.

Slow day, I hope.

Today I need to call and schedule a buddy class for TKD for the kids. (A friend is using a studio walking distance from our house–they want us to start with them. YES!)

I need to call their dentist and update insurance information and schedule an appointment for EC’s cavities.

I need to call my chiropractor and schedule an appointment.

I should schedule pediatrician visits for both kids.

Maybe call the exterminator? The ants are getting festive in here.

Do I want to go ahead and make appointments with the contractors I have had recommended in the last month?

No. I don’t want to.

 

Fuck.

But the weekend was glorious. So much love. I married the right person for me.

Who was I kidding?

I wanted to not type today. Ha.

My poor hands.

Well, Noah is asleep. So I’m sitting here going round and round in my head. If I write the things down, maybe it’ll be less.

I need to stop looking at site stats. I need to put that on my “can’t” list. It is driving me bananas.

I need to figure out how to get consistent rest on a daily basis. That’s going to be very hard for me. I don’t like resting. I feel very bad about myself when I do it.

Noah and I rolled through yesterday. It was lovely. We talked with very brief breaks for alone time for over twelve hours straight. We spent a lot of time in our mutual admiration society.

Let me tell you why I love you so very much. Now you tell me.

Noah makes me feel… capable of accomplishing anything.

All I have to do is want it bad enough.

There’s something really big and heavy I’m sitting on. It’s hurting me a lot to think about. I’ve told Noah about it. But that’s as much as I’ve been able to verbalize. I don’t make promises I won’t keep. That is absolutely core to who I am. I treat a broken promise like an absolute failure of the highest order deserving of great punishment and shame.

I’m sitting on something big and heavy. It’s hard. What is enough?

I am very glad that Noah is supportive of the fact that I believe once we meet our financial needs it is our moral obligation to pass on the extra. I cannot begin to properly express what that means to me. It’s noblesse oblige, I know. But I believe with all my heart and soul that the way to have a great country is for those with the most to hand as much as necessary to those with the least until we can all rise together.

I believe this. I act on it. This is absolutely integral to how I view the world. I’m feeling a wee bit terrified of the financial accounting at the end of the year. I’m going to get quite a run down on my activities this year. Ugh. I don’t start that till Boxing Day. It is hanging over my head like a lead ballon. Ugh. Money. Whyyyyyyyyyy do I persist in talking about money? Blurg. Because in talking about it, especially publicly, I know that throughout the year I will keep my goals in mind and be more honest in my accounting. I will have more self control when it comes to random purchases because I have to fess up to the god damn internet about it.

This is a lot of how I control myself. Like, next year is a no-book-buying year. Because I do better with binary on/off switches like that. I’ll probably go out and get a few more in the next week. Ha.

Next year is a reading year. Ahhhh. It’ll be great.

I have so much to learn. I buy some fiction, of course, but I buy a lot of non-fiction. I read to learn. I read to grow and change and add tools to my tool belt. Even most of my fiction reading is conscious aimed at stuff that will show me different ways that people react to situations.

I am aware that I have a lot of deficiencies in my development. I’m working on that as fast as I am able.

I need to go have some serious words with my neighbor soon. He’s… ok there was another thing. He was lying on the ground looking at the undercarriage of my van (who the hell knew there was a spare tire under there?!?!?! AWESOME!) he grabbed my leg and wouldn’t let go and started getting creepy. I told him to let go several times. Then I started kicking him in the ribs until he let go of me. He started to complain that I was so mean and I told him if he ever grabs me again I will make him bleed. Leave me alone.

But I need to go back and have a serious conversation about this. I need to lay out my trauma history and tell him point fucking blank that as much as I enjoy talking to him about gardening and cars and travel and culture and mechanical issues and and and… I need him to stop treating me like I am sexually available. I’m not. I will physically force you to leave me alone if I must. I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and I’d be very sad to hurt you like that. But I will.

I’m done being the victim, motherfucker.

I have serious conflict about my resolve to force my terms of relationship agreements on people. But do I or don’t I have the right to say no? If I do, how much force am I entitled to use as someone escalates their refusal to acknowledge my no?

Is it ok to defend myself? Do I have a self that is worthy of defense?

I would feel like this is all my fault somehow because I send “mixed signals” but this happens to so many fucking women who don’t have my background that it is horse shit to blame it on me. He’s an old bastard who wants to feel young again and he’s trying to do that by forcing me into what role he wants. Fuck. Right. Off.

I could just go out of my way to avoid him. But frankly, we’ve had hundreds of hours of positive interactions versus about 20 minutes of accumulated sexual harassment. People are always complicated.

But is it worth it to me to destroy the friendship if he won’t back off? Oh abso-fucking-lutely.

I get to have limits. I’m done having my body be at the discretion of old fucking men. I’m done. Done. Done. Done.

Have to stop typing. Ow.