I just watched Bo Burnum’s Make Happy.
I don’t need to have something specific to say to start writing “again”. I hesitate to say I stop writing, because I am always writing. Maybe I’m writing haikus while re-watching s07 of Sunny, or I’m writing to my aunt on college ruled sheets, or I’m blogging beneath a glowing monitor, I’m writing. I have been writing most of my life. I haven’t always/don’t always/won’t always write well, but I do write.
For those handful who read this blog, I feel like doing the blog-update things. Much has happened since I last “updated” and I don’t care to revisit most of it.
When I turned thirty in 2016, I planned to get a tattoo. Money being the issue it so often is, I didn’t. I know I want a chess piece: the knight. My girlfriend has her sister’s handwriting up and down her body in ink, and it’s beautiful. I want words on my body. Currently my favorite pick for that future tattoo is a line from the movie Spilt. “The broken are the more evolved.”
I hate that Bruce Willis bit. Ugh. I feel like it minimizes the whole film.
One thing I’ve been writing is a letter to James McAvoy. I haven’t liked a draft enough to send it yet. Here’s hoping.
My meds will be ending soon, although I am in the process of re-enrolling for Obamacare. Still, the fear looms and I count the pills each day, knowing I could do a few things to stretch my supply. My addiction nerves twitch and my vision blurs a second, fading back in sharply on two fewer pills. One day closer to the end. To withdrawals, and depression, to the inability to eat well or sleep in any sort of rational manner and then it builds until I lose a job/a friend/a home and still have to solve my own shit, just now minus whatever I lost in the plunge.
I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I say this aloud to many people, especially to Jared. Things suck ass in a few ways, don’t get me wrong. The reign of 45 has been terrifying and the shock of white men by the truths about other white men sends me into fits of rage, and I’m barely aware of the news. My life has been lacking Amanda for far, far, too long. I feel like technology gives us such advantages, and I have no room to complain. But I need to smell her hair, and I miss her mouth. Still, I am happier than I’ve ever been. I am loved deeply by good people. I know I’m a “good people”. I’ve been able to reconnect with my home and the family that it holds. I have been able to trace the outskirts of my city, helping in small but concrete ways. I’m building a relationship in terms of decades. I’m planning to ask Jared something in the next year or so (“Money is a mind control technique used to quantify the progress of the patrichary!”) and he knows what I hope he says. It’s gonna be good.
There are three homeless folks at the corner of Judge Perez and Poland. They all stay on different parts of the intersection. One of the men has lost one of his arms from the elbow down. Every time I see them, I debate the appropriateness of eye contact. I want to show the respect I would show any other human-yes, eye contact. I don’t want a man that I don’t know to approach my car-no eye contact. I want to smile and offer what I can, especially when I can’t offer money-yes, eye contact. I don’t want to give him false hope that I have more than a smile to give-no eye contact. The light turns green and the car behind me yells. I drive past the intersection.
Shawna has come into my life again. The spot in my heart where she lives had become slightly overgrown with infrequent use. Now it is cozy and caty. I only see three people every month in person, and that’s Jared, Shawna, and Maddie.
Maddie is ten. She’s in a dancing competition, and she is always eager to help me cook, and hates it when kids want her to share her friends at the playground. I love this child so much more than I knew I could love a kid. She asks me hard questions. I dwell on the hard questions I asked adults when I was young, and I try to channel the composure and grace of those who advised me. Karen Gold’s quiet way of speaking her truth, no matter how it might have looked to others. Mr Almedia’s encouraging tone while still holding the highest standards. The way Annie could teach me things and make me feel like an equal in some ways, even when I was just a kid.
I want people to know that I’m happy in case I suddenly die. It’s odd, having come full circle on suicide issues, I now see death as something to be put off for as long as possible. I have plans. I spent my time wanting to die, and trying to die, and wishing for death to land on me like a piano in a Looney Tunes cartoon. I worked hard and I paid a lot of money to smart, well-trained women and I got better. Now I want to live to see decades pass. I want to own a home. And with my hourly rate, part-time at the craft store, that won’t happen till I’m 70 or 80 anyways. I want to help Maddie with her questions. I want to be alive.
For so long, my being alive felt like an accident or a problem. Now that it’s a conscious decision, I guess I feel the need to display it. I’m alive on purpose and I’m happy about it! Even when life is shit, there may be mushrooms growing there and hey, free mushrooms.
Jared and I got matching ugly Xmas sweaters. They have a tree made of cats on them in cross-stitch and the cat at the tippy top has little LED lights for eyes that blink and strobe in the most obnoxious way. We’ll be forcing our cats into a hopefully-awkward family photo this holiday season. If you want to get your own copy of this insanity, send me your address.
I miss my brother and sister more every year. I get to see them both in January. I gotta get to CO and see about a woman, and I need to introduce Jared to my mother.
Jared and I will be going to CA as soon as we can to have him meet my mother. He’ll also meet my grandparents and aunt, but the looming, dun dun duuuunnnn bit is definitely my mom. Both my siblings have already spoken highly of him and I’m not worried. I will need to find a cat-sitter though. We now have two cats, and one needs attention. A lot of attention.
I’m navigating the social structure of having in-laws with great caution and less tact than I’d hoped I’d possess.
Putting life in terms of many years scales everything a little differently.
If every year my brain expands and my impression of vastness grows around me, will I ever understand my world?
I’m studying lynching. It was a huge threat to Black people during Jim Crowe, especially in the south. And in the south it was a threat basically until the 70s. Although if someone told me it was a threat in some places here and now, I’d believe it. One of the worst parts of this execution process was the fact that it happened in public. This was a thing that people supported with silence as they walked by, shielding their children’ faces and quickening their pace. It was permitted by inaction. I wonder if that’s how the Nazis were able to take power: “good” people doing nothing. I wonder if that’s how those three people at Judge Perez and Poland stay homeless and hungry.
Abbi and Ilana of Broad City are currently keeping the wind in my sails. They encourage me out into the world, and I can come home to Westeros, Jared, and kitty snuggles. I have several meals worth of food in my home. The sheets needed to be replaced this week and so they were. I am privileged and I want to be grateful. I want to be able to be grateful and still furious at the insanity outside this haven house. I want to be firm in my boundaries and still compassionate to those I love. I want to speak my values and stand for equality and not lose my job. Things I’ll lay at my alter this full moon, I guess. My cards forecast my own consent for such crazy in the Hanged Man. I do like suspension.