Fuck It, I'm Journaling Until 1:30 PM

I used to dream only about one or two people, the rest of my dreams being populated by strangers. But lately I've been seeing more and more familiar faces. I've made little notes the morning after each person appears, but it's really too much to keep up with. Past workplaces - like the preschool and the siren.  There are dreams about N (he was a really supportive, good friend who moved to Washington, like we all hope to do someday). Dreams about returning to preschool (I was the younger toddler room teacher's TA in one and helping a new preschool teacher set up their classroom in my old one in another). Dreams about working at the siren and struggling to keep up during peak (classic stress dream! Good job, subconscious.) Seeing J again and getting a glimpse of his life now. Mundane and lovely. Walks and chores, love for his partner and life. The little things making it worthwhile. Even sexy-time dreams about F and J2! (Those somehow turned into getting stressed about living in/moving into/out of some sort of dilapidated apartment that was definitely giving early 90s Seattle.)

I finally finished North of North which was heckin' cute but could had more potential than it realized, I think. But it was good to watch at the gym since I'm dipping in and out of Love On the Spectrum. Some of my (Facebook) friends have said they believe it to be infantilizing and I suppose they're right. But they have had some Level I peeps on the show and higher-masking individuals, but tend a little bit more towards lower-masking individuals for repeat guests. Like James! James, in my quite unprofessional opinion, is somewhat low-masking. He is also how I feel on the inside quite a lot! James is an icon. Just: trust. I am internally groaning and muttering to myself about something or other in a crotchety way all the damn time I promise. I think I've mentioned it before (my quick search says no), but my Myspace handle used to be fatboyinnatightspace. I stole it one day when I was trying to get by a few people in the back room at the fourth Starbucks I worked at when my manager said, "Whoa. Fat boy in a tight space here!" And I realized that I, too, felt like a fat boy in a tight space. And you know what? Sometimes I still do. 

Sometimes I don't really want cisgender femininity. And not just because I perform it badly! Also because it's damaging and a waste of time in some ways. Depending on your culture, if you're a man, you're probably not bombarded with societal messages about your habitus and elective cosmetic stuff you need to do. Actually, you know what? I'm wrong. Male eating disorders are chronically underrepresented and just as damaging as any other gender's eating disorders. Don't mind me, I am no old.

Persuasion (persuasiveness? Debate team) is the devil.

Okay, bye.

The Middle Way

 I have a lil' parking lot document with topics I want to yap about on the internet, but for today...I want to talk about yesterday. Because it was a beautiful cross-section of My Deal Which I Fucking Hate as it relates to social stuff. And I'm having a bunch of feelings about it and I want to write it out and hopefully that'll help, yeah? Yeah!

Let's go. Oh - background information: today is my third day to be on Bupropion. So far so pretty good and I'm down to 2-3 cups of coffee a day with that in my system which is wild because that's down from...like...five.

The tarot card I pulled yesterday was Justice. So I was trying to keep that in mind yesterday. But I didn't dig deep into what Justice means and I want to do that a little bit this morning too.

I dropped L off at school yesterday but it was volunteer appreciation day so the kids were all just running riot on the playground - bit of a drop-and-go moment. I didn't go to the volunteer appreciation breakfast because...I thought it would be too much for me. I have issues with social anxiety? With groups that are kind of like parties? With settings that have non-specified roles? Where I don't have A Person I feel solid about? As I said, the Bupropion is working pretty well, so I went about the rest of my errands for the day. I picked up fairy lights from Target for an event tonight, got gas from Costco, decided to pick up my final tips from The Siren and that I wanted to pick up some malasadas to take to the kids there because damn. Things been rough lately. I got a box for an event I was volunteering at later that morning too.* So I...did all that! Tips: check. Brown sugar cortado: check. I was running early so I went to campus a little early because: why not?

I hung out in the back for admitted students day and listened in a little before a panel at 10:45. I don't know if I did a good job with it. But there were three other students there and I think among us we had some good (if somewhat intense) feedback about the program. After that I took a sandwich and left to run two more errands before heading home. 

S is back-back (and things have overall been going well; I am still not a hundred percent, but sobriety has been helping and he's still going to therapy consistently and has pivoted to things like going swimming with us when we go swimming, helping with pickups and drop-offs and taking the lead on enforcing boundaries around screen-time), so he picked L up from school for Early Release and then to his parents house so she could sleep over.

Last night was a Big Event for school that I did almost nothing to help coordinate or execute. So my plan, inasmuch as I had one, was to help strike. I probably should have helped setup, but I didn't. I thought my errands would take much longer than they did or that I should spend time with my daughter before spending 4+ hours away from her at night, but in retrospect it would have been fine. 

So basically all I did before the event was listen to some lectures, fold some laundry, and get ready. I thought I would take a nap too but that just...didn't pan out. So I do the makeup and get dressed. We go by my in-laws' house to see L before because I miss her and want to see her. That's all fine, but then there's some mild anxiety around parking and where to direct my parents to park for the event. 

We're hella early. We're the first ones there. The waitstaff is pretty jazzed about that because apparently they thought the event was supposed to start at 5:00 and so had been there since 4:00. Ope.

From there on out...the vibes were just...off. I wasn't greeted by...almost anybody? I went up to someone a couple of times and smiled, asked for a task, executed the task, and went back to my table, but overall it just felt weird. Like I was being depersonalized. Despite being at an almost-empty table no-one in my cohort came to sit with me. No teachers came to speak with me. I didn't get up and go talk to them either? Some OT3s came to sit with us and it was nice to talk with them and catch up a little bit, but overall the weird vibes just compounded over the course of the evening and by 9:15 I was ready to go. I had an upset stomach, I didn't feel very festive, I wasn't masking very well all day anyway and I sure as hell couldn't mask anymore by the end of the experience.**

There was a tremendous amount of sadness. Of feeling not good enough. Of feeling like I just don't connect with people very often in a deep friendship way and that makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. Feeling like the hope I felt when I first entered the program was misplaced - like I was not, in fact, seen and understood and scaffolded and watered and turned towards the sun. Like this is my fault because I didn't do enough. Because I wasn't enough. Many of the same feelings I felt at Belhaven. They didn't know what to do with me. And here...I don't exactly know what the problem is. Except - me. 

To be clear: I am going to be an alright-to-good OT. Maybe even a great one, eventually, if I find the right fit for my skills and temperament. One event doesn't define me. But it does make me sad. Because maybe this is forever. Maybe it just be like that most of the time. Maybe it's just the 'tism (which I will now a hundred percent not pursue a diagnosis for due to all the talk of a registry). Maybe I'm just not a good friend/classmate/family member. Maybe I'm not only not for everyone - but not for most people. And I kind of have to be okay with that. 

At the end of the night I had an upset stomach and had to run to the bathroom. This gave me an out when they asked if I was going out afterwards. 

It did make me miss the burlesque company, oddly. Those unicorns of humans have lists and tasks and schedules and it's so much nicer in many ways to be bullshitting with the ND while un-crumpling ones than wondering what's expected of you and whether you're okay-enough with the NT.

Could I just ask about expectations? Yes. Did I? Also yes. Did I gain clarity? Nawp.

Okay. I feel better about all that now. The protocol that worked:

PM of: cry, chew gum, S independently apologizes for not being supportive the past two years, sandalwood incense, sleepytime tea, weighted blanket, cat on lap, playing Dordogne x20 minutes, watching North of North x1 episode, 5 mg melatonin, binaural sleep sounds w/ rain

AM after: 16 oz. instant coffee, noticing I don't want to go out to eat so respectfully declining to do so, instant oatmeal with collagen and peanut butter, more cat, journaling, crying, lemon-lime Waterloo seltzer, more sandalwood incense, "My Tiny Tarot Practice" episodes about Justice and the Queen of Wands.

"Justice is not black or white thinking, it is not necessarily the force of the law. I think of justice in the tarot as the forever effort to align our actions with our values. And the attention paid to the space between how we act and what we believe. Because I think for so many of us (for all of us in fact) we are forced (or choose) to act in ways that are not aligned with what we say or believe to be most important in our lives. Under the oppressive forces of the world that we live in we are often forced into bad decisions. We are often given choices that are not, in fact, free choices. But it's not simply the systems or structures of our society that cause this, it's also the ways that we fail to know ourselves, to understand our motivations, to articulate what matters most to us or the values that we want to live our lives by, and therefore we can't act in alignment. We can't be balanced in our inner and outer worlds. And so, Rachel Pollack in 78 degrees of wisdom asks, 'If we don't understand ourselves, how can we expect to make a free choice?' And she argues that we have to see and accept our past in order to be able to step into the present and the future justly. So when this card arrives in a reading I'm often returned to my core values. Where am I acting in accordance with my beliefs? Where am I failing to do so? Justice sees all. And as Maria Menez [sp?] mentioned, identifies those energetic leaks. Because when I'm out of alignment and I'm acting in a way that's not aligned with my values, my life force leaks out of me. I lose integrity. And if I had to choose one key word for this card that's what it would be - it would be integrity. To me, integrity is that alignment between the value and action. Between inner belief and outer behavior. And I think that that's what Justice is seeking and calling forth from us." - Amelia Hruby 

* This is way more executive function than is typical for me and all before 9:30 AM, mind you.

**And I think some other factors that contributed to the overwhelm were:
-  my parents being there (I don't know if it's fair to say we don't get along, but it is fair to say that we stress each other out)
- S being there (a couple of members of my cohort and a couple of professors know bits and pieces of what's been going on and there's a disconnect between the level of [emotional] support that I think everyone else in my cohort had probably experienced over the past couple of years that he just...didn't/wasn't able to do? And sitting there while D was thanking all the spouses and SOs for snacks, support, encouragement and taking up the slack was just...not as applicable to me and that didn't feel good)
- guilt for not doing much of anything to help with this event
- the emotional release of this being it; we're off on clinicals in three weeks

Another Period

 There was this one photo-compilation about ballet I read over and over again when I was a kid (late elementary...early middle?) and the photographer/author was the sister of the photographic subject. She interviewed her sister at length about many different things and it was drenched in black-and-white photos of her sister at the barre, in pointe shoes, stretching, applying makeup, taking off makeup. I have one memory of a photo of the sister soaking in the bath, but surely that's a step too far even for The Period? But what I vividly remember is reading, and then immediately needing to look up, the word: sybaritic.  The ballerina sister went to great lengths to define her winding-down process after a hard night of ballet. This included cold cream, self-massage, and soaking in a bath. She said that some would criticize her as being sybaritic. I would not. That all sounds amazing and like the patriarchy trying to get on a sister for treating herself, y'know?

Myself, I'm dabbling in the sybaritic. Dry sauna for five minutes! Steam room for five minutes! A bath! Ten minutes in the hot tub! Thinking about the tanning bed/scheduling a facial. I thank my cortisol for its service and wish it well and away from me at whatever current level it's at. Which is...something they don't test for in routine hormone panels? I don't think? I will totally look at my My Chart again, though, I can't remember shit let alone my own percentages and numbers of hormones and CBCs and things unless they're dreadfully abnormal.

Meeting Tuesday night with a psychiatric nurse practitioner about...meds, I guess? Escitalopram was not doing what I needed it to so I Need To Talk About That with someone Specialized I guess because my PA was a little uncertain about My Deal. Me too, girl. So - idk. That's good I guess!

Had a dream last night that T was helping out with getting ready for Easter. There was some tension about Getting Things Right, and I had hella guilt in the dream (and hella guilt in real life) about Not Being Good at Emotional Labor. L had a dream last night about the Easter Bunny knocking on her door and having a party in Homer, which sounds amazing. Love that for her. Easter on the brain, I guess. Ahem. How was your Easter?

I'm trying to wind down because The Thing That I Left Behind in Homer this weekend was (drumroll) melatonin. *sigh* I suppose I could have technically picked some more up on the way back into town but I...didn't want to. So now: tea and hopefulness. Because I used caffeine, audiobooks, and playlists from 2022-til'-now to get me through the four-hour drive home.

Backing it up in case I didn't (I probably didn't) explain: we drove to Homer this weekend, which is a beautiful seaside town where the ocean is a shade of aquamarine such that photos just don't do justice. You know what I mean! ...probably? There's a beach and a spit and driftwood, you're expected to eat your body weight in fish and spend scandalous amounts of money on charter fishing and meals and ferries to Seldovia and wherever else off the coast. But it was sunny while we were there and we stayed in an amazing house and the road to Homer is an idyllic wind through snow-capped mountains, forested faux-alps, landscape that looks pretty cool but was also devastated by wildfires recently so YMMV, and coastal tableaux reminiscent of Skyrim x1 million. So I can't be too mad at it. B.D. Wong narrates a mean The Mouse and the Motorcycle which was one of my favorite Beverly Cleary books growing up, so that was fun, and highly recommend. The most recent time I tried to explain what it was about, the person I was talking to said, "Oh, like Stuart Little?" and...no. Just because there's a mouse...why not, just like Despereaux? Or, just like Redwall? I see how it is!

I was also consumed by this thought on the way home that there must be a protocol somewhere of what ladies with Nerves did in the 1700s to 1800s. And, if there is, can I get in on that? The answer, from the most cursory research ever, seems to be: staring at the wall, drinking milk, and eating meat. And idk about that. Seems sketchy. I would much rather do sybaritic stuff, get my terminal degree, exercise, and make elaborate plans to get trick myself into drinking enough water and tea and eating more than two food groups. I think I was hoping for more like: Onn Day 1 goe to the Seaside, partake inn thee fresh aire; Onn Day 2 paint a watercolour daguerrotype haha you cannot as those twain are divers mediums; Onn Day 3 pratcise thee harpsichorde - but unfortunately, no.

Alright. Time to cuddle my cat and call it good.

All Stories About Conflict are Incomplete

The promises, promises of summer

I first started taking dance classes when I was 5 years old at the Broadway Academy of Dance. We were driving by one day and saw it was under construction. I think I urged my mom to stop by and ask when they would be opening? That was when I met Miss Lisa and her husband, a construction worker and ex-high school football player. She was from Oklahoma (and still lived in Oklahoma, actually). She'd end up traveling down to Texas every day while she maintained her studio in Paris, which was about an hour drive. One day in class she told us she got pulled over for speeding on her way down to Paris, but that they'd let her off because she explained that she was choreographing in the car! She used to be in pageants and said the pageant girls used to wrap their breasts in duct tape and then pull it off to make the breasts perkier - but she herself never did that. She also said she used to be a figure skater until she injured herself and pivoted to dance. Where was competitive figure skating happening in Oklahoma? Beats me.

Every time I see a pair of scissors on the floor (and that's fairly often) I think of a major plot point in the Emily of New Moon series by L.M. Montgomery in which she runs downstairs, distraught due to Reasons and trips over a sewing basket. She spears her foot on a pair of scissors and contracts blood poisoning. This kicks off a chain of events including a psychic vision/fever dream. The moral of the story is don't leave scissors on the floor ffs and don't leave wells open. Shut them! Shut the wells. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily%27s_Quest    

In a quest to find non-violent mo' betta' games to play with my six-year-old I hit up Game Pass the other day. (We're an Xbox household, although my heart belongs to Playstation.) We found Little Kitty, Big City and a French game called Dordogne. We haven't finished either (because I am trying to write part of a research paper that is mais time consuming), but so far both are soothing and beautiful in very different ways and I'm very much enjoying.

We're going to go see Dog Man today and find out what that's all about. I'm a bit of an Axe-Cop loyalist myself, but there was a void of age-appropriateness and I'll be damned if Dav Pilkey didn't fill it. Before that it's going to be the Unitarian Universalist Church again (cautiously optimistic!) which will involve a coming-of-age ceremony for a kid I had in preschool and think about fairly frequently, then Zumba class, then visiting in-laws, Dog Man, and finally a meeting that I'm not whatsoever jazzed about because it feels like a lot of hand-holding. Yes, there's a fair amount of repetition with this paper. Yes, we should probably adjust it a bit. Do you want to let me do that? No? Do you want to do that? Also no? 

Our regularly-scheduled weather has switched from snow to rain so the vibe have reverted to PNW-style-stuff.

I have nothing to put here

It's been fairly consistently Spy Kids all the time around here. I guess I never watched the series when it came out? I can't tell if I was slightly too old or if I was way too into Jonny Quest or actual James Bond or what. But what I do remember is that I thought being a spy was a legitimate career choice and very real possibility for me. The first password I ever remember creating was "moneypenny"! And anyway, L seems to have inherited my love of espionage. They're not bad for what they are. Robert Rodriguez sure does know how to do...that one particular thing! Yup. 

The stories about my former roommate in the fairy house (O) continue: I was doing my practicum hours at the local Waldorf school (there's only one) and the only way it worked out was to get there at, like, 6:00 AM on a Wednesday and then stay three hours. One day I was stopped at a stoplight and headed home when a red Jeep pulled up behind me. It was O. He hopped out of his car and ran up next to my window. He stood there for a moment, smiled and side-eyed me. Then, as soon as the light turned green he ran back to the Jeep and went about his day. Iconic. He also had a dowager cat that he walked on a harness in the garden every spring!

My subconscious has been working through some Friendship Stuff lately. I've had dreams about the director of the dance company I was in for two years lately - and more than one. Do I spend a lot of conscious time thinking about her? No! Does her dance company pop up on my Facebook feed pretty frequently? Yes! Am I guilty about how I quit? ...I don't know. Yes? I didn't do a good job of...repair? Or being completely honest about my feelings? Not, I guess, that they matter(ed).

I went to a burlesque show last weekend and my least favorite thing was the small talk about the experience. "Have you ever been to a burlesque show before?" Um, yes. I am part of the company, actually. But maybe that's hard to comprehend? Maybe there's a disconnect between how people see me and what they're seeing or expecting to see on stage? Or maybe it's just one of the pieces of selfhood that I don't necessarily trot out in future because it's too complicated? There's just so much shit like that.

The snow is relentless and there is yet another slow leak from a bolt going through a completely new tire!

Otherwise it's research research research and responding to emails all while feeling like Flash from Zootopia. 

Ciao, bella. 

I Don't Know What to Tell You, You Don't Know What to Tell Me

We tried to go to the Alaska Native Heritage Center over the weekend because L wanted to go through a "secret tunnel" that runs between two of the longhouses. The setup is that they have different types of housing scattered across a garden area with a pool in the center. Each home represents a different region of Alaska and thus a different Native Alaskan people group. I always forget that they close for the winter and don't open up again until after Mother's Day so we ended up just driving through the gate, down the winding road and to the door. We just stared up at raven statue outside for a minute before deciding to go get our nails did instead. But every time we go to the Alaska Native Heritage Center I recall the time I was stuck inside the gates after they closed. I forget exactly why, but I know I'd finished up a rehearsal for Rocky Horror and somehow took for-freaking-ever to get back to my old white pickup truck. Did I go find someone to open the gate? Of course not! That would make sense. No, I off-roaded up the side of an embankment and went around the gate. Somehow it worked out perfectly and no one was the wiser (I think?) but still. Please file under: Questionable Decisions I Made After My Frontal Lobe Was Formed. Woof.

From a random page in the book I grabbed off the shelf in the study room this morning:
"The dilemma is that we may unconsciously be convinced that our important relationships can survive only if we continue to remain one down. To do better - to become clearer, to act stronger, may be unconsciously equated with a destructive act that will diminish and threaten our partner, who might then retaliate or leave. Sometimes, to develop a stronger "I" is to come to terms with our deep-seated wish to leave an unsatisfactory marriage, and this possibility may be no less frightening than the fear of being left." (Lerner, 1985)

One time, when I was living in the fairy house I found a handwritten manifesto that one of my roommates had left out in the living room. I am nosy as they come, so I read it. It was a detailed account of his 35-year-old feelings for an 18-year-old he'd met at a local rec center. He was in a relationship with someone that he didn't really dig - and he talked about that in the manifesto, too. There was mention of not being able to find a tiramisu in town that was good enough for them and that being a source of...disdain, I guess? But I think about it every so often. Life is so fucking strange. One minute you're living your life and the next you're falling in love with someone half your age. And for why? Some researchers say it's prolonged eye contact that does it. Proximity. Time spent? I don't think I could ever. The one time I tried to date significantly below my age it gave me the ick almost immediately. 

But I do wonder if he'd meant for me (or someone) to find it. He did break up with his partner not long after, but never brought a teenager home for the housemate to meet. Hm. That reminds me of a couple of other stories about the fairy house - but those are for another time.

Gotta finish up the Things That Are Due Today and trek out through the Unsurprising April Snow.

What's powerful is your ability to choose - not the situation itself.

I'm somewhat concerned that if I wash my car Mt. Spurr will finally erupt. And that's magical thinking!

A man chooses. A slave obeys*.

I got to the Kaladi's (a local coffee chain in Anchorage) an hour early because L kicked me out at the drop-off line. I'd feel worse about it, but I'll be back there for the Farm Concert at 1:00 PM and volunteering until the end of the day. I kind of like getting all my volunteer hours in at the end of the year. Everybody else is all burnt out and I'm just winding up, baby!

The effective outcome of me being early at Kaladi's is hogging a large corner booth because The Others will get here in about half-an-hour. I finally finished my bit of the research Lit Table so now I can take a minute to see if my brain works. Is it working? I keep making silly mistakes. There are so many supplements and powders these days. Earlier this week I almost put Miralax in my oatmeal instead of collagen. ...not that either one is bad for either of us, I guess. But still! Keys in the freezer moment.

I just emptied my little bag of collagen powder into an oatmeal I got at the coffee shop almost an hour ago. Yum. It's not cocaine! I promise. 

[time has elapsed; it's evening now]

I like my research group. It. Is. So. Chill. I don't remember if I've mentioned before or not but the other group? Not chill. Not laid-back. Not a good time. Meetings hours in lengths! Ain't nobody got time for that. And we get pretty good grades in the chill group so...girl it's fine. 

The farm concert was amazing. Just...peak human experience to hear the child you spawned Disney kid all over (in order) "John the Rabbit", "Why Doesn't My Goose...?","We're On the Way (to Grandpa's Farm)", and "Turkey In the Straw" followed by folk dances with the kindergartners. L hotly protested that these were not folk dances or circle dances and nobody do-si-doed at all. However! 

The talent show drama continued. They announced the talent show that evening and she realized that we'd never spoken to the teacher. She also realized that the girl she'd been going to do the talent show with wasn't there that day (sick, I think). I feel completely shitty because it was my fault for not following up with the teacher. There's also this piece where I feel like her feelings and questions are dismissed by fucking everyone, really? And don't see how that's exactly supportive or supposed to be part of the optional curriculum. I definitely don't think it's better anywhere else, and  

She managed to ask the music teacher about it and she said, "Well, I never saw it. And everyone else who couldn't be there sent me a video." ...okay? And was that ever made to be known an option? No. Fuck. I guess I need to just...do more reaching out because there is no system in place (that I know of). Fuck. So I just tried to be with her as best I could. Poor kid.

Her friends on the playground helped her feel better. Maybe that's why we're here? I wonder sometimes. But it's the friends. I ended up just kind of hanging around and volunteering in the library. It's such a rush to shelve books. I almost forgot. You make the piles! You sort the types! You alphabetize! You put them in the mysterious children's subsections correctly! You have...the soul of a bookseller. After all this time? Always.

Then we went to the museum which always makes things better. Well - almost always. It's hard to have a meltdown in the museum. They were setting up for a dance concert. Oh, the memories of stomping out the marley. 

When we were at the park after girl dinner(tm) and a couple of neighborhood boys were Up to Shenanigans. One had their bike and had attached a heavy rope with a hook built in to his bike while the other boy had it wrapped around his waist. Be safe, boys. I guess? Freaking 80s up in this hood.

* Also: There is always a lighthouse. There is always a man. There is always a city.