There Are No Words In the English Language That Could Drown You Out

 I was leaving the Parkinson's boxing group on Thursday and there was a man on a makeshift pedestal on the corner with big Cali Swag District energy. He had the air of a man about to teach me how to Dougie.

Hurricane Katrina is in the news a lot lately; I remember the trees getting blown over in Jackson around the Belhaven neighborhood. I also remember not being particularly fussed about it. Should have been! Wasn't. But that's what happens when you barely pay attention AT ALL and grew up in tornado country. I remember reenacting Sin City with three other kids while the power was out. We make our own entertainment, dammit. I am a little sad that I never went to New Orleans until after Katrina, but them's the breaks.

Sushi and karaoke tonight. I just realized today that I have about a week to get my shit together re: a show next weekend. SOUNDS RIGHT. Eek.

I took an aqua Zumba class this morning and I'll be honest - I'm not sure what Zumba is. Because I did Pacific Islander dance in a pool is what happened. And he also threw in some folk dance moves from...Spain, maybe? I felt like he was liable to ask us to haka, but he did not. Where were you when you first learned of haka? For me it was dance...culture? History? One of those.

We went to the fair yesterday and it was...fun? Not crowded? Apparently officially cosplay day (damn; missed the memo) and unofficially Russian Orthodox day. Note to self: get more tickets next year.

Blame It On the Microchimerism

Dropping L off at school the last few days has been hard; the separation anxiety is strong and I hope I'm doing right by her. 

I am, by and large, enjoying this time. Cycles of home improvement, working out, cleaning, cooking, dropping L off at school, picking up, volunteering.... Not perfect, of course, but it's going okay.

I'm turning 39 tomorrow; I am having feelings about that. Frustration, mostly. Some gratitude and astonishment at making it this far. Some fear because the more I know, the more it seems like Body Shit Can Go Wrong. Before it was just brain stuff that could go wrong! Also CPTSD. And shouldn't I have my shit together by now? At nearly fucking 40? It's not going to be cutesy and "39 and feeling fine!", that's for sure. More like, "39 and feeling freaked the fuck out because I am more aware of the state of the world and politics than I've ever been before". Woof.

L is taking violin lessons. Kinda! I say kind, because the music place is just...not getting back to me. I am free-falling into a void. I have sent the email and logged on to the portal, like, once, and been unable to log on since then for reasons that have not been clarified. I have left two voicemails. I have not paid them and wish to. And schedule future lessons. And, actually, at this point, maybe not that last one! L likes this teacher, which is the only thing keeping me hanging on. Otherwise there does seem to be another option, but I feel like we're about to miss our window for that unless The Teacher or The Teacher's Boss gets back to us in...oh...I don't know. 48 hours. How about 48 additional hours? Okay. Plan acquired.

For my birthday I'm going out for sushi and rented a karaoke room. One of the signs of the impending apocalypse! (Mostly) Sober karaoke! Because my brain is the way it is and also my C/PNS, I didn't get the shit together to book the room and invite the people until ~1 week before the event, but I still have one yes and one probably. But I also have one no response at all, and of course I am a bit sad about that. Despite knowing that there could be a million and one reasons why no response and that's totally something I would do. For that reason I pulled some tarot cards for "Why do I have trouble making/keeping friends easily?" and my tarot deck was basically like: "Girl, you get in your own way. And also: you fucking know this I don't know why you're coming at me with this shit!" By which I mean: The Devil. I pulled the devil. As is customary I pulled two more cards which are meant to be the, "Okay, what do I do about this, then?" For which I pulled the 6 of Pentacles followed by The Sun. Which means: "Receive help and ask for help; give and receive time, resources, and emotion (6 of pentacles) and things will be amaaaaaazing (The Sun)." Lord. Fine. Occam's razor, I guess!

It's hard to laugh, lately. Idk why, really. Maybe you're isolating yourself, babe! See above.

This week has been all about taking fitness classes to get out of my comfort zone (and not [mentally] veg out while chilling on the treadmill; not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm trying to do some cognitive stuff in tandem with physical stuff this week). So far I've taken Yoga Sculpt (secretly a HIIT class and a hot yoga class; with weights; didn't die, almost passed out; Monday), volunteered at a boxing class for people with Parkinson's (also Monday; idk why I thought it would be easy - it wasn't!), and Rock Bottom (Tuesday; fine! I can't bridge worth a damn on a Pilates ball but I would say that's approximately why I'm there; this was also the day of Taylor Swift's engagement so the teacher played Taylor Swifts songs the entire time. *sigh* It's fine. Fine. Fine.). 

I kind of binged (ironic?) the new Netflix documentary about The Biggest Loser. While working out, actually! For the first 2/3 anyway. It was a good watch. And - totally! You're not going to look like [insert celebrity of choice here] unless you make it your damn job to work out all the time. And the eating. God, the eating. Somewhat related: I got a half-hearted phone call from my brother yesterday and he was proud of losing 25 pounds. I wasn't happy for him. I don't like how obsessed my mom is with weight. I don't like the number she did on myself and him as far as being unhappy with our bodies. I don't like how she's extremely thin now, and I don't want to encourage him depriving himself of food given that he's in his 30s, working full-time and trying to support a family. Food choices and moving your body should be instrumental ADLs. The things you do to support your body and mind so you can do the things you want to do. 

As much as I blather on about working out? Girl, I'm not gonna be able to do that when I start working again. I'm just not! We'll be toning it way the fuck down because priorities will redistribute. And that's okay. It will be for endorphins and injury prevention, basically. It will not be because I want to look a certain way.*

I have to go and don't have an ending, but here's a little something about microchimerism to tide you over!

*To be fair, I do want to look differently than I do; however, I always have. Up to and including how my face looks and hair color and texture and, and, and. At the moment, I'm just kind of at peace with: I'm not my thing. I might be other peoples' thing! But also: I might not. And that's okay. Does it (my reflection) spark joy? Not always. But I am pretty damn grateful. End transmission.

Erie Like Pennsylvania, Not Like the Vibe

My brother's been almost impossible to get ahold of. He's working a full-time job on a weird schedule, and subsequently has not been able to continue attending jewelry school. That must be especially depressing, because he was only a semester away from graduating. The reasons for this are kind of...tale as old as time. They're homeschooling their four kids now because the school district they reside in is shitty, and while my SIL has a degree in Special Education (unsure which one) the district didn't want to pay her a teacher's salary for doing a teacher's job and so she felt taken advantage of. Which is probably true. And I feel bad for her, but perhaps moreso feel bad for my brother because: fucking so close to graduating!

I have two new holes in my ears now. This simultaneously was and wasn't a big deal; I think there has come a point where I'm just basically like: needles? Come at me with that. I do not give one single or singular solitary fuck. And too, sometimes I mistrust my pain threshold. Is it high? Am I full of shit? This was less for fun and games and more because I wanted to show L what it was like before she got her ears pierced. She was very sweet and reassuring during the whole thing and it didn't put her off getting her ears pierced. So that's good!

My cousin has a rare form of blood cancer. I don't know where else to put this.

When L did get her ears pierced it was still somewhat traumatic. I mean, it would be though. That shit hurts! And probably even more at the center of the lobe. The doctor was great, but I don't think we'll be going back for the next piercing (assuming there is one). The local piercing studio is just fine, thanks. Very welcoming, L got a sticker and a lollipop at the piercing studio and she didn't even get anything pierced. 

I got yet another flat tire the day before yesterday! What is the deal with that? I was telling my MIL and she was just aghast. She'd only ever got a flat tire once in her life, she said. And look at me with 5 in the last year! I have my suspicions. But in the current circumstances I wish the local flat tire repair service had a punchcard because Christ on a stick.

James Dobson dying has prompted quite a bit of discourse on the old Facebook/Instagram. It's interesting to see who did and didn't remark on his passing; nothing positive was shared on my algorithm at all, which is probably due to my carefully watering the grass I want to see grow (aka not rage-clicking on right wing agenda nonsense). 

Went to go see K-Pop Demon Hunters on the big screen last night. Only 10 people in the theater us included with the other 7 being tweens. There were whispers of friend drama yesterday and a medium-ish issue involving L's neighbor friend; her family decided to go on a walk without her while she was over at our house playing, but we needed to go pick up pizza by 4:11. 

It all turned out fine, but basically what had happened was that she told them she could stay until 5:30 (without asking me) and they completely neglected to tell either her or me that they were going for a walk. She's ten, so I suppose it might have been okay for her to stay at home alone, but she seemed anxious about it and explicitly said she didn't want to do it. At the end of the day I'm not going to force a kid to go home alone when they don't even want to. *sigh* The parents (well, the mom) was pretty apologetic, and so was I and, to be fair, I should check in more frequently around timelines. However, there's also the factor where they tend to communicate with me not at all (and vice versa) and I feel that this is a recurring issue. Typically it's presented by the neighbor kid as needing to check in with her parents and then giving me a time and asking if it's okay with me and me saying yes. I don't think this happened on this occasion, but maybe it did, but probably not because she was surprised by L having a different friend over for a playdate. Woof. Point is: be the adult, Clara, and more communication with the parents. Even if you really, really don't want to.

What IF God Was One of Us?

Sometimes I think of one kid in particular who articulate something extremely well when she transferred from her toddler classroom to mine; she said, "My old classroom loved me. Will you love me?" And that's the point, I think, with that type of anxiety; will you love me like they loved me? I didn't ask for this (change). I was gucci where I was. Where's my guarantee of love?

This week as last week I've been trying to ride the high of organizing things and trying to design and implement Systems before SAD kicks in and I go back to OT-ing kids. Sounds like there might be a higher percentage of feeding therapy, so that'll be interesting and kind of difficult. I wouldn't say my eating has ever been precisely ordered. And there's a part of my brain that kicks back pretty hard (Why are we doing this if they're healthy? What happened to fed is best?) but yes. I think it'll be necessary to learn about and go through.

Once things are basically organized the plan is to design, print, and implement visual schedules out the butt. Here a picture of what your room looks like when it's clean broken down by quadrant. Does it match? No? Well, get back in there, marine! Here a visual checklist of morning shit, there a visual checklist of nighttime shit. And we've added violin lessons in, so that's kind of nice. Probably need an intentional movement outlet, though. Did you know that it's relatively difficult to enroll a 7-year-old in softball in Alaska in common era 2025? Me either. I am so not a sporty-type person. It's like a whole different country.

There's been lots of gym time lately with no real noticeable results. 🤷 I feel better afterwards - I guess I'm going to continue going with that. It's probably good for my little brain hormones/NTs and it's where I get to watch my Inappropriate Television and walk briskly uphill to a playlist I made once upon a time for a class I briefly taught called Ballet For Bad Bitches. No further questions, your honor.

Actually, not a further question, but a further statement: V texted me to ask if 38 is too late to start getting into ballet and obviously not - go for it! I would just caution against jumping at all unless you have the Good Good insurance. 

With time I have to structure myself comes the need for podcasts and audio books to fill the time as regards repetitive tasks, and as far as that goes I've been striking out with the formulaic audio books* on Spotify premium. And I'm not always in the mood for golden age of radio podcasts.

Echo by Terry Moore was lit, though, and I've started on a promising hardboiled detective novel set in New Jersey that does have a drop-dead gorgeous POC 47-year-old female protagonist. 

Trying to keep it in the back of my mind that I need to continue working on capstone stuff during this off time. I need so much goddamn repetition to make it stick, though.

Okay. I'm off to enjoy this rainy day. 

*Why is there always a drop-dead gorgeous POC best friend? As a matter of fact, why aren't they the protagonist?

pack of gum in your pocket /where your ciggies used to be

 I can kind of see where the obsession with genealogy can start; one starts with oneself. Why am I like this? Genetics? It's genetics isn't it? And then casting your net wider and wider. Wondering how those people got from this place to that place. The questions pile up. And there aren't really any answers. Even if there were, what does it actually matter? Right? 

- How come my ancestors were Finn, but somehow not integrate any Slavic or Russian DNA?

- If we assume colonialism is how I have North African (Egyptian?) and Malayali DNA, what's the story with that? 

- Or is it actually some sort of Romani thing? 

-  Probably not, but I do have almost 10% of my DNA categorized as "broadly Northwestern European", so what's up with that?

- The side of the family with Indigenous Mexican ancestry shares the North African and Malayali ancestry. What does that mean?

I always used to say that I'm from the island of white people, and now I can get a little bit more specific about which recessive genes are fighting for their lives in my features and melanin. And I suppose I can just put it down and consider that my original sense that my ancestors were probably BAMFs (and not in a good way) might be true. But I somehow do not have any Spanish or Portuguese, and that is somewhat reassuring. Because: conquistadors.  

...this isn't what I thought I was going to write about today. But I am post-workout and chipping away at chores in a round and enjoying the silence/podcasts about medieval life. Today is thrift shop day which is somewhat thrilling. I swept out the Secret Attic yesterday, disposing of many many mosquito cadavers (why? Just...why mosquitos only? Why so many?) in the process and pulled out a shit ton of things to take to Fashion Pact and/or Value Village.

Our dumpster is full but not yet hauled away; I successfully cancelled the Old Internet (I think?) and next weekend is supposed to be The Fence-ening. My dad is quite excited about that. There's little he loves more than...fences.

Nothing more to report so far today; maybe tomorrow the tales of interest will be more plentiful. In the meantime imagine: L's first (and maybe last) violin lesson, a playdate with a young Gene Wilder (swear to god this kid is the spitting image; and temperament) and unfucking all the many Things I had in my car during summer because to be a Home Health pediatric OT is to have a lot of shit in your car.

DNR: Do Not Resuscitate, Return, or Read

We’re on “hold” from picking up kids from school which I guess means I just…wait for further notice? I’m quite nearby. It’s not a deal. But I'm camped out in the Kaladi's parking lot just chilling. Time to blog!

I wish things were not rift between E and K. I don't like being in the middle. I just want things to be okay. Can you tell I got coffee with E today? Yeah. I try to kind of keep my ears pricked up for any signs of dementia, but it's hard to tell because I just don't really get together with her that often. I need a rotating schedule of friends and family to keep an eye on. Just in case. E was super-sweet and talkative, but never remembers what I've been going to school for for the last few years (OT. It's OT. O.T.). But did get me a super-sweet tarot set for my birthday that I've been drooling over for years. She know me. We like that. 

Otherwise I've gone to the gym, finished off two seasons of Survival of the Thickest while trying to sort out the maelstrom of chaos that is L's bedroom. When telling E that L is a bit of a hoarder she said, "Well, at least you can control children somewhat, but you can't really do that with an adult." And to that I say: no, the fuck you cannot control either. And I think that might (perhaps) be one of the underlying ideas that has caused friction in her relationship with K.

Bestie we cannot control even ourselves. And you can take that to the bank. Which will then be closed. Because who goes to banks anymore? What are you listening to me for?*

Still waiting. Hm. Okay, I have been directed that we need to facilitate my MIL and FIL moving to Texas. They have a plan that involves moving to a care facility there because they are realistic about the progression of ALS. 

27 hours later...

Today has been all miscommunication and vague pushback. I'm getting misunderstood up, down and sideways today. From the front desk guy at the gym to the barista to S throwing away a damn vacuum right after I said, "I think we should hold onto both of them [the vacuums]." Yes, he did get it out of the dumpster. Yes, I did have a small meltdown about the coffee (but I can't really be a Karen, because I saw fear in the barista's eyes and who hasn't been there, really?). Yes, S did say L could go on a family bike ride with a neighbor friend and now I am kind of fucking anxious because that was, like, an hour ago! And where are they? I don't know. *sigh* What if we just moved so I don't have to deal with that particular problem anymore? No? Overreaction? Be normal, you say? Fine. 

There's a bird party in my backyard due to the sheer amount of earth I've moved over the last couple of days. Enjoy, the worms, birds! L's not on their side. Pro-worm. Anti-bird. Those are the only politics she cares about.

The "summit" resulted in literally nothing happening (color me yellow, blue, and surprised!) except for I guess the leader of Russia got an eagle desk statue (woo I guess) and several sheets of paper with an agenda and menu (surprisingly mid) were included. No mention of Ukraine or peace so I guess that was never on the menu! Just...halibut.

Oh! I discovered this week that it's possible to use a cat brush like the one below on fabric couches to remove cat hair: 

* Side note: not me spreading misinformation about characteristics of the lymphatic system's function. It doesn't help you process protein. Whoops. At least I know myself enough to look it the fuck up instead of doubling down. 

But Teacher, We Want to ROCK N' ROLL!

Just chilling in the rain at the dealership while my car is reborn. Reborn, I say! Oil changes may be include in the price of the now paid-off car, but everything else sure isn't! For that reason, the following will be longer than 15 minutes worth of writing.

So I'm trying to chip away at non-sensitive-information-involved admin (admin being what I've taken to calling paperwork vital to life that doesn't pertain to work or school). Simultaneously I am doing the hospice volunteer training even though I'm pretty sure I won't have time to actually do it. If I'm going to be doing that, I might as well (or maybe would better serve by) pouring time into spending time with my MIL. It's a lot of hours. And I started it a long time ago, never finished it, and now I'm here again. 

Today was also the first day of school at a new school for L, and I've never seen her look so serious and pale. She was really missing her friends. And I don't think I really helped. And she's in that space where she's pulling away and still needing me and that's a tricky space to exist in. I remember being 7 or 8 and sitting on the couch with my mom and her scratching my back and feeling so little and connected to her and simultaneously like I shouldn't be feeling that way. Like I should be trying to be cool and wearing hair ties on my wrists because I thought it looked cool and snapping bubble gum and roller skating around my best friend's little brother's birthday party because he wanted, like, a 50s theme (I don't know either, girl). 

While cleaning out the shed the other day I found a bird hooked between the can and handle of a paint-can. And that bird was mummified. It was a bad scene. The poor thing. It looked like it had been there all winter. And that could, I suppose, go a long way toward explaining the obsession neighborhood cats have with our shed. 

I've been fighting with myself, lately, about a few things. Here's a list!

My type of deal with limerence. Why can't I just like people and love people and just be okay with shit why does it always have to be so dramatic jesus. And then I meditate and things seem markedly better.

Just because I grew up on a farm doing hard(ish) labor doesn't mean that my kid(s) have to do that too. There's this fearful clutching in my chest in which I'm a part of me is all like, "Oh no! The youths! They will not know how to do The Things! Woe betide them!" and another part that's like, "So what? Let it burn." and still a third part which is more like, "Well. I mean, probably every older generation ever felt like this. And it's been...okay-ish? So far? Maybe chill? Just because you were mowing giant lawns with a push-mower at age 6 doesn't mean she does." And arguably, I'm not sure that particular experience was all that great. In part because of my chronological age and in part because I couldn't start the damn mower - just push it. And to this day I can't start a damn weed-whacker. There's a whole school of thought in which a (typically developing) child shouldn't do motor planning tasks that they aren't able to problem-solve through and achieve independently. Exceptions of course, etc. but there's probably some truth to it. Case in point this episode of Bluey:

Why can't I just do things? It probably looks like I do just do things. Especially with the new-ish meds. But, in fact, I do not. I was thinking about it as trying to get my ass out the door in the morning in the last two weeks considered that even with 150 mg bupropion and 400+ mg of caffeine per day, 45+ minutes of exercise up to 5 days a week for the endorphins, and trying to curate my diet to give me good hormones while staying on the non-eating disorder side and getting (ideally) 10 hours of sleep a night...I'm still basically just using all this to run through my lil' cycles of being productive/unproductive more quickly than I otherwise would and, hopefully, conversely getting more of the shit done than I otherwise would. I am tired of my brain. And society. And your face. Just kidding! Not that last one.

Something I learned about my current self during fieldwork was that I am pretty damn good at young ADHD-er AMAB, slightly less so with young autistic AMABs. Partly, I think, because I have had nearly 40 years of figuring out how to get shit done by tricking myself into doing shit, and an innate understanding (or misunderstanding I suppose, if I'm wrong) that, for ADHD, shit works until it doesn't. Lists and visual schedules are great until they turn into wallpaper and mileage for that is very very personal. Lists are also a great idea until the PDA kicks in. And ya'll (we) need extra time to come around to the idea of doing whatever the thing is that wasn't your (my) idea. But we'll get there! And for fuck's sake don't phrase it like I just did or that will trigger the RSD. One thing a parent said especially resonated: there's reason to think that if a child's ADHD is not addressed in childhood the consequences could be extensive and include addiction and mental health disorder. So. Maybe that's a nice little dovetail not only into Life In General, but my capstone. Okay, ACEs, but also: are you ADHD or autistic? And what can we do about that now?

I guess that's most of what I wanted to talk about today. Hope things are good in the hood!

All Tomorrow's Yesterdays . Yes, All of Them - You Get It.

 Farm kid mode has been activated as of yesterday and my knees are not huge fans, but it is what it is! S is ~75% done with demoing the planters in the back and I've been chipping away at getting stuff into the dumpster, stuff out of the shed. Stuff, I suppose, eventually given away on Buy Nothing Pages. That's a dangerous game, but also: it's a lot of hauling around.

The girls (L and her neighbor friend) spent the afternoon horsing around in the sun while I did the aforementioned hauling. I'm glad she has the opportunity to do that (unstructured dramatic play with an older sibling type person), and I'm glad they've calmed down around asking me to play with them. It's been a hard no lately for various reasons: if I play with you you are less likely to develop the developmentally-appropriate skills needed for Life than if you play with your peer and Work It Out On the Dance Floor...although I suppose mileage may vary with that because we're assuming gross neurotypicality on everybody's parts.

Tomorrow is the first day of the school year. She's excited! I'm excited - and worried! She has her outfit picked out. Bluey shirt, racing stripe pants, and a request for reverse French braid pigtails.

Um.... I guess Trump is supposed to be in town on Friday. And by in town it's supposed that he's going to be on base. *sigh* The email from the school district was all like, "We have plans for that!" Besties - why? Let's just...get through it and out the other side, I guess.

Last night's dream was pretty benign; my cat wanted to go to a casino! And then we did!

Current gym watch is Survival of the Thickest and I've been describing it as "Sex and the City, but less annoying." Recent full-length movie watch was Harvest which was mainly notable as it gave me major Pentiment vibes. Parts were hard to watch and it starts out with some ecosexual type stuff that I think was supposed to set the tone of the film but didn't exactly manifest. The cinematography was reminiscent of John Constable paintings which I am always here for, and overall I felt like I was watching an A24 film.

Okay, may your coffee, meds, and heart all be strong!

Don't Hate It 'cause We From the 'sip

Okay. So, what happened was we went to Talkeetna for the weekend. I can't remember what my dang anniversary date is for the life of me, but the timing of this apparently worked out to be an anniversary trip (Facebook reminds me every year; usually at the end of the day in question). It was quaint and kind of...the vibes were off? Like, something lowkey bad probably has happened in one or all of the little cabins that this dude owns and rents on, yes, Airbnb*. The parking? Unclear and not meant for Alaskan vehicles. The fridge? Someone who apparently knows the lockbox code and lives nearby maybe but the exact nature of how she knows the lockbox code is not immediately apparent has left half a gatorade in the fridge. The screens don't fit the windows. The spouts don't have mesh on the ends - you get the idea. Well, I go to brush my teeth in the morning and all is well (I think). I turn on the water, put a small amount of water on the brush, put a small amount of toothpaste on the brush and go to town. It's important to note at this point that I have an electric toothbrush. I finish brushing my teeth and turn off the toothbrush, but still notice some vibrating sensation in my mouth. And a small mass. Did I have hair in my mouth and didn't know it? So I spit in the sink. Guess what? Not hair. A daddy longlegs. That's pretty much the end of the story. Spiders be reenacting the itsy bitsy spider all over the place, I guess. And that's why we have mesh on the ends of spouts.

In other news I've been working on the backyard today, which means hauling stuff around and putting it in the big fuck-off dumpster that S obtained which was dropped off squarely in the middle of the driveway. After doing about an hour's worth of Stuff I took a break to go to the gym and as I was scanning in, L said, "You have...something on your forehead. It's a spider!" So then I had to dispose of another spider. The spiders. They follow.

Last night I went down trying to figure out what the hell the Malayali subgroup in India is since, evidently, I have the babiest whisper of genetic material from thence. There's...stuff on it? But nothing all that comprehensive. One of the pages I found was a Joshua project website which was way a throwback. I most certainly will not be praying for the people of Kerala/Malayali (those can be the same things but maybe not! Can't get into it right now.) to convert from Hinduism to Christianity. As a direct result I had a dream that there was a reunion at Belhaven but the only people I knew were a couple who dated the entire time I was there, have since gotten married, and now have two children; they were kind of classically hipster-coded and definitely dressed up very Napoleon Dynamite for the 80s prom, and are very much Couple Goals in my heart of early aughts Zooey-Deschanel stanning heart. They were nice and didn't want to talk about my current life; but asked me to list off all the people I wanted to see at the reunion.

Okay - bye! See you tomorrow.

*Sorry. I should really do Vrbo or a legitimate B&B or a hotel or something like that, I know. For all the detriment to society reasons as well as the allegation that they're pretty MAGA (I haven't investigated this claim, but lurks in the back of my mind like how Taco Bell and Arby's donated to the current president, and holds hands with the idea that yes, of course they did, all businesses tend to hedge their bets by donating to both parties grow up Clara.

Thought and Prayers

More dreams. Augers? Dreams.

C (who I haven't thought about in a capybara's age) is dying; he comes to a dinner party. He dies over the course of the evening as a result of some kind of automotive accident. Oh, but wait. Surgery is part of the dinner party. Most people leave. He lives?

The Kawa Model
So, in OT there are different ways to structure interventions because every person is a            snowflake/fingerprint but there are some categorizations and boy do we like to categorize things. These are roughly divided into Frames of Practice (FoR) or Models of Practice (MoP). The coolest of these imo (and most peoples' o, I think) is the Kawa Model. Kawa means river in Japanese (dependent on context, I suppose) and this model is all about rivers too. and is as follows:
- River: You make a river (somehow). The river is your life's flow. Rivers don't just exist in a vacuum, so you also have river banks and bed.
-River Banks/Bed: This represents physical and social context, environment, things like that.
- Rocks: Stuff in the river (your life) that might be disrupting your life's flow. The water has to flow around it.
- Driftwood: Stuff in your life you can cling to that help your make you happier and better able to do the things you need to/want to do; don't disrupt the flow

The library in Anchorage has a quote on the wall: 

When in doubt, go the the library.

Which is cute and all! Except for the part where J.K. Rowling wrote it. Well, you'll be happy to know that they adjusted it a bit so that now it's attributed to Ron Weasley. Which is better. And cheaper, I suppose, than going with an entirely new quote. Also less trouble. Look at it, it's way up there!

Have started rewatching Pushing Daisies when doing things that mean I can remain in the living room which have so far been...tidying the living room. But hey! Maybe there's more where that came from? Maybe. The one time they had us sing this in church I couldn't help but imagine the Darling Mermaid Darlings singing it. 

Today's been a whirlwind of unexpected activity; last night I got a text from a classmate that I thought was going to be a "How was fieldwork?" text, but turned out to actually be a "Your kid is registered for Horse Camp starting tomorrow despite lack of a confirmation of any type prior to this." and "How would you like to pay?" Consider the parts about that I could complain about...uh...complained about, but also this fucked with a different plan I'd made for this week regarding violin lessons and threw me into a brief meltdown last night. I got through it pretty quickly, and it was nice that S acknowledged that all the Change that happened last night (this was just one of several things* that piled on around the same time) was probably pretty hard to adjust to. Which is a huge win.

So I didn't get as much done today as I'd hoped, instead driving 'round town with the girl you love and texting people back trying desperately not to lose momentum (gym! Costco! Home! Violin place! Home again! Horse place! Chicken shop! Home part III!). A dumpster was delivered today, and I shall be spending most of tomorrow chucking stuff in it while fretting about the dwindling summer.

O! Gather ye rosebuds while ye may! Or whatever, don't. I'm not your mom!

Any-hoodle-doodle-poodle, I'm going to try to log ~15 minutes of writing time on this a day while I'm on break. Kind of like a NaNoWriMo except not like that at all. Much less coherent. 

*Like almost swallowing a spider! More on that next time.

The Past IS a Foreign Country; They DO Do Things Differently There

 Well, I have a few minutes between one thing and the other thing and omg it's the last week of fieldwork IIA! My little plan so far has been to do documentation every night versus in the mornings and saving it for the weekends and that's been working okay. Except for that I fully expect to be up until 10:30/11:00 tonight and will have to just sit down and grind it out right after my sessions on Friday so as to submit everything before 9:00 PM. All. Most. There. It is getting faster, but some sessions are just more...complicated. Some are not! Those are amazing when they happen.

One session a few weeks ago sticks in my mind; it was with an actual adult and caused me to reflect quite a bit on a) what happens when you live to work and then you retire? b) what happens when you have trouble accessing the tools that would help you the most if you were just a little bit more tech savvy? c) what if part of why This (the things for which OT) is happening is circumstantial, yes, but also how your brain reacts to stress and it's tired and you don't know what to do about that? It was interesting.

A thing I have recently learned that they don't really teach you in OT school:
- It's possible to show up for a session and the adolescent not...be there? And the family not...know where the adolescent is? Or have a way to contact them? Or make overtures to find them? And then they show up about 75% through what should have been session time because their friend took it upon themselves to find them? Woof. And yes, yes, I know that would barely be a thing in the 90s, but it's 2025. I think.
- There was also something sort of similar that happened that same day but it was the household adults who were missing. Um. No? At the rainbow fluffiest of levels, what if the therapist has a question about oh, I don't know, medication or something? Double woof.

Just dreams, feel free to skip:
- The dreams have been weird and intense and all over the place lately. In one I was getting scotch with the ex-boyfriend of one of my old roommates and it was his birthday and I didn't realize it and we were at an Airbnb and also, somehow, we were grabbing the scotch just as he was flying in and idk. Not bad but not...relevant, I guess? Wtf am I supposed to get out of that brain?
- In another there was an elaborate setup in which L died and then I had another baby and apparently a couple of other kids as well and they suggested that I name the new baby after L. Wtf, kids? Also, then, the baby went missing. Ugh.
- In another I was Ariana Grande and went back to...Mississippi? To see R; seduced two random men (?) and got pregnant, returned home triumphant to...punish whoever my husband was in this narrative?
- I would like to take this opportunity to blame the melatonin. But, really, it's only 5 mg and it typically doesn't do me so dirty.

Otherwise things are pretty okay or, if not, S and my family and in-laws are keeping it under their respective hats. I feel like summer is over and wasted and the usual early August feels. I'm going to go to Talkeetna with S this weekend for a proper couple thing and that's overall continued to be pretty good (although I still don't want to jinx it); he even went to what I've been calling the horse ballet. 

He likes horses (who doesn't? The people who are scared of them, I suppose.) and they put on a pretty good show. Although I have followup questions. What constitutes an exotic horse? What happened to the archery and dagger-throwing component? Did they just not bring musicians on tour? Why is that one guy still in the trailer but no longer touring? It was a bit different than last year's and the person I knew(ish) who was in the show wasn't...uh...with the company anymore - but they came back to AK anyway and Gilgamesh knows that was a schlep!

Okay, four today. Four tomorrow. Five Friday. Then I gotta get my head in the game getting L ready for school because that starts (checks watch) in 8 days. Crap.