SAD sucks.

Light therapy is helping some, but SAD is still an issue right now. According to Beloved, I am doing much better than I was around Thanksgiving and light years better than I was this time last year. All I know is that I'm tired and frustrated with the fact that it is hard for me to summon up the energy to get the things I want to do done. I also suspect that I might be beginning to come down with a cold, but I'm not entirely sure. The sinus issues could be because everybody in the building except for us has a dog and I am now allergic to dogs. 

Yesterday was a rough day. It was overcast and raining all day. For some reason I have yet to fully divine, heavily cloudy skies and rain makes my mood even worse than normal. I have been doing a bit better on the anxiety front with the medications and avoiding things that trigger it. [...]

So, my youngest child broke a portable fan he had. He's now crying and furious because I threw it away. I told him it was ruined and we had to throw it away. He is fussing and insisting that he's a bad kid. He's basically saying everything he can think of to try to get me to fish the thing back out of the garbage. I'm not doing it, but he's now miserable and is irritating the hell out of me with this whining.


I tell myself that he's going to grow out of this. 

It's almost the end of the show.

Yes, the title is a reference to that damn sock puppet show that my Beloved loves. He'll probably snicker when he reads it. I've been busy over the last few weeks. Presents are done, except for the small ones for the kids over the remainder of Yule. We celebrate 12 days of Yule, starting at Christmas so that the extended family who are predominantly Christian don't feel weird.

I am glad that my kids don't have the flu this year. I'm glad that my husband doesn't have the flu or that I don't have it either. We got that fun over with the week before the holiday break. Snuggle Bug had it and he was miserable for a few days. He got well just in time to go to the last day of school for the year. Unfortunately, he had to spend some time catching up on classwork instead of doing all the fun activities that were planned. He was particularly grumpy that afternoon when he got home from school.

Cuddle Bear's report card came in and he's on honor roll again. He's really proud of himself and with good reason. He's been working hard and maturing a lot over this last year. He is still very imaginative and engages in a great deal of imaginative play. He is, however, getting better at accepting the difference between reality and what he wants to be real. That's a big milestone. The developmental delays due to the autism still have an effect on his academics but the school is working with him and he is thriving.

Snuggle Bug's report card isn't due until February. His last report card indicated all good things. He also is maturing and working hard over the last year. His imagination is very much at play, at times distracting him from his school work. I expect that he will reach the similar big milestone that his big brother is at around the same age as his brother has. Because, Snuggle Bug is very much at the same place his brother was with a bit more of the ADHD being a problem. Interestingly, however, he is really getting into the STEM subjects, just like his brother.

I don't know if it is because we encourage them to explore the world and such. I kinda taught them the scientific method as young children, it was a watered down version but it was still there. It has turned out to be a really helpful thing for them. It has given them a better grip on problem solving skills and helps them organize reality a bit better.

It's been a good year for the kids. We're hanging in there on all other fronts. The old Subaru was in the process of collapsing back in October, so we replaced it. The new Subaru is a bit bigger and came with more bells and whistles standard. Beloved's taken to it like a duck to water. I'm still getting used to it. I'm thankful that it is an automatic transmission. I hate and am not very apt at driving stick shift. It has those ridiculous military grade 500000000000 watt headlights that blind damn near everybody on low beams. I feel a little bad for other drivers but then I remember that these are common in the newer cars and that's why they've been beaming me in the eyes for the last few years.

So, life goes on. We have our collective health and well being. I am thankful. Although, I am looking forward to when the kids go back to school so I am not having my day soundtracked by fart noises.

Random Bullshit is Bullshit.

So, my youngest child is sick with some kinda virus. He's been home for the last two days. His fever broke yesterday. I thought maybe he'd be well enough to go back to school tomorrow. I was wrong. Snuggle Bug has been eating light because his stomach is bothering him. As such, when he had dinner and actually ate the whole meal, I thought he was feeling better. Twenty minutes later he was getting sick to his stomach.

I have a list of things that I'm trying to get done before yule. My major cleaning is mostly completed. I have all of the gifts that I was going to make by hand done now. And presents for a number of people are taken care of. They just need to be wrapped. But the boys keep trying to figure out what their presents are. And they know that everything that you could possibly need for anything is in the project room, and deduced that their presents are hiding in there as well. So, whenever I open the door to go in there and get something, they bust in and look around. It's getting exasperating.

I have an enormous pile of laundry that I need to fold and put away. It's been sitting there for weeks. Summer clothes waiting to get put away among stuff that I have actually been using. It's just been hard to get to it and get it done. Now, I feel this pressure to get it finished by the end of the week before Beloved goes out and does this week's laundry.

I was going to do some baking this year. I had Beloved pick up a bag of brown sugar substitute for me to use in baking a batch of cookies. I am just unable to gather up the energy to attempt to bake cookies this year in the face of last year's disastrous results. When they say you can substitute an artificial sweetener for sugar 1:1, check the fine print on the bag. It will likely tell you that the ratio is actually such where you use half the sugar for the recipe and then half your sweetener. If you try it out like I did last year, your cookies spread and don't firm up. They make a mess.

I am attempting to gather up the will power to do batch cooking breakfast items for me to have over the next week. My goal is to make something that I can freeze and thaw to eat later. Again, I am having difficulties doing this. As a result, I have been just staring at the eggs and breakfast sausage in the fridge morosely before shutting the door. The kids christmas break is going to be two weeks long this year. It is going to be a very long two weeks with the weather promising to be very cold.

It feels like every time I turn around, there is something waiting to go wrong, topple over, or generally make a disaster out of itself. I've been attempting to get into the 'holiday spirit' but this business of resurrecting my computer and stuff is raining on that almost as much as the seasonal affective disorder is. Thank gods for the anxiety medication though, because I'd be pretty much non functional right now with out it.

I had to explain to someone why I couldn't do a 'girl's night out' some time this month. That conversation went better than I expected, but it still sucked. Because I feel like I'm defective due to all of my psychological issues. Social phobia is a bitch. I had to turn down going to a yule gathering on the solstice because I knew that I was going to have difficulty getting there (because my night vision is increasingly fucked thanks to my genetics), it was going to interrupt in a major way the daily routine for the household, and I basically turn into a pumpkin around 9 or 10 pm thanks to my medications. No point going out to a party where the point is to stay up late, socialize, and watch the sunrise when you can't do it.

I'm angry that I have so many issues getting in the way of things like seeing my friends out in Buffalo or doing normal stuff like grocery shopping. Because of the holiday crowds in the stores, my social phobia has been really high. Thanks to my medications, I can get through some of it and power my way through the anxiety. But it's been rough.

It's all bullshit. I'm sick of the bullshit of the diabetes getting in the way of what kind of food I can cook. I'm sick of the bullshit of my ptsd and social phobia making me check where the exits are whenever I enter a crowded building and hyperaware of who/what is behind me. I'm sick of the depression making it damn near impossible for me to enjoy this season where so many others are having an obviously good time. I'm tired of being the odd man out by not being Christian and having my holy days ignored, or adjusting when I celebrate them so that they fall more inline with the Christian calendar, this way my kids get to experience the holiday season like their peers.

I wish that there was a way to make things work better. I wish that my brain didn't have the issues it does.

I am annoyed.

I have been trying to write and it's been all going sideways. It didn't help that my youngest got sick. He's been sick for the last 3 days and he seems to be doing better. If his fever is truly gone and he keeps his morning medication down, I may send him off to school tomorrow. I don't know.

I wanted to write something for someone as a gift but I am stuck. My brain tells me that it isn't a fitting gift to give. It is also something that I am concerned the recipient may not enjoy.

I still feel like I should write something. As I have said, I am annoyed.

Being a Responsible Adult is mightily vexing.

I officially am done adulting for today. Fortunately, my Beloved just got home from work. I have spent my day doing my best to drop kick life into order. Took care of bills, folded up some laundry, cleaned up some of the disaster the kids left in the living room before they went off to school, the usual. It weighs on me.

I feel pressured to make things for the holidays but having just over two weeks to go, I know that I am not going to accomplish handmade gifts for everyone. I'm having difficulty finding things for the 12 days we celebrate Yule. It's primarily a thing for the kids. Still, I am struggling to find little stocking stuffer types of toys for them. I've got stuff for peg dolls. I made two yesterday. My hands shook pretty bad as I got going on them. They really didn't come out as planned. Aside from peg dolls, I don't know what else to do. I need to go shopping. The prospect of battling the mobs of people at the store makes me extremely uneasy.

I spent my day today fighting with the computer. We had to completely wipe it and reinstall windows. In the process, I have lost all of my bookmarks and the passwords to the websites that I have been using, like Facebook. Fortunately, my notebooks were mostly accurate in what I had written down. And I was able to create new, stronger passwords for the sites I use. That, however, ate most of my day. And my patience.

If it weren't for the fact that we really need to be frugal with our money, I would have ordered a pizza for dinner tonight. If it weren't for the fact that I couldn't eat it, I would probably have done it anyway. Still, I am a responsible adult and I made what I had on my menu for this week, tacos.

I'm tired. I am exasperated. And I am upset. I have enough life circumstances happening, that I can't go out to the Yule party that my friends are holding. I am frustrated with my limitations that have come because I am sick. I am frustrated with the fact that my night vision is getting worse. I am tired of not being social because I'm so anxious about judgment.

WTF computer?

I've been having technical difficulties with my computer for a few days now. It looks like it is necessary to save all of the important data and wipe it clean before reinstalling windows. I honestly have no idea how this is going to go. I have backed up ALL THE THINGS. Hopefully, I'll be back on here posting from the laptop again soon. In the meantime, I may be posting from my phone. Who knows. Technology and I just don't get along sometimes. This is one of those times.

My brain is sick, this is not a moral failing.

The subject line has been my mantra for today. It's not working so great. Internalized ableism and related bullshit has me going "I don't have two broken arms or two broken legs, I should be able to do the thing and more." It sucks.

Dear Hacker.

I honestly am amused and almost flattered that you attempted to hijack my account. Kindly go fuck yourself and may a plague of fleas infest your crotch.

Operation Clean for the Holidays is GO!

I have begun the process of deep cleaning the apartment for the holidays. I'm not really expecting too many visitors. Most of my friends live a good ways off and it is something of a hike to come visit. Still, there is this ingrained thing from my childhood that before the holiday decorations can go up, the home must be utterly clean. Something of a challenge with two prepubescent boys, but they're even getting into this idea.

My brain is misfiring presently. I'm pretty sure that Beloved was right when he said that I seemed to be entering a mixed episode. I feel like crap and I want to sleep. At the same time, I feel incredible pressure to do ALL THE THINGS. I have the kitchen pretty close to clean. I spent my day yesterday cleaning. I was going to do a blog post on here but I just got into this cleaning groove and worked on the kitchen. I scrubbed up dishes, wiped down the stove and the sink. I put away a small pile of toys that were just kicking around the room. I did a bunch of things.

The room looks a lot better, but it's not quite done yet. Today, I am going to attempt to finish it up. Tomorrow, I scrub the bathroom. I'm not looking forward to that task. For some reason I can not fathom, I can't manage to get the tub fully clean. I have my orange based cleaning stuff that I am going to try. If that doesn't work, I may have to go get a can of scouring powder and do it the old fashioned way. That orange based cleaning spray usually can clean most everything up. It was an accidental find years ago at Dollar General. I haven't been able to find it since.

Also on my list of things to get done today is to finish my planning of yule presents. I feel sad that my night vision issues keeps me from attending the yule vigil party hosted by my friends out in Buffalo. I am thinking about doing a nice dinner and inviting a few folks over on the Solstice. It depends on how stable I am and what I can accomplish between now and then. 

Inbound Winter Storm?

Last night, I got an alert on my phone's weather app that we were under a winter storm adivsory. It was going to go from  4 am to around 3 pm today. It's been extended to 7 pm tomorrow. It's raining right now. I don't know what that means for later today. We're mostly prepared for being stuck in the house if we get a legit winter storm. I may fill up a few pitchers with water just to be on the safe side. Thankfully, Beloved got all the shopping done yesterday despite the stores being pure chaos.

NaNoWriMo finished yesterday. My book is not finished. It is not anywhere close to finished. I don't know if I am going to get it done during Camp NaNoWriMo or if I am just going to peck at it over the next few months. Final word count for the month is 101 k. All of this started of as a stupid piece of fan fiction featuring characters I developed for a LARP. I thought it was going to finish up at 30k. I was completely wrong. I started at 20k. So, I wrote 80k over the month despite my depression and things like family responsibilities.

I have been struggling in other areas, though. I keep forgetting to update my food log for the last month. Stuff just keeps happening and I get caught up in trying to get things done. I forget to write down what I ate, but I am careful to stay within my carb limits so it isn't a complete disaster. I forgot to fill in my daily planner over the month. This makes two months now that I've done this. Beloved said that this isn't typically like me. Usually, I am right on top of keeping things organized and keeping my records. I've been really depressed over the last few months. Not to the point of suicidal thoughts but it's been hard.

NaBloPoMo 30

I did it. I made it to the end of the month posting every day on here. I feel like most of what I was posting was pointless rambling. This blog, however, is not focused on promoting books or something else like that. I'm going to attempt to keep up the daily posts. Now, however, I have to start coming up with titles. Because NaBloPoMo ends today. That's going to be the hard part.

The kids are playing and talking RIGHT behind me and they keep getting louder. It is exceedingly annoying. I'm doing my light therapy right now. I feel like changing the type font on this post is making it easier to read. I think I may need to schedule an appointment with my optometrist because the default font setting is getting hard for me to read with out my reading glasses. And the laptop is sitting at a distance where my reading glasses shouldn't be necessary.

I don't know what to write on this blog. I've been depressed and anxious. That is improving somewhat with medication and this light therapy stuff. But I find myself feeling like I have nothing of value to post here for y'all to read. So, I go quiet for long stretches of time. NaBloPoMo was an attempt to fix that.

I'm trying to reestablish the habit of blogging daily across all of my blogs. Having my brain telling me that it is a worthless effort and nothing but vanity makes that pretty hard. NaNoWriMo was another attempt to reestablish the habit of working on my books on a daily basis. That's just gone off the rails. The goal for NaNoWriMo is to write a story that is 50k words long. I'm almost at 101k words long and the story has no end in sight. I'm going to keep working on this in an effort to actually finish the damn story. But I think I'm going to take a break from it for a little bit.

The holidays have just begun and I have things I want to do for them. I want to get the kids each a little chocolate advent calendar. I want to do the 12 days of yule with them. And I want to find away to do some manner of small gifts every day of yule for my husband as well. I'm just stumped as to what to do.

Typing this up in the Courier font is very nostalgic for me. It brings up memories of using a typewriter. It reminds me of the countless term papers I wrote in college. It reminds me of the first book I ever wrote. I have some fondness for this type font. Not everyone uses it. It is somewhat dated. Times New Roman has become the standard blog and web page font. I think, however, I am going to start using Courier on this blog at least because it is easier for me to read.

NaBloPoMo 29

I don't know what to write at the moment. I am tired. It's almost seven in the morning and I am doing my light therapy. I'm not the biggest fan of this. I feel like I am just wasting time sitting here with the lamp on. I am tired and I want to go sleep. At the same time, I don't think I will have a better opportunity than now to do my blog posting. Thanksgiving was yesterday and we went to Beloved's parents' house. It was good to see everybody. Food still caused me some angst but I had brought a dish that was diabetic friendly and was careful not to eat too much.

NaBloPoMo 28

Here's some music I have been listening to as I have been working on my novel:

Heilung (random stuff from their top listener picks)
Helisir  (random stuff from their top listener picks)
Peter Gundry's Volur album
Medieval Ambient playlist on Spotify
The Chieftains' The Best of the Chieftains album
My Writing playlist on Spotify
Wardruna (random stuff from their top listener picks)

NaBloPoMo 27

One thing I can say about NaBloPoMo is that it gets my post count up on here. It sort of gets me back to daily blogging on here, which I did more of when I was employed. Right now, I'm super anxious about the holidays. I have nothing made for people. I want to do something special for the 13 days of yule. I want to go out to the yule party that my friends are having. But so much is getting in the way. Most of it being psychological stuff on my part. I've become afraid to go away from home where I have everything I need to manage my diabetes stuff. I've become afraid to drive at night because my eyes have become more light sensitive due to my medications and my diabetes. That makes my night vision even more horrid, and it wasn't that great to begin with.

I miss my friends but my anxiety tells me that I have nothing of value to say in any conversations and that I shouldn't even bother with social media. I am still going no contact with the majority of my side of the family, which is depressing. At the same time, there's enough toxicity there from certain relatives to make those gatherings as safe as playing in radioactive waste. I keep feeling guilty for this. I know that going no contact was a hard decision. I changed my mind for a period while my grandparents were dealing with end of life stuff. Or should I say, my familial dead harassed me until I did so by insisting "the family needs you".

Now we're looking at things like how to help Beloved's parents in the event of end of life complications. It's kicking up a lot of complicated feelings. The hardest part is the waves of guilt that I feel that I am not doing any of this for my parents. But things are ... complicated there. And we simply don't have the spoons to handle that complicated mess on top of everything else going on in our lives.

I have seasonal affective disorder on top of bipolar. The Vraylar has done wonders for keeping my mood stable with the bipolar. But the seasonal affective disorder is really kicking me in the head right now. Throw in the guilt for decisions I've made to protect my family from the toxicity of my birth family and the anxiety that I have over communicating with people on anything deeper than a surface level right now... well, let's just say that Thanksgiving is going to suck for more reasons than the fact that I won't be able to eat most of what's on the table. (Which makes me depressed as well. I just can't win on this front.)

NaBloPoMo 26

I am weary and yet I have so much I need to do. There is just not enough time in the day. I know exactly why I am so damn tired. It is a side effect of one of my psychiatric medications. It just happens to be the one keeping my mood relatively stable right now, so I can't exactly skip it. I'm am feeling cold and kinda miserable right now. I confess, I took a break in the middle of writing this to take a half hour nap. I'm a little less weary right now. But I can't stand how cold I feel. I'm tempted to turn up the thermostat but that's just a silly idea.

So, I have a blanket across my lap and I'm wearing one of my warm sweaters. I'd say that I am going to get some benefit from drinking my coffee, but that has gone cold. I hate being cold. It reminds me of how I could never get warm in the winter in my parents' house because the place was so drafty. I got another haircut Saturday. I didn't go quite as short last time. I think, however, after this cut, I am going to allow my hair to grow out long again. There's more grey in my hair than there was at the last haircut. Beloved says that it's likely due to stress.

I am not sure how I feel about the grey hair when I have friends who haven't any and are the same age. It makes me feel like I look older than I really am. In my seasonal depressed state, I find myself thinking about opportunities lost and friendships that have fallen by the wayside. I look back and find myself yearning for when I was in my 20s. I was healthier in a number of ways. I was more social. I don't know how to recapture that. Because there's literally nothing stopping me except myself from being more social and getting more exercise.

It's not laziness but social phobia (which has gotten worse over the last few years), a screwed up sleep cycle due to bipolar and seasonal affective disorder, and executive function issues because of all of the above. It doesn't help that I keep comparing myself to other people who don't have these things on their plate to deal with and going "I should be able to do this. I should be able to power through and get that daily exercise done and still stay on top of all of my other things."

My weight is stable at 180 but my pants size is not the same as it was two years ago and I was at this weight. I think the fact that my pants size is smaller means that I have gained muscle. I want to drop somewhere between twenty and thirty pounds over the next year. That's roughly one and a half to two and a half pounds lost per month. I know that when I was in my 20s, I had a job that had me walking 4 miles every day round trip to and home. Beloved's noted that approximately 5k is three trips down to the far stop light and back. I am considering taking up a walking regimen that's more like what Beloved did as he started training for that big run a few years back. Part of my problem is I get bored. In the dead of winter, I am not going to be able to bring my spinning or my knitting to keep me entertained as I walk. And it will be cold out.

It will be the dead of winter when I start this. When the kids go back to school after winter break, I'm going to start walking while they're at school. No one shovels the single sidewalk that we have here. So, I will definitely be wearing my hiking boots and probably using a walking stick to navigate the frequent icy spots along the way. I'd go over to the park but I'm fairly sure that the grounds crew are not shoveling the paths then. I suppose I'll find out when I get over there.

NaBloPoMo No. 25

Linen stitch (crochet)

Starting chain: 30 stitches + 2

Row 1: Skip first stitch, single crochet into second stitch, chain one. Skip next stitch. Single crochet into fourth stitch. *Chain one. Skip next stitch. SC into following stitch.* Repeat * across the row, ending on a single crochet stitch. Chain two.

Row 2 - ?: Skip first stitch. SC into chain space. *Chain one. SC into chain space.* Repeat * across the row. Final SC into the loop made by the two chain stitches from turning last row. Chain two.

Repeat row 2 until piece is as long as desired. If a wider or narrower piece is desired, starting chain must be a multiple of 2 plus the 2 chain stitches for turning your work.

Final row: Work row 2 as per usual. Bind off at final SC in the loop made by the turning chain from the previous row.

This stitch works up on plain yarn looking somewhat woven in effect. With variegated yarns it is possible to get something like an argyle pattern out of the color pooling effects.

NaBloPoMo 24

I'm bored. I just am unable to wrap up plot lines and get this story to a satisfactory conclusion. I'm at 90 k words (that's 132 pages) and I just got to one of my major plot points that I had planned. I am again at this point where I feel like I'm just churning out word vomit and no story. I am dreading going on social media because I don't know what to say. I am still depressed but I have a little more energy. I don't know if that means this light therapy stuff is working or not. This is also the week of Thanksgiving and there's a whole lot of stuff surrounding it that is just painful.

I am dreading this week.

NaBloPoMo 23

Thanksgiving break is in four days. I am not prepared. The kids want to go visit cousins and I'm having a hard time getting a hold of people. I just wish that Thanksgiving wasn't a thing this way I didn't have to worry about what food I can eat and if I make a special dish for myself that everyone's going to love it and I get a few bites at best of what I had planned to eat for my carb load for that meal.

I am struggling to keep up with housework. Some of this is my seasonal affective disorder. Some of this is my attempting to finish a novel this month. Most of it is the fact that I look at the sheer volume of housework that needs done, this meme has been my brain. I'm exhausted and depressed. I just don't have the spoons for everything I want to do and I don't know how I'm going to get any handmade yule presents done this year. I have been struggling for ideas. I hate to say it,but I think this is going to be a year where we are buying.

NaBloPoMo 22

Basic knit scarf:

Cast On 30 stitches.

Knit three rows.

*Wrong Side: Knit three stitches, purl twenty four stitches, knit three stitches.

Right side: Knit all stitches.*

Repeat * until desired length. 

Knit three rows. Bind off knit-wise.

NaBloPoMo 21

Election season started early this year. The field looks like garbage. So, here's another option for you to consider. Pyromaniac cows.

NaBloPoMo 20

So, there's controversy in the Filianic community. I weighed in and now there are figures backpedaling and saying that I have taken what they said out of context. I suppose it was a matter of time until this happened. I kicked over a rock and all things come skittering out. I'm weighing how to respond.

I don't know why this keeps happening. I get involved with a community. At some point some hoity-toity garbage gets spewed and I can't help but respond. It's a visceral 'wait a second, that's weapons grade bullshit going on" response. At the same time, I've gotten an anonymous question in my ask box inquiring if my position on TERFs (trans-exclusive radical feminists) remains the same. I have a feeling that my "down to earth" style of communication may wind up with my getting asked to leave the community.

I am of a bad feeling that this is going to go like the last time I got involved with a "organized" group of witches. Someone says something that sets off my bullshit radar. I speak up. They get into a collective snit because I called out someone that they decided was above being called out. And I either get booted from the group or the situation becomes hostile enough that I just leave so I don't have to deal with their shenanigans.

There were people, back when the TERFs matter initially came up a few months ago, who tried to argue that we should be tolerant of TERFs. I blasted that argument to pieces with scripture quotes and logic. This time around, it was logic and a linguistics lesson. I'm sorry, but when their sources say that the term "lady" means "loaf kneader" and "lord" means "loaf warder", I have to correct that. I love the English language too much to let that slide.

NaBloPoMo 19

It is a cruel and bitter irony that yesterday, I woke up feeling rested and ready to take on the world, whereas today I am exhausted. I forgot to take my evening medications on Sunday. I woke up several times in the night, had some surreal dreams that I couldn't quite chalk up as nightmares but just confusing, and laid there worrying about some of the most random things before I fell a sleep Sunday. Last night, I woke up a couple times but I slept most of the night. And here I am, ready to crawl back into bed and sleep.

I hate these damn pills. I hate that I need them to function. I hate the guilt I feel for taking them and questioning if I am a 'druggie' for it. Being a 'druggie' was being one of the lowest of all people in the eyes of my parents. They didn't care if you legitimately needed the medication. They tried to talk me out of vaccinating my children because of how entrenched their loathing of medication has become over the years.

NaBloPoMo 18

I'm out of coffee. It is a bit before 7:30 am and I'm doing my light therapy thing. I think I have figured out the correct angle for this thing not to be causing my eyes a lot of grief. My eldest child is off at school and it is almost time for us to go out and wait for the bus for my youngest child. My NaNoWriMo story still has no title because I wasn't able to think of a good one. I'm up to 70k for my word count. This thing is going to probably end up somewhere in the range of 100k when I finally get it done.

NaBloPoMo 17

So, I finally have my planner for this month set up. We're only half way through the month. Not a big deal, right? I have done nothing with my writing bullet journal. I have done very little journal writing. I have been focused on NaNoWriMo in an attempt to just finish one damn story. I am getting frustrated with it because it is taking me so long to get through plot development points. It's like playing a game and you don't get to choose to take the side quests or continue on the main quest, you automatically take every side quest.

It is almost as mentally fatiguing as trying to figure out the right way to finish book seven. This thing I'm working started as fan fiction. It has turned into gods only know what now. I think that working on this is giving me ideas for how to solve some of my book seven problems.

I'm not a big fan of this light therapy lamp but I'm using it anyways with the hope that it will do some good for me. It still gives me a mild headaches and makes my eyes unhappy.  After using it, I don't come away from the experience feeling energized and ready to take on the day. I find myself tired, still, and ready to take a nap. It makes me wonder if I am using this thing right.

NaBloPoMo 16: meme edition

NaBloPoMo 15

I am now at 71k on my project. I still have no idea what I am doing. But, hey, I finally hit one of my vague plot points. I've been struggling to have the discipline to sit down and write for the big word count days like I had back in the beginning of the month.

It is less a question of motivation and more a question of how to deal with my frustration with this project. I'm still at about the middle of the story, it seems. And when I am at this point, I feel like I am writing garbage and no one's going to want to read this thing. It happens every time. I suppose it is like second sock syndrome in knitting or crochet. You get one sock done and then you must summon up the energy to get the second one finished.

I'm still working out the ideal placement of my light therapy lamp. Right now, it is sitting on top of the stand holding the router and modem that is on the desk. It sort of works. I really have no idea what I am doing with this. I haven't seen much of a change in my mood right now. It takes around two weeks using it for the first signs of a change in mood shows up.

NaBloPoMo 14

I don't like my special SAD light. It hurts my eyes and I can't manage to find the right way to position it so that it doesn't. I can't help feeling that I am missing some crucial part of the process here and that is why I am struggling with how to use it properly.

NaBloPoMo 13

Today's my third day of trying out light therapy for my seasonal affective disorder. I hate it. It makes my eyes hurt and gives me a headache. My blood sugar has been running high. I don't know if I am coming down with something or what. It would be funny in a decidedly not funny way that this light therapy stuff was the reason why my blood sugar is running high right now.

NaBloPoMo 12

My feels right now:

NaBloPoMo 11

I'm burned out after yesterday and this past weekend. Still searching. Status report below:

NaBloPoMo 10

It was a long weekend. The kids have today off because it is Veteran's Day. Saturday was busy with errands and visiting family. I didn't get much writing done on my novel. I got even less knitting on my current charity scarf. And zero spinning done. At this rate, I don't think I'm going to have met my goal of spinning a mile of thread/yarn by the end of the year. Things keep coming up.

I did my first session of light therapy and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I don't feel like a zombie right now but my blood sugar isn't sky high either. I do feel weary, but I woke up several times in the night feeling thirsty. I don't know what is going on that my fasting blood sugar numbers are creeping up higher again. I am hoping that it is just the stress from having to replace the Impreza and the general anxiety issues I have causing it. I don't want to be getting sick again when I just got over a sinus infection.

NaBloPoMo 9

NaBloPoMo 8

Don't know what to write at the moment. Still stuck trying to figure out how to finish my damn manuscript. It is driving me bonkers.

NaBloPoMo No. 7

It's my birthday and Beloved got me an awesome gift. It is one of the Queer Seer pins. I had to get a pic with it on. I'm probably going to add it to my pins on my soft sided and very beat up green canvas briefcase/satchel that I've had since high school.

It's a great pin because it lets me show off my pride in my being bisexual and my pride in my hobby of tarot reading (and other forms of divination). I'm sorry for the poor picture quality, I didn't have the best lighting conditions.

NaBloPoMo No. 6

I have hit 50k on my project for NaNoWriMo and I think I am about half finished with the story. I still have no idea what the hell I am doing. It's a fantasy novel based off of some fanfiction I've been writing. Now I have this debate, do I try to finish this novel or do I pick up another project and work on it. I am leaning towards finishing this novel. Because these characters are stuck in my head. Excerpt of what I'm working on beneath the jump.

NaBloPoMo no. 5

Red Heart has a brand of yarn that is supposed to color pool in a way that it works up with an argyle pattern. I bought a ball of it a little while back in neon colors. Because argyle in neon would be pretty cool. They lied. It looked like neon clown barf. I'm still giving it to charity, but I am annoyed. I wanted to make a neon argyle scarf with out having to buy six balls of yarn and knit the thing. I am not good at intarsia knitting. The fact that I could have gotten argyle pattern with super simple crochet had me all excited. Signs are pointing towards I may need to start learning more advanced knitting techniques if I want to make interesting things.

NaBloPoMo No. 4

I'm trying to get started a trend on Twitter. I have two things. One is my bad pitches thread "Hey Agent!" The other is to get the others who are of the Filianic faith more active on Twitter and spread some sunshine around. There's a lot about Twitter that can be described as a dumpster fire. But the Filianic community, at large, is a kind and compassionate group. I'm trying to coax them back to Twitter to push back against the dumpster fire element with random acts of kindness, sharing favorite quotes from the holy texts, and be their lovely selves just as they are over on Tumblr. And Tumblr has the dumpster fire element in equal parts to the element that can be found on Twitter.

I was just hoping to see a little bit more kindness going forward on there. Maybe some cute cat pics but mostly inspiration and hope. Now I'm not so sure if this was such a good idea because I seem to be the only person doing it.

NaBloPoMo #3 I hate legos.

I hate walking them. I hate the gods awful mess they make. Most of all, I hate the noise of my son digging through the bin full of them to find parts to create something. That sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. At the same time, Snuggle Bug could play legos for hours and not cause any mischief.

I still kinda hate them, though.

NaBloPoMo #2

I'm actually attempting NaNoWriMo this year despite being depressed. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I took a partial manuscript from earlier in the year that I was just messing around with and put it in as what I'm working on now. My characters are that meme. I'm beginning to think that the meme is my stories in a nutshell.

NaBloPoMo #1 - Fuck Depression

So, I'm going to attempt National Blog Posting Month (that bit of alphabet soup in the title) this year. I was looking forward to doing National Novel Writing Month but I'm super anxious about it. I have no plan. I have no outline. Nothing. And I'm afraid that I would continue to write word vomit about my trauma as I did last NaNoWriMo and Camp NaNoWriMo. Beloved tells me that I shouldn't hang everything upon writing a novel this month. He's correct in saying that I work on such things on a regular basis year round.

But I was looking forward to the project all year. But depression ate my brain so I have no plans of any sort for writing this. Which makes my anxiety go off the rails. I am just going to open a word document and put down 1.7k words today. We'll see if it turns into anything, I guess. I just feel like this is a hopeless effort and that my writing career is a joke because I don't know how to manipulate social media enough to get anyone to buy books.

Samhain eve.

I am not a good witch. I am not a great mother.

There's no plans for Samhain. The weather's going to be rotten again this year so I'm not taking the children out to gather candy.

I haven't slept well in several days. When I do sleep, my dreams are stalked by the restless dead screaming for justice, clutching to me in desperation for help. The plant I had on my altar that was all lush and pretty died in the last two days covered in mold of some sort. It was only luck that I didn't have an allergic reaction to the thing when I disposed of it.

My mood is bad and I'm finding myself worrying about random things. The clamor of the dead is louder when I go out of the house because I go past my wards and there's more waiting out there. When you're sensitive to the dead, they tend to flock to you. Imagine you've been trying to get somebody to listen to you and you found someone who actually can hear you and communicate with the other people you were trying to talk to.

I am feeling pressure from various ways in my life and I am not handling it so well. I doubt that there will be any mischief tonight. Devil's night isn't much of a thing in my neighborhood.

Monday menu

Date	Breakfast	Lunch	Dinner
Sun	Donuts	sandwiches / leftovers	Pizza
Mon	kids: Donuts me: english muffin egg, coffee	Kids: school Hubby: ramen & ham salad sandwich Me: pizza	hamburgers carrot salad & cheeseburger salad
Tues	kids: school me: oatmeal, egg, coffee	Kids: school Hubby: chili & chips Me: salad	tacos & taco salad
Wed	kids: school me: oatmeal, egg & coffee	Kids: school Hubby: burrito bowl Me: leftovers	Pork chops mashed potatoes green salad
Thurs	kids: school me: coffee oatmeal & egg	Kids: school Hubby: leftovers Me: leftovers	crock pot pot roast beef w/ potatoes
Fri	kids: school me: veggie omelet & toast & coffee	Kids: school Hubby: leftovers Me: leftovers	Pork tenderloin mash potatoes peas
Sat	eggs, bacon & fruit	leftovers / sandwiches	chili

The Umbrel Chronicles of Evandar is officially a series now!

I just put book four out for sale today. Here's the link to the page on my other blog where you can get copies of the entire series. I'm working on merchandise to go with the books. I have blank bookmarks that I'm going to decorate. I have a basket of jewelry that I can slap up for sale. I'm giving myself until midsummer 2020 to get that all sorted out. This way I can have random things like a small cookbook pdf and crochet or knitting patterns based off of characters and such. I figure if the guy I knew from the Facebook writer's group I was in could rope possible sales with merchandise, maybe I can too.

Mr. Naalson and the Keeper

Naalson walked through the gateway of the prison. A shiver passed over him as the anguish of the imprisoned washed over him. In his own way, they were his brothers and he grieved their imprisonment, however necessary for the greater good. Naalson hated that expression 'the greater good'. It was one that was introduced by the Christians, if he recalled it correctly. That 'greater good' being the good for their distant god. Naalson flicked an invisible bit of lint off of his suit and waited as the guard waved a metal detector wand over him. It chirped as it passed over his wrists. Naalson pulled back his shirt sleeves to reveal the dead watch on his left wrist and the medical id bracelet on his right.

“Sign in at the right,” the guard instructed in a bored tone. Naalson leaned over to peer at the names of the guards assigned at the door but they turned away before he could catch their names. The yellow painted brick had all the charm of a deeply infected wound's purulent drainage. Naalson half expected the smell underneath the scent of the industrial cleaner that had been used earlier in the day. He picked up a black pen with his left hand and signed his name; Naalson, Loptr. The guard looked up at him suspiciously. “What kind of name is Loptr?”

“It's an old family name from my mother's side. We're Norwegian originating from the Jotunheimen region,” Naalson explained with an air of someone who had to explain his name far too many times. The guard nodded and said something about people always getting his name wrong too. “I'm here to see the warden,” Naalson said, shrugging up his sleeve a bit to glance at the watch face, “He is expecting me.” The guard gestured another one over to him.

“Please see Mister.. uh.. Na.. Nel ..” The guard looked awkardly at Naalson.

“It's pronounced Naal-son,” he said.

“Oh, yes. Right. Got it. Please see Mister Naalson to Warden Schmitt's office,” the guard instructed his companion. The uniforms and the semi-military haircuts gave them an almost nondescript quality. Naalson noted, however, the one who let him in the door had black hair and a moustache with grey hairs beginning to show. He noted that the one lazing behind the desk was a red head like himself, just a lighter color and with less freckles. The guard walking infront of him had blond hair and ice blue eyes. He vaguely reminded Naalson of someone he knew once that died by misadventure with a sprig of mistletoe.

As they moved through the administrative offices portion of the prison, Naalson could practically hear the walls groan with despair. This, he concluded, was a cursed place. He rubbed his right wrist absentmindedly and wondered if he was going to find himself face to face with a snake. The warden's secretary looked up from a sheaf of reports and blinked in surprise. Naalson was quite possibly the tallest man he had seen. Naalson towered over the guard but was surprisingly lean. His carefully groomed beard hid his scars and a few of his freckles. His hair was cut in a manner that was virtually identical to the one worn by the majority of the corrections officers. When the sunlight fell on it through the chickenwire impregnated windows, it seemed to have the color of a spark against the dreary grey of the office.

“Warden Schmitt is expecting me,” Naalson said, “I'm actually a few minutes late.” The secretary looked down at the paperwork and then shuffled around more papers. “The warden is in, isn't he? I was told today and this time, tuesday at nine o'clock.”

“Yes, here you are,” said the secretary, holding up a neon pink sticky note, “To discuss the matter of your nephew. One moment.” Naalson folded his hands behind his back in a position similar to military at ease. Then an uncomfortable feeling crawled up his spine, a bodily memory of sorts. Naalson brought his hands back down to his sides as the door to the warden's office opened.

Warden Schmitt was not an impressive looking man. He was perhaps the most boring looking person that Naalson had ever laid eyes on during his travels. Naalson was mildly impressed with this unconscious feat. Schmitt was reviewing some manner of paperwork, peering over wire rimmed glasses. His mouse brown hair was thinning but carefully groomed. His face was clean shaven where a beard or moustache might have lent him some visual sense of personality. A small man, Schmitt didn't strike fear into people with his stature. Quiet spoken, it wasn't his voice that many feared, at first.

“Elliot, put that on the pile,” Schmitt said, waving a hand at the towering stack of papers on the corner of his desk.

“Warden Schmitt, your nine o'clock appointment is here,” the secretary coughed, embarrassed by his superior's behavior. Schmitt looked over and then up at Naalson.

“I see, very well. Bring me the report when this meeting is over, then,” Schmitt said. He stood up and gestured towards the second chair in the room. It was a small chair for Naalson to sit down in comfortably but somehow he managed to make it look so. “What can I do for you, sir?” Schmitt said, attempting to sound ingratiating in his bland voice. Naalson couldn't help the vulpine smile that came when Schmitt asked his question.

“There is an inquiry going on, Mister Schmitt,” Naalson said, “I believe word of it has reached your office.” Schmitt looked confused. “Clearly the memo was misplaced. Your secretary's desk is almost as bad as mine,” Naalson said with that same smile, his tone sounding genuinely warm and friendly. “An inmate recently was reported to have become deceased under your watch under suspicious circumstances.” Schmitt's attempt to be pleasant dropped away and the tepid looking man scowled as much as such a man could manage. “The report,” Naalson continued, sounding bored with the entire affair, “Said that you were the last man to see him alive.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” demanded Schmitt, his voice turning hard. It was a tone that the inmates were troubled by. Because when Schmitt was angry, bad things tended to happen.

“Oh, I'm not accusing you of anything,” Naalson said mildly, “Merely stating the facts of the report that I received. And this inmate, I believe his number was ... No, that doesn't matter. “ Naalson leaned forward, steepling his fingers before his face as he rested his elbows on the warden's desk. “Erick Ericksonne was his name,” Naalson said, “the report reads that he committed suicide. However, it also reads that all suicide watch protocol was followed. No belt, no shoelaces, no sheet on the cot. Hell, no cot even, just a mattress in a bare cell. We all know how those parts of the facility look. With the dehumanizing mint green and pink colors that make you think of those damned after dinner mints that taste like chalk, am I right?”

Schmitt blinked quickly. He had the feeling that he was in the presence of someone quite dangerous though he couldn't parse the reason why. “I have one question for you, John,” Naalson said, gesturing with his right hand towards the warden. “Why did you strangle him? Wasn't it enough that you had him in solitary on suicide watch for refusing to say the pledge first thing in the morning? Wasn't it enough that you had his food rations cut in half? Are you really so patriotic as to murder a man for 'disrespecting the flag'?”

Schmitt hit the panic button under his desk. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. “Oh, tech gets gitchy around me,” Naalson said, smiling, “You should see my watch. Something about my ... energy.” Schmitt felt sweat beading up along the back of his neck. “Or, really,” Naalson said suddenly as he leaned back and raised his right index finger as though he had an exciting revelation, “Is the problem that Erick was a pacifist? Well, we should say, was in this case. Proper context is important as is clauses. You hate pacifists. You've hated them since the war. Can't say I'd blame you much except for there's one small problem. This isn't the war. You can't kill a man with impunity, no matter how well you cover it up.”

“Turning off the camera on the room, clever man,” Naalson said, “But, you forgot about the one in the hallway. It caught you 'adjusting' your belt. The very same belt you used to strangle your prisoner.”

“That's a lie,” Schmitt said in an icey tone. The vulpine smile returned. Schmitt wondered how this man knew. He wondered if he hadn't paid the guard on duty enough money to keep his yap shut. He wondered if the camera actually was on. “You're trying to blackmail me,” Schmitt said.

“Oh no, blackmail is beneath me,” Naalson said, “I'm here to give you a choice. Confess your crime or suffer Erick's fate.”

“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Schmitt couldn't keep the note of panic out of his voice at the last part of his statement.

Naalson scoffed, “I wouldn't dirty my hands. Your hands, however...”

Schmitt's hands shook and began to move of their own accord. Naalson watched as he took of his belt and stood up. “Stop this,” Schmitt said.

“You are doing this to yourself,” Naalson answered as Schmitt looped one end of the belt over the pendant lamp hanging from the ceiling. He watched with emotionless eyes as Schmitt's filled with panic and he struggled. As he teetered on the rolling chair with his makeshift noose around his neck, Schmitt's face turned red. Naalson stood up and walked around the table. He gripped hold of the back of the chair. For a moment Schmitt's stance stabilized and the awful pressure around his throat eased up for a moment. “Off to Niflhel with you, snake,” Naalson said in Schmitt's ear before kicking the chair out from under him.

Schmitt's secretary opened the door. “Sir, your nine o'clock appointment is here,” he said, looking down at the report in his hand. The secretary looked up and screamed at the sight of his superior dangling from a light that could barely hold him. “Oh god, somebody... somebody do something!” the secretary screamed as others around him scrambled into action. In the chaos, no one noticed a mouse scuttling out of the room and evading their stomping feet.

Chronic illness = bullshit

Yesterday's lesson in anxiety sucked. Fortunately, my blood sugar levels are much better today. I forgot to log what I've been eating over the last several days. As such, I don't know what caused yesterday to be such a pain in the ass. I'm still running a blood sugar level higher than I want it to be (170s instead of 150s) but I've been awake and getting things done today.

I was tired and I tried to take a nap this morning when there were people outside working. That went about as well as can be expected. I suppose I managed about a half hour before I just couldn't stand it anymore and I got up. I didn't sleep the best last night. I kept having really vivid dreams. One was my being at a pizza party at the bowling alley (which I think has been closed) where my mother humiliated me in front of my class. It was supposed to be a birthday party, but she turned it into something about her by announcing to everyone at full volume that she was, as per my description, a bitch and everyone should remember it. Mind you, I didn't talk about my family at school at all. But, in this dream, it was not a repeat of the memory.

The bowling alley was completely empty and there was this massive sheet pizza with ALL the toppings you could think of. I stood there looking at it and then around the bowling alley. I then said, "Well, this was the only good thing that came out of that day anyways." Then I woke up for a few minutes. When I fell back to sleep, I had a little bit more detailed of a dream.

I dreamed that Beloved, I, and a group of old friends/acquaintances from high school were opening up a bar/restaurant where a dive bar is located currently in our hometown. The kids ran around playing and helping with small chores as we did things like move furniture and hang curtains. It was a pleasant dream. Partly because in the dream I was healthy and able to help do stuff like move furniture.

If I were to sit here and interpret theses dreams, I would say that I should let go of the past moments where I was humiliated and reach out to old friends to make my dreams happen. I'm not quite sure how to approach the second part. I'm not very good at being social. I also feel a fair amount of guilt over the fact that I'd be asking people to do things for me just on the basis of our friendship.

Growing up, I learned that friendship was something you gave and didn't expect anything back from it. And that it was rare. I went to school with some real assholes who regularly did shit that humiliated me. Now, I find myself considering (idly) things like getting a hold of the people who made my life miserable in high school and pushing my books in their direction, in the hope that theoretical guilt over their treatment of me equates to purchasing a book. I realize, however, that is an improbability on the scale of my accomplishing teleportation by pure force of will.

Old friends, however, may be a helpful network. It'd be good to see how their lives are turning out and if they have achieved those dreams we all talked about when we were kids. I may not have the spoons to market to the entire world, but maybe I can to some old friends and let them know that I appreciate their continued support and friendship. I don't know.

Diabetes can die in a fire.

All damn day today, my blood sugar has been high. I have been unconscious most of the day because of the fact that my blood sugar has been over 250. I don't know why this is happening. I know that my sinus infection is making my blood sugar run a little high but this increase makes no sense to me. I'm so frustrated. I had stuff I wanted to get done today. I had things I needed to get done before the kids got home from school. None of it happened.

I don't know if today is an outlier or a sign that something is going wrong. I'm kinda scared. I'm eating within my limits for carbs. I'm making sure that I have protein with my carbs. I'd be exercising except I was unconscious most of the day. I feel helpless and frustrated.

I was going to walk down to the corner store for a jug of milk because we're just about out. Didn't happen. I was going to fold up more of my laundry and get it done before the kids got home because of how much laundry I have piled up waiting to be put away (and sorted out for storage for winter). I had plans to get writing done today. Again, didn't happen until now because I was asleep pretty much all day.

I'm nervous about dinner. I'm concerned that I shouldn't  eat dinner incase it makes my blood sugar spike and I have difficulty waking up in the morning again. At the same time, I know that I should eat dinner because having my blood sugar really low is a bad thing. I skipped my morning snack because I slept through it. I skipped my afternoon snack. It is my guess that if I don't have it, maybe my blood sugar will be lower. I don't know.

ETA:

Not eating snack brought my blood sugar levels before dinner to 135, which is what I was hoping for. I did eat dinner. A modest bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee doesn't sound like much, but that and a bit of cheese and lunch meat made up my dinner. I think between the cheese and the lunch meat I had enough protein, but I'm not sure.

I'm so tired of this bullshit.

To Hel with this sinus infection.

To speed along this infection's trip down Hel's Road, I'm taking horse-pill sized antibiotics for the next week (twice a day). I've been exhausted and it's only now at three in the afternoon that I feel somewhat awake. At least I will be conscious when the kids are off the bus and demanding attention. I am so irritated with this whole business. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that I have had some level of a bloody nose all week. According to the family doctor, that will go away as the infection does.

Jill H. is a good friend of mine from when I was in school. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that she lives just up the road. We've renewed our friendship like no time passed. One of her hobbies is shopping thrift stores and garage sales. She found some great clothes for the kids at just the right time. Cuddle Bear is growing out of his jeans. When he wears his old ones, he looks about ready to go fishing. So, we're shuffling clothes around and giving the stuff that the boys have outgrown to her to ferry off to the thrift store for another soul to use.

I am so thankful for Jill. I wish I could be a better friend to her and my other friends. Fortunately, the anti-anxiety medication change is helping me get out of the house and be more social. Apparently a big part of my problem getting stuff done and being social is my social phobia. Who'd've thunk it, right? I'm still easing my way into the medication change. So far, however, it's made socializing easier. It's made doing the weekly grocery shopping a lot easier again. No more panic if I'm choosing the wrong food for me to eat or if people are giving me odd looks and following me.

Now I'm just waiting on my proofs to arrive in the mail. I want to get book 4 out for everybody to enjoy as soon as possible. I think I'm going to release the e-book ahead of the paperback. That one looks fine. KDP dropped my stuff in the mail later than they had said they were going to, hence a delay of at least a week, I think. I was supposed to have it by now. If I am exceedingly lucky, I'll have it Monday.

TL:DR - Things are improving despite my being sick with a sinus infection.

Monday Menu: Fuck It.

I'm sick. I still have that stupid cold from last week. It now includes sinus pain and bleeding. I have a doctor's appointment Wednesday. My nice and tidy organized everything is a mess because I haven't been staying on top of my organizing things. Fortunately, it is not so big of a mess that I missed that my Cuddle Bug has a dentist appointment on Thursday.

I don't have much of a menu this week. I just wrote down dinners in my planner on Thursday. Monday through Wednesday are the usual things. Thursday I am going to attempt to make breaded pork chops in the oven. Instead of bread crumbs, I'm going to be using almond flour. We'll see how well the kids take to it. Friday is going to be chicken curry, or chicken something. I can't remember exactly what I wrote down and my planner is in the other room. Saturday, Beloved is going to make chili. This is a big deal because he makes awesome chili.

I'm behind on my writing in a bunch of areas because I've been sick. I'm trying to get caught up but it's not working so great. Stupid cold and stuff.

Vanilla Infused Stevia (and some rambling)

This is a damn simple recipe. It's so simple, I don't think it counts as one.

Take a vanilla pod. Put it into a pint sized mason jar. Cover with finely ground stevia (like the sort used to replace sugar in baking). Let it sit in a dark cupboard for a few months. In the end, you have stevia that is flavored with vanilla. It's a subtle flavor that goes well with oolong tea. Just top it off with more stevia as you use it up. Keep in that cupboard when you're not using it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I feel like it isn't safe for me to express myself fully. It's why I have been wearing bandannas more of late instead of my pretty scarves. The increasingly 'conservative' attitudes of the community we live in distresses me. The march towards oligarchy or fascism, I honestly can't tell the difference anymore right now, terrifies me. The people who go on screeds about how the mentally ill are dangerous and exhort that we should be locked away (at best) frighten me. The way that people act how autism is a fate worse than death and that there should be a purge of all autistic people (yes, I have seen people saying these things) is deeply distressing.

I want to say that these things are outliers. But they are what I hear coming out of the mouths of people in my neighborhood when I am out and about. When I am dressed in a more conventional fashion, they assume that I am just like them and will go on and on about their things, expecting me to nod and agree. Racism is becoming more open and if you're suspected to be a 'sympathizer' you get an earful.

One day, while I was out, I heard people commenting on 'rag heads' as they were walking right behind me. I was wearing one of my scarves. It has me feeling like I can't wear my scarves out in public anymore. I know some of it is my social phobia, but you know, social phobia is pretty hard to discourage when people around you are actively stating things like how all the 'rag heads' in the country should get killed. They shut right up when I turned around and looked at them. Apparently they didn't feel comfortable making those comments about a person as lily white as myself.

Today: N.O.P.E. Orbital Cannon status - Activate

Today was a long day. I was doing ok up until about lunch time, that's when the crushing anxiety set in. I've been wandering in circles and not getting much done because I'm terrified that if I don't do it perfectly I'll be punished.

Time to NOPE today from orbit.

Mondays are a lot of work.

I have spent my morning working on my planner and my bullet journal. I gave up on updating my food log because it's been at least two weeks since I wrote in there. (I was still calculating carbs and eating within my limits, I just wasn't writing anything down.) I am tired after washing a fuck ton of dishes. There's still a good number left but I have run out of counter space. I was debating if I was going to cook dinner tonight (hamburgers) in the stove but I think I'm going to fry them in a pan. It will take a little longer but I don't have room to put the big broiler pan in the sink to wash it.

I got some blogging done on one of my witchy blogs. I took care of some papers. I got the mail. I did some spinning stuff. So, I am getting things done and slowly getting caught up on things. I tell myself every day that today is going to be a productive day. Of late, that's been hard. Because of the depression and ptsd working together to kick my ass, I haven't been sleeping well and that makes me exhausted through the day.

Today, I haven't had any flashbacks. This is a good thing. I did have a memory come up but I wasn't left shaking and upset with it. I was darkly amused by it. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. I mean, being beaten with a car antenna (even when you're wearing denim and snow gear) is pretty horrible. But I was amused by the fact that the beating was so much less effective because of the layers we were wearing when it happened. I've been writing about trauma stuff in my morning blogging on my writing blog (which is an extension of the morning pages that I am doing as part of the Artist's Way). It's made the blog a bit darker in content.

I still have not found a therapist to work with. Doing this free writing where stuff that is trauma related gets vomited out may be as close to actual therapy work as I get. I have three college ruled notebooks full of the stuff. I'm probably going to be filling up a fourth. I have no idea what I'm going to do with these notebooks. At the same time, I still am dealing with some weirdness inside my head that I don't know how to handle.

As I was writing, I had a different part of myself sort of riding shotgun and telling the story as I typed it down. It was weird. I didn't lose time. But this part of myself that I don't have much to do with just popped up and told me the story of the time my mother and grandmother were canning tomatoes and other stuff. I was in my single digits. I was playing in the far corner of the room and my mother scolded me to get out of the kitchen, despite the fact that I was safely out of the way. Her real problem was the fact that I wasn't supervising my brothers. I knew it, she knew it. I suspect my grandmother knew it too. After all, I was the eldest child.

It was weird to be in two headspaces at the same time. On the other hand, it was also familiar. I don't know if this means I am making progress on getting to know my interior selves or not. I found myself jumping from headspace to headspace today. It's part of the reason why I am tired right now. At the same time, I got a lot of stuff done. I don't know if that means I am a person with multiple personalities or not. I know that when I was in each different headspace, I remember different things.

I have a journal that I was writing in with these different parts of myself. I watched my handwriting change. I watched my tone of writing change. It wasn't a big deal but it was weird. I had people comment on my handwriting changing with my mental state. One person said that my signature looked like that of an entirely different person according to my mood. I don't know if that's normal.

I just know that it is noisy in my head. It's not hallucinations. Thank gods for that. It's more like I'm listening to other people's thoughts running through my head some times. Or, perhaps more accurately, it's like listening to a group of people in another room having a conversation that I can hear pieces of it. I can't see them. I can't tell how many people are there. But I can hear snippets of the conversation.

Today, the self-destructive one was quiet. There were no comments along the lines that I was a burden to my entire family. No comments that I should pull the pin on my marriage to spare my husband the misery of caring for me. And no comments that I should do everyone a favor and just walk away / die. I think that was because I actually got a full night of sleep last night.

Instead there was the List-maker who was busy helping me organize everything for this week and next. There was the Care-taker who helped me wash a ton of dishes with out getting caught up in panic over the idea that I'm going to do it wrong and either have to wash everything over again or be beaten in punishment. There are others in my head just doing their own thing. If I concentrate, I can tell what's going on. But I don't know how much of this is an over active imagination.

How can you tell when you have more than one personality?

Fucking memories, what the hell?

You may be looking at the post immediately before this one and going 'wtf?' As I was washing dishes, the memory of A- cornering me hit me like a freight train. It's been a while since I have had a flashback like that. Most of them lately have been emotional. But not that one, nope. It was a full on, for a few seconds I wasn't here/now, I was back in that moment and I could see the tiled wall and the sink in front of me. For that moment, I could feel him looming at my back and hear him breathing. Then, it was just gone and I was standing there disoriented at the kitchen sink.

That's what a flashback is like. Usually, they're a lot uglier than that one. I had a therapist tell me that flashbacks happen when we're at a place that we're safe enough to process the experience. There's something profoundly ironic about this one. The incident that I was having a flashback to occurred during a time where I was in therapy and trying to resolve the problems I was having at the time with flashbacks and night terrors to an abusive relationship I was in. I don't know if this means I am going to start having flashbacks of N- now. I really fucking hope not. Because N- and my relationship was profoundly traumatic and I still am stumbling onto triggers of panic attacks today and it's been 26 years since that happened.

I don't know why I am listening to a playlist of music made up of singers and songwriters from the 70s. For my earlier years, I listened to that and those years were pretty horrific in turn due to things with my parents. My subconscious is up to something. I have spent the last several years intermittently writing about those years. It seems to be the only thing that I am not hitting a creative block on. I don't know what to do about that. I have lived through some horrible shit and I don't know why it is the only thing I can write coherently about right now (well for the last 2 years).

On the 11th, I was full of sadness and I thought it was just my bipolar and seasonal affective disorder acting up. Then, as I thought about it, I realized it was an emotional flashback to watching the towers fall and hearing the city scream in terror. It was an emotional flashback to watching friends deal with the fact that they had no idea if their loved ones were alive and if we were in danger.

I'm not sure what to do with these things. I don't know if writing them down is going to a damn bit of good. I don't know if it will make things harder. The walls of the dam are beginning to crumble again. I don't know what is going to come with the fall.

I'm racist but working on fixing that.

*Content Warning: Sexual Harassment*

I posted a thread about this on twitter. I'm going to post a blog post about it too because it is important and writing about this kind of shit helps me process it. I could just copy and paste my twitter thread but that requires effort.

I was 20-something and working in the campus cafe at college. It was a typical Friday evening. At the end of the shift, the other gals had left to go do stuff and I got the short straw (aka the dishes to wash). As I was standing at the sink, I had my back to the rest of the kitchen. Aside from myself the only other person there was the supervisor from the campus food services, who ran the cafe and such). A- was a big, latino guy. He was known around campus for his genial attitude and big smile. Among the staff of the cafe, he was known for trying to get 'friendly' with us girls.

So, I was standing at the sink, boxed in to a corner by the virtue of how the cafe was built. (I sincerely hope that feature was fixed.) A- walked up behind me and started 'talking sexy' at me. I am a survivor of sexual assault. I panicked. I reached into the sink and grabbed the first handle I touched. I thought it was a ladle given the size of it. I picked it up and turned around. As A-'s face went white, I realized I was holding a butcher's knife in my hand. I told A- to back off and leave me and my friends alone. I then dropped the knife into the sink and walked out of the cafe. I made a point of watching my back as I crossed the campus, pausing for a moment to pick up a hefty stick that had fallen from a tree just in case A- followed me. When I got to my dorm room, my roommate was surprised I was back early. She saw I was upset but I didn't talk about it. I was pretty sure if I did, I was going to lose my job with the cafe, which I needed to afford textbooks next semester.

Ever since that incident, I get scared around latino men. I had a therapist soothingly tell me that I was just experiencing anxiety. I had the same therapist tell me that all I had to do to get over it was to breathe deeply. (She tried, but she wasn't a good therapist.) It took a lot of soul searching and careful thought to realize that this was more than being triggered by a person having a physical resemblance to A-. It was all latino men that I had this response to. I felt terrible when I realized that my fear had turned me into a racist.

That was when I made the conscious decision to rewire my brain. I'm working very hard not letting that fear lead me forward. I'm working very hard to see each latino man that I meet as an individual person. I'm working very hard to learn about the rich culture of the latinx community. The latter is a bit challenging because I live in lily white rural WNY where there's a lot of racism on the sly. I can't blame my PTSD for my racism. It may have contributed to the development of it, but it stayed around because I didn't challenge the assumptions that all latino men were a threat to me.

It it hard. It takes a lot of conscious effort and working to remember that A- was an individual asshole. One asshole does not an entire community make. So, I admit I am a racist, but I'm working to fix that and to teach my children not to be ones. The latter is a little easier, to be honest.

Cisgender but not Femme enough.

I've been sitting on this topic for years struggling with the question if I should even write this. I've written about it in my journals. It's been a struggle for me since I was in elementary school. Socially, I didn't fit the roles expected of me as a girl.I was branded a tomboy with the expectation that I'd grow out of it. I tried to fit in with my peers but severe bullying made it difficult. It didn't help that there was a lot of blatant misogyny in my parents' household that just got worse over the years.

As I came of the age of menarche, the bullying became far worse. With the onset of my period being terribly unpredictable due to my having polycycstic ovarian syndrome, I had several instances where my period began with out warning at school. Pretty much immediately after that I was shunned and treated as though I was the most disgusting and reviled of creatures by my peers. They threw ketchup on me, laughing. They spat on me and told me that I was little better than a dog because I couldn't control my period. At the same time, my mother was harassing me over the fact that she felt that I was being lazy about tracking my period and being excessive in my use of menstrual products. At one point, she and I had a 'discussion' about how if I was going to continue to be 'irresponsible' about keeping track of my menstrual cycle, I was going to have to pay for my own menstrual products. I was nine, living functionally in the middle of no where and I didn't even get allowance or some pittance for performing chores around the house so I could theoretically have money to pay for my menstrual products.

At the same time as all of this was going on, my body began to develop body hair and other secondary feminine sex characteristics. I was harassed about my breasts being small by other girls who were developing at a different rate. I was harassed mercilessly about my facial hair. The fact that my voice actually dropped in pitch netted me harassment as well. So, the message from my peers was that I wasn't as femme as they and I had no hope of ever 'catching up'. It was brutal. Because it wasn't just quirks of anatomy that didn't make me fit in well either. As I mentioned at the beginning, I wasn't good at performing the typical 'girl' behaviors. I was socially awkward and sensitive, perhaps a bit more than others. I didn't know how to shave my legs, so changing in the locker room for gym got me more harassment. (One person called me a hairy ape because I had not shave my legs, armpits, or my face before that day's swimming lesson. They went on a long tirade about how I was disgusting and an 'evolutionary throwback' because of my body hair) I didn't really know about how to apply make up.

One would theorize that my mother would have been willing to somehow assist in this. She consistently mocked my efforts to learn on my own. She declared me to look like a cheap harlot, a circus clown, and a bad mockery of a drag queen at various times. When I attempted to develop my own sense of clothing style, I leaned towards femme looks and my mother berated me for it. The conservative looks got the accusation of being a prude. The more modern looks got me the accusation of looking like a cheap whore or an attention seeking slut. (Just a few more lines and you'll see the bitter, bitter irony of these accusations.) The times where I ignored convention and attempted to come up with my completely own style of dress netted demands that I change into more 'normal' clothes because I looked like an embarrassment to the family.

My parents made it very clear that they were disappointed that I was born female. They weren't quite as beligerant about it until I hit that magical age of puberty. Then my father became distant. Then my mother all but accused me of trying to sleep with every boy in town, except for the fact that I didn't do anything other than go to school and come home. That didn't stop her from calling me things like a 'prick tease' and telling me that I was acting like a tramp. So, I defaulted to jeans and a t-shirt, the most gender neutral clothing I owned, for a long time. It still got me comments but it wasn't as frequent as when I decided to dress up for school.

When I got my first boyfriend, my mother basically treated me like a living doll. I was getting ready for my first date and she told me I was doing everything wrong. At which point she painted my face with vivid makeup and had me change my outfit to something more revealing. I was extremely uncomfortable with this, but it was the first semi-normal 'mother-daughter' interaction we had in a very long time. As that relationship persisted, my mother was invested in my appearance. She bought me clothes that were revealing. She bought me my first pair of high heels and taught me to walk in them (which was a highly unpleasant experience because she made me balance a book on my head as I did so and swatted me with a fly swatter when my posture wasn't proper). It's funny, in a dark way, that my mother's overboard jump into 'we're going to make you a proper femme' pushed so hard into the territory where I looked like I was older and made me a target for more sexual harassment.

At the same time as this push to make me more femme in the way that my mother felt I should look femme, I developed a mild eating disorder. Mom praised me for being so thin. She made noises about how if I could just get myself to 'look and behave properly' I could have a career in modeling. I knew that she was trying to live vicariously through me. I also knew that she was trying to make me into wife material at fourteen. I think she knew that N- was older than what he told me his age was. My parents had the infamous 'What are your intentions regarding my daughter?' conversation with him shortly after our first date. N- must have fed them a line that they approved of because my mother's initial rejection of the concept of my having a boyfriend turned into her trying to mold me into the perfect girlfriend material.

I also knew that I wasn't good enough in her eyes no matter how much I played along with her efforts to make me more femme. I knew that the lifetime of being told I had to be more masc to be approved of by my parents undercut the 'be more femme' and lead to Mom making sharp commentary about how I was terrible at being femme and that I really needed to care more about my appearances. In the midst of all this, I was enduring an abusive relationship where my boyfriend regularly sexually assaulted me and hurt me in other ways. But, I had the pressure to fit in as femme take off my shoulders briefly because I had a boyfriend, which didn't make me a complete freak in the eyes of my peers who were cycling through boyfriends like nobody's business. Instead, I had the pressure to maintain this relationship that made me automatically fit into the femme category.

It was one of the worst periods of my life. I lead this life where I hid so much of myself because I knew that it wasn't going to be approved or accepted. Additionally, I struggled because I realized I was bisexual and the entire situation was hostile against that. My boyfriend of the time at one point made a comment about how 'gays' should be beaten for existing. He looked to me for some kind of fawning agreement with his comment.What he got was horror and silence. He punished me for that later, declaring that it was my job to laugh when he was 'funny' and to agree with him when he was 'right'. 

When I broke up with N-, he was stationed overseas. N- had gone into the Navy upon graduating high school with the promise that he was going to marry me when he finished his first tour of duty. When I broke up with N-, the harassment got going again. I was despondent over so many things. I felt like I was a failure because the relationship between N- and I was so horrible. I blamed myself for the fact that he raped me. I blamed myself for the fact that he battered me and emotionally abused me. I said to myself that if I were more of a 'normal' girl then those things wouldn't have happened.

So, I gave up on trying to be a 'proper' girl. I did my make up in the minimalist way that I could figure out on my own. I wore clothes that tended towards gender neutral most of the time. Being hurt from presenting as more femme made me gun shy of the concept though I dearly wanted to do it. I went off to a women's college concerned that I wasn't going to fit in. Fortunately, the anonymity of being one person on a large campus and the fact that most of the other people were too busy with their own shit to give a damn about me helped me adjust to being in that environment. My anxiety about not being femme enough was put on hold except for when some kind of event requiring fancy dress came up. Then my friends came to the rescue to help me figure out how to do up my hair and such. It felt like wearing a mask but I could do that all day long thanks to my experiences.

It was in my mid to late 20s that the anxiety hit me again full force. I had graduated the safe haven of college and found myself interacting again with a mixed population of genders on a regular basis. At one point, I found myself seriously questioning my gender. All of the pressure that my parents had put on me to perform as masc left me ill quipped to deal with the social pressures of being femme. It was an agonizing half year. I feared that my Beloved would leave me if I weren't femme enough. He told me something that blew my mind. He would have loved me the same if I were a man, transgender, or agender. When I revealed that I was bisexual, he laughed and said that he was as well and clearly that was the reason why we got along together so well.

I don't know where I fall on the gender spectrum. It causes me some anxiety. I am a woman but with strong masc traits. I struggle with the typical femme behaviors, even now. My education in womanly behavior is based in a weird place that is almost cultish in its nature. I struggle with a good deal of internalized misogyny. I've gotten better about it, but it is still a struggle due to how long I had to live with it. I still worry that I'm not femme enough despite the fact that I have birthed children and I dress more femme than I did in the past.

I see my transgender friends and I see their struggle. I open my heart in solidarity. As someone who was raised with the expectation that they were supposed to be male up until puberty hit and then they were denigrated for being female, I can see some parallels between our journeys. I see you. I acknowledge you and respect you. You are enough just as you are. My mistake is sometimes I let other people's definition of being femme override what I have known about myself for my whole life. Don't let other people define you. Only you know yourself well enough to define and apply labels. ♥