well...that's...triggering

back in june i started spending time with someone. it was a bit of an interesting start- in april at my steak and whisky dinner, i asked my dad to send me a strong, rob delaney type. a few weeks later a strong, rob delaney type approached me at my regular bar and showed interest.

this is someone whom i had been aware of for years, but we’d just never connected. and even now, it took some time to connect, but it did, and it’s been fun and exciting and healing in so many ways.

we got to spend so many hot july evenings by the pool. we were able to take a day trip to the ancient cedar groves, a weekend trip to the Garden of 1000 Buddhas. we’ve had great nights talking and playing rummy or cribbage. we’ve spent more than a few hours watching documentaries of all kinds, learning all sorts of things. he has cooked SO MANY amazing, real dinners for me. REAL DINNERS. no boxes or cans. real ingredients, real food. taking into consideration all my weird food preferences- that’s no easy feat.

it is the most time i’ve ever spent with someone, ever. real time spent together. the first time i’ve taken a weekend trip with someone. the most evenings and overnights i’ve ever spent with someone. it’s been a lot of firsts. it has been some great healing conversations. beautiful unprompted sincere compliments. fantastic moments of matching energy and effort. thoughtful check in’s and text message updates. asking for things and being heard, acknowledged and seeing the follow through. kind and considerate acts of service. there has been laughter and memories and there are so many great little beautiful bubbles to add to my collection. 

ALSO.

it’s been a huge learning curve.

it’s hard seeing yourself from someone else's perspective.

i’m feral. i know this.

i’m strange. i also know this.

i’m absolutely fucking weird. i know this very, very well.

i’m neurodivergent. i have a lot of trauma. you can for sure tell both of these things, very quickly.

i’m also working very hard on all of it. it’s hard to fix a broken brain with a broken brain, but i’m trying like fuck.

it’s been interesting to see how the things that annoy the ever loving fuck out of myself also annoy the ever loving fuck out of someone else.

i have never spent this much in person time with another human besides my children. even a hundred years ago when i was married, i worked day shift and he worked swing shift. there was moving in/moving out. the whole thing start to finish was only 23 months. there was not much time together.

i’ve had partners over the years, sure. they were only ever around maybe a few hours at a time. my last partner that ended after 7 years off and on? saturdays only for 2 hours maximum. the one before that? a stop by once a week on the way home from the gym for an hour. there wasn’t a lot of getting to know each other or relationship building in either of those. which, perhaps, might slightly explain why the last one ended with me slamming a car door and telling him the direction and how far he could fuck off after telling me i was overreacting to the election. maybe.

so this has been different. very different.

it’s been a lot.

it’s been multiple journals filled up since april a lot.

i saw a quote the other day that said: “you are not healed, you're just isolated with no one to trigger you.”

OOF.

can confirm.

do you know how *extra* hard it is when all the things that annoy someone about you are also the same things that annoy the fuck out of you about yourself?

“why can’t you walk in a straight line?”

babe, trust me, i know. it’s annoying as fuck. i’ve lived in the same apartment, alone, for 6 years and i walk into walls and doorways all the time. i have constant bruises from shoulder checking a corner that has been standing in the same place for over 100 years. i have bruises all over my legs from coffee tables and desks and objects that haven’t moved once and yet i still run into them. i try watching the ground as i’m walking, but then my brain is so focused on walking in a straight line and i’m looking down the whole time and concentrating so hard that i miss conversations, scenery, the occasional street sign. I KNOW. trust me, i know how fucking annoying it is. i know i walk like a drunken sailor trying to get his land legs back. also: i haven’t walked next to someone in years. it takes time to learn pace and placement. it takes time to learn migratory patterns. i’m in your way? trust me, i’m in my own way ALL THE TIME. i get it. i’m sorry. i know.

“i already gave you an answer, why do you keep suggesting things?”

oh that i could stop my brain. i keep suggesting things because what is life without 900 back up plans? it’s great the doctor gave you an answer and some medication. i don’t have insurance, so no doctor. i also don’t trust doctors. i also never get an answer from doctors. NOT EVERYTHING CAN BE STRESS AND WEIGHT YOU FUCKERS. and i swear the next one that demands a pregnancy test before they’ll even talk to me? that little test is going to find some interesting places to be shoved. the only thing i CAN do is dig and research and think up 900 alternative options and naturopathic treatments and wildly out of the box ideas. that’s the only way i survive. that’s how i manage depression and stress and a brain that wants to kill me. constantly looking for the next suggestion that just might work this time.

i know we already picked a meal, but what if we’re out of an ingredient? or we change our mind? or that restaurant is closed? or that meal just doesn’t sound good for some reason?

i know you already have a plan, did you make sure to account for these 74 contingencies?

my brain lives only in survival mode. i’m working on the stability required to be able to shift out of it, but i’m not there yet. in the mean time, it’s worst case scenario game in my head all day every day to try to make sure as little chaos happens as possible. is it annoying? YUP. is it a waste of brain power? can confirm. is my nervous system completely fried? absolutely. is it completely unnecessary and pointless? every time but the ONE time it actually helps.

“why do you always interrupt?”

i promise i’m not trying to. i’m just trying to follow the story. i’m trying to clarify the details so i can make sure i’m tracking correctly. i’m trying to make sure i’m hearing you right so you don’t think i’m not listening. i’m trying to stay engaged when my rabbid squirrel brain is chasing 1000 fractures and rabbit trails. i know it’s annoying. do you know how many times i’ve been writing and my hand couldn’t keep up and i lost a thought?  how many times i’ve sidetracked myself and never been able to make it full circle back to where i started? I KNOW. i do it to myself ALL. THE. TIME. you’re right. it is annoying as fuck. oh, trust me, i know exactly how annoying that one is. i would give anything for my brain to just shut the fuck up and not always have a question or something to add or a similar thing or a not at all similar thing but this made me think of it for some reason. I WOULD LOVE THAT.

it’s been hard listening to a list of all the "quirky" (annoying) things about myself, especially because he’s not wrong. i’m too loud, i also mumble too much, i do things in the weirdest way possible, i snore, i toss and turn, i get in the way, i tell stories no one cares about, i interrupt too much, i distract from the point, i don’t pay attention enough, my apartment stairs are shitty, my dog is too slobbery, my car is too orange, my music is trash (trust me, i haven’t been able to find a spotify playlist i like in months, i know my music choices needs some help). 

babe, I KNOW. trust me, i know. what did you think i meant when i said i’m feral and weird? i drive a little orange tictac car. i collect jackalopes and odd creatures and have a sloth ring. i have dinosaur earrings and i love wearing my trash panda earrings. yes, i read strange books and collect unusual art and have more plants than any one small apartment can hold and almost all of them  have a tiny trailer park built around them. i believe in crystals and tarot and pendulums and moon water. i talk to dead people and spirit guides. i still wear overalls and rainbows and double dutch braids. i don’t know how to cook, dear gods don’t ask me to cook rice. i can’t figure out an air machine to put air in my tires for the life of me. now you know why i have very limited friendships and even more limited family. I KNOW I’M A LOT. trust me, i know that very well.

i’m aware of my anxious attachment style. people disappear all the time for no reason, it makes me anxious. i’m aware that i have all 8 of the wounded themes of consciousness. trust me, that is not the cosmo quiz i wanted to get 100% on. instability: check. violation: check. inadequacy: check. distrust: check. loss: check. overwhelm: check. judgment: check. rejection: holy fuck that one gets checked multiple times. i’m doing the inner work. i’m aware, i acknowledge it, i’m working on it.

it has been hard. triggering. rewarding. and so, so good. how else do you change if your current beliefs go unchallenged? how else do you learn if there’s no other ideas or perspectives presented? there is inevitably some discomfort. sure. some hurt feelings. let’s talk it through. maybe even some tears (maybe even ones that can’t be blamed on pms).

i am so grateful for the last few months. i am so grateful for all i’ve been able to learn, experience, enjoy.

i kinda dig this dating thing. even with all the triggers.

 

here's to turning 45

hello friends, it's been a minute.

i turned 45 on tuesday. that seems like a pretty good reason to put some thoughts on paper. or, for the first time in a long time, in print. there have been plenty of thoughts on paper this year. a few journals worth. time to put some of that out in the wide world again. why not?

forty five. forty fucking five. it's not that i never pictured getting here, i just kinda, never pictured getting here.

forty five means my oldest is 27 and my youngest is 22. it means i'm officially closer to 50 than 40. it means i'm undeniably an old. i mean. anyone with a birth year starting with 19 is some version of old. so. there's that.

 

forty four was a good year. it really was a great year. i started the year picking up sunday work at a crystal shop. CRYSTALS. i get to spend my sundays selling pretty things to people in a magical shop owned by a very smart business woman who is as kind and generous as anyone i've ever met. the sunday work was to pay for some medical care for stella. she gave me a good scare needing surgery for pyometria that also revealed a sex cord stromal tumor. that surgery was immediately followed by an antibiotic resistant UTI. whew. that was a lot of stress and a lot of cheeseburgers to take medication, but we made it through that and she’s still being the best little (well, 50 pounds) meatloaf ever. after the election, as with the world, a LOT of things shifted very quickly. i ended things with someone who had been an on and off again partner since 2017. it was time. a few weeks after that i switched my main job from the bookkeeping/spice store to a local independent bookstore. MY LIFE IS BOOKS AND CRYSTALS NOW. books and crystals. little me is so content. grown up me is a little worried about medical insurance, but overall it’s pretty amazing.

 

all the changes were terrifying. it was hard letting go of a partner who had been around since 2017. that's not an insignificant amount of time in my world. and the spice store had absolutely saved me at the end of seven months of unemployment and being literal days away from losing my apartment, my car, everything. they both had their place in my life. they both allowed me space to be myself, to put my life back together after empty nesting and covid and unemployment. to figure out who i am in my skin after the great mullet experiment. but it was time. and, as my lifetime trend seems to be: it's all at once or none at all.

BUT LOOK AT ME NOW BABY!!

as different as night and later that same night.

things look the same- same apartment. same little orange cooper. same chunky little meatloaf. same monday thru friday 9-5 (literally) desk job. well, and sundays 10-6. you get the gist.

but good heavens.

it has been a journey.

in the midst of *waves at everything in general*

it has been a hard journey. an intentional one. an uncomfortable one. a fun one. an adventuresome one.

do you know how hard it is to stay on point for a full year working 6 days a week, with no back up plan, when 85% of the time your brain is telling you that maybe existing just isn't for you? and the other 15% of the time it's stressing about finances? and the other 15% of the time it's wondering if you'll ever have a social life? while the other 15% of the time it's yelling at you for not doing enough- not working out enough, not reading enough, not going out where the people are enough, not learning enough, not fixing your own brain enough. while 15% is trying to keep the deep sads that fuck up your sleep schedule at bay enough to be able to keep a good schedule and make it to work every day? and the other 45% of the time it's a running commentary on all your flaws and all the ways you're screwing up and all the ways things are just waiting to come crashing down? i'm not sure, but i think that's more than 100%. which explains why i'm tired all the time. but my skin care is ON POINT, so you'd never know. 

not to toot my own horn, but *insert air horn noise* i do look good right now. i've mostly figured out my skin and acne is under control, finally. my hair has recovered from the mullet and the shaved sides and the horror grow out phases. there have been fewer box and can meals and more real home cooked meals. i've been walking to work off and on and some of (most of) my jeans are getting a little loose. not too shabby for 45 if i do say so myself. i even had someone hit on me at the bar the other night: he remembered me as the girl who worked at the bookstore who was really funny and smart and pretty. so. your gir's finally got it. just in time for perimenopause which i'm sure is just around the corner.

but things are going well. i HAVE kept it together the last year. i've made it to work all 6 days a week and even a few more than that. learned to keep a right reign on that real quick. a 6 day week turns into a 13 day week real quick and that's no bueno. i've keep my mental health in check. i’ve kept my schedule and my budget in check (mostly). i’ve taken my vitamins more than not and started drinking at least more water. i’m constantly working on how to process things in healthier ways. let go of some of the shame and the judgment and the constant critique. i've learned to allow the softness to take over. to be kind to myself. to lead with kindness (then match energy as needed). to just allow myself to exist in this world. to enjoy existing in this world. i've reconnected with cousins, i've had coffee with friends, i've had wonderful weekend trips and adventures. i've learned to appreciate good moments for the magical bubbles they are and to hold onto those. enjoy each bubble for what it is. appreciate the star and planet aligning magic that goes into making those moments. to be grateful for those moments above all. 

speaking of which: this has been a pretty incredible birthday week bubble. i went to missoula, montana last weekend as a sort of a half adventure half birthday trip. on my actual birthday, i went to a delicious steak dinner with my boss who showered me with lovely gifts. i am now the proud owner of a sloth ring and he’s exactly as magnificent as you’re imagining. last night was home made stew and pie with ice cream and a quiet night in watching movies and settling into the changing weather. this morning was a fantastic cup of coffee, nature documentaries, an extended everything shower and some left over cold pizza. not too shabby at all for old sherry.

i’m looking forward to 45. it’s a year of 9’s, it was the same calendar day as the year i was born, a tuesday. it was on the tail of a full blood moon lunar eclipse. that’s a lot of energy to start off a new year. it feels good. i feel good. the stories are coming back. the writing is coming back. i mean, look at me go! this is basically a novel after how long it’s been!

i have thoughts, ideas, things i’ve learned, things i am learning, and i’m learning to tell my inner critic to ease up and just put SOMETHING out there. if all you do is worry about who isn’t going to like what you have to say, you’re missing the point. write for you. easier said than done. i’m working on it. but it feels good to be back. here’s to 45. 

Who Enforces the rules?

 [my name] <heylookitsmyemailaddress@emailcarrier.com>

Good Afternoon-

As I have been getting mixed messages between calls and text message with long delays receiving a return call from voice mails, perhaps email will be a better form of communication for clarity's sake.

I am in [MY], [corresponding Apartment]. I have not had a working refrigerator since 6/20/2024. When I got home from work Thursday evening my fridge was not working, I am not sure what time during the day it stopped, but by 5 pm it was not working and freezer items were beginning to thaw. The outlet would trip each time I plugged in the fridge, but worked when my toaster or microwave was plugged in. I called in to the after hours help phone number and I have a maintenance request time stamped 5:55pm 6/20/2024.

On Friday, 6/21/2024 I received a text message at 2:27pm that maintenance had stopped by while I was at work. The text said maintenance did call and leave me a voice message. I did not have a missed call or a voicemail. I texted back that I could head home right away and meet maintenance. I left work an hour early and was home by 3:00pm. No one called or came by. I did not hear from anyone again until Monday morning.

On Monday, 6/24/2024 I received a call at 8:47am and scheduled to meet maintenance at my unit at 9:30 am.

The maintenance man knocked on my door promptly at 9:30. I walked him through the issue, showed him how the outlet would work for the microwave but not the fridge. He did some troubleshooting and determined the outlet needed replaced. He went and got parts, replaced the outlet, the fridge worked again, I filled ice cube trays and put them in the freezer and went back to work. Monday evening it was still working, but Tuesday morning, 6/25/2024 while getting ready for work I noticed the fridge was, again, not working. I did the same troubleshooting as before and it was the same issue. The outlet works for the microwave, but not the fridge.

I left an update to the maintenance request in the AppFolio Portal at 7:28am and sent a text message as a follow up at 9:28am. I received a text message back at 3:05 saying someone from maintenance would reach out to me. I did not hear from anyone at all after that.

This morning I received a text message at 8:12 am with completely different information than previously provided. The text message this morning said:

#1- they cannot schedule an appointment. I have scheduled appointments at least twice before. This is either a new policy or a lie.

#2: they stated maintenance is not permitted to call tenants upon or before arrival. This is a direct contradiction to the information I was told on Friday when they stated maintenance had called and left a message. This is either a new policy or a lie.

It is now well past the 72 hour period required for major appliance repair as set forth in RCW 59.18.070 that states, in part, "...Not more than 72 hours where the defective condition deprives the tenant of the use of a refrigerator, range and oven, or a major plumbing fixture supplied by the landlord."

ISSUES:

- I am now on day 7 without a working refrigerator. The contents of my fridge and freezer are a total loss. The ability to prepare meals has been suspended for almost a week. While I am fortunate enough to not require refrigerated medication, I cannot imagine how poorly this would have gone for anyone that required refrigeration for any reason.

- I will not tolerate being lied to. It was a chronic problem with [previous management company] for the last 6 years; constant different stories from ever changing managers, maintenance people, and administrative staff. It is extremely disappointing this is my experience this early on with [current property manager]. 

As I have repeatedly stated via text, phone, and other emails, my dog is not kenneled during the day. As per lease requirements, animals are required to be kenneled before maintenance or other staff enter the unit. She cannot be kenneled all day, it would be a health risk for her breed to not have access to water during the warmer temperatures. Additionally, I am a single, queer, female tenant. It is inherently unsafe for me to allow anyone into my very small, very exposed, very accessible studio unit when I am not home. I require to be on site any time ANYONE is in my unit. The few times [previous property management] was allowed access when I was not present, they grossly abused the access (ie: 10+ people walking through for an inspection when they stated it would be 3 people). I will not, ever, allow anyone in my unit when I am not home for my safety.

I have also repeatedly stated that I work one mile from the apartment, literally directly up the street. I can be home in less than 5 minutes to provide access at any point during the day.

My ability to pay my rent is directly related to my ability to work. Taking large windows of time off during the day as a "maintenance window" is not tenable. It would adversely impact my PTO bank which is reserved for emergencies only as it is. I have, so far, missed 2.5 hours of work for this issue. That is 2.5 hours of lost pay. 

I do not think I am being unreasonable asking for a specific appointment time (as has been available before), timely and honest responses from staff, or having repairs completed within the state mandated time requirements.

My requests are:

-Accurate communication. Do not lie to me.

-Ability to schedule appointments at a specific time. This has been done before. It should not change without notice (or at all).

-Repairs to be completed within state mandated timelines. I need my appliance repaired or replaced ASAP.

Respectfully,

[my name]

[my phone number]

 

 

 

 

The above is an email sent to my property management company on Wednesday, 6/26/2024.

 

I received an automatic Out-Of-Office Response:

I will be out of the office Tuesday June 25th 2024. I will respond back to your email as soon as I am back in the office on Monday July 1st 2024. If you have urgent business, please call our office [phone number].

Please allow time upon my return to respond to any emails, text messages, or voicemails recieved during my absense.

Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. July 1st. Monday. At least another 4 day without a fridge. 

The next morning, Thursday, 6/27/2024, I received a text from the management company asking again if I would like to schedule a window on Friday, 6/28/2024. I had already agreed to work the Homestead Conference in CDA for work. I would be meeting my coworker at 6:15am and be in CDA all day. So. No, I can't schedule a window on Friday. I reached out to a friend with a 4 day work schedule and asked if there were any way he could be at my apartment for a 2 hour window Friday morning to let maintenance in (and maybe get a real answer because he's a dude). Just what someone wants to do on their day off- wait for maintenance that isn't even their own maintenance. He very graciously agreed, I scheduled the appointment window by text, thanked my friend a billion times, went about my day.

 

Thursday evening, 6/27/2024 I got home from work to a "sorry we missed you!" door hanger from maintenance.

 

I texted management at 4:31pm WHAT IS GOING ON?

 

Management texted back at 8:17am on Friday, yesterday, 6/28/2024.

 

I'm already in CDA. What am I supposed to tell my friend? Is the window still scheduled? I'm literally in another state. There's nothing I can do.

 

Management texts at 8:17- no clue, didn't send anyone, window still scheduled.

 

Ok. On as scheduled. Get a text from my friend he's at my apartment, put Stella in her kennel (even swapped her potty pads for me!), let maintenance in. They both walk through the problem, exactly like I explained. The fix? Swapped the outlet again for a standard outlet, no GFCI. The safety mechanism that kept tripping? Just remove that piece. See! It stays on now! Why was it tripping? Who cares, it won't do it again! BECAUSE IT CAN'T.

 

But you know, a major appliance with an electrical issue and no safety mechanism in a 100+ year old building, what's the worst that could happen. It's not like people die in house fires or anything.

 

oh, wait... 

 

So.  Using every ounce of eloquism available in my brain at this moment: this sucks.

Now what? Code enforcement? How long will that take? My fridge *technically* works now. After 9 days.

I don't want to use a fridge that could burn down my apartment at any time. Contrary to pervasive thoughts, I do want to stay alive.

It took 9 days to get *any* kind of solution. How long will it take to get the CORRECT solution?

I was doing better about budgeting. I was doing better about less fast food and more cooking at home. I was doing better about drinking water and staying hydrated. For some reason room temperature tap water just doesn't sound good. Barely cold forever plastics and metallic pipe flakes anyone?

 

*sigh* WAS

So what do I do? Keep fighting management? Whatever the issue is it's going to cost money- a new fridge or some electrical work (realistically, both). What are the odds of that actually happening?

Do I move? I'm sure management wants me to. My rent is $750 til February 2025. The other units are going for over a thousand. But there's literally no other apartments in town for $750. None. Not to mention first/last/deposit/screening fee/moving costs.

Who enforces the RCW's? Who enforces code?

I tried to find help. The city has a new tenant/landlord department, right? All apartments are supposed to be registered with the city, they pay a fee per apartment that goes into a pot to pay inspectors and things like that, RIGHT?? That went into effect January 1, 2024, right? Wouldn't one of the larger property management firms in town be expected to comply? So who is that inspector person? How do you get ahold of them? 

Maybe the city web site- oh, 311. Ok. I'll call them. And get Dan. Who is out of office. Period. No-return-date. Just out of office. Call 311. But 311 sent me to you Dan.

Ok. Maybe SNAP. They work with housing all the time. Maybe they know who to call.

SNAP: We don't have any money, we ran out.

ME: I don't need money. I just need to know who to call to make apartment managers actually fix things.

SNAP: We don't know. Here's a number for legal aide.

Ok. Maybe legal aide.

ME: Hi. *Explains problem* So, what do I do next?

Legal Aide: We can't advise you as we're not your lawyer.

Ok. Maybe the tenant's union.

Tenants Union: Have you tried legal aide?

How do you find someone to enforce things? If there's no one, what's the point of even having rules that need enforces? And the reversal of the Chevron Ruling hasn't even kicked in yet.

How long does all this even take? *Technically* my fridge works now. Do I want to leave it plugged in? No. So now is it just be being a difficult tenant?

 

Who enforces the RCW's? Where's the *actual* tenant protection? Who do we really call when management just wants to lie, cut corners, violate NEC code?

 

I just want to live in my tiny apartment with ice during the summer and not die in a shitty preventable fire. 

Wed, Jun 26, 12:13 PM (3 days ago)
to [current property manager]

on manifesting wealth

 so, the other night i jokingly posted to facebook about my new form of manifesting wealth: drinking from my scrooge mcduck pepsi cup.

if you’re a child of the 80’s, you may remember all the pepsi cups- i personally own scrooge mcduck, cool cat, foghorn leghorn, along with two peanuts and two happiness hotel glasses as well as three garfield mugs. yes, they’ve all been recalled for using lead paint. no, i don’t plan on getting rid of them. i don’t lick the outside, so it should be fine, right?

after sending the same picture via snapchat, a friend responded: unlimited wealth and no pants?

YES.

i laughed pretty hard as i was sitting there in my underwear, on a thursday night, eating pizza and cheesy bread. that felt pretty wealthy to me. being able to sit in my underwear, in my own apartment, on a thursday night, with an entire pizza (and cheesy bread) to myself. i call it meal planning- one pizza is at least 3 meals, three days of not having to think about what i’m going to eat. that feels pretty wealthy. not to mention i was drinking royal crown cola, like the queen that i am. queen of my own 400 sq feet.

but then i really leaned in. maybe it was the weed i’ve started smoking again, maybe it was just the change in perspective i’ve been working on fostering, maybe it was both, but man. when you really lean into something, BE READY. it will hit you like a mac truck.

i was sitting alone, in my own apartment. that i pay for. with my bills paid and enough left over for a pizza. that’s three really big things, especially in this economy. my rent is paid. my bills are paid. i have money between paychecks. 

those aren’t a given right now for a shockingly large portion of america. rent is out of control. people are drowing in debit between job lay offs and using credit cards to get through. mortgages are insane because housing costs are insane. groceries are now a “splurge” item according to news outlets. people are working two, three jobs, selling plasma, side hustling, gig working, scraping any and every bit together they can.

in that moment it felt exceptionally rich to be able to sit, on a thursday night, and just enjoy my pizza. nothing to do until work the next morning. no errands to run, no side hustle to work on. just…netflix and pizza.

wealth is a tricky subject. what i recognized as wealth in that moment was NOT what i was thinking of when i made the joke about manifesting. but holy fuck if it wasn’t true, just as it was. i was thinking of a literal scrooge mcduck vault of gold coins to suba dive through. what i found was a much more real and tangible form.

the next day, friday, was payday. i again thought about my wealth manifestation. i budget carefully. very carefully. i look ahead at the calendar and plan for any appointments, events, trips, etc. while paying my bills and splitting out my paycheck. again, i found wealth in an unexpected place: regularly scheduled appointments. i have a hair cut scheduled out for june. i have a regular brow appointment every 5 weeks. i have stella nail trims scheduled every 2 weeks. the ability to schedule appointments in advance and know there will be money there when it’s time? WEALTHY. in so many ways. financially: wealthy. mental health wise? WEALTHY. hair is a big deal for me. it’s a never ending journey of trying to find what works. what feels like me when i look in the mirror. what was a mistake. how long does it take to recover from that mistake? when money gets tight, fancy things, like hair and nails, are the first thing on the chopping block. losing the ability to have regular appointments can make a rough journey even harder because that’s when impulse and DIY creep in. i can’t afford a full color appointment, but for $9.99 i can buy a box of something at walgreens (NEVER, EVER a good idea). i can’t afford a full salon cut, so i’ll try a barber shop (the mullet phase was ROUGH y’all). when i know i have an appointment scheduled, it’s much easier to set down the scissors and the dye. just a few more weeks. don’t touch it. just a few more weeks. you can avoid SO MUCH stress (and months of awkward photos) when you can afford to just have regular appointments scheduled. same for brows. getting an itch to just pluck a few? back away from the tweezers,  you have an appointment next week. don’t you dare ruin all the hard work of the last several years! the 00’s were NOT kind to eyebrows, let’s not go back there again, for the love of low rise jeans and whale tails. 

i imagine the day i’ll have ALL the appointments regularly scheduled again. dentist? it’s been a while. doctor? ha. not doing that without insurance! oil change? technically i’m a few thousand miles under the number limit, and they said the date doesn’t matter as much as the miles. but just imagine- hair color, facials, massage, pedicures, maybe even house cleaning, stella spa days. how luxurious that would be.

having things scheduled AND the ability to pay for them? WEALTHY. i’m part of the way there. but just think…the ability to do regular grocery orders. car maintenance. subscriptions (hulu, netflix, etc). vitamins. appointments of all kinds. OH MAN. the thought of how good this would be for my mental health? whew. regular self care, food stability, transportation stability, housing stability, health stability. all scheduled, secure, budgeted for. WEALTHY.

that’s my next goal.

speaking of goals, there’s a certain level of wealthy that goes with being able to set goals.

i was scrolling tiktok and there’s a new, gen z version of dave ramsey floating around chewing people out and giving them advice for how to unfuck their finances. while listening to him yell at someone, the thought occurred to me: there is SUCH a difference between living paycheck to paycheck and just living. when you can only plan 3 paychecks in advance, universe willing, it’s hard to plan for the future. really hard.

i plan three paycheck in advance. that is extravagant to me after the last few years. and even that feels like balancing on a razors edge. i can plan three paychecks (6 weeks) in advance AS LONG AS…

as long as i don’t get sick. as long as i don’t miss any days. as long as nothing comes up. as long as nothing breaks. as long as i don’t get invited to anything. as long as i don’t make any mistakes (mathematically or purchase wise). as long as i don’t do any emotional spending. as long as i don’t forget anything. as long as…as long as…it can be exhausting always holding on by your fingernails and always being on high alert.

there hasn’t been savings. or investments. i wasn’t allowed to have either for a long time. qualifying for any government assistance over the years meant not having any resources. you’re not allowed to have retirement, investments, land, cars, boats, savings, any resources over $5,000. if you’re that rich, you obviously don’t need government help. i don’t know about you, but $5,000 doesn’t go very far in the grand scheme of things. maybe it did when they first wrote the rules, but i can promise you that number hasn’t been updated in at least 26 years even though every other parameter has extremely changed. i spent 26 years learning how to survive without a safety net, it’s hard to learn to build one now (hard, but not impossible, i have to keep reminding myself).

i don’t plan for the future right now. there is no 5 year plan. there is no retirement plan. there is no generational wealth that i’m leaving behind plan. there’s “i hope i can make it to friday without my other brake light going out” and “i can eat toast and cereal til friday” plans. 

i think the next level of wealth i want to work on is being able to plan. a vacation in 6 months (both the time off AND money for it). i want to plan on having more regularly scheduled appointments, maybe more than one at a time. i want to plan on retirement.i want to plan on more than just making it by the skin of my teeth. social security is a joke. there won’t be any left by 2048. if there is, it won’t be enough to live on the way cost of living keeps increasing. 401k and IRA are phrases i know but not things i have.

being able to plan for the future, in some ways, also means you plan on having a future. i don’t really remember a time when i planned on having a future. “just get through today. just make it til friday. just make it to next friday.” those have been the mantra for 26 years.

and i don’t know if you know this, but the world is a shitty place. people die all the time of fires, cancer, overdose, car accidents, covid, suicide. young people. people my age. people my parents age. the odds of making it to an age where retirement is even a possibility doesn’t seem possible. there’s a horrible old joke about people that retired just in time to die. how many have i known? more than a few. retired for a few months then a heart attack or an accident hits. a few years away from retirement and a fire wipes everything out. starting to plan for retirement and cancer knocks on your door.

it’s hard to plan for the future when you don’t really think there’s much of one coming. it’s hard to be interested in staying alive today when there’s no future. that’s a brutal sentence, but that’s where i’ve been for the last several years.

facing eviction while being unemployed for 7 months was incredibly traumatic. what options were there? was there a point to finding options? what options was a looking for? recovery strategies or exit strategies? what options am i looking for now? survival plans or growth plans?

the old phrase: money can’t buy happiness is a lie. sure, there’s no item on a shelf you can buy labeled “happiness” but there ARE items called groceries. housing. stability. security. health. all those go a LONG way towards happiness. when you’re not constantly worried about one mistake. stretching a dime into a dollar when even a dollar isn’t quite enough.

i’m working on buying my happiness. i’ve got a good start. a lay away plan. pizza in my underwear on a thursday plan. regularly scheduled appointments plan. the knowledge and discipline to make and stick with a budget. i’ll keep chipping away at it. wealth shows up all the time in unexpected ways and unexpected packages. an unexpected pedicure treat from a friend who doesn’t like to go alone but wants to try to keep his feet healthy. a free coffee because you hit double points day. new tires for your car because a friend cares about your safety (that’s a twofer!).

anyway. TL/DR manifesting works. pizza in your underwear is awesome. wealth is a matter of perspective. money can buy happiness. 

shake off the dust

well. it's been a minute since i've been to this particular corner of the internet. may of 2022 to be exact.

i had to look back through my iphone photo gallery to even remember may of 2022. for the record, that was a particularly rough part of the mullet phase. if i ever have to remember anything before either my iphone photo gallery or my facebook galley, lord help me. if it existed before facebook, did it even really exist?

this week is a local literature event. i convinced myself to take a day off to attend some of the writing workshops and events and whatnot. maybe even the book fair...if i leave my debit card at home.

time to crack the old knuckles (no, really, they're old. they hurt. they need cracked to function) and attempt to regain any remnants of any literary prowess i ever flailingly attempted to claim.

occasional bolts of singularity strike in a time and space where i can manage to scratch them down on paper or make a note in my phone only to be forgotten and lost to the realm of...did i think that or was it something i heard once?

the occasional cheeky phrase or pensive though cracks the surface. not nearly enough to string together in any attempt at publication to date.

missives such as:

"i am wholly convinced that my words would be of offense to those that know me and completely inconsequential to strangers. but to truly speak my mind would result in a hold of the medical kind versus that of compassion."

"a superior inferiority complex freezes my pen, both convinced and terrified, equally, of success."

brief snatches of character descriptions: "i have never seen hair that so desperately wanted to be somewhere else."

brief  plot points: "this is the kind of night memories are made of. those bright vibrant flashes of experience to look back on. the "i can't believe we did that," the "do you remember that time..." the "whatever happened to..." glimpses of future changing history. when, ten years hence, you sit up all night remembering, closing loops, retrospecting and reliving."

rare moments of truth: 

if i ever sat down to think about all the things that make me sad in my life, i don't think i could ever get up again.

so i set them aside and keep moving. it may make me cold and heartless, but it's required to survive.

instead of allowing them to swallow me whole, i cover them up.

with tattoos. with inappropriate jokes. with distance. with a callous attitude and a plethora of dirty words. i distract myself with netflix and fall asleep with the noise on to block the sounds in my head.

i don't invest in relationships, as much as i want to, because no one sticks around during the hard stuff  and what is life besides a string of hard stuff?

bizarre to think that last one was from the great before. june of 2017. before the last child left. before the world changed. before so many things. before so many more hard things.

moments on moments, nothing coherent or cohesive or concise enough to send out into the world.

even moments that explain my absence:

"what's even the point of writing? a blog? screaming into the void in a random corner of the internet? nothing important. nothing impactful. nothing lasting or virtuous or inspiring or enlightening. just drivel. whining. lessons from the universe the basic toddler had a full grasp on before even understanding words. maybe it's best to just keep NOT writing. what is it they say? don't contribute to the conversation if you can't improve it? and holy roller skating jesus knows i'm not improving it."

whew. no one can ever be as mean to you as you are to yourself. i had a friend call me on that the other day. she said "you know, if i heard anyone else say the things about you that you say about yourself, we'd have issues."

but. here i am. again. shaking the dust off. returning to the thing that bites and scratches and draws blood from the inside. like a siren song, the words call out. to write. to be written.

maybe this weekend will relight the flame. incite a riot of thought. reignite the passion literally carved into my skin.

i don't know what i want to write, but the last few years of relative silence have built up a flood of words behind a damn of isolation. i need to say things. i need to get the thoughts out of my head. i need to stop worrying about who or if will read. stop dreading criticism and rebuttal. stop dismissing and doubting before the ink even has a chance to stain the parchment. write first, reflect later.

so. here is to a return. not grand, by any means. but a return none the less. perhaps even more the less. a few words. a few sentences. a few thoughts. less is at least some. and some is more than none. 

...just adopt

there's a lot of talk again about how unplanned pregnancies are easily solved by adoption.

just put the baby up for adoption if you don't want it.

like a cleaning trend: if it doesn't spark joy, get rid of it.

that's what it feels like when people talk about placing a baby up for adoption.

it is NOT like that.

not at all.

i grew up in a small timber town in the top corner of washington state between idaho and canada. 

we moved (back) to town in 1982 after my folks split: my mom, brother and i. my mother had graduated there, her family was there.

my mom raised us baptist for a long time. every sunday morning, sunday night, and wednesday at church. i still haven't been able to quite piece everything together, but sometime around the early 90's we switched to the evangelical church. something about my mother getting remarried and dogma around divorce/second marriages.

if you don't know about the baskin robbins flavors of christianity, the baptists are the ones that hate long haired hippies and people who dance. the evangelicals are the ones who hate everyone.

when we switched churches, all the friends i had grown up with were suddenly off limits. i wasn't allowed to be friends with kids at school outside the church youth group.

i was already socially awkward, throw in severe social restrictions, mix in some slight rebellion (more a desire to fit in) and mid 90's teen angst...you get 1997. i was 17 and on the cheer squad because my brother told me theater was embarrassing. being a cheerleader meant you dated a football player. if you dated a football player you had to have sex with him. and so i did and i got pregnant. the first time. LUCKY ME!

the give a mouse a cookie of teen pregnancy.

october 1997 i got pregnant after my first time having sex.

me.

the evangelical goody two shoes virgin. the no sex til marriage purity pledge. it was an open joke and challenge around school as to who would "pop my cherry." i had literally *just* returned from a two week mission trip in italy where i did street mime. yes, that is a real sentence and a real thing that i did. two weeks in belluno, italy as part of a missionary group performing 4 different street mime skits for jesus.

after word got out that i was knocked up, i had kids come up to me and say HOLY CRAP, IF IT HAPPENED TO YOU IT COULD HAPPEN TO ANYONE.

that's right. you're never worthless, you can always be the bad example. 

YOU'RE WELCOME CLASSMATES I TERRIFIED INTO BLOW JOBS ONLY.

why didn't i use birth control? my mom worked at the tri-county health building that had birth control, WIC, and county records all in the same building. i would have had to walk past the WIC desk, where my mother sat, to the window opposite of her to be checked in to sit in the shared waiting room.

why didn't i have the sex talk with my mom? well, for context of how many conversations we ever had about sexual health: i was in the abstinence only class when i was 8 months pregnant.

EVEN PREGNANT she didn't want me to "learn about that dirty sex stuff."

condoms? he was catholic, so, you know, nope.

in a tiny rural town of 5,000 the nearest planned parenthood clinic (only ever referred to then as "abortion clinic") was over an hour away. i had no way to get there, no money to pay for one, oh, and the strict religious upbringing that absolutely removed termination as an option.

side note: at the time, my aunt, a pediatric NICU nurse, worked at the clinic. i remember overhearing her say once that she worked at the clinic to help prevent some of the kids she saw in the NICU and in her side work as a child hospice worker. there were some very interesting conversations i'm sure i was never intended to overhear.

 

for my situation, the language used today would be forced birth. that's hard for me to adjust to. it really is the same language, it was just disguised better. it didn't feel like forced birth. it was just the consequences of actions. since i made the decision to have sex, i was responsible for whatever happened after that.

now, i can see the nuance of lack of education about sexual reproduction. the lack of education about birth control.

i can see now the pressure of religion- purity culture. patriarchal values. subservient lifestyle expectations. pro-life rhetoric. "for every baby that's aborted there's a family waiting to adopt!" outright scare tactics. medical misrepresentation. extremist examples. 

i can see now the pressure of generational trauma. my grandmother was pregnant before she was married in the 40's and her family excommunicated her because of it. 

my mother got pregnant with me by accident. i was a birth control baby born in the middle of a few affairs and an abusive marriage.

and then me.

three generations of surprise babies. i know my family isn't the only one.

i had two options: adoption or parenthood.

i did counseling. i did workbooks. i journaled. i spent all those months making lists and reasons and studying and researching and interviewing and asking questions. i talked to perspective couples. i talked to women who had placed babies for adoption. i talked to women who "had been wild" when they were younger (never directly said abortion but was heavily implied).

i had families write me letters of interest.

one family was maybe considering having kids, they hadn't tried yet, this would save them the effort.

one family had been trying to have kids and hadn't been able to yet.

one family had two older boys already. he was a doctor, she raised the kids.

one family had already adopted one little boy and wanted to adopt more.

the first couple just didn't sit right. they hadn't even tried yet. that was a massive red flag.

the second couple was nice. they had been trying for a little while to have a kid and it just wasn't working. they were the son/daughter-in-law of an elder couple at my parent's church. the elder couple that told me it was ok that i was pregnant. they knew i must have been raped because i wasn't one of those trashy girls. HOW MAGNANIMOUS OF YOU. their blind, and wildly wrong assumption still irks me to this day. if i had admitted to just being a regular teenager having sex i would have been beyond redemption. but they were magnanimously willing to save me from this terrible trauma by taking it off my hands.

yeah. you get the idea. hard pass.

the third family were fantastic, some of the nicest people i've ever met. he was so tall. she was so warm and loving. they lived in a gorgeous a-frame cabin in the woods with their two boys who were so polite and on board with having another sibling. the absolute nicest couple. he offered and followed through on being my anesthesiologist, no matter what i decided, when the time came. they wrote me the kindest letter. i really wanted to pick them.

the last couple were the ones i had picked IF i decided on adoption. remember that baptist church i grew up in? he was the new assistant pastor there. they had already adopted one little boy and were so open and kind to me about how it worked, what they went through, how they planned to raise their son. the wife was so kind to me. sat with me for hours and let me ask questions and talk to her. they understood that i was still struggling with the decision of IF but had agreed to adopt my son if that's what i chose.

looking back now...that must have been so hard on them. i've seen the other side now, hopeful adoptive parents devastated by a mother who changed her mind at the last minute.

i remember even then trying to be aware and respectful of that. being open and honest that i wasn't even sure IF adoption was the choice for me. i didn't want to get anyone's hopes up or lead them on.

adoption was not something i considered lightly. from either direction.

but i knew that i wasn't having a baby. i was having a 5 year old, a 10 year old, a teenager.

i wasn't having a cute cabbage patch doll that would be fun for a while. this would be a whole ass human being completely dependent on me, forever and ever amen.

i understood the full impact and weight of the choice. i knew, if i decided to raise my baby, i was deciding that baby came first, no matter what. that baby would deserve the absolute best to make up for being stuck with a teen mom.

i'll be absolutely honest: i had no life plan when i started my senior year of high school.

no one had talked to me about college or life after high school. there was no talk of SAT's or college visits.

i had a vague idea of looking forward to graduation but nothing beyond.

i was already into my second year of running start, so i had at least that going for me. i was planning on graduating high school with an AA. it just seemed like the smart thing to do. free college. but after graduation? after high school? no clue. no plan. no idea of a plan.

and then, a month into my senior year i got pregnant.

making this decision meant i needed to make a plan. what WOULD i do to raise a baby? i would need a good job, so of course i would finish high school and running start as planned. then...what? get a job i guess. get a place. make a home. work hard. raise my baby. i didn't know WHAT that looked like.

i spent so much time looking at it both ways: what would it mean to raise this baby? what would it mean for someone else to raise this baby?

and, mind you, this is all happening alone. the dad split (as much as a another high school student can) at the 3 month mark when it stuck and i had to tell everyone. my mother told me it was my own decision so she didn't want to interfere. the already extremely limited list of friends was reduced to, well, none. i was booted off the cheer squad. i took as many classes off the high school campus as possible. i was still attending church but now with all the looks. i was in a small town where everyone knew and talked about everyone's business, but i was alone making the biggest decision of my life AND another human being's life. 

i had regular check up's. ultrasounds. i could feel this baby growing and moving inside me. how on earth could you give that little being to someone else?

i wrote. i researched. i fought with the decision for months.

for people to suggest people giving birth can just...you know...give a baby up for adoption.

just drop it in a box at a fire station after 9 months of feeling it grow inside you.

 

i told my son, his whole life: i didn't plan on getting pregnant with you, but i CHOSE to be your mother.

ultimately i decided to raise my son.

i made the decision to create a life for him, work hard for him, raise him.

it was not an easy decision.

it is not something anyone should ever be forced to do.

 

adoption is not a back up plan. it is not a goodwill donation bin decision.

using today's language: i had a forced birth at 17.

 

my decision was not whether or not to carry the pregnancy, but what to do with said pregnancy.

it was talked about as a choice- i had a choice. how could i ever say i didn't have a choice? i was allowed to choose adoption or parenthood. how could i say i didn't have a choice?

i didn't have a choice. a choice would have been sexual health education. a choice would have been birth control education. a choice would have been a supportive household. a choice would have been an accepting community. a choice would have been a supportive partner. a choice would have been ANYTHING besides being left alone and shamed.

i love my son.

there is not one day i have ever regretted my decision to be his mother.

 

and that was the hardest decision i have ever made. 

 

expecting or forcing women to be incubators? forcing birth?

 

expecting that people who give birth will just drop a baby in a safe box? they can just choose adoption? 

it is so immensely offensive. and wrong. and dangerous. and deadly.

they want people to be forced to give birth. they bank on guilt and shame that will force the pregnant person into keeping the child, living in poverty, with no help. they need to create another generation of minimum wage workers. to keep the balance of their skin color in power. 

what does it look like once you have the baby? 

does anyone help?

no.

now you're just the shameful teen parent that made her mistakes and can deal with the consequences.

IN THE SAME BREATH THEY CALL A BABY BLESSING AND MISTAKE. A GIFT FROM GOD AND A CONSEQUENCE.

and i did all the "right" things after my son was born. i graduated from high school. i graduated from college. i had a corporate career for 11 years. i played by the rules.

yet i never made more than $40k per year. i have yet to make it out of the poverty cycle. when i did need help as they got older, i was told "it's time to be a mother" and to figure it out.

i have been reminded that i am worthless and undeserving forever because of one decision i made at 17 to have sex for the first time.

i was not allowed to ask for help, because you screwed up, you fix it.

THAT'S THE WAY THEY TALK ABOUT RAISING THE CHILD ONCE THEY'RE BORN.

i was denied an advisor at college because i was a non-traditional transfer student living off campus.

i was denied mentorship at work because "you're just a secretary. you already know your job."

i was denied partnership because people treated me as less than, damaged goods. they treated my kids as burdens.

i was denied familial help because it was embarrassing, shameful.

when i was able to get help, it was from friends and strangers. it was not from any of the people who had been so concerned with the pregnancy.

housing? i found a social worker who helped me get my first apartment. my corporate job? a woman i worked for knew of an opening at the power plant where her husband worked. daycare? i found a gal that had been an unwed mother herself and was willing to take state pay.

all these politicians. all the protesters outside clinics. all the people at church on sunday but spewing hate online by sunday evening. all the people screaming about the sanctity of life.

it's not about babies. it's about control. about removing choice. about making decisions for other people based on their book club. I WAS IN THE BOOK CLUB. i was one of their own. and the speed at which they turned on me still boggles the mind. the people screaming about caring for babies who all turned their backs.

 

"How can we save the world when we're so busy killing our own wounded?" - Francine Rivers, The Atonement Child.

 

any person who who has the ability to get pregnant deserves a choice.

a choice of education.

a choice of prevention.

a choice of termination.

a choice of continuation.

a choice of placement.

a choice of surrender.

a choice of parenthood.

A FUCKING CHOICE.