...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.

just ask for help

 "...if you need any help, just let me know."

it's something you hear all the time. in stores, from people, pamphlets and commercials.

just ask for help.

why didn't you ask for help?

what help?

where?

last week i received a 14 day pay or vacate notice for my apartment. there's several things that bother me about it- mostly that i've only missed one month of rent (technically 2 i guess since i can't pay this month either).

they included 3 pages of: "if you need help" information including legal aid, rental assistance, and mediation.

i called legal aid. after grilling me on all my resources- do you know how particularly humiliating it is to be asked "if you held a yard sale today and sold everything in your home, how much would you get?" and have the answer be *maybe* a few hundred bucks? BECAUSE I'VE TRIED TO SELL EVERYTHING AND IT AIN'T WORTH SHIT. paintings? nope. stupidly expensive vacuum? nope. collectibles? nope. clothes? nope. NO ONE WANTS MY STUFF, OK? but thanks for that extra little shovel full of rock bottom. after grilling me on resources and suggesting things i'd already done, they just told me to fill out the mediation form.

the rental assistancesheet? one resource for people living outside city limits and the other for covid relief funds, already publicly announced as completely depleted several months ago.

so, in reality, zero resources in their three pages of resources.

and that's just the most recent example.

WHERE DO YOU ASK FOR HELP?

during that same phone conversation with the not so helpful legal aid intake, the guy made sure to ask all the painful questions: family? friends?

dead or in other cities.

besides, have you seen what the last two years have done to EVERYONE?

 

it's bothered me all week. how many times a day on the news, social media, in person do you hear OVER AND OVER AND OVER: JUST ASK FOR HELP.

how many times as a kid did i ask a teacher or a grown up for help and the answer was "i can't do everything for you, figure it out."

how many times have i asked for help at work just to hear "...not my job."

how many times have i asked someone for help only to find out now i "owe them something?"

how many times have i asked for help only to be ridiculed for being weak, incapable, unintelligent, or a hundred other hurtful demeaning things.

when i was leaving a domestic violence marriage, and asked my mom for help, she told me it would be too embarrassing for her husband at work.

when i asked my brother for help leaving the domestic violence marriage he told me "...you can only ask family for help so many times before they stop showing up."

when i asked my mom for help after her husband sexually assaulted me she said "...what do you want me to do? it already happened."

when i asked my brother for help after his roommate raped me he said "...[roommate] wouldn't do something like that, he's the sheriff's son."

when things were going bad with my second son, i asked the police for help. the cop looked at me and said "...it's time to start being a mom" and left.

after the first big covid lockdown, when were finally allowed outside again with masks, i asked a friend for help with feeling isolated and alone- maybe we could have an outside bonfire, distanced, with masks. their poly group as a whole voted no. there's a particular pain in having a whole group vote not to help you.

when i was having a mental health crisis at work due to staff shortages, workload, isolation, work from home, no managers, no resources...after several emails and requests for help they fired me.

i've been job searching for 6 months and yeah, there's "help" available. classes with bad information/instructors, burned out workers who forget who you are between contacts. suggestions to apply for jobs that destructive and demeaning (no, i do not want to work for amazon.)

really, where is this help? what does it take to get help? what even is or would help look like at this point? 

therapy? they're either not taking new clients, don't accept insurance, quit a few weeks in (had a counselor and an EMDR therapist both quit their jobs in the same week.)

i know better than to ask doctors for help anymore. i'm fat and female and poor. three strikes.

and yes, i fully acknowledge i have been more than lucky; i have drained the luck well dry over the years with the help that i HAVE received. i was able to get housing leaving the dv marriage because of an amazing social worker and landlord. i have an amazing friend that has been absolute life support helping out financially the last year. over the years i've had people help me move, watch my kids, watch my dog. i'm one of the absolute lucky ones that HAS had very critical points of help.

how many haven't had anything?

how many haven't have anyone at all?

and then you start adding layers in: how many haven't had energy to ask for help? the resources to get to or use the help? education or knowledge on how to utilize the help? how many have been abused/grifted/taken advantage of by "helpers?" in some of the darkest situations, how many have called a hotline to be disconnected or put on hold?

it feels, too many times, like paperwork and red tape and hoops are there to drain the non-existent reserves of people asking for help INTENTIONALLY to make them...go away? (where is away?) if they just wait long enough, maybe we won't need help anymore.

how many, like me, have been shut down, ignored, or attacked for asking for help? which then makes even asking a monumental task.

programs are out of funding. workers are burned out. resources aren't available. 

sometimes you figure it out.

sometimes you end up writing a blog post at 2 am because you don't know what else to do.

i need HELP.

i need people, i need a job, i need security and stability and safety. it's pretty clear i'm fucking it up spectacularly on my own.

i just don't know where to find help.

well THAT makes sense

hey y'all.

 

it's been a minute. a lot has changed but nothing has changed but everything has changed.

 

if you came to visit me, most everything would look the same. some of the furniture has been rearranged, the mullet is magnificent.

what you might not notice right away is the lack of doom piles, the dishes being actually done, the floors vacuumed, laundry kept up. a creative space cleaned and organized and used.

around thanksgiving sometime things started to slowly shift. first- i jumped on tiktok. i know. an old person on a young app. 

 

HOWEVER. it is amazing. in small doses. the small doses is the key. i went to hard and burned out in three months.

 

HOWEVER, PART II, it did teach me things.

 

first, it taught me to just put videos out there, who cares. like a visual twitter. that was cool. a nice barrier breaker for me.

 

THEN. holy shit then. then therapy tiktok, mental health tiktok, adhd tiktok and autism tiktok hit me like a tidal wave, throw in some deconstructing around evangelicals and purity culture and it was like a slow motion machine finally putting all the pieces together.

 

i raised an ADHD and an autism. two boys. because only boys have autism and ahdh, right?

 

FUNNY THING ABOUT THAT.

 

now that doctors are starting to actually care a tiny bit about women and actually consider we might have something more than the vapors, guess what?

 

what are the adhd symptoms in girls?  chatty, day dreamer, withdrawn, hyper focus, sounds exactly like every single report card all through school.

 

what are the autism signs in a girl? difficulty with social interaction, eye contact, stimming, passionate about restricted interests.

it was like watching my whole childhood click into place. thrown in a few comorbidity like ARFID and RSD sprinkle across some extremely toxic purity culture, some extreme evangelical beliefs.

WHEW.

the hardest part of my childhood was never understanding why.

WHY am i so difficult? why am i so bad? why am i so broken?

 

my whole childhood- too sensitive, cries too much, never paying attention, talking too much, doing other kids school work so they could be done and play, being a picky eater, being TERRIFIED of teachers, principals, authority. problems with bosses, friends, coworkers, partners. 

 

it just all lit up across the board.

 

and it solved the WHY.

 

because that's the way i am. that's who i am.

 

i'm not too sensitive. i have sensory issues.

i'm not a picky eater. i have a food sensitivity.

i'm not too difficult about clothes. materials and cuts drive me insane.

i'm not too weird. my brain literally functions differently.

 

i'm not the weird girl. i'm the girl with autism and adhd who literally thinks, functions, EXISTS differently than others.

 

waking up is different for me. thinking is different for me (doesn't everyone have an internal voice (or many) narrating everything all the time?). food is different for me. ONE, just ONE yuk feeling and i'm done. sorry. my body goes into hard reset mode. one piece of chicken vein? one bad bite of steak? one wilted piece of lettuce? just one weird thing and i'm DONE. that's why eating out is such a pain in the ass. that's why travel is so terrifying. and food is SO IMPORTANT in other cultures and i could exist on pasta with butter and parmesan cheese. i'm not going to go somewhere and either a) starve, b) insult everyone, c) BOTH.

 

probably C.

 

it makes me annoyed that i raised one of each. i went to doctors and therapists and specialists for YEARS. we did every therapy and behavioral modification and no one thought to check the source??

i spent YEARS. absolutely YEARS just gutting myself, sick beyond sick that i somehow caused my son's autism. the mmr vaccine. stress during pregnancy. stress during breast feeding. domestic violence home. i spent YEARS sick and just absolutely gutted that i had somehow unintentionally made my son's life so much more difficult.

 

well, i did. but not by anything i did.

irony is a funny bitch.

like learning how when people try to offend me or backhandedly insult me and i take that as a compliment (because autism) and then they think i'm some kind of cold hard badass.

 

no, i just literally didn't understand that you were trying to insult me.

you said it was "interesting" and i like interesting things.

 

i never understood why everyone thought i was such a badass. of all the things i overthought in conversations over the years, those never occurred to me.

 

fucking irony.

SO WHAT?

WHO CARES?

YOU OBVIOUSLY MADE IT THIS FAR, HOW BAD CAN IT BE?

 

first of all, fuck all the way off.

 

try that again with a little grace and kindness:

 

what impact does that make going forward? who does care? you made it this far...what worked and didn't work or could work better?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

so what? knowing is half the battle. GI Joe taught me that. knowing means YOU KNOW. you can drive the car down the street with a rattle forever or you could figure out what the rattle is. can it be fixed? parts of it. some can be made to work better. some can be worked around. some parts you don't even need and you can just let them make noise and not worry about it.

 

now i have another filter to run things through: did they really mean that? or autism? did they really ignore you? or object impermanence. is that a trauma bomb story? are you really mad? or are you reacting to the last time this happened and you're worried about the outcome?

so what, is that i've been able to sit and meditate and review memories and my childhood and friendships and understand SO MUCH of my life.

 

i wasn't a difficult child. i wasn't stubborn. i wasn't being intentionally annoying when it took FOREVER to shop for school clothes. i wasn't being rude when i spoke my mind. i went back over all the hurtful language, all the insults, all the bullying and harassment. does it make it hurt less? in a way. i was different. teenagers are assholes. we didn't even have names for that type of different back then. it makes sense which makes it hurt less. i was different. i am different. i can't be mad at people for not knowing what i didn't even know. i can be mad at them for being jerks and picking on kids that are different. but i also know that i choose different people now for a reason. i know what to look for. i know what terrible people act like. i know the things they say. i know to avoid them. people have been telling on themselves for a LONG, LONG times. makes it much easier to weed through the noise.

so. i guess thanks? keep being awful? it lets me know i want absolutely nothing the fuck to do with you? thanks for saving me time? i do appreciate efficiency.

but throw a kid obsessed with honesty and transparency and logic and research and facts into an evangelical world? no wonder i "rebelled" against church. organized religion is illogical to me. there were too many questions that couldn't (or wouldn't) be answered.

 

and then i was a baby raising a baby. order and logic and control were mine to create and maintain. and i did that. then i had an autism kiddo. and even more order and logic were needed. DONE AND DONE.

 

then one kid left, then the other. then people went away. then work went away.

there's still a LOT of work i have to do around parenting and ADHD/autism. what can i give myself more grace for, what makes more sense now looking back, how can i use the knowledge to rebuild and repair going forward?

but when you're alone, with no structure, no one else to maintain any semblance of "acceptable" for...things start to look a little different.

when you don't realize half the reason the order and logic and control worked was because YOU NEED THEM AS WELL.

 

doing things for my kids for so many years kept me going.

now i need to learn to do that for me. I HAVE THE TOOLS. good lord do i have the tools.

 

so what, is i have is a new understanding of how to move in the world. what i need. what structure and interaction and understanding works best for me. now i understand why some jobs barely last a few months and others can straggle along a little longer.

 

a regular schedule of tasks to keep me organized and structured? forms due specific days? specific check in times? specific goals and expectations? YES PLEASE. subterfuge, double talk, obfuscation, illogical/repetitive/duplicate (ie: multiple data systems) tasks, vague deadlines (when you get to it)? i'll go insane.

 

people who say what they mean, what they need, in a respectful and intellectual manner? WE'RE GOING TO GET ALONG FINE.

toxic masculinity? backhanded compliments? nuance? condescension? micro aggression? WE GONNA BEEF.

so who cares?

 

that's exactly right. WHO. CARES? who are the people who will understand without demanding diagnosis, a through inspection and debate of my symptoms? who will believe me and provide accommodation and understanding without being forced to? who will accept these pieces of me as just that, pieces of me instead of as things to "tolerate" or "deal with" or be forced to endure as the cost of me. who is willing to understand that it affects the way i communicate, the way i travel, the way i interact, the type of events i enjoy, why i'll be so "stubborn" on some items. who is willing to understand the ways it helps make me work better and celebrate that?

 

it's the same as mental health. who won't roll their eyes when you say things like ADHD and autism? who won't sigh when you say mental health, self care, self awareness. who will support you when you say SENSORY OVERLOAD and not tell you to just get over it. who won't take a vulnerable moment and abuse you with it?

 

who cares is VERY important.

 

you made it this far...

 

see above. i raised it. i know it. i had a system in place. that system fell apart. now i'm NOT doing great. i'm a month away from losing my apartment. i'm unemployed. i'm single.

 

I'M NOT MANAGING THINGS WELL CURRENTLY THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

 

all the structure- get up, go to work, take care of the kids, make dinner, bed time, weekend chores, weeknight practices, rinse and repeat.

 

that worked GREAT.

 

it was stressful. money was always tight. kids were always kids. but i had STRUCTURE.

 

probably not surprising to anyone else, but it turns out imposed structure is very good for me.

 

i've been trying since october to set a routine for myself at home: get up at 7. make coffee and breakfast. shower. meditation, yoga, chores...

and then i realize it doesn't matter and there's no REASON to do any of that and there's no AFTER that and there's nothing next...and it just...

well, it's after noon, i made a cup of coffee, put on a bra, and started writing this. none of the other stuff.

 

when you're home alone during a pandemic, going out could literally kill you, IF you had the money to go out. when you have ONE small space, no outside space, no reason to leave even if you wanted to or had the money to...

 

shit gets weird yo.

 

you think you can tiktok.

 

you can't.

but i know, going forward, i need people, i need structure, i need routine and predictability. i need to be aware that i'm going to have VERY strong preferences on things for probably very logical reasons but i have to understand compromise. i need to be aware that people do communicate differently and not everyone has the same thought processes and conclusions i do.

i need a job that provides creativity, structure, and someone else to be the responsible one (schedule setter). i need coworkers and managers and bosses that clearly and honestly communicate. i need space and ability to be my creative whirlwind self with someone to reign me in and keep me in check.

like therapy- my therapists always commented that i had everything figured out. cool thanks. i've been thinking on loop about it for the last 900 hours. BUT. am i on the right track? am i coming to the healthiest and best conclusions? are there perspectives or reasons i'm not taking into consideration? before i wander 900 hours down this track, i want to make sure i didn't take a fork off into NOPE, THAT'S NOT THE BEST WAY.

i don't want to be the boss. i'm not a boss bitch. i don't want to file the forms and the taxes and the licensing and the responsible. i WILL organize the shit out of everything, keep everything up to date, come up with a million ideas and suggestions and ways to get things done in the best and most logical manner. wind me up and let me go. but keep checking the fence lines while i wander please.

i think i'm learning that life doesn't come with a user manual, but we CAN collect ones we find along the way. we can collect the tools and the suggested repairs and the maintenance tips and the annual service reminders and collect them all into our own reference guide.

mine is a tattered community cookbook looking thing with coffee stains, post it flags, notes written in the margins, paragraphs scratched out, loosely bound together with a spiral that's been a little stretched out over the years. it's been carried around in many a satchel and tossed in the back seat and forgotten in unpacked boxes.