Words, These Days


Commit to loving yourself completely. It’s the most radical thing you will do in your lifetime.
—  Andrea Gibson

So here’s the story, for anyone who’s keeping track.

About a month ago I freaked out and thought to myself that I could never grow the guts and gumption to write under my own name on the internet. I’m just too scared of everything. It would never work.

I spent days creating an alias, a new website for the alias, social profiles, et cetera.

How embarrassing.

Want to know why?

Because as soon as I had posted a few things under that other name and gotten good feedback I was pissed that it wasn’t ME that was getting the good feedback.

So then I was like, fuck this, and decided that I am a strong, warrior writer woman and I will do and say what I want.

Except for maybe some things about my family while they’re still alive, I haven’t decided that yet.

For the last nineteen days (and counting) I have been posting a poem a day on Medium and it has been a wonderful exercise for me.

I have to come back here to participate in linkups like Yeah Write because their linkys hate Medium links.

I’ve also been participating in Camp NaNoWriMo and I’m caught up for the month.

I’ve been writing the shit of out of these words, all these words, thousands and thousands of them and I can’t stop – and I am so glad I picked the right place (the right person) to do it.


Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

I’m going home again.

I only have four more sleeps here in my apartment before Elise and I are moving back to my parent’s house.

I can’t believe this is happening, let alone that I am here talking about it, but I’m starting to come around to the notion that talking about the things that scare me is exactly what I need to do.

I am still processing the shock that this is happening.

How many times have I turned to a friend and said don’t ever let me get a roommate again or I’d rather live in a tent than move back in with my parents.?

One time I actually told a few friends verbatim:

I want you to physically hit me about the face if I ever speak of getting another roommate, and then within three years moved in with Todd.

He wasn’t so bad. Matter of fact, he was the best roommate I’ve ever had, and we’re still friends after living together, and that says a lot in retrospect.

So, yeah, it’s happening.

I’m not happy about it. I’m actually filled with shame that I’m 35 years old and have gotten myself too financially fucked up to get another apartment, which is a whole other story of why the world sucks today and punishes people who have it hardest, which brings even more shame, which makes everything harder, and so on and so forth until these run-on sentences bring their own shame.

On the other hand, I remind myself how fortunate I am for the following:

  • having parents
  • having parents who love me and welcome my child and me into their home while I sort it out
  • having parents who support me, even though I’m totally insane



I have a lot of shit to work out, besides the financials.

I have to figure out what to do for Elise. Regular middle school is just not an option for her at this point, the longer she is out of mainstream school, the happier we are. I don’t anticipate ever willing putting her back in public school, because I don’t think, well, they aren’t right for us, for sure.

But, there is definitely something lacking with the homeschooling, and that’s interaction with other kids. I knew this would be the hardest thing to facilitate because for one thing, I have terrible social anxiety and never want to leave the house, and she has terrible social skills and is very immature for her age so has an extremely hard time relating to other kids of any age, typical or not.

Our counselor gave me a great kick in the butt today on this topic. I asked her what other parents of kids like Elise were doing when they had these socialization issues and she just shrugged and said:

“Most of them don’t end up doing anything. They try a few things, nothing works, they get tired of trying all this bullshit on top of all the regular bullshit at home, and so they just… don’t. They stay home, they watch TV, and they’re happier that way.”

Until the guilt comes back, I thought, but also – yeah, I get that. That’s me. That’s us. That’s trying a bunch of stuff and just being happier at home.

But now we don’t have our own home anymore, and I don’t know how this new situation is going to affect our lives, but, I feel the need to write about it.

Thankfully, on top of a supportive family, I have great friends who are making me feel better when I feel so shitty about this. Everyone goes home sometimes, and you’re not a failure, you just need a little help right now, are exactly the things I need to hear to keep me from crying myself to sleep every night.

Like, am I seriously about to go back to the very high school bedroom where my lifetime of anxiety and depression began? With my disabled child in tow?

Okay. This is fine.

Onward, and all that.

The Anniversary

The twelfth of January is always a rough day for me, a day that evokes a melancholy that I can’t shake after, well, decades.

I was snappish and quick, and mean to Elise.

I threw out bag after bag of PURGE from my basement – things I haven’t touched or barely touched in the year that I’ve been here, they’re going, they’re gone.

I wandered around my apartment staring at things and wondering what to do next, in literal and existential ways.

I wished for this day to be over, basically from the moment I woke up, so I’m going to put a new book on my Kindle (the one I borrowed last is just too depressing) and be thankful that this 1/12 came and went without a tear.

Forlorn as all F…

Forlorn is the word of the day, and it seems appropriate for the mood I have been in lately.

Life is a topsy-turvy kind of thing, and sometimes you tumble and fall, and I feel like this one of those times when my life is just tumbling, tumbling, and I am totally out of control.

I can’t afford anymore to live alone, my lease is up soon and I can’t afford to both pay rent and heat the damn place, so it’s back to my parent’s house I go, for now, until I figure my shit out and get “back on my feet” as it were.

It feels like a huge failure to me – I mean, I’m sure it feels like a huge failure to other people when this happens, too, but I guess I am very lucky to have supportive parents who aren’t making me feel shitty about it – and also really good friends who aren’t making me feel shitty about it.

“Oh no, you haven’t failed, you just need help for a little while,” my friend Gina said, and she and her husband and kids have been living with her mom for years now while he goes to school full time.

Maybe it’s this day and age – it’s all about money – the LACK of it.

For my friends, it made no sense for both of them to work if they were going to have to pay for daycare for two children that weren’t even school age.

Do you have any idea how much infant childcare cost these days?

A little bit more than the full-time salary of a minimum wage job if you’re living in Connecticut.

The more I think of it, the more I think of people who have either “gone home” or who are just cohabitating with others to save money – old women who are unmarried, same with a lot of young men who are unmarried, pretty much all of my peers who aren’t married and living with each other.

Hardly anyone I know who is alone can support themselves alone anymore.

Isn’t that messed up?

It’s not just me. There’s a lot to be forlorn about when it comes to this situation, but I keep telling myself – it’s temporary.

And I’m not a failure for not being able to keep myself afloat.

And this is really, really going to suck for a while, but we’re going to be okay.

my magical sleeping pill

Photo by Jordan Bauer on Unsplash

If I could, I would funnel all of my creative time into a more manageable area, like between 9am and midnight, and not suddenly perk up and feel like writing an hour or two before I need to try to go to sleep.

If I could, I would sleep every day from 2am to 10am, a healthy eight hour chunk, but I know how hard it is to do that because a number of things tend to happen:

  • you wake up feeling guilty like you’ve already missed half the day even though you did it on purpose because it’s what feels natural to your body
  • you “peak” at about 7pm when it comes to energy and willingness to do things, but then, you’re kind of tired from already doing a lot of things, but that’s okay because you’re an introvert and you don’t want to go out much anyway
  • someone gives you a really hard time about being a lazy ass, getting up at 10am every day, even though it’s what makes your body feel good and 2am is when sleep comes naturally
  • 2am is when sleep comes naturally, which means you’ve only been getting between 5-6.5 hours of sleep a night for about the last twelve years

And when I say you, I mean me, this is what happens to me, this is my life.

I do my best to get in bed by midnight to get out of bed by eight, but whether I just fail or don’t even try, when 1:30am approaches and I sigh and think, ugh, you have to go to bed now, it still doesn’t happen.

The best mornings are always the mornings when I get to wake up without an alarm, and guess what time that usually is? Right around ten.

Oh, sleep.

It’s been such a pain in my ass for the last couple of decades (ZOMGI’MGETTINGOLD) I think a lot about how cool it would be if humans only needed, like, an hour of sleep a night.

Imagine how nice it would be if we could take our magical sleeping pill, crawl into bed, fall easily asleep, and wake up an hour later feeling like we’d gotten an entire good night.

Oh, wait. That happens sometimes and I actually hate it, but that’s without all the extra time.


Would you take the magical one hour sleeping pill with me?