… is basically these two on repeat.

Breaking the Girl

Human Behaviour

While I’m thrashing around inside my head trying to make sense of it all… and then realizing that that’s only fueling the absurdity.

I’m not going to get into how unbelievably stupid the whole Judgment Day prophesy thing was to begin with on so so very many levels but I would like to share this:

Yesterday evening, while Whatshisname Mcliesforfools’money was hiding away in shame from the media and his own believers, there were ministers rallying in front of his headquarters to lend counsel and comfort to those foolish people whose realities must’ve crumbled yesterday. Instead of mocking them by pointing and laughing (which, admittedly, I would’ve been doing), they were reiterating the message that God is about hope and salvation and that their lives were still worth living, even though they chose to believe in an elderly con artist.

THAT’S the kind of Love and Compassion I stand behind and believe in. And I’m glad to see it still exists, even when Christian media morons and general fanatics are working so hard to destroy it.

‘kay…Uh, in recovery, we’re encouraged to keep an “attitude of gratitude” to avoid “stinkin’ thinkin’” (or, in Regular/Sane-People Talk: remind ourselves what we’re thankful for to lift ourselves away from the things that depress us and/or spur us toward our bad habits/addictions.)

So, on that note, I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to be presented with something that has obviously been a trigger for me for a very long time, so that I could finally recognize it as such…

…I mean, I guess.

In Related News:

Dear Universe,
No, really. I really have processed the shit out of my past and dealt with everything enough to be very very happy where I am and have consciously chosen to ignore certain people and aspects of my past that I know can never be resolved any more than they are. I really do not need you to fling things back at me just to make sure I’m cool with them. I am. We both know I’ve mentally beaten these dead horses down to bone particles and then put those under the microscope, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. We’re good here. Really.

Dear Self:
“Going back” just to prove that you’re different and totally rad now still involves “going back”. Write that down.
————–

RE: The Crazy

So, it’s become evident that this is the time of the year that my Crazy starts acting up. Yeahno, I know how Crazy that is in and of itself, what with this being spring and it being beautiful outside, but, for whatever reason, this is the time of year I get the most insane (in the literal sense) and my conscious mind starts slipping away from me. (I’ve been through the list enough, right? It’s all here in case, you know, you want a refresher.) And I have my years of therapy to back me up and help me deal with it and not let it suck me back into the self-loathing/everything-is-crap brand of Crazy. But, like clockwork, it always comes around when the weather gets warmer and the flowers start to bloom and everybody on the whole continent gets in a better, happier mood. And, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, the fact that I might be the only springtime S.A.D.-sufferer ever would be hilarious in its ridiculousness to me if it wasn’t busy sapping all my serotonin. (Man, I have a morbid sense of humor.)

In other (much happier) The Crazy-Related News:

This spring marks 5 whole years since I last bottomed out and had to seek inpatient assistance. It’s funny; the physical manifestations of the illness feel identical, but the entire scenario is so incredibly different now. I feel like the exact same person who has just watched a cast-replacement and an upgrade happen all around me without me actually doing anything or changing in any way (now I know how Tim Meadows must’ve felt around 1995. bah-ZING!) Of course, common sense tells me that this is impossible, but that tiny voice of my Self is pretty assured that she has no idea what the hell she’s doing; she’s just glad we’re not on the brink of demise like we used to be. And, honestly, I can live with that -happily, even.

So there. That’s two things I’m grateful for.

It has become apparent that I’m turning into a gardening nerd very, very quickly. I’ve never really been into yardwork but everything changed when we moved into this new house and I’m… well… I’m obsessed. I can’t stay out of a gardening store for longer than 5 days, my windowsills are overrun with seed-starter pots, and I’m working myself into a chiropractic nightmare trying to renovate everything about my yard - even the value of the soil. That kind of stuff isn’t so weird; I’ve known plenty of people who have similar stories. However, I realized I may have a problem when I stopped to take a look at myself today and observed the following:

~ My gardening gloves are too caked with dried mud/dirt from yesterday to use today and I don’t have time to wash them before getting back to work, so I just bought a new pair.

~ I was finished with my gardening-shopping at two different stores by 9 a.m. this morning.

~ We can’t really afford a new wheelbarrow at this juncture, so I just spent the last half-hour lining my daughter’s brand new wagon with plastic bags and a tarp, in hopes it will make a suitable substitute.

~ The fact that it is very very rainy and very very windy is in no way a deterrent from today’s intended yardwork.

~ The fact that I was too sore to sit up this morning (from extreme-pruning a diseased tree down to its nubbins yesterday… with an 8″ hacksaw) was also not a deterrent from continuing.

~ The gentlemen working the garden section of Home Depot greeted me by name this morning.

~ I honestly listed more of my books on Amazon.com today in hopes that I can earn some extra money for a peach tree and some decorative solar-powered globe lights while they’re still on sale… ($9.95?! How can you beat that!?)

Is there a support group for this?!

Among the unspoken joys of becoming a parent is getting to listen to other parents pushily inform you why your parenting choices are obviously uneducated and inferior to theirs. (Seriously, we should do away with Sex Ed and just make teenagers hang out with other moms for a week; they won’t wanna touch each other ever again.) According to my numerous unsolicited sources, I’m wasting my time by not “couponing” (this is apparently a verb in suburbia) for 2 hours every night, I’m feeding my child nothing but poison glazed with sugar and tire tread, and I’m actively helping her brain rot completely out of her skull so quickly that she will arrive at kindergarten with only the ability to drool and stare at a wall while her peers discuss Dostoevsky and self-edit their Harvard application essays. So helpful, my peers are…

One of the great “debates” (I put that in quotations because I don’t actually believe there’s a war going on, even though many many women REALLY WANT YOU TO BELIEVE THERE IS, DAMMIT!!!) in the parenting world is what kind of schooling is The Right One. This conflict can just as easily be summarized into the thesis: Public School is The Devil.

And that’s the biggest load of horse crap ever. EVER.

Alright, allow me to say up front that “I get it.” I totally and completely understand why people are loudly proclaiming the incompetence of public schools; I teach college and am constantly depressed by the failures of the public school system as evidenced in the knowledge of my students. (For example: Only one of my 44 students this semester could tell me the date and cause of The Great Depression without more than 15 seconds of thought - 60% of them didn’t know at all. Same goes for WWII, Vietnam, and the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Also, I have students putting quotation marks around the words “he said” instead of around the actual quote. Yeah…) I get that crappy funding lends itself to oversized classrooms, lack of materials and, ultimately, rampant apathy. I get all that.

HOWEVER, you know what? I AM LOUDLY AND UNABASHEDLY PROUD TO BE A PRODUCT OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM (and I ain’t no idiot, y’all.)

Let me explain.

Ultimately, public school is a perfect analogy for life and how the world works. A student is thrown in there among people with whom he or she (I’ll say “she from here on, ’cause I’m a “she”) may not have anything in common with demographically and has to learn how to function among them. This isn’t as basic as a student learning something as simple PC “tolerance” (read: “Oh, it’s adorable that you want to get ‘gay-married’ but I still think you’re going to burn in Hell so please don’t make eye-contact with me”) ; this is about raising a child in an environment where she is one of many many different types of peoples, thus providing her the opportunity to learn how to relate to, befriend, interact with, and, at the very least, coexist with many different types of people and handle a number of different social situations. She is expected to recognize others as friends and learn how to mange their widely-varying influences on herself to help her grow as a person and find her own identity. I know “homeschool moms” like to defend their choices by usually whining saying “Oh, we get [fill in precious, precious child's name here] out and involved with tons of social extracurriculars!!!!!!!!” but, the truth is that even those groups are homogeneous groupings of children with similar (if not identical) backgrounds, income-levels, etc. At public school, a student is exposed to eeeverything , which is basically a miniaturized version of what humanity looks like. Going to public school, I had friends who were raised in houses so big I would repeatedly get lost when I visited and other friends who had awesome sleepovers where we’d play “Capture the Flag” in their trailer parks and I hung out with those people without any pretense or irony but, merely, because I was a kid and wanted to hang out with somebody I thought was cool. At public school, I learned the differences between racial cultures (I once got laughed at by a few of my friends in 4th grade because I didn’t/don’t put grease in my hair and I had to keep explaining that I didn’t want grease in my hair; in my family, we were always trying to wash it out. It was an innocent conversation without any conflict or social awareness of what was really happening; only when I got older did I realize that it was a “black people do this and white people do that differently” conversation… and it all happened without any malice or anger or offense. Imagine that…) and I was raised in an educational society where there was no “them” and “us”; we legitimately were all the same and had the same potential, whether we were black or white or poor or rich or supertrendy or fug or whatever. In this environment, we are all people and we are all encouraged to see each other in the same light.

Additionally, public school kids are presented with an image of the world that has no bias, no pre-stated conditions; we were given reality as it was with the expectation that we would interpret and define it for ourselves. My favorite example of this happened when we were in 2nd and 3rd grade and participated in the annual Moore County Drug March, in which all the kids of every elementary and middle school in Moore County would don red clothing, make little flags, and parade a couple miles through the neighborhoods around the school screaming “NO MORE DRUGS! NO MORE DRUGS!” Now, while the other schools in the area would take their students through quaint little neighborhoods, our elementary school was in the building that used to be the Black High School during racial segregation and was surrounded by the old, run-down remnants of that era. There were horribly-decaying old houses with people constantly going in and out and, in between legitimately cute little houses where many of my classmates lived, there were hollowed-out shacks with bullet-holes and fresh police tape wrapped around them. But still, we paraded through the streets, waving our flags and bellowing “NO MORE DRUGS!!!” to people watching from their front stoops and, what’s funny is that we never thought to be scared. Not one of us ever said, “Those guys standing on the corner drinking out of paper bags look pissed; we might be hurting their market.” We just smiled and waved at our friends’ parents who ran out of their houses to take pictures of us and we whined about how tired we were at the end of the hour. You know. Just like kids. Only later did I think, “Holy crap. They marched us through the ghetto to scream at drug dealers.” That’s kind of how it was with everything in public school; things were what they were and our teachers encouraged us to explore things without any preconceived notions about the context. It was powerful stuff.

Of course, the natural progression of age lent itself to teaching us about the pressures of social expectations, as we merged into our teenage years and found ourselves segregated by what we were wearing or who was more attractive to the opposite sex (and why those people were inherently supposed to be feared and hated by people like me until I learned valuable lessons about self-love after my early 20’s) and, while I hate that a lot of that type of social education is inflicted on children and perpetuated from tradition, I do think that that, too, is an important lesson in learning how to navigate the waters of society. Even if a person decides not to subscribe to the bullshit that is society’s superficial expectations, knowing how to recognize it in its many forms and how it all works is invaluable when going out into the world. Sure, there are cliques and “popular kids vs. losers” dynamics going on in private schools, but arguably without nearly as much range in demographics. Secluded kids in private schools don’t have the designer-label-quietly-bitchy-white-girl-prom-queen clique getting laughed at by the proud-to-rule-the-hood-black-girls clique for having no rhythm; there aren’t any Hispanic family feuds perpetuating themselves in the hallways or rednecks wearing camo and talking about deer hunting and there certainly isn’t the facet of getting to watch all those insanely, radically different groups learn how to get along together. And, sure, I can understand wanting to protect your children from crazy goth kids who may try to blow up the school or emo kids who are making it trendy to sit around and cut themselves or whatever other demographic you’re uncomfortable with but, you know what? Shielding your children from people who are different than yourselves isn’t just a disservice; it’s ignorant. By putting a child in a situation where she has to learn about societal standards/roles and learn about the motivations of others’ family lives and learn how to relate to people who are completely different than herself, a parent is giving that child the tools to rule the world. (And, besides, the odds of your kid being shot or blown up at school are about the same as those of you getting shot or blown up at the bank.)

Sure, a kid can go to a school where everyone is just like her and then graduate into a university that is full of more people just like her and then go to work at a place with people just like her because of networking with other people just like her. Sure. That happens a lot. But those people tend to have a perception about the rest of the world that enables them to observe and examine other races/cultures/demographics like exhibits or temporary, disposable situations instead of real, tangible lifestyles and realities for other people. (No, I’m not saying ALL of those people think that way; I’m just saying it’s a very noticeable mentality bred from homogenized learning tactics.) The ideas of “them” and “us” are only perpetuated in this way and keeps people from understanding each other as actual, you know, PEOPLE, instead of faceless bodies filling demographic/societal roles. One facet of this that irritates the crap out of me is that this mentality keeps people from showing compassion toward those who live in poverty because of blatant misunderstanding about the condition OR (and this facet bugs me more) they only “give to charity” in organized, formal settings which still allows them to be socially disconnected from the people they are supposedly helping out of love and compassion. There’s that concept that it’s wonderful to give your money to homeless shelters but you’d NEVER take a homeless person out for lunch; it stems from the idea that “they” (the homeless/poverty-stricken) are deserving of this life, instead of the thought that they are just people like yourself. Going to public school, I knew kids who were homeless or had been at one point; I was good friends with a girl who shared a rundown, single-wide trailer in the boonies with 11 other people; and I knew dozens of kids on welfare and who lived in government housing. My point is that poverty was tangible for me (even though I was fortunate enough not to experience it within my household) and charity was as easy as splitting my lunch with a classmate who couldn’t afford it. (Which I believe is what Jesus was into, wasn’t He? Hanging out with different people and sharing lunch with them? I feel like I read about that somewhere…)

“But the education system is so flawed! It doesn’t teach kids crap!” you say. Dude, that’s incredibly ignorant of you. Here’s the thing about public school that teaches another valuable lesson about how the world works: Students have to work harder if they want to get ahead. (Ohhh! No way!!! That applies to life!) Because public school has to teach to the median, there are many students who get lost and left behind (read: Me in any math class I ever took ever.) and there are those who are super far ahead (read: Me in any English class ever.) Now, the kids who aren’t doing so well have to learn how to recognize their failures and make the extra effort and do what is necessary to improve him or herself (Ooo! Life-lesson alert agaiiin!! How could that possibly apply to being a responsible, self-actualized adult? Hmmm…) and those who are awesome at certain things are encouraged to seek out opportunities that will allow them to explore this talent (like writing club or the student yearbook group or the volleyball team or drama club in my case.) Sure, there are a lot of smart kids who aren’t spoon-fed the vast wealth of information they can probably handle so guess what? They get to learn an important lesson about initiative and how, if you really want to better yourself, it’s up to you to do that. If a student isn’t learning enough about history, it’s up to her to head on over to the library and read more about it (and, oh, I sooo did.) That teaches self-motivation and the realization that the world isn’t going to coddle each person and cater to everyone’s immediate needs. The same goes for the average student, too; if a student has been coasting through school on mediocre grades because she’s totally enrapt with her boyfriend/video games/blog/whatever, she has the choice to just be cool with that or work a little harder and shift her focus from distractions so she can be better. Sure, it’s a tough lesson that kids aren’t going to fully understand until they’re older, but these lessons instill habits and realizations that become a part of an adult’s common knowledge: If you’re not happy being mediocre, it’s up to you to change it. If you’re not happy failing at something, it’s up to you to fix it. If you want to do better than the status quo, you have to get out there and make it happen. Duh. Too easily, Americans want to blame “the system” or “the teachers” or “them” (in general) for being the way we are when, really, it’s up to each of us to make our lives the way we want it to be. This is something that public schools are teaching on a daily basis. There are always teachers at public schools who offer kids a little extra help when they need it and there are always special groups students can get involved with that will allow them to better themselves. Always. It is up to those students to use the resources and opportunities provided to make themselves better. And, if those somehow don’t exist, they’re faced with the challenge of going out and finding opportunities on their own (kinda like how we found good music, even though we lived in the South during the late-90’s-early-00’s… Read: Creed.) That’s part of life, folks.

One of the people I most admire is a young man I met in high school who, by all statistical standards, very easily could’ve dropped out and continued taking care of his single mother in the rough area of town where they lived. Defying the odds (and asking for no extra fanfare or credit), this guy made amazing grades, was involved with every single extracurricular project he could within the Theater program at our arts-based high school, got himself into a wonderful out-of-state university (although he majored in Theater, which, admittedly, is a bogus degree in a field that nobody will ever need accreditation to succeed within… I digress) and went forward to get blissfully married and now has a job at the freaking Pentagon (not sure how it happened, but he digs it, so that’s what counts here.) Now, while his isn’t the path I personally would’ve chosen (and, um, didn’t choose… which is why I get to tell stories about life in a mental hospital), what is remarkable is my friend’s unbelievable determination; from the day I met him, he’s been stating what it is that he wants with his life and, without requiring or demanding any credit for his efforts and determination, he has gone forth and done everything he said he wanted to. He has made his own opportunities and milked them dry and made the life he wanted. And he went to public school. In South Carolina, no less.

Sure, there are kids who get discouraged and give up. And there are kids (a LOT of them if you live in a tourist town like I did) who can get a job as a manager for some crap job making $22,000/yr when they’re 16, so they quit school to live that temporary awesomeness. And there are people who just don’t want to be in school at all so they join a gang or start dealing drugs and live a life of drama and violence. Yes. That all happens. And you know what? That stuff happens out here in the real world, too. There are plenty of people out here tolerating boring, mediocre lives in which they aren’t happy that will never improve due to lack of self-motivation. There are plenty of people who just give up in tough situations and turn to crappy quick-fixes to remedy things.  Public school teaches students how to recognize those failures in others and avoid them in themselves. It teaches self-motivation and it teaches students how to find their own strengths and how to find passion to work toward those in a world where there are so so many options and so much outside pressure and temptation to retreat. Try finding that in homeschool.

Going to public school has been one of the very most valuable life experiences I have in my arsenal. Sure, when I was a teenager/young adult, I thought I was better off hiding out amongst people who came from identical backgrounds as myself but, after I started teaching, I realized what a gift I’d been given. I can walk into any social situation with ease and confidence from having experience dealing with similar situations throughout my life. I can relate to and earn respect from the students that I teach in rural North Carolina because I understand their demographic on an organic level, instead of only having read about their statistics in some research piece somewhere and cobbling together methods from my assumptions. I can coexist and communicate with people from many different racial, ethnic, or economical backgrounds because I’ve been doing it my whole life. I understand a wide variety of perspectives on all sorts of issues and historical events throughout the last 20-ish years because I’ve been experiencing them along with many different types of people since I was a little girl. I know lingo and jargon and social nuances and I know when to say what in most social situations and what immediate effect it will have on the group I’m in and I know when to be PC and when I can get away with being irreverent in mixed company and I know how to cater to the needs of those who are in a completely different state of their lives than I am in mine. I can talk to people from any walk of life on a level that is respectful and coherent with their particular story or understanding of life and I can relate to and learn from people this way. Truly, this is the gift that keeps on giving.

Most importantly, though, I’ve learned how to define my character and grow a backbone around people who disagree with me because I had the opportunity to observe and experience a variety of mentalities through my peers and realize exactly what it is that I want, love, and stand for as an individual person among billions.

So there you go. Public school made me a well-rounded human being, capable of respecting and coexisting with others and navigating the waters of society with the tools I learned growing up. I have learned the value of self-motivation through countless examples and experiences. Simply put: Public school works because it made me a student of our society as a whole and, additionally, it forced me to create my life for myself instead of depending on others to provide my opportunities.

This is why I smile smugly whenever some uber-condescending, suburban white lady is rolling her eyes and scoffing, “I would NEVER send my child to public school!” Well, that and the thought of her trying to dance…

Alright, look, I’mma level with you here; I don’t care about procuring any of this crap, to be honest. All I want is to not go to bed in tears after the worst birthday ever like I did last year. If you could just arrange a day that’s even mediocre, that’d be better than what happened in 2010.

Seriously. That’s it. No tears = Success. How can you go wrong with a work order like that? Just strive for general contentment and I’ll consider us even, enkay?

Please?

I’ll be 28 in a couple weeks and, in the last year, I’ve been mostly bewilderedly amused at how outrageously awesome things have been going. I have a lot of reflection and joy correlated with all of this, but for right now, I’m just going to share the actual events instead of rambling on about my insights and how I’ve finally found ways to live in the “now” and how my life seems more mentally manageable and content than ever and how this better not mean that I’m dying soon.

~ My daughter was Rainbow-freaking-Brite for Halloween
~ I spent half of July with my old college roomie sitting around and doing nothing at her house on the Outer Banks. And it was magical.
~ I got a job! A real one! At a college! As a teacher! And I like it!
~ I was literally handed a trip to Burning Man this year by a number of complete strangers who simply wanted to make my longtime dream come true. I was also given a free place to eat and stay in NV, free camping gear from family, and a free cross-country chauffeur who didn’t mind me getting frisky with him every couple states. All I had to do was show up. The whole thing was over-the-top magical. The weather was unusually perfect, the events were wonderful, the people were divine… it was perfect.
~ We bought a house.
~ I got to go kayaking by myself.
~ I joined a playdate group with some of the most down-to-earth, kindhearted people I’ve met in NC.
~ My awesome husband took me to see John Waters’s Christmas show.
~ I spent a week at the beach with my family.
~ I went to a truly wonderful Beltane festival with a massive Maypole-wrapping ceremony before there was wild, heathenly, dancing around the fire to drums and fiddles.
~ I joined a book club
~ I took a roadtrip with an old friend across the South, showing her the magic of being Southern and meeting up with other old friends.
~ Aforementioned awesome husband did a complete makeover of our bedroom while I was on aforementioned roadtrip with friend.
~ My sugar scrub was featured in BUST magazine (and the Fayetteville Observer, which actually generated more business for me.)
~ I finally started decorating for Christmas again.
~ I went to a few wonderful “maiden circles” and wore crowns of flowers and danced around the fire and sang.
~ I went to a college Halloween party and felt like an old person.
~ I hit up ClydeFest!
~ I got to work in Pittsboro, NC, which is shockingly hip and fun for a town of 2,000 citizens.
~ My husband sewed a 6 ft. shark for my daughter (from Santa) that she now sleeps with every night. This is just generally awesome and happened in my vicinity, but it counts.
~ I won a prize pack from RuPaul’s Drag Race with a shirt and a wig and a calendar and falsie lashes and cool stuff! I never win sweepstakes!
~ One of my dearest friends moved 15 miles from me right before I moved to Fuquay, and, thus, my adjustment-to-a-new-town period was made easier. Falling in her door and having time-killing tea-and-conversation-and-maybe-a-drag-off-your-cigarette-but-not-a-whole-one-’cause-my-husband-will-get-mad for those first few months before she had to move again was a sanity saver.
~ I finally started composting and gardening regularly.
~ One of my oldest-and-dearests got married in May (and I cried with happiness about it like a dork EVEN when I received the “Save the Date” notice) and had a kickASS wedding that I thoroughly enjoyed being a part of (but wouldn’t have wanted to plan) and at which I got to reunite with some old coworkers (including one old friend in particular whose classic, signature humor made my entire month.)
~ A number of other things that I’ll keep to myself due to legal reasons but that were genuinely awesome (and harmless.)
~ I had purple and pink hair during the entire summer and, you know what? It looked really good!
~ My husband and I started [what we hope will be] a series of weird, confusion-inducing Christmas cards, which were successful in confusing/annoying our respective families.
~ There were no massive family dramas! Woo!!
~ I got to stay with one of my distant relatives and was happy to see that I’m not so unique in my family after all (this is a good thing.)
~ My subconscious finally FINALLY shut up and let me enjoy every moment for a change after years of pleading with my Higher Power for some peace and serenity.
~ I finally stopped apologizing for what I used to be and started telling people who held me hostage for my past that it was up to them to move forward. (Recovery IN YOUR FACE!)
~ I no longer had overdue amends to make. (PHEW!)
~ I have enough.

I’ve been turning to my husband a lot this year and saying “I really hope this isn’t the best year of my life” because, even though it is so far, I don’t want it to stay that way.

So, for my 28th birthday, I’d like to toast to this year looking like a complete and total drag in comparison to what’s to come.

“I’m just looking forward to when the baby gets here and everything slows down a little.” ~ Hubs

“It was BECAUSE of the hair dye that I pooped on the floor, you jerk!” ~ Anonymous

“If I didn’t live with my best friend, I’d be really really lonely right now.” ~ Me to Hubs
“I know. If I didn’t live with me, I’d be really lonely right now, too.” ~ Hubs

“You’re mean! I’m going seal-clubbing without you!” ~Hubs

When I excitedly texted my husband the news that A John Waters Christmas was coming to DPAC in December, I got the response, “That’s so… you…” I got the same response a day later when I revealed that I was going to be a drag queen for Halloween and, like the time before, I felt myself get a little discouraged.

What did that meeeeaan? To knock off “I [heart] Huckabees”, how am I being more myself? And why did the idea of being so remarkably predictable depress me so much?

Was it because I don’t like the idea of being pigeonholed? Maybe I have a fear of someone “figuring me out” before I do. Or maybe I’m scared that everybody else has defined the “me” that isn’t really the “me” I want to be judged just yet… I’m not ready to submit my work…

Or maybe it’s the fear of being defined by something so tiny or insignificant that freaks me out. Like, people have immediately started thinking of me when they hear about the Muppets, which touches my heart because I do, incidentally, adore Jim Henson’s work, but I never want to be “that girl who really likes Muppets” with no other attributes to my name.

I think that’s one of the reasons I feel the need to justify my ridiculous passions for things so often. And, after visiting a friend of mine a few weeks ago, I kinda realized how unnecessary that is.

I have this friend who’s always just been open and happy with the things about life that she loves, regardless of whether or not it’s socially chic. She’s been like this since I met her and presents her love for things like Cheerwine, Waffle House, and thrift store shopping in such a way that you, too, feel the need to love it and kind of wonder why you don’t have such an inherent passion for these things like she does. There’s never been any apology from her to anybody, nor does she try to justify her love for whatever it is that she has allegiance to… she just loves it and kinda doesn’t care whether anyone else does or not. Unfortunately, like most things, I didn’t bother to learn from her example until just recently - like, just before I wrote this thing.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with just loving something just to love it, anyway? And why the hell did it take me so long to realize that it’s perfectly okay to embrace the things I love instead of trying to play them off like they’re the annoying younger sibling I have to drag around with me? Why don’t I just start the party wagon and get excited when other people jump on board instead of trying to act like it’s some deep, dark secret?

Yes! I love John Waters! And drag queens! And the work, life and mind of Jim Henson fascinate and move me! Yes, I know more about Sesame Street than most people know about their own families! Yes, I spend too much money on books every month! Indeed, I really do love spending time with my almost-3-year old because she’s more fun than most people. Yes, I get a high from writing a really well-thought-out paper on something intelligent; I also love karaoke like its a drug! I love the band STYX and I have seen them in concert! Yes, I have a crush on Peter Dinklage because confidence is hot and he’s got that, talent and a sexy voice! Yes, I want Tina Fey’s career so bad it hurts! Yes! I still wear bellbottom (not just “bootcut” or “flare”) jeans on a weekly basis. I still listen to Ace of Base’s “The Sign” album when I’m having a crappy day (except for the title track, actually)!! Yes, I love Girl Scouts and look forward to leading my own troop and singing all the campfire songs and doing all that stuff I used to do when I was in it! Yes! I think abandoned tobacco barns are beautiful and I want to make a coffee table photography book of them!! Indeed, I still listen to grunge or early-90’s-alternative at least 40% of the time I’m listening to music  (another 40% is devoted to classic rock.) Yes, I love fresh produce and eating lunch outside and foreign films in tiny cinemas and living in North Carolina and singing the harmony of old protestant hymns and playing dress up and showering outside and “Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends” and the Powerpuff Girls and stopping at weird places on road trips and terrible local advertisements and old old books and yellow umbrellas and Greek coffee and redneck flea markets and tunics and hilariously irreverent old people!! I love all this and more!!

And, honestly, if people define me solely by the potentially lame things that I adore, I’m kind of just flattered they were paying attention in the first place.

Literally since I could write, I’ve been keeping a journal in one way or another. It’s not something I started doing with an end result in mind - unlike everything else I’ve ever done - but was, in fact, something I just did, like eating or breathing or picking my nose in traffic.

And sometime during the development of my mental illness, writing became a compulsion, causing me fits of  anxiety or insomnia if i couldn’t put on paper what was hurling itself around and blocking my consciousness. Even after years of therapy and recovery, I found myself unable to just be still and silence the noise. Even if there was nothing wrong, my brain just wouldn’t shut the hell up for two minutes and give me peace. It seemed that, no matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn’t stop finding something to obsess over or protest or belabor. And the only release was to write it down. And then, sometime in there, the compulsion became to write it publicly and I adopted this 21st Century mentality that nothing I do is worthwhile if I don’t splatter it all over the Internet.

I began to disgust myself.

And then, about two months ago, my brain finally acquiesed. I’m not sure what happened (and I’d hate to fit a stereotype and say that it was solely because of Burning Man, although that was certainly the first major event that called my mental change to my attention) but, sometime in the last couple months, I’ve been able to actually enjoy a moment without worrying about what it means in The Grand Scheme of my life. I’ve been able to savor events and sights and people without immediately needing to share them with anyone else. And, most notably, my brain has finally FINALLY let me live directly in the present. There’s no more constant worry about whether or not I’m wasting my life, there’s no more anxiety or admonishment about whether or not I’m who or where I should be… It’s incredible.

And the mental settling goes farther than that, as well. I don’t feel the need to get angry at political controversy over which I have no control; now, if I see something that hurts my heart, I’ll see what I can do to help or change the situation without wasting time getting angry at the inevitable idiot commentary… this is practically UNTHINKABLE if you were to look at my track record. I don’t get angry much anymore - either something is bad and needs love and concern or something is so bad that it’s hilarious and I’ll respond accordingly.

Oh, hey, I’m not saying I’ve found nirvana or anything. I’m not selling all my possessions to live and work in Calcutta… I’m just saying that, for some reason, after more than a decade of praying for it, I’ve been granted a little bit of serenity for once. And it is just as fantastic as I’d always hoped.

So that’s why it’s been so quiet around here. Sure, I’ll share a few pics and thoughts on Facebook and Twitter, but getting out into the real world and turning it all off so I can enjoy this new brain phase has been bliss.