I know you’ve worked so hard to hoist your own petard…

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Everything keeps happening, and a lot of it is just so awful.

BUT! I went to the eye doctor this morning and then I drove to Trader Joe’s where I stocked up on dried apricots and raw cheese and rosemary nuts and THEN I scored a referral for a psychiatrist AND a colonoscopy!

And you may be saying to yourself, “Wait. Didn’t she just have a colonoscopy in 2014?” I did!

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I also had one in 2009! (Click the link for photos of my insides!)

We will get through all of these things. (Unless we don’t. But we probably will. BUT we also need to keep fighting. Not WITH each other. More like FOR each other.)

Goldblum’s middle name is Lynn. SO IS MINE.

If you ever find yourself talking about me, and the person with whom you are speaking says, “Wait. I think I know who you’re talking about. Who does she look like?” you can use these three men as examples.

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I mean, Nabokov is a stretch but the other two are eerily accurate.
Of course, as I’ve mentioned many times before, Jeff Goldblum is my doppelgänger.

And here is proof:

Oh, Election Day.

Sit beside the breakfast table. Think about your troubles.

One of the few great things I’ve done in the past eight months? I found a therapist. I hadn’t seen a therapist in nearly thirty years, because:

Therapist #1:

She was super nice (although very much into molestation). The wife of one of my favorite professors. And I’m definitely not against hypnotization. In fact, I let her try to hypnotize me, but I fell asleep on the couch and she seemed a little pissed when she had to wake me up. (She released me as a client shortly after my nap.)

Therapist #2:

This guy was a therapist specializing in career counseling, and I saw him after I graduated from college while I was bagging up dead folks at the hospital. I did go out for a drink after therapy, but never with Mitchell the Therapist. (I ended our relationship less than a month after Cobain’s suicide.)

Therapist #3:
This is my current therapist, and I’m not going to draw her because I don’t want to reveal her identity. Unlike Therapist #1 and Therapist #2, Therapist #3 asks good questions and makes me talk and our conversations lately have gone a little bit like this:

Therapist #3 (T3): Your feelings are valid.

Me: No, I know, but…

T3: Your feelings are valid and your happiness is just as important as anyone else’s happiness.

Me: Okay.

T3: Let’s do a quick exercise. Make a list of the 5 people who are the most important to you.

Me: (makes list)

T3: Now, tell me where you fall on the list.

Me: I’m not on the list.

T3: (Looks at me.)

Me: I know.

I love her. She will not fix me, but she might put some tools in my toolbox and we all need tools.

Who is gonna make it? We’ll find out in the long run.

I went outside yesterday morning and took deep breaths on the back porch.

A bird flew over the house and I swear it was a bald eagle. I mean, it probably wasn’t, but IT WAS.

My first thought? “America.” Of course, that made me laugh, but still: I’m on high alert for signs, even though I don’t really believe in signs.

If you haven’t voted, please vote.

Bald Eagle

(It was definitely a bald eagle.)

The Treachery of Images and Dress Codes

When Meredith was 12, she decided to be Hazel from The Fault in Our Stars for Halloween.

Hazel was on oxygen, so putting the costume together was fairly easy: Magritte shirt and nasal cannula.

Because the middle school had a fairly strict dress code that prohibited the glorification of tobacco or drug use, I sent a photo of the shirt to the principal and said something like, “I just wanted you to know that Meredith will be wearing this Rene Magritte shirt to school for the Halloween celebration. She has decided to dress up as Hazel from The Fault in Our Stars, which is her favorite book. Hazel wears the shirt in the movie.” The principal came back with something like, “Nope. With a picture of a pipe, the shirt glorifies tobacco use, which is prohibited in our dress code.”

I told Meredith that the principal won’t let her wear the shirt because it has a pipe on it.

Meredith: But this is NOT a pipe.
Me: You’re totally right! I think you should wear it.

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And she did, because: It was Halloween, it glorifies Rene Magritte more than it glorifies tobacco use, and Fuck It.

(I MIGHT try NaBloPoMo this year. There’s an election going on next week, and I have a funny feeling I’ll be experiencing emotions.)

Not much. You?

I went to some places and I did some things and I found a therapist and I’ve been meditating with the help of a doctor in Oregon and I’m knitting lace out of silk and I’m eating a lot of this.

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I’m not sure what else you might want to know.

Do you want to know that I’ve been writing about and making drawings of adventures I had way back before you and I knew each other?

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(You definitely do not want to know the story about the dancer and the naked girl. You might think you do, but: Trust Me.)

My results are negative and I’m trying to be positive.

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Oh, hi. It’s been 58 days since I last stopped by. So much has happened. Nothing has happened.

I made some overnight oats with strawberries and honey (and oats, obviously). Also, milk.

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I decided to start this thing.

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It will eventually (maybe) look like this thing.

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I was tested for the virus, and it took ten days to get my results. Before I knew I was negative, I decided to hit my body with a tremendous (whether it’s ultraviolet or just very powerful) light.

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I fell in love with these shoes. I put them on for this photo, and then I put them back in the box. I’ll gift them to myself when I feel like I deserve a gift. (I know that sounds sad. It’s not, I promise.)

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Oh! I spun two ounces of roving, and am slowly working my way through the final two.

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I’ve been working, I’ve been at ridiculously high levels of anxiety, I’ve been distracted and fidgety and angry and sad but also completely aware that I’m lucky. I’ve been thinking about the kids going back to school and the people who continue to protest and the work that needs to be done in this country and how we have only 96 days until the election. I’m thinking about how I know 11 people who have tested positive for the virus, and 3 of them died (not close friends or family, but friends and family), and how anyone who thinks this virus isn’t a big deal is surely not doing their research. This isn’t an Us vs. Them thing. Not everything is an Us vs. Them thing, despite what we’re being told.

I think the most important thing right now (and probably always) is that we all stop being assholes. I’m trying to not be an asshole. I’m trying to help where I can. I’m trying to be positive. I wear a mask because I care about you. (Yes. Even YOU!)

For the first time in over a year, I pulled out the sewing machine to make masks yesterday, and this one is my favorite because I have a thing for chairs.

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I’ll try to not let another 58 go by without visiting.
I hope everyone is okay out there.

Step up.

Our country is in a super shitty place right now, and I’ve been spending a lot of my days trying to figure out what I can do to help.

As far as the virus goes, I’m wearing a mask. I’m not leaving the house often. I’m knitting ear protectors for a pediatrician’s office. I’m getting groceries for my parents so they don’t have to go into places where most people are no longer wearing masks. (By the way, the people who are no longer wearing masks are selfish and awful. I was going to use the word Assholes after Awful, but I’m not a name caller.)

George Floyd was the victim of a completely senseless murder, and maybe you know a police officer who is a good guy. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t. And I don’t want to hear that you think Trump is a good guy. I don’t want to hear that you’re not racist. I especially don’t want to hear that you don’t see color and that all lives matter.

I’m not sure what to say or how to say it. I’m angry. I’m going to keep reading and doing research. I’m going to listen. I’m not going to expect someone else to teach me how to be. I’m going to not make it about me. I don’t know best. You don’t know best. Put on your stupid mask and try to understand what is happening. Let’s be willing to make mistakes and learn from those mistakes.

Black Lives Matter.

George Floyd lost his job during the stay-at-home order. He has a six-year-old daughter.

Breonna Taylor was working two jobs as an EMT. She had plans to go to nursing school and start a family.

Ahmaud Arbery wanted to be an electrician and own his own company.

Sean Reed was an active-duty airman first class in the 3P0 security forces career field.

Get to know them beyond what your news source may be telling you.

If I rub a balloon against my head, it won’t stick to the wall. That’s the only downside, really.

If the virus wasn’t a thing, I would be getting a tattoo right now to celebrate my 50th birthday. It was a four hour appointment scheduled from 11-3 and was going to enhance and build on the Georgia O’Keeffe hands on my ankle and hhhhhhhhhhhh. (Please know that I know I have merely been inconvenienced. I am alive and healthy and we have food and I smell like chamomile oil.)

Last week I told you that I wanted to shave my head. On Saturday I went ahead and did it because: 1. Sometimes we don’t get to do the things we really want to do just because of Reasons. There was no reason to not shave my head. 2. John Waters once advised a graduating class to “Go out in the world and fuck it up beautifully.” Shaving my head really has nothing to do with that. I just needed a #2 for my #1.

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One thing I’ve learned is that when your head is shaved, most facial expressions make you look a little deranged. SO, maybe the whole “Britney Spears is BALD and CRAZY!” thing was only half true.

I’m not sure I’ll keep it like this forever, but anything goes when you’re almost 50 and going through a med change during a pandemic that is starting to smell like death hornets.

Best of all, when I don’t want to look like a baldy, I can just throw on an amazing hat!

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