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Yikes. This is getting old.

 Today, I was found.

I have been working hard on certain people not finding me. I even set up my facebook profile, from the beginning, to make me impossible to find unless you knew who you were looking for in the first place.

And yet, my cousin has found me.

I set up my dodge using one of my favorite handles, and intentionally did not let a lot of people know it was me. The people who found me were obviously looking for me specifically, and that was fine with me.

Until, somehow, my cousin found me.

Well...not 'somehow.' She used an aunt's phone. Or my aunt left it unattended.

I'm dodging her for a reason. Quite a while back, under the impression that it would be a good idea, I hired her to help me straighten up my apartment. She brought with her a pair of strange men (not both at once), one of whom got angry at her for some unknown reason and decided to march into my apartment, and threaten my life.

I blocked her out of a sense of self-preservation.

On the upside, she doesn't seem to realize that she's been blocked. I was very relieved to discover that there was no pending friend request.

I should be fine unless she catches on...


yes I should be sleeping.

I pounded 650 words in a half hour, until my meds kicked in.

The story sings, and is easily restarted on the pull of a card. But I have errands to run in the morning, and sleep has to happen. This time, it might. I'll probably make myself some silly motivational poster for the project.

...I can barely keep my eyes open, but I'm excited. I'm officially very glad my most recent reading for myself basically translated into Shia LaBoeuf's "JUST DO IT" speech. Now, to calibrate my white noise app and sleep...
 The Japanese voice effects are there

Vivi is in it

Zidane is in it

Vivi is in it

It's got an addictive, satisfying battle system 

Vivi is in it

Did I mention Vivi is in it

"Be you, but less"

Tiffany Haddish is in recent news . She is getting flak just for being herself, for things that, if a white person were to do, would be considered “quirky” or “offbeat.” To put it plainly, if someone like Jennifer Lawrence did it people would be all over it. “Oh my God, she's just like us!” they would say.

But in this case, there are whispers of her being “too black.”

Reading this makes me wonder if people ever think that about me.

Haddish is a big personality, in a good way. She refuses to sell out, to "tone it down." It's a level of confidence that I wish I had. It reminds me of certain exes, who would in one situation celebrate my personality and in the next, tell me to “tone it down.”

And I never really understood what they meant by “tone it down.” I wasn't doing anything extra, and I wasn't putting on an act (that I knew of). On some days even my compulsive fidget was under control (…mostly. Burying that makes my muscles itch). But if I asked, the answer would invariably boil down to “You, but less of it.”

This is the attitude that people want from Haddish and other carefree Black folx. “You, but less.”

Haddish refused to bow to this. I'm still working on that kind of strength. In a world that wants me to be less, I just want to be.


I still have flashbacks to the day I woke up, in my stepmother’s house, to the accusations of theft from the pantry. I was wasting away at the time, a dangerous ninety something pounds. My stepsiblings were getting plumper and plumper. I was whipped with a belt in the laundry room while forced to hold the hanging bar, dissociation keeping me from giving that woman the satisfaction of a vivid pain reaction.

Every time I am around her, I remember this day.

I haven’t trusted her completely since that day.

Even on the days when we partake, a faint part of my mind remembers it. It’s engraved in my mind. When I’m around her, my guard just stays up.

It’s in the front of my mind because the anniversary of the beating is coming—

My birthday.

That’s right. I was lashed like a thief on my birthday.

The thoughts are…intrusive. I’m trying to get rid of them. It’s not working.

I can feel the impact points on my back, still.

I'm alive! But...

Things have ineed gotten dicey.

My rent, for one, is going up. Like...way up. It's never been this high $270. And food money is going to be tough. I lost my stamps. I'm going to fight that of course, because I need to eat. And my health...hoo boy, do I have stories to tell.

My family--oh boy, when I have the spoons, there are stories to tell about that, too.

The apartment--boy I tell you, the new stories about that!

I'm going to have to get new hustles.

But the good news is, I ain't dead.


The holidays...

Shortly after the season began I received news that my uncle had died. The funeral was yesterday. Couple this with nightmares about my increasing disability and it's been a rough week.



 It's been a week since my last dose of the medication that helps with my situational claustrophobia ran out. It was serving double duty as a fighter against my cluster headaches. Since then, I have had three cluster headaches and one closed space panic.

Homebrewing and all the options that it gives me have become a hyperfocus, yanking me out of my head and providing a delicious treat on top.

The Cardinals failed to make the playoffs, making slow season at work start sooner than expected.

And the lack of drive to write continues.

I'll have to work my way out of that hole.

Security at the building is getting a revamp, with new locks for everybody.

And I'm head deep in three classic anime watch parties — Gundam Wing, Saint Seiya, and Jojo's Bizarre Adventure.

It's interesting around here. 



It's the second day of what I think is a trough of a bipolar episode.

I've got a severe shortage of fucks to give, energy and enthusiasm for anything. I thought it was caffeine withdrawal at first, but I'm properly dosed today and nothing doing.

I'm having a hell of a time getting any writing done. My motivation has been gone since my last medication adjustment. Worse in the last few days. Previously, I could muscle through. Now? Nah, fam.

Running into people is actually hell. I tune out and hide under a virtual rock. I sleep too much or not enough. Both result in not enough rest.

It's a good thing I can sleep through so much caffeine.

A ghost from my past...

I had a disturbing dream.

The ex that caused my PTSD was in it. I was in a tea convention on photographer assignment. I was taking photographs of the technology, the new tea blends, and the company kiosks. He was behind me, complaining about something.

I saw a teamaker, specifically the model I had at home, for rock bottom price. I bought it for myself. Instantly, he was at my side.

"Why did you buy that? Why did you buy something for yourself? Why didn't you buy something for me? Why would you do that?" This went on for the remainder of the dream, him berating me for doing something for myself, even when I resumed my assignment.

I woke up shaking, guilted over a purchase I made over a year ago by a man I've not seen in over five years. Disgusted with myself. What the fuck is he doing in my head?


April 2018



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