Of Two Minds

There is really just the one time of year I write on this blog. I don't know why. It's comforting. It feels like an excuse to tell people a part of me is missing. It's an outlet for pain that doesn't require processing the emotions of others. Its selfish. It's harmless. This year I haven't known what to do. I started working on a cover/adaptation. I finally abandoned it. The adaptation ended up being a song for me 8 years ago but I don't think I ever clarified for myself why. It was happening too soon. It was making me resentful. It is generally difficult to feel like I can move on without abandoning her. But I have made some big life decisions recently that have not been made complicated by her presence or lack thereof. Which is to say that her absencee is becoming normal. I am not holding on in a way that is painful. I've always cried a lot. Even as a kid, even now. I no longer see it as a problem to be dealt with as a much as a thing that happen...

I have clung very tightly to the death of my mother. When she died in 2004, I was still completely bound to her. I had tried, as teenagers do, to find my own identity by pulling away and doing things she didn't want me to. But I never could get very far from her and, when I did, I tried to win her approval anyway. It wasn't until 2012 that I realized I was still waiting for her to come back. Even now, I have not completely comprehended that she won't. I have been told, however, that by letting go of the loss, sometimes we are able to get closer to the memory of our loved ones. I am still not sure I can believe that, either, but the alternative inserts grief and pain into everything I do. Anything that might seem like moving on feels like a betrayal: falling in love, pursuing a graduate degree, trying to be healthy. If I move on and find joy, I've reasoned, my mom might think I don't need her anymore. How can she come back if I don't leave room for her to fil...

"I'm sorry," they called out to their family for not calling more. "I'm sorry," they called out to their mother, still dead. "I'm sorry," they called out to students they failed, whether in grade or education. "I'm sorry," they called out to their lovers, past and present. "I'm sorry," they called out to the friends they'd snapped at, the strangers they'd bumped in the street, the people asking for change to whom they'd not given, missed connections they'd failed to write. And then, from the wind, "you can say sorry all you want but you can't make them come back." -- put differently: Every Shitty Thing - Murder City Devils

In some of my friend groups, asking for a new acquaintance's PGPs is commonplace on first encounter -- checking in about PGPs periodically, too. In most other friend groups, "preferred gender pronouns (PGPs)" are a completely strange concept. Given the first group of friends, I am frequently stunned when I meet someone who has never heard of PGPs. Put on the spot, as I often am, I've been giving a lot of impromptu explanations.   I've been refining my brief description: "Acknowledging preferred gender pronouns is important because gender identity is not a visible quality and we should work to speak authentically with and about one another. When someone refers to me as "she" they are not referring to me but of their own preconceived notion of who I am."   I've been automating my grammar response: "We already use 'they' to refer to one person of indeterminate gender. For example, A: 'my friend will meet us at the...

. putting dirty clothes in laundry bin . drinking water . changing an expired password . taking out the trash . flossing your teeth . tying/untying your shoes . stopping to chat . walking across the kitchen to close a cabinet door . texting back . setting alarm clock . washing coffee mug

My mom has been dead for 9 years. This time of year is always devastatingly hard for me. As early as the beginning of September, when my mom was admitted to the hospital for the last time, until mid-October when she passed away, it is hard to keep my chin up, one could say. The Summer after I graduated from college, I began working with a woman who had lost her husband to cancer a few years earlier. She mentioned that the month around his death was extremely difficult for her and her daughters so they planned as many nurturing activities together as possible. The first few years after my mom died, I was depressed all the time, so it was hard to notice the change. Plus I assumed that it had something to do with how hard it was for me to go back to college every September. But when I met this woman, I was out of school and still Fall came around and I fell apart. It usually starts without me noticing whats going on.  Other people illustrate depression better than I can so I'll ...

He does have incredibly good taste in music. Other than the whole Cave Singers/Fleet Foxes thing and some debate about if Seattle will ever have another Nirvana, we agreed on pretty much everything. Sometimes he would recommend something and I would just think "how is it that you've come to know me so well? or is it just that we're the same, already." --saved at date of writing, published oct 2017