Once I read about a kind of bird -it may have been a kind of eagle- that courts their mate by dancing together through the air. There are two types of ‘dancers’ amongst these birds. The soarers, who fly upwards, and the divers, who rocket themselves towards the earth.

Two soarers make an excellent pair, as do a soarer and a diver…The soarer will coax the diver back upwards, away from the ground. But two divers will plummet from the sky, locked together until they hit the ground.

I’ve always been a diver. And I’ve had another diver on my mind today, though I can’t say why I should be thinking of him after so long. It could have never ended well, and we both knew it…but I was fearless, careless, and happy to dive for him. He was maybe only a diver in disguise, unwilling to lock talons with me for more than the briefest moment.

I’ve married a soarer, and I’m better for having done so. He pulls me back when I dive too far, and I love him. I soar for him, but sometimes I miss the…romance? of fellow divers. We feel deeply and heavily and hurt in a way I don’t think a soarer can ever know. I don’t doubt that my soarer loves me. But sometimes I doubt that he can ever express it in a way that will soothe my troubled heart.

After so long, why is that diver suddenly on my mind? I wish he’d let me be.

Grief for a Stranger.

Since my Facebook post about the revelation that I may be Bipolar II the other day (which was hard to do, but I’m determined to be open about my mental health experience, because I know many people are going through the same thing, and feel alone), lots of friends have shared words with me. This was the most helpful thing anyone has said to me in years, probably:

Me: “I’m just kind of…grieving? Not quite that dramatic, maybe.”
Friend: “I understand. But you aren’t dead yet. Grieve for all the time that has been wasted.”

When I think about the time I’ve wasted on unfinished projects and abandoned pursuits, I’m sad. Things I started with such hope and vigor and energy and vision. I have never started anything without thinking I would make myself the best at whatever it was. There’s a graveyard of memories of these things…as small as sewing projects, as grand as books. And I’m afraid I’ve been trying to define myself with these things, because I’ve never been able to know who I am. When one thing doesn’t work out, I have to find something else to pour my heart into, because if I don’t…there isn’t anything there. Everyone else seems to think they know me. But what if I’m not…this? This person. When I find the right meds, who will I be? That’s terrifying me. Maybe you won’t like that person. Maybe I won’t like that person. What do you do when you are a stranger to yourself?

Moments with Tori.

Virginia Woolf has this concept she calls “Moments of Being.” It’s hard to describe, but you’ll know if you’ve had one; they’re moments that thought doesn’t really exist, in which sensory experience completely takes over. When you remember it, it’s like reliving that moment. The sights, the sounds, the smells, everything. Tori’s show on Friday night was full of those moments. I’m about 10 years younger than most of my friends, so I didn’t catch on to Tori until I was 18, but jesus christ, what a game changer. Her first album was a life-changer, and her newest album is a game-changer. And her show on Friday night…I don’t think I’ll ever have words for it. If you haven’t seen her live, you have to. It is imperative.


I woke up today with a splitting sinus headache. The sort that feels like someone is driving a pencil right into your skull. Happy Memorial Day, indeed. 

Isn’t that a weird thing to say? 


I’m currently using my Facebook as a platform to talk about the terrible murders in Isla Vista, and the consequences of allowing misogyny to run rampant across our society, as we have been, so I turn to this old friend to talk about other things. It seemed inappropriate to interrupt with my own comparatively inconsequential whining. After all, I did wake up today. Some didn’t.

I’m not here, much, anymore. Who has times for blogs? Or the energy and will to write about…feelings? It’s probably not so much of an interesting read, since I only post about how I’m feeling when I’m not feeling very good, but I’ll do it, anyway. 

I recently got a job tutoring students for the ACT. Officially, I tutor Reading and English, but there’s a  good chance I’ll start tutoring Science, as well. This is a good thing; I hate to be cooped up in the house all the time. It pays well enough, if you can get enough hours and students don’t cancel. I was told they hardly ever do, but in my first week I lost 4 hours worth of pay because of cancellations, so. I guess we’ll see about that. I’m struggling with the ethical implications of the job. In a lot of cases, it seems like the goal is not for the kids to understand the material; only improve their speed and accuracy, and thus, their score. As someone who wants to teach as a career, it bothers me, a lot. And standardized testing is the bane of American public education. Helping a company make money off it is disagreeable. But everyone there, I can tell, cares about these kids. And higher ACT scores means better colleges, and more scholarship money. Which in the end, helps them improve their educations, so I’m torn. But then, I also have several credit cards and student loans to pay off, so in the end I don’t suppose what I think about it really matters. I need to have a job until I start teaching, and this will look good on my resume, and it gives me some valuable experience teaching on an individual basis…which I need. 

So, that’s that. I’m still playing with anxiety/depression medications. I met with a psychiatrist last week and we discussed some ways to make them work a little better, but she thinks I need to see a therapist and work out some repressed anger/frustration issues more than I really need to be medicated. We talked about my fear that I’m Borderline. She said that it’s impossible to diagnose a personality disorder in one session, but that I exhibit several borderline traits, though she thinks I’m not a full-on Borderline. She also said I exhibit a lot of Cluster C traits, which I thought at the time I understood but as it turns out, I’m not actually sure what it means after looking at Cluster C disorders. So I’ll have to ask about that next time I see her. 

My meds are starting to not work as well, for the fourth time, so that’s something else that needs adjusting. Always adjusting. It gets pretty old. It’s almost easier to just not take medications at all…Except for that whole thing where I get afraid to leave the house, and then get depressed because I can’t leave the house. I’m not a homebody. I need to be doing things, “adventuring”, to be happy. And there are no adventures to be had in the house. 

So, I guess that’s all I really had to say. We’ll see how long I go between blog posts this time. 


A couple weeks ago, I took in an emergency foster dog, Cleveland, a mastiff/boxer mix that was the sweetest dog you could imagine. Just look at this face:

Unfortunately, the group we were fostering Cleveland through, and had fostered other dogs through in the past, forgot to mention that they will refuse to provide emergency care for a dog if the dog needs it. Cleveland got very sick, and died after two days with us.

That’s the abbreviated version; it was really bad, and hugely irresponsible on the part of the rescue. But before I really realized the depth of their irresponsibility, I started a fundraising effort to create an emergency care fund for them, and raised over $400. Once I realized how negligent they had been in refusing care for Cleveland, and how preventable his death could have been, I asked donors if they wanted a refund, or to use the money to benefit other animals in Central AR that needed it. Almost everyone told me to keep the money and use it another way, so I did. First, I paid the ER bill for a sweet pit bull from Gentle Souls Pit Bull Rescue, based in Conway, AR. Then, I used the remaining funds to make a purchase of supplies for the Little Rock Animal Village. 

200 lbs of dog food, 18 13.2 oz. cans of wet cat food, 48 lbs of dry cat food, 2 cans of powdered kitten replacement milk, 6 kitten bottles, 10 lbs of dog treats, and 2 cat nail clippers.

I’m really grateful to all my friends who donated and allowed this to be possible. It will go to helping a lot of animals, and I think that’s the best tribute to Cleveland possible.


My mood has improved greatly since that last post, though things got pretty dark there for a bit. I’m venturing back into the wonderous world of mental health medications…more for anxiety than depression, which is “in remission” at the moment, to quote the APN that I saw.

I was also treated to an inside view of how utterly difficult the system is to navigate if you don’t have insurance. I have insurance, but it doesn’t cover mental health, so I might as well not have it when it comes to getting mental health care. Most psychiatrists in LR aren’t accepting new patients. The one I finally got in with couldn’t see me for two months. The community clinic was rude, and made it almost impossible to get an appointment, having me call back day after day only to inform me, once I finally reached the person I needed to, that I had to call between 9 and 9:30 am. That was the only time they made new intake appointments. Nonsensical.

I finally gave up and took advantage of the fact my husband is a therapist, and made an appointment at his clinic…Which was intensely embarrassing, because everyone knows me there. But I got the meds I needed, and someone finally formally diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Major Depression, which everyone else has skirted around my entire life. I think there’s one more diagnosis in the future, but having only seen this person twice, I didn’t feel comfortable bringing it up. 

Anyway, I guess I’ll be posting here for a while, or a bit. Or today. Not sure why the flickr links have all broken, hopefully they’ll come back up (I went through and re-did the permissions on the photos, so maybe that will help). 

I’ve also got a second blog, assortedfictions.blogspot.com, for written works. There are only a couple short stories on there right now (‘Crumbs’ is currently undergoing major revisions in preparation for submission for publication). Maybe check that out and leave some feedback. I <3 feedback. 

Long Black Days.

I’m back, I suppose. I’ve said this before, but I’ve been hopping between several blogs and finally decided I might as well just run with the one I’ve used most, longest, and has the largest audience. Fortunately, I don’t know most of you, so I can be relatively free with my words.

I don’t have purple hair anymore, which affords me a certain level of invisibility again. I’ve missed invisibility; I vastly underestimated the power of color to ‘invite’ people to talk to you.

The haunt of depression has returned, looming overhead like a guillotine blade on a frayed rope. Sometimes, I feel so out of control it’s terrifying. Then, the next day, I’ll feel fine. It’s, to be cliche, a rollercoaster, and I do not like rollercoasters, literally or metaphorically.

I haven’t written in a long time. I don’t use my camera anymore, either. There isn’t time. Or inspiration. I’ve been thinking about writing a sonnet, though. I just haven’t put a pen to paper on it.

As miserable as I’ve been, nothing can convince me that my child is anything other than the coolest.

I’ve been afraid to post anything for a long time because ‘judgment’ is so petrifying. So…this will be where I post things. If I have any to post. We’ll see.


I’m fairly consistently unable to do any extracurricular that I’d like to do because during the day, there is no one to care for Atticus, and I work evenings 5 days a week. School is about to start again for the semester, which is going to add a mountain of work and reading to the mix, and I have no idea how I’m expected to do any of it when I’m caring for our child, or at work. 

Nobody seems to give a shit that I can’t do anything, ever, and it’s really starting to grate on me. 

A Moment in Which I Display Stunning Lack of Timing

Sometimes, when I remember things, I can hear the tick of a clock counting down to a realization. Like, recently I ordered a textbook and it arrived full of porn. As I realized I had unknowingly ordered it from someone I know, there was a 3…2…1…Oh.

Yesterday was that kind of moment.

I was having a meltdown about a few things and essentially threw a fit about it and beat  Craig up over it (verbally) and after I calmed down, I was on Facebook. And saw a picture. Of his cousin. Who died four years ago on September 17th.





By the time I looked up, he was crying and it was too late. I threw a fit about something  he couldn’t do much at all about, on the day his cousin (who was essentially his brother growing up) died four years ago. It also happened to be the same day, also four years ago, that his ex-wife asked him for a divorce. It is a bad day for him, and I made it worse.

You dun fuck’t up. And I don’t even know what I can do to fix it. I don’t think he’s mad at me. And he said my anger was legitimate. But I should have remembered what day it was, and brought it up later. Like an adult. Not an angry teenager throwing a tantrum. Sigh.



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