When I look forward, it threatens other people because they think my story is more important than theirs…. not because it is, but because it has been written down. It is not seen as, “oh, this is how Leslie sees herself fitting in.” It’s seen as “dictatorship is frowned upon in this establishment.” It has been said that dreaming is free….. let me assure you that this is true as long as you don’t tell anyone what you’re thinking.

Being an INFJ is a rough gig, because the only way I can explain my personality is through a fictional character. His name is Griffin, and he is a multi-dimensional being that perceives every conceivable outcome.

What you are reading in my blog when I write are the eventualities I like. It is not a dictatorship. For instance, if Tiina doesn’t like a line, it’s out or corrected/modified, whatever.

The difference is that she does not ask for editorial control, she’s a sounding board. It has been collaborative, whereas with Aada I kind of got the vibe that there was this competition over who worked for whom. Every line was a tug-of-war, and there was no “that’s not what I meant,” because Aada thought that her interpretation was more important than my intent. There’s no way to stop the bleeding in that kind of relationship because apologies don’t work when people think you’re lying. It’s looking through an author’s work for confirmation bias because you have decided that the way you would have written the same story is the truth, and it is easier to berate me for writing my version than it is to put work into capturing your own.

That is what love looked like between me and Aada, where we could connect like a house on fire. When she was not threatened by my writing, she shaped it… because I think that part of her is secretly proud of herself in these pages, and mystified as to why there are so many. She is my companion in the way that Jamie McCrimmon is the audience’s eye in Doctor Who…. the companion that will resonate with her because he’s the namesake for James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser of Outlander.

I also know that she would probably not have known that if I hadn’t told her, because the best way to get someone to ignore something is to tell them how cool it is. Maybe it’s just me, but I make an effort to like what my friends like, at least on a peripheral level, so even if I cannot geek out I know enough to enjoy the conversation. Thus the dedication to re-looking at Tolkien. If Tiina loves him, there’s probably something wrong with me. 😉

I think, though, that when I do it I am seen as obsessive and not trying to connect. People are all different and you have to learn to speak their language if you’re going to love them properly. The best example of this comes from absolutely knowing that Aada loves autistic people and causes, so I got her a bracelet with a puzzle piece on it. What I know 12 years later is that she carries a piece of me every time she wears it. At that time, I supported autistic people. I didn’t even know that Autism and ADHD were related.

So, I didn’t just give her a gift that was thoughtful. She wears a piece of me, and it makes me happy at all I did not know.

So, books and authors are not the only way that Aada and I connected. But the way we came apart is that Aada looked at all my writing and thought, “that feels threatening.” The thought process is that it was fine when she was reading about other people. I was brilliant at character analysis until I took her on, etc.

She loved the mirror I held up until she saw herself in it.

“But” is the most important word in the history of our conversations:

I am not saying I am this person you have portrayed, but…

Everything that followed was a list of all the ways I was indeed right just from reading her writing and never having given her a hug. The problem was not calling me out when I was wrong. It was easier to call me a dictator and run away. Aada’s self-esteem went up and down as I talked, and I was just as equally emotionally dysregulated. It was Internet crack. There was nothing normal like running up to Wawa and grabbing her a coffee shake just because I love her and want her to be happy.

I did, however, get brownie points for offering to come to her house and bust ass after a storm. And that was a real, legitimate offer. She told me her husband had it handled, that’s why she picked him, etc. It was very funny and I felt so loved. She recognized that I was being genuine and met me at altitude.

The biggest mistake I’ve ever made with her was not actually my fault. It’s that I invited her to something that would have been extremely fun in a different context, but I was working from the one I was given. I wish I had invited her to a nondescript place that didn’t make her feel emotional one way or the other, because I think if I’d said, “let’s go walk by the river” instead things would have been different.

It was also the timing, which was just bad in general. I do not intend to take mothers away from their children on Mother’s Day. I did not know that Sunday was Mother’s Day because I don’t have to know that information anymore. I am certain that her kids never knew that I tried to snatch her away that year, but my apologies are freely given, anyway. 😉

I am still struggling with the fact that responding to the reader/writer connection is problematic. That it is viewed as manipulation, when I am a diarist. I am a human that notices patterns across the world, and I comment on them constantly. That’s because what reads local reads global. Every internet writer I’ve ever known has been able to pick out the stats that spook them. It’s what creates the committee providing relentless commentary when you sit down at the keyboard. When you are writing, your friends literally never shut up, but it’s not the 3D version of them. It’s the lines that stick out. The ones that you’re still not over because they require a second look and probably some ice cream to cope.

Writing is a way for me to believe that I am not screaming into the void. That someone, somewhere in the world will think, “that sounds sort of like me.”

One of the biggest shifts for me is being a global writer, not a local one. My stats reflect college towns all over the world, and my readership overall is shifting overseas. This makes me extremely happy, because what I suspected is true is being proven. I am oddly specific about my own life, drawing people in and they are making their own connections as to how my life reflects theirs. I cannot know what is happening in a college town in Nigeria or Cameroon, but I do know that they must see something.

Because what I do know is that I do not want to manipulate people. That was Aada’s therapist’s thing with me, that she doesn’t see she’s being manipulated (as reported by Aada. I am not sure I want to know her therapist anymore.). The reason why is simple. I offered to sit down with both of them and Aada didn’t want that. She wants to continue to believe the story she made up.

Because Aada pulls off “authority figure” a little too well, my general response is a Monty Python “is there someone else up there I could talk to?” Imagining me and Aada in therapy together is both hilarious and tragic. We both have a lot to laugh and cry about, and someone should be there to facilitate the first time. She did not want that, either. I even told her to pick someone like her husband and no dice.

Everything about it seemed illicit, and that was the draw.

Until now.

I just want to live my life unarmed.

So if I am dreaming into the future and you see something you don’t like? I’m not a dictator. It depends on how much you want to cling to the story you’re writing about me.

I have a feeling that I’m being punished for noticing Aada’s presence because she just wants to be anonymous. But she’s not anonymous because she’s one of the few stats I recognize unless she’s traveling. And when she doesn’t appear, I assume that she’s traveling so I don’t take it personally. Because I do. I don’t track every reader, but I notice her. She noticed me first.

I am responding to the reader/writer connection because I know that her feelings are complicated. She feels like she cannot express herself to the level that I can, so why even try? I am not speculating. This is something I’ve been told several times a year for over a decade. It makes me feel like absolute crap, because I just communicate. It’s not a competition. I don’t even care if she misspells things, and she doesn’t make a habit of it. Typos drive her as nuts as they drive me, which is honestly part of my passion for her. 😉 Anyone that can spell and use grammar is aces in my book, and I am tired. At first, it is a compliment. After 12 years, it is “I really do not understand your feelings at all and you are using my writing as stonewalling, saying you feel guilty because it is so intimidating.” I just had so many questions, like “how can I make my writing less intimidating for you?” “What can I do to help?”

I was never flummoxed with communication. If you are not a writer, call me on the phone. I won’t pick up, but you can try it.

Kidding, I hate the phone; I will make an exception for the people closest to me because nine times out of ten they are not writers and speaking is quicker. I am the one that types 90 wpm, not them. The answer to feeling overshadowed by me as a writer is to talk to me on the phone or in person, and that is true of most writers. Their work and their personalities are similar, but not the same.

A party with Marshall Mathers is not the same as a concert with Slim Shady.

Aada only wanted to know The AntiLeslie, the writer. She wanted to be a fan, and to have my writing be the highlight of her day. But what I realized is that she is not listening to me. She is looking for her mirror. It is not about my story at all, but about how my story makes her feel and her interpretation of it. That’s what makes me so able to live and let live. Aada looks at my writing and sees pain, because she thinks that her lie is more important than my “I love you.”

Because for her, that is undeniably true.

She is feeling a shame that I am not putting there for her, and I am tired of absorbing it. It makes me feel terrible. The story is not pleasant, but moving on with my life has been. So many things have changed this year for the better, which is good. Frankly, they couldn’t have gotten much worse. I am still in the process of deciding where I want to live, but still in this area because of my new job (which I am not starting for a few weeks because I’m going on vacation with my dad to Annapolis before school).

I didn’t really plan anything. I just want to go to the beach every day, and buy athletic gear at the military surplus stores around town. The military just does sweats right. All my favorite accessories have come from the gift shops at CIA, DIA, and the Pentagon. Now, I couldn’t have gotten into the gift shop at CIA, but my ex-boyfriend could and that is why everyone knows I pitch for Langley (do they even have a team? Spies are so mysterious. 😉 ).

I bring this up because tourists need to know that the gear you see on the street in Washington that says “FBI” and “CIA” and all that is just not the same as getting the gear they wear themselves. The stitching is all wrong and it feels cheap. So going out to Annapolis is my way of saving a little money, because they’ll have the old BDU pants and training jackets no one wears anymore. I have checked with the Pentagon; they do not care if it’s “in” this season.

Mostly what I’m looking for are winter clothes, because it is that season. I already have a wool base layer, but the military specializes in pants that are lighter than jeans, still warm, and a lot tougher. So, let’s do that. Plus, anything that says “Navy” on it counts as formalwear in Annapolis restaurants.

I have always had an Annapolis look to me because I’ve drifted toward that style since I was a child. My kindergarten and first grade school years were spent in Galveston, so penny loafers and shorts were the norm. I deal in crispy, and it has been a joke between me and Aada since we met. The only thing she does not approve of is my Keens, to which I told her to fuck off and she laughed.

Aada is a flip-flop girl because she will actually take the time to go get a pedicure and I won’t. 😉

Being nonbinary, I tend to skip over all the grooming rituals of women. I go through phases of shaving my legs and not, because some days it’s a hassle and some days, it is the moment of Zen that I need to get through the day. Plus, even though I am shaving my legs, I prefer scents that are traditionally male. So, even though bare legs make me look more feminine than I already do, the grooming ritual itself is masculine.

And in fact, I use a men’s shaving brush on my face to apply soap the way women use brushes to apply makeup. It works very well, because I am exfoliating and moisturizing at the same time. My favorite face soap is Yardley oatmeal & almond, and you can get it at Dollar Tree and order it on Amazon. The bars cost a little more on Amazon, but they’re bigger. You won’t regret it because it cleans very well and doesn’t irritate anything.

Speaking of which, the Thread on Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Soap is very entertaining….. it is a cacophony of, “oh. I have made a horrible mistake.” That’s why I prefer lavender. 😉

In getting back to Aada, I think that she thinks that forgiveness means remission. That the consequences don’t matter and we don’t have to grow past them; we can just reset. That it’s fine not to talk about the past…. just go a few years and drop a “hey.” What the last 12 years have gotten us is a repeat of the same pattern because we never resolved the original sin.

And we both sinned big. We lost the plot and dove into each other too fast, and that is on BOTH of us, Aada. Fools rush in. I hurt her way more than I ever meant to because intention does not equal impact. She will not accept the fact that she did the same thing to me and it matters. I am so honest about the fact that it takes two to tango, and I feel responsible….. and not a little bit. I mean that my blog has been raking me over the coals for 12 years straight, and it has been misinterpreted as “I hate someone else.”

I don’t hate Aada. I wish things were different.

I wish that I had never said anything about my feelings for her, because that was the wedge that made it weird for her, but she couldn’t escape because she’d told her own secrets that upset me. At first, I thought it was all my problem, but then we began to silently argue over who needed who more. Because it didn’t come across explicitly in big letters. It was not:

I need you. Full stop.

I had to guess, and I am not very good at it. That is why I clicked with Tiina like white on rice. There were no unspoken expectations. Show up as yourself. Aada expected masking, but she didn’t know she was expecting masking and neither did I. Because Tiina was not the kind of person who minced words with me, and for that I was grateful because I did not have to struggle with social signals until I was blindsided and all of the sudden everything looked different.

I do not know what is true and what is not, and I am deciding not to worry about it; the problem is unfixable at least for now so it’s just on the back burner while Tiina enjoys a new phase of her life. She’s not going anywhere. I get a flag from her every day. Watching and saying nothing matters, just like it does with Aada. I do not need to process with my friends in order to feel heard, and this past year has said to me, “take a load off. Change your setting. Get out of town.”

Because they both have wreaked havoc on my nervous system without ever meaning to hurt me….. because again, intention does not equal impact. No one can prevent hurting another so that they ALWAYS remain untriggered. It would just be a different scenario if Tiina could hinge, and it’s not fair for me to ask anyone to play “monkey in the middle.” That is for third graders, and frankly beneath me.

I don’t negotiate with children, even when they’re adults acting like children. “Take it down was fine.” “You need help, lol?”

Not so much, no.

Because here’s the thing. I do not tolerate ableist bullshit, even when it’s internalized. Pegging me as crazy just because you don’t like my opinion is punching down, and people know it…… but they do not give a flying fuck about my feelings or they would stop. This young man is not the first or the last to treat me like crap, and it is on me to become unbothered.

I used to have scaffolding for this.

Kill them all. That’s how I roll.

I should say that’s an Aada quote and a response to a Bible verse she thought was funny, but it fits the vibe of us definitely being “The Holy and The Moly.” Because that’s the thing- you can be interfaith if you’re not an asshole. Aada’s a Pagan, Tiina’s a Jew, and the rest of my friends are Atheist because when I say that I am Christian, “they do not think it means what I think it means.” Ironically, atheists are more interested in the historical Jesus’s message than stereotypical Christians, because they cannot and do not focus on the “sticky blood” aspect.

Jesus was a radical and an agent for social change, and that’s what I want to be when I grow up. I’ve known since I was 10 that the church as it stands is not for me…. except in the Episcopal and UCC bubble where I am shielded from most everything that starts with “WWJD?”

WTFWJD? is more my style.

I wore it on a t-shirt to preach and Lisa Nisenfeld told me that she would no longer be accepting sermons from me if I wasn’t wearing it.

The thing is, I know who I am. I am waiting for Aada to know who she is. Because I am not punishing her. I am forgiving her, because she has looked at me and planted several flags.

Most of them Friday.

The early bird catches the worm. I’m a student who needs a job, and my new boss approached me saying that she was trying to “change the face of the neighborhood.”

Yes, I am picking up what you are putting down.

You need me to work in the back and be the white face that shows up when the cops want to commit ridiculousness. I have understood the assignment. This is Baltimore. Put your white ass face between me and the police, you dense motherfucker.

Racism isn’t getting worse. It’s getting filmed. -Will Smith

What other cities do not understand is that their racism is child’s play compared to Baltimore. The analogy to apartheid is actually history. They learned it by watching us. Baltimore was the root cause of systemic Jim Crow laws that provided the blueprint for the whole nation. Baltimore is thought of in the rest of the nation as “the North,” and it is true that overall, we have so much more in common with places like Princeton and Cambridge but never forget how close we are to Richmond, mmmmmmkay? That is because Black leadership has taken over the city so racism cannot flourish for long. Brandon Scott is a star in some ways, problematic in others like every mayor on earth because he’s human. People are going to find things not to like. But I like him and hope he succeeds. I’ve had cute interactions with both Brandon and his wife, Hannah, on Threads and they’re funny AF (and they know it- such cutups and I am grateful). I am settled in Black Baltimore, and let’s be clear- there has always been a difference in neighborhoods and you are blind if you don’t see it.

Baltimore is so racist there are two different accents. White people say “Bawlmer,” and Black people say “Bawdamore.” Segregated neighborhoods begat segregated speech communities, and of the two, the Black accent is closer to the original English, because the Black accent is truer to the English people who started the city in the first place.

Jim Crow fundamentally changed the city is that even now, we are two organisms in one geographic location. I’m from Houston and I can tell you with accuracy that it works the same way and trickles down to queer people. We used to congregate in Montrose, but we were priced out. But that is Baltimore’s legacy in America- creating the system by which Black and white communities overlap, but do not intentionally reach out for intersectionality.

Where I have found intersectionality are the queer and intelligence communities, and I am making a joke because today I went out in my pajamas- a pink t-shirt with the nonbinary flag that has the first Moscow rule running up the side…. “Assume Nothing,” black joggers, and rainbow Crocs that clearly advertise, “I am fluent in kitchen.” Royal Farms is a gas station and a kitchen.

It’s maybe not a Michelin star, but it’s close. It definitely fits the vibe of “place you want to stop according to Michelin” for Maryland. They’re everywhere, and eating their fried chicken in your car is a rite of passage. So, even if you are a foodie of the highest caliber, treat yourself to a chicken box or you won’t fit in culturally. It’s fried chicken. You’ll be fine.

Intelligence is information, and my new boss picked up what I was putting down with every clue. I can work it into anything and when I saw this t-shirt I did not care if it was four THOUSAND dollars, because it says who I am with a flag and a slogan.

I have two of them, to be clear. One is pink and one is gray. I am nothing if not addicted to story (and comfort). Anyway, I made the decision to go to school and the manager at Royal Farms offered me a job. I was grateful, because the problem with being white is that most people assume that you’ll think these jobs are beneath you and won’t even volunteer the information.

I said, “well, let me tell you a little bit about me and you can tell me if you still want me. I write seriously every morning, that’s why I’m here. Is it a problem to work in the afternoons?” She said, “that’s what I’m looking for. Someone to work both second and third shift.” Done, because if I was working in a pub this would be a straight up problem. I do not want to go back to working nights and writing until dawn. I am the most alert and active at dawn, and I need it for cognitive fuel. I can fry chicken while half asleep. I have quite a bit of experience in this department, actually.

You fry chicken by the sound.

But the bigger implication is truly having me on staff, because I do not carry skin that says, “trust me on first viewing.” But what Black people don’t know is that white people don’t trust me, either. They are biased against queer people, because they’re used to people being gay (sort of) but I lost them with all this nonbinary bullshit. That’s because it’s not their bullshit. They’ve never had to ask themselves the question, so why entertain it as something valid for other people?

It was watching Cam Paglia that did me in, because I thought he was crazy. Then I figured out that all my defense and anger was because he was out and I wasn’t. So, if I ever feel the need to sue anyone for turning out nonbinary in the end, it’s definitely Graydon Carter.

It was Cam (and Dominick, James, Christopher, and the whole stable at Vanity Fair) who taught me that I was capable of writing on their level and exposure didn’t mean shit. Just keep plugging away at their altitude and people will come. I do not need to chase anything, I am powerful enough as is.

I was born with the ability to hold an audience in the palm of my hand, just like Dr. Brown, just like Matthew McConaughey, just like every Texas storyteller EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

If I’d known I had journalistic instincts, the career path would have been Molly Ivins and not Jonna Mendez. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Jonna’s like 80. I should probably ask her to write a foreword for me that would be appropriate for any book, because I’m not going to let a respected author call me a spitfire and then not use it for anything.

I am already capable of doctoral-level work because I’ve been sitting here pounding the keyboard every day for years. The difference is that I need to complete those degrees now because it takes a PhD to have an opinion. Tiina went to Harvard and has a doctorate, so she can reference her own opinions. I want to be able to do the same thing without reaching out to everyone else for credentials.

Like Brene, I want to go into Social Work, but not the kind of MSW that sees patients. I do not think that is my calling because when I was a preacher’s kid, the emotional load of pastoral care was just too much. I cannot function under the weight of other people’s pain because I do not have any clinical separation. I need to study people at the sociological level. What vast patterns of shame and vulnerability have wrought, not shame in interpersonal relationships.

Shame in intelligence, because I’m a political science major and psychology minor at University of Houston, transferring to University of Maryland Global Campus in the fall. I bagged it all and did IT for a while, now it’s a different ball game. I wish I could go the CIA route, because I’d be happy even if it was just working in the food court. That’s because CIA is so monolithic that I do not have to mention I work at the food court. I say I work at CIA, and I am instantly James Bond in their minds, the “chip and pickle guy” in mine.

However, if I was younger, I think I could have done better than that. I know from pattern recognition that I would have just entered a new world of pastoral care, shepherding assets like parishioners and worrying about my flock constantly. But CIA wasn’t the be all and end all when I was a kid. They were recovering from the paranoia that begat wrath from Jesus Angleton. I cannot know, but I think that Jonna thought he was a sack of shit in a cheap suit. Just pattern recognition and saying the quiet part out loud. But that’s what happens to very smart people. They have to listen to less smart people in a way that generally makes their assholes chew crackers.

Just for one day, I would love to be Aada or Mummo in a meeting. Which would be more fun is a crapshoot, but it’s a fun idea to picture me ordering around the boys upstairs. But that’s not my lane. My lane is to tell you the story of intelligence as I know it.

“Argo” was a reputation recovery mission….. an entire commercial in order to recruit smart people. I do not know if it worked as well as The West Wing did for Congress and the White House, reworking an entire generation’s speech patterns regarding how we work, but the key to loving “Argo” is not being offended that it was a commercial in the first place.

How do you get smart people to work for you? Show them that other smart people work there.

I do not like studying intelligence so much as I enjoy studying spies. The personality it takes to do the job is as important as the mission. You don’t just want bodies to fill the roles, you want exactly the right people at the time they need to be there.

You want people who can look at you deadpan and tell you the truth even when someone is technically superior to you and therefore probably afraid to speak truth to power. You have to find people that can ignore that voice inside them, and for me personally it comes from being a preacher’s kid in a very specific cultural environment like HSPVA. I didn’t go to some nondescript high school. I went to a school attended by people like Robert Glasper, Jason Moran, and Eric Harland.

And you should know that out of the three, the only one I haven’t played with is Jason.

I am not with them because I chose not to be, not because I was incapable of riding bitch, capiche? I am not the star, I am the scaffolding. They are the pianists and drummer loved across the world, and I’m the one who helps that happen by writing about them, buying their albums, and going to their concerts. Artists need patrons just as much as they need friends.

But I am not an artist like Glasper, Moran, and Harland. I am an artist like Dominick Dunne and Anais Nin. They were known for their diaries, not their publications. I am hard-pressed to think of a Dunne novel that is more famous than his reporting on the trials of the “rich, and the very, very rich.”

But the thing about having a diary is that it has to touch everything, so I have to have a life outside of it. Plenty of writers have laid brick and sold insurance.

Anthony Bourdain and I fry chicken, because brunch is the smell of failure.

It’s all about alignment. Seeing what the universe offers you and taking them up on it.