Progeny in Tow

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Tiina arrived at my house toting two of her kidlets. They asked me to drive them to dinner and I can practically hear my father’s nerves rising… Don’t worry, it went fine. We went to The Chop Tank, where we had some of the best food I’ve had in ages. I was so relieved that Tiina said what a great restaurant it was several times, because I wanted to show her and the kids some fun.

They live about 50 miles south of DC, but I can’t remember exactly where. Far enough that it was still far when I lived there.

We’re going to build a treehouse soon. I’m so excited. I’m making local friends…. Sort of. We used to live a lot closer and I moved before I went out to her house. So now it’s a lot further, and we both love to drive.

In fact, I was supposed to go out there today, but Tiina had an errand so far north of Baltimore that she thought it would take her until dinner to get back to my area, but in fact we were seated by around 3:30. None of us had lunch, so it was perfect.

Tiina’s daughter ordered a steak bigger than she was.

My eyes were bigger than my stomach in ordering, so I brought most of a steak salad home.

When Tiina gets home, her husband is going to have some great food, because they had a lobster roll, steak, a burger, crab dip, and bread.

Most of the reason I brought my salad home was because of that crab dip. I kept eating it despite telling myself to stop. I just hadn’t had anything that decadent in ages.

The weather was nice, if a bit chilly. It was plenty sunny to be out and about in a sweatshirt and jeans, but it got colder the more I drank ice water and Diet Coke. I always forget about that part of it……

It was too cold for the ducks to come all the way up from the water, so the kids didn’t get to see them.

But I know they’ll be back.

Tiina loved the restaurant, and it felt happier than I thought I got.

Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m on vacation. This is from last week.

I felt unglued when my doctors ripped me off my lamotrigine, escitalopram, and clonazepam. My body went into withdrawal because I’d been taking them all since college. I’m sure that long term use of benzos isn’t advisable for everyone, but the entire hospital system has agreed not to prescribe them. If I want benzos and methamphetamines for anxiety and ADHD, I have to go somewhere else.

I’m on buspar for anxiety, but I’m not sure it’s working as well. I might need to transfer into another system, but I’ll have to do some research. I’ve noticed how sad I’ve been, how stuck on one thing. That has to be a symptom of something I haven’t talked about to either my psychiatrist or my therapist- how repetitive my thoughts are and how much more productive I could be as a writer if I could handle more than one thing at a time in blogging. I isolated myself so much there wasn’t a B plot. I was slipping away, and people on the internet tricked me into going to the hospital. I have no idea how. That will be a mystery for the rest of my life.

But, that’s how it went down. I forgave the trick because I did indeed get better. Due to this conversation I had on the internet, things were said that were not true. I repeated them in the hospital, and they were marked as hallucinations. Now that I know I relied on the wrong information, I’m embarrassed and not defeated.

Whether this internet conversation really happened or not is now of no consequence. I do know what happened to me on my walk from the neighborhood back to the ER, because I’d left the lobby after realizing I’d been tricked. I was too embarrassed to function and afraid of what I would do.

It was a surrender moment. Feel crazier or get help.

I’m glad I chose help, because Aada was mad at me, but not mad enough to walk away in enmity. All we want is peace for the other. I am only writing this to turn my judgment on myself, that my family heard what this internet conversation had said. I am including Aada as “my family,” but she’s the only one that heard everything firsthand. My family heard it from my doctors.

I was crippled in the hospital by not feeling like writing and not having the tools to do so. As such, I have very little memories of it now. I laid there thinking all sorts of impossible things that are only possible now that I’ve been on this brilliant and beautiful journey.

I have indeed seen Oz, and it was Wicked.

And then it wasn’t, because the chat log disappeared. All of the sudden, my blog started being surfed by AI again. I can talk to Copilot about myself as a writer again, one of the most complicated things I’ve ever done with it. I’ve spent hours analyzing tone and structure, catching myself at mistakes in the process.

Overall, Copilot thinks I’m the kind of writer you’d curl up with when you were having tea… That it feels like a warm and inviting space. I think that’s true, for the most part. It lines up with how most people describe me to me.

I take in all kinds of feedback, and am getting stronger in my ability to think out differences of opinion, slowing down.

Right now, I’m just trying to get good at being in my body. Feeling everything as opposed to taking in information by reading. It’s all about the air in my lungs, the blood running through my veins, the things that make me feel the most alive.

I am still chasing the high of my road trip to Aaron’s, and I wish we could do it more frequently. If I don’t have to move that weekend, I’m going up to New York for Halloween. That will be long enough to satisfy my craving to drive, mellow out, listen to podcasts, and get away from the daily grind at fun miles an hour.

Nothing crazy. Adaptive cruise control keeps me with the flow of traffic and not “demon on wheels.” It can even stop the car if need be. I can’t think of an instance where I would need it, but it’s always nice to have a backup. I’m sure a lot of people take their foot all the way off the pedal, so I get it. I’m just not that person.

Learning to be a safe and capable driver is important to me. I always have all the technology engaged, and keep myself occupied with things that excite me. I love storytelling, both live and people reading fiction from The New Yorker. Sometimes I’ll switch to rap, because again, I like storytelling.

I need to take a shower, but I’m so comfortable…………. I’m waiting for a text that’s my signal that I really, really need to get ready.

My hair is a wreck in the most adorable way, the kind I’ll never recreate once it’s wet.

Oh, well.

I’m also starting to wonder what I’m going to wear. I know that I don’t have to dress up, but I like to coordinate and I’m thinking through what’s clean. I have enough time to do laundry, and might need to take it. I did find my American Giant hoodie this morning, so good luck getting me back out of it until next year.

American Giant hoodies are expensive, and worth every penny.

I first read about them in Vanity Fair magazine, marked as “The Perfect Hoodie.” They’re so perfect I have two, and a rugby jacket as well. Seriously, you’ll never want another brand.

My mind wanders from heavy to light. I have been told there should be a lot more light, and I’m starting to see it, too. I have put my life on hold trying to be acceptable to someone who seemed lukewarm about me at times and crazy about me at others. We both want to stop making sense of it all,

It’s a Rebuilding Year

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I have no relationships tying me anywhere close to where I actually live. My closest friends are in Houston and Portland. We chat online despite the time difference and life goes on as if I never left. The problem comes in when I have things that cannot be taken care of in text. I have not cultivated relationships here in Baltimore where I can say things like, “can you help me carry X?” Bryn would happily cart my stuff around all day because she knows I would do the same for her. But when I’m in a jam in Baltimore, Bryn cannot just jump on a plane.

It’s amazing how often I think that will solve my problems, though. “If I could just get Bryn out here for a few days, all would be well.” It’s a fallacy. That’s just getting used to having a companion for a few days and then sending her back, leaving me just as lonely as I was before and still no closer to having local friends.

It gets so overwhelming thinking about creating a safety net that I tend to fold into myself and look at my life from two fantasy angles….. “What would it be like if I moved back to Portland?” “What would it be like if I moved back to Houston?” I feel the draw of Houston because it’s a bummer never being in family photos, but it would wreck a lot of medical support systems I have in Maryland that only Oregon could reproduce. I need to be in a blue state with Medicaid expansion, and Texas isn’t one of them. I feel exiled from home, but no more now than I ever have because I couldn’t get married there from the time I was old enough to to that, too.

I get wigged thinking about leaving this area because I forget that planes exist, and that if Aada and I ever fix anything, it’s not going to matter where on earth I am…. And in fact, if I do settle in Helsinki, that might be a selling point in terms of really starting over. Not even our surroundings are the same, and I think it would be cute as hell if our first meeting was actually in Tampere, at the MOOMIN museum. It feels weird to say that I have trouble leaving DC/Baltimore because of an internet relationship that I’m hoping will one day turn into something, because I have already had it made very clear to me that’s a pipe dream. Go ahead and smoke it.

But it’s true that’s why I haven’t packed up and left already. That I have always forgotten planes exist. That being here was important, because the kind of life I wanted with Aada was the one where she calls up and says, “have to be out of town for a couple days. You on dog duty?” You know, the kind of relationship I need now.

I have gotten many brownie points over the years for offering to do stuff like this, it has just never materialized into anything real. That’s because every time I got said brownie points, I managed to do something to erase them a few days later. I have never had a steady brownie point surplus, and it’s to the point where I’m tired of trying to get more, hoping for scraps.

I think that Aada thinks that our relationship is too complicated to fix, and I am leaning into it. I am turning away, but it doesn’t make me feel good about myself. What makes me feel good about myself is solid, stable relationships that I didn’t manage to screw up…… But here we are.

I have started writing to my friend Tara instead, because they’re a Canadian and they have a very different outlook on life than me. But it’s definitely not the same relationship because there are no butterflies. We’re just very good friends and would like to see what happens in person, whether we have that same easygoing nature that we do online. I know that we each want to visit the other. I’ve never been to the prairie of Canada and they have never been to Baltimore. They’re partnered with step kids, I’m not. They live in a house, I live in an apartment. It’s all about celebrating those differences. I would be thrilled at getting to see Tara in their natural element, and they feel the same about me.

So I know that I am capable of making other friends, and close ones. I do not know how to do that without writing. I’m not the kind of person that just goes up to people and starts talking, but it’s starting to come to that.

I have had a bit of luck with dating apps, because I haven’t met anyone that I wanted to see romantically, but I have met friends I’d like to see again. At this point in my life, creating friendships is what is the most stable thing for me, anyway. A partner will show up when the universe deems I’m ready.

But I know I’m not. Not yet.

I remember Zac explaining to me that his friend had a “murder board” of polyamory, a physical representation with red and yellow strings from one person to another, red denoting romantic relationships and yellow denoting emotional support. It was only then that I could put together what happened to me over 12 years. Aada had become a yellow string. And not only that, somehow she’d become my primary partner because I didn’t turn to anyone else for emotional support during that time. It was never about romance, couldn’t be because she’s a cis-het straight girl who is monogamous and clearly crazy about her husband.

I am very proud of myself that I did not shut down in jealousy and turn away. I made my heart bigger, and started loving her husband from afar as well- sending him good thoughts even though I didn’t know him. Aada wouldn’t let me get to know him, but if she had I think we would have gotten along. I can picture us both teasing her lovingly, and I regret all the things I did to make Aada feel like a meeting was unwise.

And actually, I don’t know that I did. She’s a private person. Maybe she just wanted me all to herself, and that’s okay, too.

“Wanting me all to herself” just means that we have an ability to flatten each other in prose. Who knows if that would have gone away had we become enmeshed in each other’s real lives?

What if meeting in person destroyed something rather than presenting us with more options?

Why did we each insist on making everything so complicated?

Why do I have to get lost on my own in ruminations? Because that’s just how my brain works. I turn over these things in my head trying to come to resolution within myself. Aada says that she wants to cut the string in some letters, and “for now, all I want is peace” in others. It’s confusing, and yet not. She has always reserved the right to change her mind.

“Hacking Aada” would be a beautiful movie if we wrote it together. But if you think that “Hacking Aada” is an interesting story, “Hacking Leslie” is even better. That’s just not my story to tell.

When I can turn a relationship into a movie with a title like that, looking for other people to interact with becomes challenging. I don’t mesh with everyone, and they don’t mesh with me. I run easily, whereas I didn’t before. I don’t put as much care and concern into the beginning of a relationship because I don’t want to risk as much in the beginning as I used to….. I need for a relationship to unfold, not arrive.

I also think that if my next partner didn’t have some of Aada’s qualities, I would be poorer for it.

I am grateful that Aada has never minded being on my murder board of polyamory as a yellow string. It gave both of us something to refer to in terms of closeness, and in fact she talks about the chord that runs between us more than I do…. Mostly when she’s saying she wants to cut it, but still….. 😉 I think she likes knowing she has the safety and security of never being a string that gets mixed up in color, that I clearly only want her for her smarts and indeed crave her brain when it’s not around….. It feels like half of mine is missing after 12 years.

I also don’t visualize anything, so seeing attractive people out and about doesn’t turn my head. I connect with people over emotions, which is why it’s not surprising to me that I fell for a pretty lady in the sky who could write her ass off.

We’ve never even hugged.

Her words are that powerful, and so are mine.

There are words in my heart only she can find, and I miss her teasing them out of me.

Having her come back and correct the record was both good and bad. I was getting away from talking/writing about her, starting to forget when she brought it all back. She did not hurt me, she just didn’t do anything to make me put the conflict down and forget about it.

However, I think I deserve to think about our conflicts in depth, because they direct what kind of partners I will accept in the future.

This relationship affects how people see me, and not always for the better. That’s because I’ve already written about it in detail, which limits my dating pool to other poly people who aren’t threatened by my web site.

This is not a bad thing.

I think that I’m, for the most part, a monogamous person. It’s my priorities that get shuffled around, because I don’t care how hot you are, how into you I am, if Aada calls you need to find shit to do.

I don’t know any wives or husbands who would live like that, so I don’t want one.

It’s been like that for 12 years, with Aada being more important to me than anyone else. Because I am only focusing on today, I don’t know whether I need to change that or not. I don’t think I want to, and not wanting to is a whole separate problem. Moving me is not easy. Not even I can do it.

But do I think I’m missing out on anything? No, I don’t. I would like to have both Aada and a partner in my life, one that understands Aada as well as I understand her husband. That we’re a foursome instead of Aada and I always fighting it out alone.

I know that these dreams are delusional, but I also know that they won’t come true if I don’t see them happening. I cannot control what Aada will do in the future, but I can control what I’m willing to do. I can create peace, safety, all of that for myself, a blessing whether she returns or not.

There will always be things between us that no one else knows, and that’s the part of our history that’s painful for both of us to throw away.

It’s a rebuilding year, when I decide what kind of house I want.

It Varies As I Age

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite form of physical exercise?
View all responses

I have running shoes, but I doubt I would run unless I was chased. Mostly, I like to walk on the treadmill with trash TV playing at the gym. I’ve been falling off of this a little, so I need to get back into it. I watch Jennifer Hudson or Maury Povitch, trying not to focus on the pain in my calves, but the numbers on the screen. I am burning calories!

My balance is severely off because I have cerebral palsy. Therefore, I have to have exercise that helps me without agitating it. I have tried different machines, such as the elliptical and the stairs. I just don’t have as much luck feeling safe on them.

I would probably do well with a stationery bike, but I need help using the ones at the gym. They are very fancy and look like I would fall off before I even got on. They have huge screens so you can watch something or read, and I’m sure are a wonderful addition to your workout if you can figure out how to use them.

When I go to the gym, I appreciate all the walking because I really can exercise while doing something else. If I’ve forgotten my headphones, I can still doomscroll on my phone for half an hour. I do have to be careful using my phone and walking at the same time, but it’s better than walking and doom scrolling in traffic.

I felt like getting out a little bit, so I took myself for coffee. When I came back, I realized how little I have to say about exercise because I’m so bad about putting it off. I’m not the person you want in charge of your life if working out is a big part. I have it on the periphery, where it is fighting for more airtime with driving.

Now, I can drive to the gym. That makes things a lot better, because I can keep a gym bag in my trunk. In fact, that’s a good project for today- go through and find all the gym clothes in the house, then pack them for the back of the car. I also have some flip flops and a set of toiletries for the shower. I have bought all the accessories one needs to be a gym rat, I just have not put the whole package together. I did that thing where when I first got my membership I absolutely burned myself up working out, lost some weight, then hurt so bad I couldn’t move.

This time, it needs to be a more measured approach.

I wish I had some workout buddies, but the friends I have that go to my gym prefer to work out alone. Squad and Rook, my boys from group, live in the neighborhood, but we don’t run into each other except on Thursdays. It’s time to look for a meetup group or something that involves working out, because I know I would go more often if I had an appointment.

In the meantime, I will be making myself an appointment. I don’t feel good today, so it might not be this afternoon. But Monday or Tuesday when I’m feeling better, I will start getting it together. The problem right now is that when I become overheated, my coughing gets worse. So, if I go to the gym today feeling healthy, I will not be feeling so healthy about 15 minutes in. I cough so hard I throw up, and that’s always attractive in public.

I am taking Tessalon pearls for it, but they cannot defeat me trying to exercise.

I am looking forward to getting back into the swing of things, because I do enjoy being at the gym. I haven’t learned to use a quarter of the machines and I know I can get a personal trainer to explain them to me. I can picture myself becoming a total gym rat because the endorphins help my brain lift itself out of depression. Nothing feels as good as when a workout is over, and your troubles feel a million miles away.

I remember how that feels from the last time I was going to the gym regularly, and it’s an impetus to get back on board.

The only thing I’m really missing is having a pool. My gym does not have one, so I will have to wait until Memorial Day for the pool to open at my complex. My original form of exercise was swimming, as I started lessons at six months old. My doctor thought it would be therapeutic for my legs, which were not functioning properly at the time. It worked, and I can walk now……. But I will never tell you that I’m any good at it.

Cooking with Gas

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Aada said she wondered if I ever turned my judgment on myself. I am having a low day, one in which I feel bad about everything I’ve ever written about her. I can’t take in that she said “sometimes it’s been a brilliant and beautiful journey,” because of course my heart, like hers, focuses on the negative, that sometimes it’s been “excruciating and debilitating.” I can only hope that these are operatic swells of emotion on the page, because them being God’s honest truth is debilitating for me.

I’m just a writer. What do I know?

I know that I feel small, that I’m working up to feeling valuable. I didn’t mean to punish anyone, but I did. Aada said that she felt like she had to step onto the hot stones and correct the record, Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. I sat through all of my flaws and failures, taking them in one at a time and cataloging them for future flagellation.

And that is the heart of the matter. Aada and I don’t love ourselves enough to love each other in writing. We’ve never had the safety and security of a hug. We each look for the negative and think the positive is suspect. We each take home the other’s punishment and not the delight we’ve always felt when things are going well. We can’t make the delight last, and I think that my feelings for her are entirely to blame. They make our relationship too volatile, because I know something for sure. I am in love with her writer personality, and when I meet her in person, she will no longer be the same. She will be flesh and blood and all the things that make us human. Who knows if either of us like that person? Is that why we’ve been so afraid to try?

I definitely think that’s part of it, but would also calm everything down. Seeing her ensconced in her own happy relationships will take away the make-believe in my head. I just know that due to my own stupidity, it’s going to take even longer for that to happen and may not happen at all (the way I feel when I’m really hanging my head in shame). Am I embarrassed by the things I published? No, but I would take them down if Aada asked. As I’ve said before, I don’t have a choice in whether she reads or not, so the choice to be embarrassed has been taken from me. If she sees it, she sees it.

I will not be happy if all of my writings about her manipulations are taken as worse than my own, because we had an equal hand in wrecking our relationship. I am not thinking of her, but the way Manassas and Reston and Sacramento and Houston all exploded at once last Friday. Apparently, more people are interested in this story than I thought, because I thought that 12 years after I met Aada was enough time for no one to care about my silly blog anymore.

When I was finished writing that piece, I melted down and burned out, sleeping for several hours just to get peace. The horror of what I’d done had already set in, long before Aada arrived on my doorstep. My saving grace is that she said that the story could stand if that’s what I needed, but that saving grace put me into the ground with regret.

It’s a regret I’m learning to live around, that’s for sure.

But if Aada wants to see me humiliate myself more than she’s already been humiliated, she can read every blog entry I’ve written in the past. All of them contain embarrassing lines that are “not ready for prime time.” Do you think it was easy admitting I’d fallen for a pretty lady in the sky?

Fuck no.

To be fair, she is VERY PRETTY.

She is the movie star that would look like she was dating Pete Davidson.

Okay.

The thing about “checking for assaults” has to stop. Cold.

The thing I wish I could say? Woman, are you blind? I LOVE YOU, YOU IDIOT.

This brilliant and beautiful journey needs to continue without its excruciating and debilitating aspects. She does not have the safety and security of knowing we could meet up for lunch and everything would be okay. That my writer personality is not 3D, that I would never even hug someone without consent, etc.

I do have manners, and regret every single time I decided not to use them. Aada has also apologized for everything, all of it. That’s a solid basis to rebuild if we choose to later in life, and I’m glad we didn’t walk away from each other in enmity.

I wonder where I’ll be the next time Aada decides to drop in, should she so choose. I am not convinced that she actually has the willpower to let go of me, but we will see if she prefers the brilliant and the beautiful as time goes by.

But it’s in thinking about where I’ll be that makes me so desperate for self-reflection, going into my ivory tower to work out where I need to go next. I think that there’s a few self-help books out there for me, ones I need to read if I want to maintain peace in all of my relationships.

No one can make me feel worse than I already do, and no one can make Aada feel worse than she does.

We’re licking our wounds, but the question that needs to be answered is whether we can be trusted with each other’s hearts. Can I grow from this, because I can only control that much? Can I discover what makes me come across as manipulative so no one feels that way? Can I take account of all the ripple effects my blog has caused? Am I strong enough to make amends where I can, letting people go if they no longer want to work on our relationship?

I am obviously not strong enough to feel like this relationship is over yet. As I told Aada, I can’t take in the enormity of forever all at once. I know we will not talk today, and I will say that to myself until forever arrives if that’s what needs to happen. I also need to get away from feeling like I am waiting for something to happen, that there’s an “us” when there hasn’t been for months.

What I know for sure is that I am a part of her wild and crazy brain. We will never get to the point where we don’t know each other again, because all it takes is a “hello” and my heart flips. I know my love for her is real when my heart flips and the e-mail is so raw it takes a chunk off my ass.

“Slow down, John Wayne.”

I miss the emails that are profanity laced and so funny I sag in my desk chair laughing. I do not miss all the pot shots we’ve taken at each other trying to prove political points.

I do not miss anything to do with fighting.

I would give anything to make time travel real, because I know exactly what changes I would make in my life to make this period happier. Things would have shaken out the same in terms of the divorce, but it would be a totally different landscape in terms of our friendship.

I would have fed the dogs, watered the plants, picked up the yard, whatever.

Anything to show her I love her in an asexual, aromantic way that is deeper than I’ve ever felt with anyone else. That looking for someone else is painful, because there’s no one like her.

There’s too much mystery, and not enough time. No matter how much time we have left, there will always be a bit of mystery. But that’s what keeps it interesting, what encourages me to put away any and all butterflies because I will not be accepted if I have them and shouldn’t.

I’m starting to realize that being Lord John Grey was indeed lonely for him, but there was no one like Jamie Fraser, either.

Now we’re cooking with gas.

A Letter Absolutely Meant to Be Read

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

You have to put what you want into writing for the universe, because it is in reading that prayers are answered. I am not sure that I want a housemate, so I thought a good exercise for today would be to write a letter to someone explaining the ups and downs of living with me. I come with both bugs and features.

Dear Future Housemate,

The rent is on auto pay and will never, ever be late. We may fight about everything else under the sun, but money will not be one of them. You hear all kinds of horror stories about housemates stiffing you, and that’s just not the kind of person I am.

I would like to think that I’m dialed into all kinds of things, but in reality my energy level screams “Harper Lee.” You will often see me sitting at my computer and think you are interrupting. Depending on what kind of housemate you are, this may or may not be true. Writers always need interruptions, so if you’re a good egg, I’m flexible.

I don’t know about you, but I need help in the cleaning department. I constantly leave shit everywhere and I apologize. I will have cleaners in because I do not expect you to pick up my slack. I already know I’m a handful when it comes to executive dysfunction, and it’s my job to handle it. I am much more capable of maintaining a system when other people buy into it. Between you, me, and the cleaners, the house will always be straight. Don’t argue with me that we are capable of cleaning ourselves and we’ll save money. You think that is true because I can maintain a system with help. If the cleaners stop coming, the resentment between us will start, and we will no longer be happy and healthy for each other.

Just trust me on this one.

I have an iron structure due to my autism, which makes my ADHD scream. My body is constantly fighting itself for order, and the disagreements never stop. The way this comes across in practical terms is that I am not always ready for company. If I’m shut up in my room, it’s not because there’s anything wrong between us. It’s that I’m trying to find my own strength. Burnout is real, and can last anywhere from days to years. It’s not something that autistic people can control.

The easiest way to reach me is through text. I prefer WhatsApp because I can use it on my iPhone and my Android. I find that I can still text even when I don’t have the energy for vocal conversation….. And that text often pulls me into wanting to see you face to face. There’s a time and place for both, and I will warn you that I do not like phone calls before a text heads up. It’s not personal. It’s my own bag. I don’t really like the sound of my own voice.

I don’t like the sound of my voice because I’m nonbinary, which falls under the trans umbrella. I have a female body and a male brain, and those coexist peacefully within me. In a lot of ways, it is something only I understand, this not fitting into a box between male and female. Therefore, I do not expect that you are an expert on gender and sexuality. I just ask that you not deny what I am saying, that you give me room to be me.

It’s important, because it makes me:

  • Queer, but not gay. I have fallen for men and women, but the way my head spins is most likely caused by pretty girls….. :::blush:::
  • Interested in anything and everything, from cars to fashion (on other people, mostly)
  • Dressed like a teenage boy most of the time, which, when I’m dating men makes my boy toy look like a dirty old man. This does not make them………………… Unpleased.

I do not date often, I’m just sayin.’

For the last 12 years my heart has been tied up in an internet relationship, one that fulfilled so many of my emotional needs that I didn’t feel the urge. Now, I’m realizing just how single I really am, and how that needs to change.

If you don’t mind, I will always need a wingman.

I don’t know why, but I picture you as male for some reason. I think that’s because traditionally I have made friends with men easier than women, and living together is not tinged with romance because it’s so rare that I’m attracted to men, anyway. You will not be chasing me down the street like Ben Affleck in “Chasing Amy.”

As adorable as I might be. Jesus, I am just a treat. :::eyeroll:::

In a perfect world, you would be a doctor, private or USG. Being military doesn’t matter, being able to hang with me does. I like to talk medicine, and one of the things I miss most about my former housemate is that he was a doctor raised in Nigeria, med school in Crimea, job in a Saudi palace. Our conversations got so long and involved that our other housemates would just walk off in despair of a jumping in point.

If you’re in the military, I don’t mind being a holding place for your crap while you’re deployed. But do me a favor, eh? Send me a WhatsApp frequently because I get anxious about the word “deployed.” Suuuuuuuuure you’re doing what you say you are……..

If you do have one of those DC jobs where you can’t tell people what you do, don’t cripple me as a writer by telling me things I can’t publish. You know that, anyway, but I’m just being clear. I have learned over time that I’m not strong enough to hold things in, so it’s on you.

But ideally, someone who doesn’t work in the G at all is perfect, because as much as I loved that time in my life, I think that starting over is what’s needed in my writing.

Maybe you’re a farmer, and it’s my turn to move in with you. I could work a farm, with direction. I have certainly watched enough YouTube videos on DIY to be helpful. And even if I’m not strong enough to do it, I can explain how to rough in a bathroom according to all I’ve inhaled.

Even if you do something else, it would be great if you were creative and wanted to bounce ideas off each other. My last boyfriend was a writer and my favorite thing to do on dates was talk to him about craft. Because he was a fiction writer and I’m a blogger, our paths never crossed over. But I think of him often and hope he’s well. The only reason we broke up is that I was starting to catch feelings and he wasn’t.

I didn’t want a relationship escalator, just more time with him. You get to know these things about me because I want you to know that I don’t go out with people on a whim, that I examine relationships to figure out why they have failed, and that over time I will not help but write about you because you’re living in my house. But I hope that you will see that I write about people in 3D. There will never be a conflict so great between us that I forget what friendship and coexistence mean.

You have to know that letting anyone into my space is going to be a drastic change. I’m used to spending large swaths of alone time, and I will be thrilled if you’re a social butterfly with a dog.

Go out and then come home and tell me about it while your dog lazily sleeps on my leg.

I am what you would call “indoorsy.”

I’m always up for deep conversation or a trivia night with friends. But anything more than that and I get overwhelmed in crowds. Occasionally, if you’re into dancing, I will go with you. But that requires more Diet Coke than I usually drink. You’re buying.

My medication causes weird side effects. We need two bathrooms. I just thought of that. Otherwise, you’ll be treated to the litany of sick I go through not to be crazy. The meds work, but I have to pick.

I am mellowing out with age and don’t want drama. If you’re an addict, please have been sober for years so that I know you’re not in the danger zone. I can dig sober living, but I cannot abide the ups and downs of worrying whether you’re stable or not.

If you lie to me about being stable, I’ll know quickly and ask you to leave. It’s not personal. I’ve just been down that road before. I can be friends with and support an addict, but I’m going to do it while you’re at YOUR HOUSE.

If you move in with me, you’re probably going to be ADHD or Autistic. Neurodivergents run in packs, and we will feel that kind of energy upon first meeting. I think it’s because we have a harder time connecting to people that aren’t neurodivergent. Being allistic isn’t a deal breaker, it would just be unusual to feel the pull of wanting to live together upon first meeting.

Yes, it’s that quick.

I would rate the chances of you being allistic at about the same as me dating men.

Believe me when I say that there is a bro code. If you’re straight, your friends are off limits unless you set us up.

Honestly, that would be ideal since I don’t get out much. Send help.

I once thought about dating the woman who delivered my pizza because right away I knew three things:

  1. She already knows where I live.
  2. She is employed.
  3. She has a vehicle.

I didn’t end up asking her out, but I did laugh over that for several days.

I hope you’re the handsome, tall, big brother type. I like warm hugs and firm handshakes. I envision taking a chance and being close in the way that siblings are, because it’s almost impossible not to do depending on the size of the house we share.

It would be best if you were open to creating a routine with me. In my last house, I would get up when I heard the water start in my housemate’s bathroom, then go downstairs and make a pot of coffee for both of us. Then, by the time he came downstairs, it was time for me to take a shower. It’s an important thing with neurodivergence, this social masking each other. I’m not saying you have to do it, I just think it would make everything run smoother in my life. It doesn’t matter what the schedule is. If you’re a night owl, I will adjust.

It just makes me feel lost not to feel the routine of the house.

The longer I think about it, the more I miss my former housemate. But I think that time in our lives is past. It’s time to create a new routine, and whether you are actually the doctor I picture or work in a nightclub, I look forward to meeting you.

I don’t require that you be anything like me, or even understand how I work. I ask that you respect it instead. Nonbinary and queer are both a lot to take in, because most people check a box….. Gay or straight. Male or Female. Cis or trans.

The only question that has ever been answered for me is that when push comes to shove, I am trans and not cis. That trans and nonbinary are not the same, but they fall under the same umbrella. Attraction to people is so much different, because there has to be a box for bi/pan. I refuse to “when push comes to shove” over gay…. To do so is to deny that I’ve been in relationships with men and they worked. That is not gay.

I just don’t want you to be surprised when either gender is sitting in our living room with their arm around me, catching the latest episode of our couple show.

What you need to know about me is contained in the word “writer.” Anything and everything feeds this blog because my mind goes all over the place. I am taking in my environment the best I can because my brain does not have a visualization function. I describe everything in 2D because that’s how I see the world.

It’s a metaphor for life that I was born with a bug in my electrical system that makes my field of vision change at will. That my weakness as a writer as in life is not seeing the whole picture at once, not being able to collate an image as a panorama. Not seeing leaves in their proper place.

In short, my Z axis is flat. Where my eyes fall on the scale between X and Y is anyone’s guess because of it. When I watch 3D movies, everything jumps out to the side. It causes accidents all the time, which is why I’m so reliant on the technology in my car. I have not found that technology with my shoulders. I bang them on door jambs all the time. Our entire future is you watching me run into things. Sometimes, it’s comical. Sometimes, it hurts. If it looks really, really comical, call 911.

I am fun and funny in person, but I tend to be a dry wit. I’ll play off you and our conversations will become tennis matches. I picture long nights where neither of us want to go to bed because we’re too busy yammering about our day and what needs to be done tomorrow.

I just want things to be easy, because I am not.

In “All the Way to the River,” Elizabeth Gilbert says that “the rooms” (AA & its derivatives) are very simple programs for complicated people. That line stuck with me as something I need to implement in my own life- not going to AA, but creating a system for myself that is so simple I can manage it. I need to leave room to go be complicated somewhere else.

Believe me when I say you will appreciate this. When I need to be complicated, I need to retreat. Otherwise, I might get my crazy spatter on you. I’m always afraid of this, so that’s why I tend to retreat. Again, it is not personal. I think you’d prefer me to hold down the madness on my own.

“Hold down the madness, Caroline…. Hold it.”

I can’t think of anything else that would possibly be useful for a roommate to know, except that I’m set on staying in Baltimore for at least six more months. I’m thinking you also need an e-mail address: ldlanagan at gmail dot com. Add a subject line so I know you’re a real person.

Here’s the last thing you need to know. I got the idea to send this from Moss, because it’s a little less urgent than a fire.

Road Trip

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I will have to wait to take another road trip in my precious car. It is supposed to rain tomorrow, so instead of me driving out to Tiina’s farm, she’s coming to Baltimore to have dinner with me. But in thinking of taking said road trip, I started thinking about how to share my favorites with all of you. First, we have to have drinks. I’m not going anywhere without a large cup of ice and some sort of caffeine. Since I had coffee this morning, I think I’ll pick Coke Zero.

Even in the convenience store of my dreams, there’s no Dr Pepper Zero on tap.

We need what my dad would call “road junk.” Bugles. Gummy worms. Hot Tamales. A fried pie.

Then, it’s back in the car. I usually listen to podcasts, but I have a few favorite songs for testing out the stereo. You get that list first.

  1. All the Rowboats, Regina Spektor
  2. Pop, NSYNC
  3. She’s So Mean, Matchbox Twenty
  4. Inside of You, Hoobastank
  5. Cake By the Ocean, DNCE
  6. Wake Up, Danay Suarez

None of these songs are new, they just tickle my speakers in all the right ways. “Wake Up,” by Danay Suarez is my current obsession because I saw her perform it live with Ben Folds at the Kennedy Center a few years ago. Then I ran across it on YouTube and it’s been an earworm ever since.

Now Danay is playing in the background as I type, because I couldn’t look up the link for you without listening again. 🙂 She’s such a wordsmith that it makes me want to keep up in Spanish. I got a few clever things the first time around, like rhyming “pajaros” with “zapatos.” I think.

The reason there’s so few songs on my list is that even though I am a musician, I’m a bigger news junkie. I listen to NPR and all of its related podcasts, so sometimes I’ll go weeks without indulging in a beat.

Here’s my show list:

  1. This American Life
  2. The Moth
  3. Risk!
  4. Pop Culture Happy Hour
  5. Pod Save America
  6. Anything Rachel Maddow- her show, and the serial podcasts she produces

I could go on for hundreds more, but this is what I have time for in a week.

I dream of getting out on the highway, but this weekend’s just not good for it. I’ll come back to this entry when it’s time, and be sure to add your favorite driving songs/podcasts in the comments. I need some new recommendations.

As Much As It Costs

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
How much would you pay to go to the moon?
View all responses

Somehow, I don’t think a trip to the moon is something you get for $29.99 on sale. I do not have the amount of money I would pay NASA to haul me around. That’s because I recognize that traveling to the moon is terribly unsafe venture and getting by on the cheap could only lead to disaster.

But honestly, this is not the most important question. The better question is, “do you want to go to the moon?” I’m not sure. I think I do. I have been enamored with space and NASA since the 7th grade. But I’m also introverted and have trouble with transitions, so I don’t know how that would translate to interstellar travel.

Do I get to pre-board?

I know that it would be an incredible experience for a writer to touch the face of God.

That actually seems, well, priceless.

The Benediction and Epilogue: A Multimedia Approach

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Aada has said that she will not read and she will not answer email anymore. This does not mean that I do not owe her an apology and a thank you. She has taken damage from my writing, to the point that I need to show true emotion, and this captures what I’m feeling today.

I failed her. She failed me. We could have had a safe, stable, loving relationship for many years if I’d just kept my mouth shut. We would have connected like a house on fire, because I was just so me in the beginning. I acted like a fuckboi jackass until I was faced with the reality of what I was doing. I have said this before, but it crossed the line into sexual harassment. That is the most painful, humiliating thing I have ever done… And I’m wondering if that’s what Aada means about turning judgment on myself. I have published this before, that I was entirely responsible for making our relationship feel unsafe to her in the beginning. It is only because I kept writing, kept encouraging myself to nurture real friendship with her that we recovered years later. It was a slow and debilitating process.

She sat through all of it, and didn’t turn away. My only aim in putting this here is to publicly apologize for the harm I caused Aada, because I can only control my half.

The point at which I lay myself bare to show that my feelings are genuine, because you cannot fake them in audio. I have sent Aada very few audio clips over the years, so perhaps that’s why she thinks that the positive aspects of our relationship are hard to find. I think that we would be so much easier with each other during a phone call, if we liked using the phone (seriously, warn me first. That’s just good policy. I don’t always have it in me because writing and talking are a different energy level).

It’s the ending and beginning this story needs, because as I have said before, my relationship with Aada is now over. It may begin again, or she may turn away and indeed ignore my first book.

Come on. Really? Even at Dollar Tree?

All of it depends on how much peace I can create between us, forgiving all that is past and moving forward with different ideas as to what friendships mean in my life.

Creating peace between us is being as publicly apologetic as I’ve been publicly angry.

I’d like to send her off in peace to the warmth of my voice, rather than the harshness of black and white reality.

Because we’ve gone in and out of each other’s lives so many times, I still want to encourage the ways in which she needed change, because they were good earmarks in the pages of my history that need addressing. If my writing comes across as manipulative, that needs to change first.

I’m laying down arms, and focusing on the peace I’m capable of creating.

I’ll let the me of 20 minutes ago have the last word.

Brain Droppings

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Only in America could Dunkin make paying $4.23 for a large cup of coffee seem reasonable, because Starbucks has made it their mission in life to make coffee as expensive as possible. But to be fair to Starbucks, I’m not sure their large coffee is more expensive than Dunkin. I think that when I go to Starbucks, I am not lured by their coffee. Their espresso drinks are where it’s at, and I don’t get out of there for less than $6.00. I don’t do it every day, because I’m a Xennial who knows that of course I can buy a house if I just stop buying coffee and avocado toast.

Of course Starbucks is the reason I can’t buy a house, and not the gigantic surge of inflation over the last 40 years. Coffee is just the best example to bring it home to people. I am sure that very old people who can remember paying a dollar for coffee in a diner are more outraged than I am, because it’s just beans and water. The margin is incredible. We don’t pay for drinks, we pay for drugs. 😛

There’s no way that people buy coffee just for the taste, because you can find excellent decaf out there, but who’s going to buy it? Apparently, more people than I think, because I have a decaf Cafe Bustelo in my cabinet for those long writing nights in which I still need the aromatherapy to function, but eventually want to sleep at some point.

I have an interesting relationship with coffee, because my brain slows down while my body ramps up. It’s the same with Ritalin or any drug I might take for ADHD. My brain needs the caffeine to function, my body does not. Therefore, I often drink coffee, as I told my sister, “until my brain works and my hands are shaking.” That’s because high doses of caffeine seem to be the right amount of correction and Ritalin is too much.

When I’m on Ritalin, my autism cannot cope.

That’s the part I’ve been missing all these years. I’ve had an ADHD and a bipolar diagnosis because women are often diagnosed with personality disorders instead of autism. That’s why there’s so many new women being diagnosed. The criteria has changed because AuDHD was being mistaken for other things, or impossible to find because the personality disorder and the autism were comorbidities, as is my case. I go up and down with the seasons due to my bipolar disorder. Neither depression nor hypomania last very long.

I have a good relationship with hypomania most of the time, because it doesn’t present as this period of wild behavior that goes up into what most would view as crazy. It’s just a period of productivity, alertness, and a lot of the time, insomnia that drugs cannot defeat. My body is too keyed up with adrenaline to let them take effect. There’s only been one time in my history that hypomania has led to true mania, and I was laid out in the hospital for several days while my medication got adjusted.

It was so frustrating, because I didn’t have any ID on me when I got there, so they gave me the first drugs they thought I would need instead of the ones I normally took. But, when I got back to having a regular psychiatrist, my protocol was changed back to my regularly scheduled program. I think that I’m doing better for two reasons.

The first is that things calmed down to nothing in terms of Aada’s story with me, so I don’t have those worries weighing me down anymore. I am satisfied that all we want is peace for the other, and that any contact down the road will be just as peaceful as ours was a few days ago.

We deserve the right to be tired of each other for a while. I cannot believe how bad things got, and how much of a miracle it will be if this is not the end of our movie. That’s because we are excellent writing partners, and it would be fun to create a writer’s room with her in it rather than isolated on my own. If I am allowed to build a dream, it’s that Lanagan Media Group will take on a project that excites her, so she’ll actually want her STEAM creativity sitting at my table. I am not kidding when I say that we would flatten people with our talent and make millions of dollars. I’m not talking her up, this is just the truth.

She doesn’t use arts in her daily job, so she doesn’t think of herself as creative. But I know better because of her diverse background. She could also make me come alive in a different way, because it’s our synergy that makes me feel like a better writer than I actually am. I don’t think I’ve focused on that enough and given her credit. All of that letter writing crafted me into someone with incredible dexterity as a writer, and it was all because I was trying to be impressive when I didn’t feel like it.

She thought of me as a professor, lecturing her instead.

I was always embarrassed by this, because my neurodivergent need to over-explain everything was a symptom. I never thought she was less intelligent than me or less capable. I’m a storyteller, and getting lost in my own thoughts alienated her so that she thought I was speaking ex cathedra, that my words had a magical quality that they didn’t, which was more truth than hers.

I could get lost in my beautiful girl’s writing, and I regret that I did not give her the time and space to feel it. Because I’ve deleted most of the other ones, I’ve gone back and savored the one from the other day. It’s the last pieces of her that I have, and it’s not surprising to me that I want to spend time with them. Her tone is warm and inviting, letting me listen to all her stories. They were very good ones, a narrative I could never create on this web site because those are not my stories to tell.

I may have been invited into her world for the last time, as I have written on my own blog… “The Last Letter.” It is not time to think of an us, only a me in a new direction. But I think there is new hope of building something down the road, after our feelings have had time to breathe. I need to get better, to recover from the last 12 years. I need to be in a more stable place to give Aada the grace that love requires, and she needs time to reach that place with me. If we ever do come back together, it will be because we know we belong in each other’s lives because of our conflict and not despite it.

As I told her, “what would be The AntiAada is for you to face real conflict in a friendship and come out the other side.” That is because she said that her journey with The AntiLeslie had come to a close. This changed her stance to “for now.”

Two words have not meant this much since “someday, perhaps.”

Because the thing about Aada is that she chooses her words very carefully, and would not lead me on if she did not mean it. I was blown away by her depth of emotion for me, that she actually liked being my yellow string and refers to it often. That she was not threatened when I said that it was hard to create relationships outside of her because I was so invested in this one.

It comes across as love addiction, that I’ve attributed these magical qualities to a real life person. But you won’t know if I’m telling the truth or not. You’ll just have to see if our partnership actually produces anything in the future.

I don’t think that Aada has it in her for this to be the last of our movie, either, if she longs for the days when reading “Stories” was her highlight. If there was something I was doing that made her feel that way, I’d certainly want to know what it was.

I thought she would think of me as serious, thoughtful, not willing to throw her away. She thought I was playing her alive. It is definitely a difference of opinion, and one that makes me eager to explore more of myself. To understand what I’m doing when I write about a conflict with someone and they see it.

If you have a conflict with a writer, it’s going to hurt if they’re any good. It was not my intention to come across as The Punisher, just The Tortured Bloggers’ Department.

I’m having to bat cleanup and clarify that all my ruminations were designed to let me let go. That holding all my emotions inside was damaging to me when I couldn’t get air to them. That is no longer a problem, because I don’t see those problems in the same way.

They have been recorded, and are yesterday’s newspaper…. What should be lining your birdcage if you print.

The best comment I ever got from a reader was that I made her cry on the toilet.

Now that’s power.

My story is interesting because it involves so many different people and eras. When I go back and read I realize how many multitudes I contain. But how to show those different aspects of myself to the world has come with mixed results.

I have had to struggle with being popular among strangers and Harriet the Spy to my friends. Given that I love spies, this comparison is not altogether unpleasant. I also enjoy the cartoon, and would love a t-shirt.

But all this time, I haven’t thought of myself as Harriet the Spy, but Player from Carmen Sandiego. I’m just the nerd on the internet with lots of information, that’s usually not in the same physical place with her friends. I identify a lot with Justin Long from “Galaxy Quest.”

But due to my ADHD I have a wide variety of interests rather than sinking my curiosity into only one thing.

And now we’ve arrived at an AHA! moment.

No, I don’t have varied interests because they all feed my writing. I have to have something to write about, but my mind never lifts away from the things I could do here to be more creative.

I just haven’t been funny lately, and I apologize. I haven’t felt funny.

I’ve felt like licking my wounds and being dumped girl.

Meanwhile, I was never dumped girl. I was “I am totally responsible for every aspect of this conflict because I had one job.” I turned my harsh criticism on myself and let everyone see it…. And in fact wonder what made Aada say that I don’t.

I have manipulated her without realizing it, and she cannot say that she did not do the same. I would love to hear what Aada’s doctor saw in me that made her say that Aada was being manipulated, because I’m betting that there are more constructive ways I could have said everything. I hope the difference between me and Aada’s other friends is that I’m waiting and willing to learn all these things so that we can be safe & stable with each other.

I still need to learn how to handle all of my relationships, it’s just that this one is the most important to me. 12 years is a lot of history to throw away, and there will never be a time in which her story is not welcome to be entwined with mine.

I closed my letter by saying that I was “an all the way to the river friend, if we could find a way to walk without tripping the other up.” I think that is the plight of all relationships, to as Rumi says, be entwined at the branches instead of the trunk. All people need enough room to breathe and be themselves, and enough companionship to feel like they are not walking alone.

It is something I will take with me into all new relationships, because I need to talk to a therapist about my own verbiage. How can I grow as a person so that my writing becomes happier? How can I put away my troubles when it is time? How can I focus on my life and compartmentalize?

How can I focus on my own goals, putting down my conflicts with other people and the need to turn them over in my head? I have a feeling it’s why I’m not more popular than I am, this need to ruminate. But it is in this rumination that I find the strength to make it through the rough days. It is my therapy and my hitchhiker’s guide to the universe.

Anne Lamott has always said that if you don’t see the book on the shelf that you need to read, you should write it. Because I didn’t have any new memories with Aada to create, I found myself dwelling on old ones. I was a sentimental fool, and it didn’t come across to the one person I needed to “get it.”

But she does “get it.” She told me never to stop writing, that I didn’t need to take anything down, that she wanted peace for me.

My only reply to that was “you want peace for me, but you do not want to do anything to promote it.” I think that line landed exactly where I needed it to land because it is the heart of the problem. We keep reaching out to each other and missing the mark because we know each other so well in one aspect, writing.

Aada promoting peace would be meeting me in person, allowing us both to decompress and talk slower than 90 wpm.

It is how I have learned that my writing can be negative, that I spend so much time in this space that I am not really connecting with people. Connection is in glances, hugs, cheek kisses, whatever the occasion dictates. Connection is Cafe Bustelo. Connection is Dunkin. Connection is Starbucks.

Connection is spending a few extra dollars on coffee to sit next to each other, welcoming the other into our silence.

Careers

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

Again, I cannot get WordPress to load the pull quote with today’s writing prompt, but it’s one that I did recently, anyway- the one about which careers I would like to do instead of this one, which I assure you I would not do if I thought I could do anything else. Being a writer is a lonely endeavor, but I seem to get the most done this way. I just don’t know how much of a value-add I am right now. It’s a rebuilding year.

The writing has to go on no matter how I am feeling, no matter whether I want to publish or not. Web sites that don’t change in 24 hours don’t get repeat visitors. So, if I make money from ads based on my thought process, my thought process goes on paper no matter what it is. I have been lucky in that my readers will accept any topic from me; what I have not done is switched to academic papers when I was going through something hard. I haven’t hidden away from my grief, shame, mental illness, any of it. It has led to a number of discussions with myself lately on how much I like being a product.

Maybe I would be happier doing something else, but I don’t think I would get the same type feedback. Now, I feel so much less tortured in my soul than I used to. The depression is lifting and I can handle more than I could a few months ago. Where that will lead me, I do not know. But it will not be turning the same problems over in my head, because I’ve been allowed to move on.

But in all of my moving on, I have not allowed Aada the same grace. She has been reading, taking in all my writing as punishment when I’m the one that feels punished by my own actions and feel terrible about them. The message is coming across to her as inverted, like I have some malevolence in store. I do not know how this is happening, but I want to say for the record that I thought I was excellent at raking myself over the coals, and I’m sorry for the lines in which it seemed like I was dragging someone else with me.

This leads me to a deeper issue within my own writing. If I set out to punish myself, then why was Aada so hurt? How could I have written the narrative better so that she knows she’s off the hook?

My silly ruminations weren’t for her, but she read them, anyway. I have no idea how I feel about that, because I’m too used to it to feel embarrassed.

Well, I am embarrassed by the emotions that came up in Aada as she read, because my hurt and my pain were the point of the entries. I did not write them in a way that did not affect her, and I’ll be struggling with that for a long time, because it’s not really a question involving Aada but all the people in my life as I muddle through having a blog at all.

How do I write my frustrations out without hurting the other people in my life? The short answer is that I can’t. To be so frank with my opinions is to create a ripple effect.

Sometimes, the ripple effect is good. People read things here that enlighten them to the path I’m on and it makes them have more empathy for me in person; they feel like they know me better. I have given them context as to who I am, and they like reading me because of it. But then when I write about a conflict between us, the conflict only deepens because I have written about it.

That’s the part that always trips me up. The blowback. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My brain races. My heart races. My adrenaline fights not to go up and I swallow bile.

I’m a sensitive person, and I am not saying that I don’t deserve these differences of opinion. Mine is not the only story that’s true.

I’m just saying that when I have hurt someone, this is what happens. I start to overheat and melt down.

Like when Aada said that it was my goal in life to take her down, embarrass her.

No, my goal in life is to make memories with the woman I love.

Some of them, because I love her, are difficult.

Some of them, because I love her, are easy.

That’s why none of the positive things I write are clues in a game (although I do like Clue, I’ve only played it once or twice). They are just as genuine as everything else. I wish I could endorse my writing somehow…. If only there were a way to check if I’m really who I say I am, like going for coffee……..

Going for coffee is my favorite way to talk with someone whose read my writing and needs to vent. The conversation cannot get too heated on either end, and I’m not ashamed to cry into my latte. Sometimes these conversations are living the entry twice, because I cried when I wrote it. But the easy nature of friends helps the conversation to get back on track quickly. It’s not the same as writing in this space to figure out a conflict. We have solved it in real time.

Though I think it will take a long time for Aada to heal, I do not think this is the end of our movie. She thought I was rejecting her when I wasn’t, and it took the wind out of her sails. This last round was peaceful, and I told her I loved her. It was a benediction of sorts, allowing her to go in peace.

I have taken that peace for myself, and it reminds me to slow down in my writing. To notice smaller things, like the sunrise this morning. The taste of my coffee. The water in my shower. To feel differences in temperature, like the sharp cold of the morning air embracing me after a night covered in blankets.

My entries are progressing into a new era that doesn’t feel like profound loss. I have been given a chance to start over, and I am taking it.

I want to surround myself with people I can be safe, stable, and genuine in creating deep friendships, a support network built on trust. I’m really starting to think about who is going to finish my life with me, because I’d rather know a few people for a very long time, and a disorder that needs to be managed in order to make it happen.

I am the most safe and stable in Baltimore, ironically. It’s a dangerous city, but it’s got the best health care package for me. I can move anywhere in the state of Maryland, the trick being that all my doctors here are already set up. I’m not sure that I want to go through the hassle of setting them up again so soon after I’ve become their patient. But moving back to DC does weigh on me, and I think about it every time I have to renew a lease. I just don’t think I can make it happen this time around. I’m running out of time.

I would like for my apartment complex to make it right by giving me a new apartment on the grounds. We’ll see. I’m also surfing Craig’s List like a madman.

I am overwhelmed because moving takes more energy than I have. I need help, and I know that my dad and sister will be available as we get closer to my move-out date. I am learning that we will do anything for each other, and that makes me feel invincible as I work through what needs to happen between now and November 10th, the absolute date at which I will be homeless if I do not find something.

It is comforting knowing that the things I love most will fit in my car, and that lets me escape to anywhere, or dream of it, anyway.

I dream of a lot of things, which is why writing suits me. Today I’m dreaming of a better world for myself, one that doesn’t flood when it rains. I would like my home to be warm, welcoming, and inviting. I would like for light to stream in. I have a laundry list of features that I want in a new place, including laundry. My neurodivergence is eating my lunch.

I need to be more strict with myself. I need to time writing sessions rather than letting them be open-ended because I have too much to do at home to make WordPress my entire focus. But at the same time, I know I will not be able to post and move at the same time, so it’s banking entries so that people have more to read while I’m off the grid.

But it’s not a carefully calculated baring of my soul, it’s just brain droppings. I go all over the place, or try to, and that’s the point of the journey.

I make a career reflecting on my interactions with the world, and it responds by reacting to me. It all seems fair, it’s just difficult.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My Specialty is Flexibility

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

For some reason, I can’t get my browser to insert the pull quote containing today’s prompt… But it goes something like “what food would you consider your specialty?” I worked as a cook for years, and I have yet to find a favorite. But the thing I make the most often when I need to comfort myself is macaroni and cheese.

Not Kraft Dinner.

It’s a casserole filled with multiple kinds of cheese, mirepoix, and a crumb topping made out of club crackers or Goldfish. I am pretty sure I can woo anyone with this dish, I just haven’t found anyone on which I’d like to work that particular magic. You have to be invited.

Real macaroni and cheese is work, which is why Kraft Dinner has simplified it. I enjoy taking the extra time and effort, especially since a casserole will last me for several meals. Mac and cheese with some kind of protein thrown in is never something I mind having more than once in a week.

When I’m cooking it’s all about love. I want friends in the kitchen to sous for me while I direct the recipe. I feel I have at least cooked professionally long enough to break down the jobs for everyone else by station. I don’t abuse power, I just get it done. You can teach more with kindness than you can with hostility, but try telling Gordon Ramsey that………

When I’m cooking, I think about love and how I want it to direct me in the future. Because I’ve been so sprung over Aada for 12 years, I’m looking in a different direction. She has never been interested in me like a partner would be, and I am realizing that emotional support cannot be everything. It’s not about displacing her, exactly. I just need more than she can give, and that’s so okay. She’s beautiful just the way she is, and she was made straight.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t say “damnit” a lot when I found out that particular tidbit.

So what I’m looking for in a partner is someone like her, who is strong and vulnerable in all the ways I’m not, plus actually wants to go on a date with me would be a nice change.

Finding love like that makes me miss Aada more, not less, because I realize that my time would be divided so much differently out of necessity. That my girlfriend (most likely) and my possible step kids will take over my writing life. That’s good, that’s necessary. You can still admit that change is difficult when you’ve only known something else for a number of years.

I honestly cannot tell you why this transition did not happen earlier. It just never worked out. I have dated since I met Aada and I have fallen in love. It just didn’t last.

Mostly because I didn’t care.

I would eat my own comfort food, take my own long baths, sleep in powerfully comfy sheets, and just focus my attention on a possible career as a writer if I ever get my act together.

I know it is possible if Aada read every day for 12 years, because she’s smarter than everyone else.

Mostly.

We both have our weak spots, and one of mine is that she feels like I’m beating up on her. She already feels terrible, and I just keep bringing shit up. That’s got to stop, because the slate is wiped clean. I have done all the thinking about our problems that I’m going to do, because being off in my own little world did not allow me to see that I was hurting her. I was just working on my own stuff.

I was trying to wade through the hard parts of our relationship so that I could come to peace within myself; that came across to her as “you will be stronger than ever once you’ve punished me enough to move on.”

Yeah, that one hurt.

That’s because she’s been my heart since 2013, and she didn’t deserve to be thrown away like I would get over our “breakup” quickly and easily, as if she was disposable. If you break up with someone and they’re a writer, it’s going to hurt if they’re any good.

It would not have been my recommendation for Aada to keep reading, but she said that she stopped on Friday and would let me have my space. I have my doubts as to whether this is actually true, A-Dog O’Bling Bling. 😉 I sent her a letter yet again pouring out my heart, and perhaps hearing the back story of what really has gone on these past few months helped her to see that I’m not the monster I play on TV.

My web site is all about exploring relationships, and mine with Aada is the only one I’ve been in to be able to tell you about, with guest spots here and there, but for the most part it was just us chatting all day. I couldn’t build a web site outside of her because I was giving her too much energy. She couldn’t keep up with the volume, and always felt guilty about it. Meanwhile, I’m like…. “But you like to read, don’t you?” I never minded when she couldn’t keep up. I minded when that excuse was actually her hiding a problem from me.

I hope she’ll at least cop to that.

I am a sponge and I can feel energy, even from someone’s writing. I can tell the difference between “I’m slammed” and “I’m ignoring you.” The tone is completely different, no matter how much you might mask it.

I told Aada that maybe my writing wasn’t for her, because she didn’t think she was as interesting as my readers did. And honestly, I think that’s true. Nobody likes to read about themselves as much as they like to read about somebody else, because they don’t identify with the conflict. Aada identified with it too much, and I’m sure is basking in the glow of not being subject to all my “homework.”

I don’t know, though. Even now, after all we’ve been through, she told me that she just needed to get together the willpower to stop reading, and stop wanting to correct the narrative. That genuinely broke my heart into a million pieces because I would be thrilled if Aada corrected the record in so many ways.

Why does she not think she has a side of the story here? That my entries are edicts? Why does she give me that power over her rather than telling me to shove it up my ass?

I know from 25 years of blogging that I can be wrong. Really wrong. Devastatingly wrong. And instead of getting defensive and angry, it helps to roll with the punches. Write corrections where I can, because sometimes people don’t want to talk about my writing. The ones that do have a better relationship with it, because we collaborate on what’s going to be said. Aada hasn’t had that because she cut me off (I deserved it).

She is forgiven for that, but it’s hard to correct her record when she walks away.

I also don’t think that she’s ready to give up her relationship with me, not in her heart of hearts. I’m not sure she has the stomach for it, but we’ll see. I think she thinks it’s interesting how I weave us in and out, she just doesn’t read it with enough love for herself. She does not see the tapestry I’ve created, the 3D characters we’ve both become, because I can talk about victories and defeats in equal measure… But often, happiness writes white.

The ink just doesn’t get deep enough to make an impression, so in thinking of things to write about I often explore problems in my life so that I can put them down for the day. What Aada is missing is the part of my day where I’m the lightest, which is after I’ve finished for the day. It would be great if she came in at Happy Hour and not “this is my space where I turn things over.”

This is advice for my new friends, who cannot possibly know me as well as Aada does in other ways. I figure if she thinks I’ve been punishing her, I should tell her how I feel when I’m the lightest as well.

I wish I had a memory of us hugging, and then I don’t because I think it would make me too emotional now. Once I had hold of her, I wouldn’t let go until she did. I would hope that at least sometimes, it would be hard for her to let go, too. There’s not a hint of romance, but deep companionship that I won’t find anywhere else BECAUSE we’ve fought so hard. I am in my grateful era, that all of the strife is over and I can just relax. I want Aada to enjoy the benefit of the calm in my soul.

She really undid me with her letter the other day, but I cried so hard that it let some light in. I no longer feel as sad and depressed as I’ve been the last few months, because I feel secure in her in a way that I never have before. If we do not reconnect, everything will be okay. Nothing will be the same, but everything will be okay. Before, when Aada would walk away our trauma bond would go off and my palm would itch, brainrace and heart race intact. I don’t feel that anymore, because the trauma bond is broken. It is a huge leap forward in connecting with other people.

I have a feeling I’m using the words “trauma bond” incorrectly…….. What I mean is that we had “instamacy” because we each trauma dumped, not thinking of the consequences years down the road. It has been a mixed bag. I think she likes the idea of me writing my first novel and dedicating it to her; I don’t think I can do it without her. Therein lies the rub. I feel like I will not proceed as a writer if I do not have Aada in my corner.

These are all the things that are in my writing, this absolute glowing about Aada’s magic qualities, that she misses when she reads. I’m betting she has few people around her with a positive view of me if she views my writing as punishment. If she tells people I’m punishing her, then that’s what they should believe. Those are not my facts, that is how my writing affected her.

I am saying that I hear that.

She said that hopefully I could let go of the hate and vitriol, and I wish I could. Sometimes I get angry, and those feelings are just as valid as joy for a scratch journal about mental health. Those angry entries are symptoms of something larger, which is showing mental health as it really is. If you follow me every day, you can see my neurodivergent tendencies fight it out. Some days, autism is driving the bus. Sometimes. ADHD has the wheel. It has never, to my recollection, been Jesus.

But for every single time I’ve been angry, I have been joy-filled.

You should see her eyes. I have, and I’ll never be the same. Her gaze is so wonderfully powerful in a photo that I would fall all over myself in person. I think that’s the part I regret most about our relationship, that I never got to apologize in person, moving the story forward in a more positive direction. I think I could have accomplished more with a smile and a hug than I could with a letter, but both methods of apologizing are inextricably interrelated. Going without contact comfort for 12 years led us to be a lot crankier with each other than usual.

I don’t think she realizes that I let go by writing, that I am not carrying around hatred, vitriol, punishment, any of that. I have been so careful to talk about both our flaws and failures, trying to be fair and balanced, trying to see her perspective without her giving it. I have raked myself over the coals trying to apologize and she says she cannot stomach the flagellation I’m doing to her. I asked her where her empathy was for all the times I’d flogged myself.

I don’t mean to flog myself or anyone else, but when you try to get to the heart of shame and vulnerability in a relationship, you talk about hard things. Putting them away and pretending they don’t exist is harder than bringing something into the light and sharing pain. I have been so grateful to the readers that have stuck with me, especially those that have commented, and I’m sorry I have not been keeping up with them.

I think the most magical quality that I’m trying to find in my writing is, “if I can attract someone like Aada to my writing, how do I attract more people like her?” I want readers that are smart, engaging, funny, thoughtful, etc. Now, they are starting to appear.

I hope that it is because I have presented a story all the way through, not picking and choosing “the best of,” but showing that relationships are complicated and so are the people in them. I cannot think in soundbites, I need to understand all the way around the nature of a problem. My soul has not been settled for months, tossing and turning from despair to despair, with jolts of joy to remind me that life was worth living. It got dark for a while, but thanks to my mental health team, the swing is going up.

I am not trying to hurt my beautiful girl. I have been hurt. I am not trying to punish anyone but myself. I’m not punishing anyone, but asking Aada to own her part. To not be a victim because neither of us were. We both have gone through some hard things with the other, and neither of us has a stellar track record at connecting with the other. But through my writing, both in e-mail and here on this web site, I have managed to explain myself well enough. Why would I want to punish her when I am so excellent at punishing myself?

Yes, it was all worth it. From the highs to the lows to the end of the show for the rest of our lives.

But it’s not just that. It’s that Aada and I have reached a good stopping place. That it is now possible to start again because we both got closure and will give each other time to rest. It’s not time to throw each other away. It’s time for me to be stronger now that I’ve lifted her up enough to move on.

Maybe Michael is right. Some relationships just shouldn’t be. But love is all about risk, and I’ve already risked this much. I know she has risked plenty for me, more than I know and am afraid to ask.

But one day, down the road a bit when both of us have breathed the peace of interim, I hope she’ll let me make her some macaroni and cheese.

It’s the closest I’ll ever get to really letting her know how I feel.

If You Are New Here

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

If you are new here, you are reading at a very good time. I have recently let go of my old life and am starting to build a new one. Some elements of my life will remain the same. I am not planning on leaving Baltimore. It’s just that the life I’ve led for the past 12 years has been mostly tethered to my keyboard even when I’m not writing for this web site. That has to change, because I know you all like pictures, too. I could take some if I wasn’t so busy chatting.

Internet chat is one of those things that sustains me. It is easier for me to respond in the comfort of my chair, but this new life I’m building requires more of me than that. I need to meet people in their elements, out and about. I’ve gotten to know a little bit more about my neighborhood since I’ve gotten a car, because I’ve been able to branch out more than the two or three tenths of a mile I was willing to walk.

If you are new here, you probably don’t know that this is the first time I’ve driven in about 10 years, and it’s a miracle. I didn’t have all the technology available to me now on my last car, and driving feels different…. But no less amazing. I thought I would miss my stick shift, but as it turns out a six speed automatic is just as good. I am much happier in stop and go traffic.

I’ve been diligent about cleaning my car inside and out. Every time I park, I gather all my trash and throw it away before I come inside. This is a new ritual for me, because usually I cannot be bothered. It’s my way of turning over a new leaf- not having to have that conversation with people getting in…. “Just give me a second to move all my crap over…” I think it’s funny that I’m so dedicated to people seeing my clean car and there’s no chance anyone will be riding with me anytime soon… But there’s always a chance.

If you are new here, then you probably do not know the cast of characters. I am Leslie, and I’m here every day. My friends rotate in and out as we chat and visit in person. My friend Riker is a writer and uses this blog as his own, so we’ll be doing a web site redesign in the near future, which scares me… But is also a great project as Lanagan Media Group becomes a reality.

This blog is not my only project, but it’s the most consistent. I’m also working on a cookbook with my buddy Evan, and we’ll see what also comes down the pike as LMG thinks about new ventures, like a podcast.

I’ve also thought about getting out and doing some filming in Baltimore, a vlog from me as I’m walking down the street vs. reading. My friend Bryn has told me many times that she likes listening to me like a podcast, so a vlog would bring her that….. And I’m sure she’s bummed that I haven’t posted on Medium in a while because the AI voice doesn’t read the entries to her on WordPress.

I’ll get back to Medium. I just haven’t thought of any scholarly articles that I want to write, and that’s where it seems the most geared. Here on WordPress, I have access to so many more elements to make this web site appealing.

I wish that I could combine the two web sites’ abilities, but no one asked me.

So, if you are new here, look forward to the fact that you might be getting Medium links in the future, as you have in the past. The main reason this is still my main web site even though Medium pays its writers is that my ad revenues are starting to pick up here and I’m more comfortable with WordPress altogether.

If you are new here, then you should know that I used to be kind of a big deal in the early aughts, but I didn’t monetize early enough to become an influencer, and honestly, I’m not sure where my talent ranks among other writers. I’ve been compared to David Sedaris the most frequently, but I cannot figure out why. I am sure that it is because I can use my Southern drawl to great effect, even online.

I, like Dooce, will ALSO SPARE YOU THE DETAILS OF EARL’S ANGINA.

God, I miss that woman. I wish I’d had a chance to meet her in person.

I did get to meet Wil Wheaton back in the day, and I’ve had a few famous names read me over the years, but mostly I’ve kept my head down. I made a friend over the internet and we disappeared into a bubble. Now, that bubble has burst, and I am ready for prime time.

But what the secretive bubble did for me was give me a sandbox as a writer. I am more fluid and flexible in writing than I am verbally. I think that this is a feature of my neurodivergence, as I have both ADHD and Autism. Spending 12 years almost solely reading and writing for entertainment upped my game in a way that I would not have gotten otherwise.

Now, it’s time to blend that world into the real, learning to live and react simultaneously.

I have felt for a long time that this blog has been a book report on my friend Aada’s letters to me, an easier thing to write than taking in a whole environment at once. But I need to realize that this blog thrives on my descriptions of more than how I’m feeling in reaction to people’s email. I do not know why I gave so much power to Aada, but yet, I do.

I still do, and am pulling myself out of it. Believe me when I say that I am coming down from thinking she puts the sun in the sky every morning before she goes to work. I need to put her in the proper perspective, and since we’ve agreed to at the very least have time apart, if not drift altogether, it’s time.

There’s just nothing I want to immortalize more than our relationship, so the search is on to find something that excites me just as much. My brain works best with distraction/redirection, and this situation is no different. To me, rising above being in this secretive bubble filled with energy would be writing about my reactions to the world’s news. I haven’t much before because I don’t have any degrees. Who cares about my opinion?

It’s a huge reason I talk about my life and not politics. I am an expert in my reactions to things because I was present when they happened. I am not an expert in anything other than that. So, because I am not a world traveler and it is not my job to absorb the news, I’m not sure I feel qualified to do more than let you into my little corner of the world.

Welcome.

History According to Me

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What major historical events do you remember?
View all responses

The first news story I really remember was when Adam Walsh got kidnapped.

I watched the space shuttle Challenger blow up with the rest of my fourth grade class.

Baby Jessica fell down a well.

My father preached through all of it.

I really wish I could remember what he said in his sermons all these years later, because I remember feeling comforted then.

I was a child, taking in everything through a child’s lens. I was afraid of being kidnapped for a long time after Adam Walsh disappeared. This was the first time I knew that facts could have an emotional impact. It was 1981. It felt like that was the first moment I realized how big and scary the world could be.

The second moment was huddled on the floor of my townhouse in Alexandria with my then-wife, Kathleen. The Pentagon had been struck that day, as well as the twin towers. There were fighter jets flying over our house every 10 minutes for about three days, and the phone lines were jammed. Because I’d been home that day, I’d actually heard the plane slam into the Pentagon, but the TV wasn’t on. I had no idea that I’d just lived through a terrorist attack. I thought it was a construction accident across the street. That’s how loud it was, even miles away.

Less traumatic, but still important was that I led a prayer and remembrance service for Matthew Shepard after he was murdered at University of Houston. It changed me because I learned that I could indeed be a leader when others were in pain, and I could step into the role my father had and it didn’t look bad on me.

I can see myself preaching through things, in retrospect, but I think I have more of an impact here.

I’m able to talk about my experiences, and how the historical and the emotional come together to make me who I am today.

I used to be more dialed in than I am now. I have ignored the news for months. I have been focusing on my own journey, pulling myself out of a lot of grief. That has started to change with getting back into the swing of things. I’m starting slowly. I listened to Pod Save America in the car.

I distanced myself from the news because it drove my anxiety, whereas a lot of my writing became repetitive self-soothing, echologia to calm myself down that riled everyone else up. I’m learning that my words do have power, that I’m my own kind of news, and that I’m not comfortable with it. I’ve had to become comfortable with it over time…. To accept that to put my own thoughts into the universe is to create a reaction, a ripple effect.

No one knows what is going on in my mind as I write, weaving history and my emotional life together. There are many people that I wish would come over and sit with me, because writing is often a lonely endeavor. It helps to have a dog, which I do not. But I enjoyed being in Houston and my dad’s dogs lying next to me while I pounded the keys. It has made me consider a service dog with renewed fervor now that I actually have the time and space to dedicate to one.

That will be a moment in history to savor, because I think at that point I will be so obsessed with training my dog that Lanagan Media Group will just become a repository of our pictures and videos.

Something about Aada’s letter has stayed with me… That she will miss the time in her life when reading Stories was the highlight of her day. Her manipulations isolated me from the life I was writing about, so in effect she helped bring about the changes she didn’t like. My task now is to find what it was all those years ago that made my writing appeal to the broadest possible audience. It is how nothing being the same will make everything okay. It’s the transition I have in front of me, where getting back into the news is a choice. Getting back into society is a choice. Not being so closed off is a choice.

Walking towards health and wholeness is a choice. I am on my way, because being in my Cognitive Behavioral Health group and attending therapy is helping turn down the dial on all my emotions. It will be possible for me to get out and make friends locally in a way that it hasn’t been before. I have more of what I need to survive, which is care and connection out in the real world that doesn’t depend on the Internet.

The 24 hour news cycle drove me insane, because there wasn’t a moment of my day that I wasn’t anxious about something. But I cannot afford to be tuned out, either.

It is a conundrum, because I like being dialed in. I just don’t feel strong enough to handle the world’s anxiety when I can barely handle my own.

Again, it is striking to me how much this blog has made history in other people’s heads, that things I’ve published have come across as news to them. I am learning how to deal with those consequences, and it’s such a large part of my need to branch out. Maybe write some academic papers. Who knows?

History belongs to the writers, and this week I learned why that is so unfortunate.

Driving Ambition

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I recently bought a used car. It’s a 2019 Ford Fusion SEL, a sedan with the aggressive styling of the Mustang in gunmetal gray. I cannot tell you how nice it is to be mobile again, because what was tripping me up about leaving the house was having to be in public from the moment I walk out my front door until I get to my destination. There is a feeling I need to be “on,” and whether or not that’s true I’m in prime social masking territory waiting for the bus.

In the car, I do not have to worry about being charming. My eyes can be half closed in the line at Starbucks just like everyone else. It’s those little bursts of sensory deprivation that give me the energy to make it through the day.

I have had many dreams of my beautiful girl learning to scare me in it. Which one? Take your pick. They are all beautifully scary drivers. That’s how I roll. Drive like a grandma in my own car, but enjoy the criminality of others whenever possible.

I drive so slow that people routinely go around me. I can’t help it. It’s my new car and I don’t want to get into trouble with tickets or accidents. I don’t mind being passed. I’d rather give someone room to get around me and let them go on their merry way. Some drivers have gotten way too close for comfort and I can only surmise that they do not have lane assist on their cars like I do.

Lane assist, the backup camera, blind spot assist, and adaptive cruise control allow me to overcome my original problem when I got my license…. Lack of stereopsis. Not being able to see in 3D made cars jump out of nowhere.

After being absolutely blinded by the sun this morning, I’m ready to go back to Oregon. Evan’s a realtor. I’ll just leave tomorrow and figure it out on the road (KIDDING). I actually love the sunshine, but the gray has its benefits. You are rarely, if ever, blinded on Portland roads. You can’t even see the sun 280 days a year.

These drives of mine are bringing up drives past, when I just loaded up my truck, Shirley, and hit the open road. We’d drive out the Columbia River Gorge and go hiking…. Well, the truck was terrible at hiking even in four wheel drive mode, so I left Shirley in the parking lot. You know what I mean. I took my camera and stopped every 50 feet to take pictures of flora and fauna alike.

It’s what I’m hoping to do on Sunday, when I travel out to my friend Tiina’s farm. I was sick this past Sunday, so we rescheduled. I’m so excited that I don’t have to miss out on a great road trip, and lots of photography of Virginia.

I used to live in Alexandria, so I always feel like going to Virginia is going home. I hope to bring out some of that emotion in my pictures so that you can tell how much I miss it. And who knows, maybe I’ll end up in Virginia again someday. It would be a pleasure to claim 703 for the first time since I was 24.

Right now, though, I have a more immediate need- driving around to find a place to live quickly. A move to Virginia could indeed happen fast, but I want to think about it first. I have memories in Alexandria that are not altogether pleasant, and I’d like some time for them to fade. But what I will love is driving by my old house, which faces the freeway, on the way to Tiina’s. I think…. Hard to tell which route I’ll take on a Sunday afternoon with the least amount of traffic all week.

I am feeling my inertia start to rise because I have another place that is totally my own. I am capable of more than I have been, but I don’t know how much. I have a driving ambition to find out, because I am letting go of things not meant for me.

I’m excited that Aada just said “for now,” because I know she chooses her words carefully. She would not leave me with hope if she did not mean it. We need time to settle, to breathe, and for me to feel the wind in my hair as all my troubles fly out the passenger side. Believe me when I say that her passenger has just as many issues, enough for both cars.

Rolling down the windows and turning up the stereo is how I’m going to survive all of this, just like when I met her and found out, gasp, she was straight. It doesn’t bother me now, but it bothered me a great deal back then. It’s not that I thought anything would happen, it’s that you can’t control who turns your head and it was an ordeal to turn back.

In a lot of ways, my head will never be on straight because the driving ambition in my life is to find a way to make myself so proud that I start attracting energy to me rather than feeling like I need to give it away. That leaves me a lot of room to dream into the clouds and not a lot of time on the ground with execution. AI is making all of that easier, with abstract ideas being concrete plans in a matter of minutes.

Stop.

I wanted this entry to be all about my car, and my mind leaned toward Aada again. I’m calling myself out and changing the channel, because even though the thought is not intrusive, now is not the time to indulge it. I’m supposed to be resting and relaxing. Dr. Aada’s orders, and Dr. Leslie’s back to her.

Why do I feel myself shutting down for calling myself out? Because I don’t like authority, even mine. I have a driving ambition to be more than I thought I could be because I have the stories of several women flowing through my veins that are tougher motherfuckers than me.

:::pats self on back:::

One of them is even a very famous Instagram influencer and so cute I walked into a door at Chuy’s trying not to notice. I hurt my nose.

This is me once again trying to recapture what it is like for reading “Stories” to again be the highlight of Aada’s day, because she apologized that she would not be reading…. And her resolve was secure, she hadn’t read since Friday.

My heart might have melted at that.

She stayed with me and read everything I had to say until Friday? That means she read the letter Bob wrote mirroring her, which was actually perfect in its tone except for the lack of profanity. She thought I was raking her over the coals and trying to exact a price when I thought I was writing the good, the bad, and the ugly.

That there is more to my story than the things that went wrong, and now I know what they are. I am responsible for all of it, and the price I paid is large. I have learned from my mistakes, and need to make amends.

My saving grace is that Supergrover (Aada) sees my pain. Honors it. Acknowledges it. Has come to me in a way that few people do, heart in hand.

It reinforces the fact that she’s been my driving ambition since long before I bought a car. The relief of seeing her name in my inbox and the story she told me brought tears as I coped with the loss I’d felt since December. She brought it all back, but because she leveled with me, she did not hurt me. I have not lost progress to our conversation, except that my thought processes regarding her have calmed.

I’m not as anxious as I was. I won’t be from here on out. Aada’s and my ages have a lot to do with it. I’m slowing down and I need Aada to slow down with me. It’s time. We’re both ready for some space and she has given it to me by allowing me to write whatever I want. She is not going to read it. So anyone who thinks she needs to know something, write it down. She doesn’t want to know.

She doesn’t want to know the good, the bad, and the ugly because all she takes home is the bad and the ugly. She said yesterday that compliments were like puzzles, which only puzzled me. When you get mad at your spouse or your sibling, does that one fight eliminate all the love you have for them? Well, that’s how I feel about Aada. She is cute, cuddly, and in monster mode will eat off your face. Twice.

I have it on good authority that she doesn’t mind being monstrous.

The “for now” aspect of her e-mail convinces me that this is not the end of our movie. That all I need to do is accept more of the universe into my writing so that she’s not so extremely loud and incredibly close. But if you were traveling with The Doctor, wouldn’t you rather write about them than anyone else?

As with all companions, living with The Doctor on the TARDIS has to come to an end. I feel that this is just Aada dropping me back off in 2025. But there’s always the specials, so perhaps the blue box will appear in the sky when I least expect it.

I can at least give chase in my magnificent used car.

What is it about Aada that makes her so special? I can’t tell you that. I’m not being flip. I really don’t know why she has captured my imagination so completely. But it was there before we ever talked about her career.

You know. At the car wash. I hope they’re breaking even.

Grace and peace, Godspeed to you. I’ll see you in my dreams, when we race to Coos Bay. I’ll even give you a head start if you’re in the pregnant roller skate.