Wound Care -or- Soteriology

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

I have noticed that now there are millions and millions of words between us- probably tens of millions considering that several years running my word count was at two million alone- and that was before I stopped tracking it. Therefore, I feel like now I can give advice on writing (sort of) because you can see that I may not be “the best and the brightest,” but I am coming from a place of authority over my experiences because when it comes to how much I’ve written, I can bring the receipts. You don’t even have to go to Amazon (yet).

There is no way that the me of ten years ago ever had a 65 day streak on WordPress. I was motivated, but not to the degree I am now. Presently, I am not married to an extrovert and don’t have social/family obligations that I don’t really want to oblige. “No, but thank you so much for the invitation” should be sufficient. It helps that Zac and Bryn and I use Facebook Messenger 90% of the time rather than getting together- and the last time I was in Portland was years ago, but I know I could knock on Bryn’s door without telling her I was coming if need be. I know Bryn well enough that she’d take me in if she had room, and would certainly help me find a place failing that. It’s good to have friends.

It’s the support system that respects my privacy as an observer to human behavior more than a participant. I feel like I have had enough of forced extroversion because it makes other people uncomfortable. Harper Lee is widely considered to be one of the greatest writers who ever lived. No one remembers that after a certain age, she never left her house. Scout and Boo are the same person, and they are me in the singular sense of the word. We are not the same level of writer, but we have similar souls.

When it comes to me, never forget that. I am not saying I am Harper Lee. I am saying that writing comes better to me through isolation because I am a monotropic thinker; any stimulation interrupts that because of my ADHD. Therefore, I do not want to play the organ, conduct, and sing all at the same time. I sit in complete silence in order to drive the bus rather than riding. Hyperfocus can be induced the longer I think about something and let the minor irritations float away. When I’m writing, I don’t feel physical sensations in the same way. My hands are so focused, playing the keyboard with the same facial expressions as my mother at her piano. Making one thing the most important is the only thing that drowns out other priorities.

That’s one of the things that makes my writing so intense and visceral. A blank page lets my autism run wild, stream of conscious thought my best quality and not my worst.

No matter what you write, start with stream of consciousness first. Your books are where you learn plot, character, and setting. Your brain is where you learn voice. You don’t learn your brain until you can lay it out on the table and see it. I think that’s why most autistic people throw truth bombs. They’re going to tell you the truth whether you like it or not, because they’re not thinking about you. They’re thinking about the one thing they’re programmed to think about- which is whatever the single interest of the moment is for someone with ADHD….. so much of the reason my behavior has been erratic the last 10 years, because two things are true. I need a lot less stimulation in my life, and I have been through the ringer. I am not blaming, I am saying there are two sides to that equation. I overestimated my social anxiety due to my situation, but that doesn’t render autism invalid. It only made my trauma my single interest when I write. But that’s what taught me voice. Both writing trauma and learning to laugh about it as time went by.

While I thought Supergrover hung the moon, I still had to walk through the dark on starless nights.

Voice.

This blog might as well be called “The Agony and the Ecstasy,” with apologies to Irving Stone.

For people with autism without ADHD, they overfocus on one thing consistently. I am a blend, having both spur of the moment interests and a single thing- being myself here. That’s because the one thing I know is that readers will not find you if you don’t put out a pure signal. People are searching for something real, hungry for it. If you don’t throw down, neither will they….. whether it’s a reader or a partner.

By being a writer, you’re leading from the back and you should be aware of it. That if you write fiction, things will be attributed to you that are just your characters’ personalities. For me, this comes in where my friends are all characters and real people. That their characters cannot be them because I don’t live in their heads. I give you my impression of what’s there, and sometimes I’m right. Sometimes I’m wrong. But I put down all my vulnerabilities first because it makes me stronger, not weaker. I develop emotional resilience by charting growth and being proud of it. I regret all the times when I was full of rage and look forward to not feeling it in the future. I have gotten rid of most things that give me anxiety, but not all because to a neurodivergent person life itself induces anxiety.

It feels a lot like internalized homophobia, because neurodivergent kids are taught to hate themselves early on. Kids have ADHD or autistic or depressed or anxious behavior and it’s attributed to malice. This also creates blowback for me now as a writer. The first problem is that people say to me all the time “don’t write about this” when it is the most boring thing I have ever heard in my life. Making a story out of it would be harder than nailing Jell-O to a wall. But it’s not because the story itself is uninteresting. It’s that it requires a level of craft I don’t have in all cases. I don’t write about things right away all the time. Sometimes, I have to mull it over because some stories are interesting right away. Others unfold in the memory. It’s all about energy and flow in stream of consciousness, and the crafting of the narrative is completely organic. In order for a story to appear here, it has to fit the overall message of what I’m trying to say. It’s not gossip. It’s a treasure trove of memories that won’t mean anything until they become as emotionally detached as I am…. not in that I’m emotionally detached when I write. That when they read they are seeing themselves as a different person, as am I when I go back several years.

All people view themselves differently when they’re reading something written about who they were in the past vs. who they are now. They can acknowledge their humanity easier, because in the moment they’re angry and their pride is hurt. Over time, they come to accept their flaws, and my intent is to write about all of it. Gossiping would be boring because it wouldn’t change me. I wouldn’t grow from being Walter Winchell, but I like that Brené Brown. She’s going to be big one day.

If you are a writer, tell your story. No one owns it, and will probably be grateful down the road because they didn’t have the foresight to make notes. They’ll read yours because they at least know the memory is there whether they agree with you or not. They’re not coming back for your side of the story, but to remember their own. But in that, they see the problem with different eyes. It seems I have learned something in the last few years, when they did.

You cannot write a message to anyone who isn’t ready to hear it, and I’ve stopped trying. This is my web site. It is my treasure trove of memories, and you are invited. It is not the sum total of my writing, it is the gym, and we just got Pilates up in this bitch. It’s hard work, the bleeding. But here’s the thing. The writing is the Band-Aid you put over a wound to stop it, because you can actually see the source. Writing is also the Neosporin that keeps the infection out so that you heal faster.

Also, don’t end a sentence with a preposition. It’s not “where’s the library at?” It’s “where’s the library at, asshole.”

No, But I’ll Think of Something

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?

Everything in my life has been built on a series of decisions, not just one. It would be like pulling a string on a sweater. Pick at it, and the whole outfit unravels. For instance, if I relived a year of school, I might not have ended up in Portland or DC. The prompt doesn’t say “knowing what you know now,” so I may be assuming a lot. I think that’s because if I went back to the amount of knowledge I had at the time, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything differently.

I am probably the smartest dumb kid you know…. which is how most people view others with ADHD or that have autism and are called “high functioning.” This is because people rarely pick up on ADHD/Autism; it’s not their reality. Neurodivergents have gaps that other people attribute to lack of intelligence, disabled and not differently-abled (which feels trite given how I’ve been treated). It’s just not normal that I need this much isolation. It’s just not normal that I communicate over the Internet. It’s just not normal that…… fill it in with a hundred different things, but those are the top two. To me, it feels like an accommodation. I am less comfortable in a conversation verbally than I am in writing. Even then, I turn down the stimulation in the room so that I can focus on what I’m saying.

It’s the same whether I’m using Facebook Messenger to chat or writing a letter with e-mail rather than snail mail. I say it just that way because most people think e-mail should be a few sentences at best. I write letters like it’s the 1800s and Ma is about to die of dysentery (omg… “Oregon Trail” reference… you’re welcome, PDX.). It’s not that I don’t understand the form. It’s that I want to give people letters that make them laugh, think, absorb…. without having to go to the post office.

Speaking of going to the post office, Zac did. He had TDY (Temporary Duty) in Arizona last week and he sent me the cutest post card with a “Metro Map” of he solar system. If that isn’t sweet enough, it says, “there’s a new John le Carré biopic on Apple TV+. Will you watch it with me?” I think I’ll manage because I don’t love le Carré like a house on fire or anything. His episodes of “Fresh Air” and “Writers & Company” are my favorites of all the episodes I’ve heard. And I’ve been listening to “Fresh Air” for a while. Since Zac is intelligence, albeit military, I’ve called him “George Smiley” from the beginning…. and I am sure with the time of year I’ll be able to tell him to come in from the cold at some point. Also, it tickles me that in voice dictation, Siri turns “George Smiley” into “George :).”

There’s your ADHD aside for the day, because I’m supposed to be talking about everything I don’t want to relive. The Butterfly Effect is real. If I changed a single thing, I wouldn’t have met any of the most important people in my life. I might not have met Bryn or Dana. I might not have met Zac, either, because even if I had been here in my 20s, Zac would have been barely above “tweenager…” in Arizona. I definitely wouldn’t have ended up in this marvelous house. I might have problems with my housemates sometimes, but nothing my landlady wouldn’t fix in a heartbeat. She fought in the Lebanese Civil War. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly, even me….. and that’s a good thing.

I suppose I could re-live this year. That might help, and wouldn’t change my life so dramatically. It would not touch the chain of events that got me here, more precious than gold despite feeling pain over it. My feeling right now is that most people write me off as “being dramatic,” but I don’t think I am. I think I bring up a lot of emotions for people when they read because I’m bleeding when I write. Whether those emotions are good or bad depends on your perspective. Do you admire someone who feels deeply, or do you think they’re designed to stir up shit? An INFJ doesn’t have time for that. We see an ideal world and you can get on the bus or you can’t. Get in, loser. We’re fixing the Middle East.

If I have individual regrets, it’s that I wasn’t diagnosed with autism as a child. I didn’t get all the occupational help that I would need for adult life. But being in “special classes” would have highlighted the idea that I was deficient in those days. I’ve been told that I am brilliant, that there is no one like me despite two processing disorders that fight like it’s WWE. Because of the processing disorders, I could not take in a compliment like “you’re brilliant” because I would have to believe a whole lot before I could get to that point. I had to learn I was different, not bad. “Broken, but still good.”

Part of it is that I’d like to feel the strength I’ve developed this year. Getting away from hammering my self-esteem was an incredible gift to myself. Dark begets dark, and I finally saw it. Light begets light as well. I am under the impression that humans can do anything under the right circumstances, which makes room for me to be the most loving and most psychotic writer you’ve ever known. I can be Dexter, but not in action. In terms of being a kid with a keyboard. Sometimes I’m Lucy Maude Montgomery. Sometimes I’m Karin Slaughter, complete with an equally cute Southern accent. But what I’ve found is that I feel a lot lighter when my inner Dexter is starving because I decided he didn’t need care and feeding.

And honestly, if we’re going to talk about literary characters, I had to find my inner Boo Radley to turn around and admit that I’m really Holden Caulfield.

J.D. Salinger portrays a kid with a lot of the same thought processes that plague me and (spoiler alert) ends up in a mental hospital. I choose to believe that everything he thought was true. That being in the mental hospital was about integration of his personality, the story of what he thinks and what is actually happening becoming inextricably related instead of carrying two books.

It’s almost as if he was telling Stories That Are All True… and some of them actually happened.

Finding Out I’m Just Me

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

As the year comes to a close, I’m starting to do some reflection on what actually happened. In a lot of ways, I found who I was. In others, things are vastly different. Over the last 10 years, my popularity has grown dramatically. I have regained most of the ground I lost when I tanked “Clever Title Goes Here,” a blog that does still exist, but you have to search for it in the Wayback Machine. Everything I’ve written that I originally wrote there that has meant something to me has been transferred over, and the marriage article I published in 2013 (the most successful entry so far in terms of its promotion) was originally a post using Facebook Notes. It was an offhand set of observations that maybe a couple hundred people (if that) read there, then it exploded once I changed to a different platform.

Apt.

I’m shifting my whole life to a different platform. As a result, I’ve gone from thousands of hits a year to millions (if I count all the bots- let’s not get stupid). It’s astounding that all I do is talk about my reaction to life and people show up. And not only that, they don’t just show up when I’m adorable. They show up on my worst days, too (and seem particularly jazzed about my Anthony Bourdain-type patois). What I’ve learned over the past year is twofold. The first is that monotropic thought processes have all but stopped me checking my stats. As in, I am bleeding all over the page and using it as self-help, not looking to see who has read me and where (although shout out to India, where I have a much bigger audience than in the United States- noticed that before, really took it in after looking at year-end stats). Year-end stats are the only ones to which I really pay attention. Having a general sense of where I am and where I’m going is much better than being anxious about it.

I am also not trying to impress anyone. I am completely self-absorbed, and by that, I mean self-contained. I do not want to write about things over which I have no control, thus reacting and responding to stimuli without assuming that everything I say is correct. It is true and factual to the best of my ability, because obviously I cannot root around in your head. The information I have is only what I’ve been given. I don’t have the right to write about something you didn’t want me to know, but I have the right to talk about my reactions to you separately from your reactions to me. That comes across to everyone else but me as total bullshit, because I am not working with the same knowledge/experience/brain capability that you have.

And yes, I’m judgmental about everything, and I need to stop apologizing for it because a hell of a lot of people process this way. Meyers-Briggs dedicated a whole ass letter to it. You’re either a Judger or a Perceiver, and neither one is bad. You Think your way through a problem, or you Feel it.

I am the combination of all the quiet traits, INFJ. That means I am:

  • Introverted
  • Intuitive
  • Feeling
  • Judging

That being said, I sound like I am judgmental of people rather than the situation I’m in. I have no problem with telling people their actions make them look like an asshole, but I won’t tell them that they’re bad or wrong. I just won’t sit at your table anymore. But that’s if we’re not close. If you’re worth fighting for, I’m scrappy and I’m down to spar until we shake hands. If there’s no handshake at the end of a fight, there’s no more relationship. This is because if it’s a big enough fight and you don’t work it through, then you both view each other with suspicion and the effect snowballs.

I have become more introverted because I stopped engaging with everyone who wouldn’t engage with me. I might have been angry about it, but I’m not now. I benefited from focusing on myself and not worrying about what other people thought. I stopped worrying about whether Supergrover cared about anything because she didn’t deserve it anymore and thought I should know just how awful I was for being angry that she was a steel trap. Whether she believes it or not, I lost nothing in that transaction because she wasn’t here even when she was here. She coasted and I let her. My fault entirely because when I stopped pussyfooting around something and brought it up, I was instantly a bad person. No one gets to think I’m a bad person and tell me about it anymore. That’s because they can think that all they want, but my self-esteem dictates “get the hell out of Dodge,” because I am not going to spend another eight years trying to solve a problem for which I am only 50% responsible. That’s because there’s a huge, overarching problem and I’ve owned my part publicly and privately, but we can’t move on from it because my emotions are different than hers and are therefore wrong.

I don’t feel like I’m a real person to her, and she is a real person to me. Therefore, I withdrew to focus on what I was putting out there, not what I was receiving. I’ll make other friends with whom I actually have a clean slate when other people are refusing to erase my black marks while I wipe theirs clean. It doesn’t seem like it, I’m sure, because I will want to solve the underlying problem, not move on and hope for the best. That’s because without true forgiveness and healing, a problem never goes away. It will just revisit you in the night.

But I had to learn how to feel that way, because my first instinct when someone found fault with me is to stop taking up space in the world. Clearly, when someone else is angry or put off by me, it must be all my fault. I am sure that I have attributed things to my friends that have nothing to do with me, but that’s what happens when you leave someone in the dark. The moral arc of the universe is indeed long and bends toward justice, but the arc doesn’t move itself.

I am not in charge of moving the arc personally, but I am responsible for my piece. I am trying to lower the heat so that I’m in a different part of the prism. AuDHD rage sometimes steals blue because I see red. I cannot help that. It is a symptom. However, the more I can find coping mechanisms, the less chance there is for a Red Dawn…. I am resting comfortably at about Mood Indigo.

Writing this blog is sincerely trying to come down from all of that. It’s looking at old patterns of behavior and picking out my ADHD and autism moods, much more important than the way my depression and anxiety stem from it. It’s an important distinction because my personality is so different depending on which processing disorder is driving the bus. ADHD has no problem with changing environments and thriving on noise/activity. I don’t even like changing the brand of my socks.

But honestly, I haven’t paid much attention to those things because I refused to see it. I refused to realize how much comfort and the Internet go together, because when I am secure in my body, I am secure in my thoughts. When I am secure in my thoughts, lack of stimulation in the room where I am writing takes all my barriers to communication away. I am just not as quick in conversation. I also tend to look around at how people are talking and try to mask my way through a conversation, rather than putting everything down on the table and seeing who responds to it. That’s really the only thing you can do, otherwise, you’re just driving yourself crazy trying to anticipate everyone’s needs and that will always backfire. It’s like handing a surgeon the wrong tool; they didn’t say “scalpel,” you just assumed that they would need something else first and it was wrong. That happens to me all day, every day and I am so done. How can I anticipate other people’s needs when dollars to donuts we don’t even process information the same way, much less my reactions to it.

I am just sorry that an Internet relationship had to go so wrong for such a length of time that I learned all of this the hard way. But it’s because I went the hard way that I am so flexible now. Hell in the moment, but after doing so much processing, I feel like I really understand myself (and observation tells me this is unusual). I don’t know what it would be like to be so mentally ill AND physically different and not write it out. That’s because depending on external validation was eating my lunch. My self-esteem went up and down with every comment on my blog, Facebook, and in real life. I cannot have that, especially as my audience grows. If I continued on that way, my self-esteem would be dependent on more of you, not more of me. And more of me is the only thing that makes me feel secure. No one can tell me how to feel about something, and my blog would be poorer for it if they could. I know because I’ve succumbed to that vulnerability as well- that if people hammer on my writing long enough, I’ll just nuke the whole thing and move along with my day. That’s why Clever Title is in the Wayback Machine, my back turned on the site that made me. The site I started before Dooce started hers. The site that made it where I could meet other bloggers and have them say, “oh! Yeah! I have heard of it. You’re Leslie, right?”

Until now, I wasn’t even sure of that.

Telling You About It

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 4 Comments

What historical event fascinates you the most?

There is no one particular thing in history that fascinates me the most, because it would be like asking me about my favorite book. I cannot pick one because genres are so different. Types of historical events run thusly.

My fascinating war is WWII, because I love reading about both England and America’s contributions to intelligence. It’s not that the intelligence itself was new and different, it’s that the rules we live by today were codified then…. particularly for Americans, because OSS transitioned to CIA in its’ aftermath. Being obsessed with British intelligence during that time period is based on one man. You could argue that he was the first hacker by breaking the Enigma. You cannot argue over whether he was queer. Alan Turing is the best and biggest example of why queer history must be taught. The crown prosecuted him for “homosexual acts” in 1952, AFTER HE BROKE THE FUCKING ENIGMA. Breaking the enigma machine was his Palm Sunday. Good Friday came two years later, when he died by cyanide poisoning. It is thought to be suicide, but unclear. It doesn’t matter. They hailed him as a hero and crucified him, with no resurrection until Gordon Brown issued an apology in 2009.

2009. That’s 57 years.

I do not know how Jesus and Alan Turing would think about being connected to each other in this way, but it’s an apt description of the process… an innocent man encouraged to bully himself to death (or was murdered- with cyanide it’s hard to tell either way and he worked for MI-6 or its equivalent. I am not implicating the British. I’m saying he had a lot of enemies foreign and domestic plus a nightmare of a life…. and don’t give me that “Turing was never recognized” bullshit. He was recognized by those who knew exactly how much he mattered. You cannot tell me that no one could have pulled strings for Turing in terms of being prosecuted by the crown. No matter what, they just didn’t. Never forget that Bletchley Park isn’t as wonderful as you thought it was if the people who worked there later washed their hands of him. It’s why I can love and hate intelligence at the same time, because with stuff like this, their “intelligence” is relative. In terms of American intel, we wouldn’t have done better than England, it’s not “all shit on MI-6 day,” though if Le Carré just saw me type that, he probably laughed and thought, “every day is “all shit on MI-6 day.”).

There was no law in England to retroactively pardon all men convicted of homosexual acts until 2017.

2017.

It doesn’t matter that now CIA is actively recruiting everyone, no matter their gender identity and sexual orientation. Same with the United States military. I am sure that there are still the same type traps queers used to fall into in the US/Britain are still there in third world countries (Africa in particular scares the shit out of me for queer American and British case officers in Uganda and Nigeria. I doubt there would be time to instigate a plan to get them back.). But the reason it doesn’t matter is that we still feel the internalized homophobia and institutional pain of all of it. What our countries have done for us, even when we did the jobs literally no one else could. It hasn’t been enough time for that kind of relief, and if African American pain is any indication, ours isn’t going anywhere. You can’t make marginal changes to society where you keep perpetuating racism/homophobia so that there are reminders of it everywhere and also say “get over it.” England has made leaps and bounds of progress over us because their culture adapted quicker. They got rid of slavery faster and have had even more time to get over it, and they never had anyone buy into slavery to such a degree that they decided to break off from the UK and create their own country just to keep it going. Say what you will about Jonathan Groff, but he abolished slavery in 1807, probably by sending a fully armed battalion to remind them of his love. They also got gay marriage faster and did away with cultural stigma earlier.

I am ultimately glad we won the Revolutionary War, but I often think about what would have happened if we’d resolved our differences. Canada, for all practical intents and purposes, lives in a much colder climate and has a rougher life in all aspects because of it….. and yet they are always happier than we are. Getting rid of cultural stigmas fast would be better than :::gestures broadly at everything:::. We seem to do better in the northeast, not that homophobia doesn’t happen there, but it’s usually not as bad as the Deep South, where attitudes about race have informed attitudes about homosexuality because they’ve used the Bible to interpret the law with no signs of stopping now. They do not give a fuck about freedom of and from religion, and they’re traitors to the Founding Brothers’ message. They would have been on board with hating gays just like they owned slaves and said all men were equal. But if they were worth their salt, they wouldn’t have denied my right to exist. Thomas Jefferson would have been apoplectic because he thought that the highest form of government was limited to perhaps a mayor and a school board. If that. He was all about personal liberty, a blessing and a curse.

In the immortal words of Jed Bartlett, America’s best fake president, “these people don’t vote, do they?” It was sarcastic, but some of the Founding Brothers were very elitist and thought that only people who were educated about the vote should be able. I agree with this in theory, but what are we going to do? Go house to house and check? It’s a democracy, and yet it does hurt it to have someone vote on name recognition alone and things like that. I’m not saying that voter shouldn’t be educated. Far from it. The people who go door to door in that manner are invaluable because most people won’t take the time to research. It’s easier to go to a free event where candidates are shaking hands, but even that’s hard because lots of candidates run on empty-headed charm.

Politics is the world’s second-oldest profession, and I have found that it bears a striking resemblance to the first.

Politics is not a bad profession. If you succeed there are many rewards, if you disgrace yourself you can always write a book.

-Ronald Reagan

There are a lot of books out there.

That’s one of the reasons I love intelligence. I feel like the news is always getting half the story right. Though I cannot get the whole story on current operations because no one does, the old declassified ones make me able to read and digest; I can make my own opinions rather than a news anchor spinning it for me. Looking up operations during WWII is easy because it has the most that’s been uncovered by now. I want to meet the Ministers of State in the UK as much as I want to meet the Secretary of State in the US. That’s because they would have the most information about current operations, but just the public face of it. The press secretary for received intelligence vs. talking to someone under cover. It’s not that it wouldn’t raise the cool points out the window and twist you up in the game. It’s that they’d have to avoid everything by nature because they don’t know what they can say and what they can’t. Talking with someone at State is superior because they know the talking points. However, they do not know sources, methods, and locations.

Reading the news just isn’t as fun as learning by conversation. It creates more historical events that fascinate me, and it’s exciting to think that I might find the next one. History repeats itself. I was here for 9/11 and 1/6. They’re both dates that “live in infamy,” but sooner or later I’ll find something good.

Here is where I’ll be telling you all about it.

Race is Not Real, and Other Helpful Tidbits

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What’s something you believe everyone should know.

Really the only thing I believe all people should know is that race is a construct and we’ve lied to ourselves about that since the first enslaved people arrived on US shores in the 1600s. It’s not an American problem by any means, but the police do not convince me that we have gained much ground. Yes, there are great big sweeping changes in that people aren’t enslaved anymore…. but in America, you can’ shoot Jim Crow all you want and he will not die. Ruby Bridges, the first black girl at William Frantz Elementary during the school segregation crisis, is the *three years younger* than my mother.

Homophobia is just as manufactured. The Bible gave people a book chunky enough to beat people and that’s just what the church does unless you take time and energy you don’t have to search for a congregation. The barrier to entry with Christianity is high, because you have to swallow a lot of bullshit church teachings that you don’t like if you go to the wrong one first, and most people don’t come back. I promise there is a difference between the Church of Christ and the United Church of Christ (“Splitter.”), but if you are in one and belong in the other, my guess is that you don’t know it because I would bet that a lot of people could tell you the difference between Catholic and Protestant….. but probably not one protestant denomination from another. To the unchurched it’s all the same. Jesus would most certainly be baffled by *all of this.*

Transphobia is where the rubber meets the road in the queer community. First of all, white gay men rarely compromise with anyone because they make more money than everyone else. Watching gay people on TV, you’d think we were all one big happy family, but depending on where you live, there’s a deep divide between men and women. Not hatred. Just have their own spaces and don’t reach out. When I was coming up in the 90s, some bars you couldn’t even get into unless you were male or accompanied by one who’d vouch for you. These are the bars where straight white women think they want to hang out and get completely wide-eyed at dick o’clock. Moreover, there are lesbians that make Rowling’s Twitter/X feed look like child’s play. It took years for HRC to support trans issues (their point and I do see it, though wrong, was that gender and sexual orientation were two different issues…. that trans people weren’t queer people). I have never had the entitlement of a rich white gay man, but my own feelings toward trans people have changed through education as well. Younger people are losing touch with their history and it’s because no one wants to hear me (or anyone else) tell it. “Don’t Say Gay” is just the latest iteration in “lock up your kids because homosexuality and pedophilia are the same.” Republicans are making it harder and harder for queer children to feel normal in today’s world because they don’t realize what everyday life was like for us in the 90s, much less remembering that we were targeted in the Holocaust. Our pink triangles are slowly being forgotten because our infrastructure to be able to pass down information is being bottlenecked in so many directions.

And now we’ve arrived at the most important thing I believe everyone should know. If we do not stop picking people to hate, erasing these three things will do no good. We’ll just take the way we’ve treated minorities and apply it to something else.

Skips

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What does it mean to be a kid at heart?

It’s such a loaded phrase. Being a kid at heart literally means “an adult who finds childlike joy…” and gets confused/conflated with “childish.” I have been called a kid at heart with many different tones of voice. 😉 My personality lends itself to it, though. I take everything literally, so I am trusting at first- to quite a large degree. I am programmed to be pastoral, not prosecutorial. Judgment comes after a situation, and Monday morning quarterbacking is easy compared to saying what I need to say in the moment. I understand more in post-mortem.

That’s because thus far I’ve let my emotions manage me rather than the other way around. In some ways, this will always be an issue because there will always be a communication gap between neurotypical and neurodivergent…. but I can do a better job of not raging at my environment; I am too overstimulated to function and fighting through it. I am not disengaged or emotionally flat with people all the time, it is the opposite. I emote too much, too fast, and it all comes across disjointed because I am treating every single aspect of a problem as if it’s of the same importance. It is equally important that Supergrover and I share a million interests, from helping the world to Diet Coke. But in her mind, helping people is more important than Diet Coke. I remain unconvinced. 😉

Where flat affect comes in is that I feel these huge levels of emotions, and then one of two things happens. It’s either disengaging because there’s too much stimulation, or I can see my social masking is failing and stop emoting to lock down the amount of emotional damage to myself. I am developing the strength to say, “I need time.” That’s because if I react and it’s angry, my disproportionate anger is going to come out because I’m not angry at this one thing. It came when I was already dealing with overstimulation, popping up when I already have reached the limit of my coping mechanisms.

Which, because I didn’t know I was AuDHD, are very poor. Just for the record. We didn’t have mainstreaming in the 80s, so I am sure that played into it, too. My mother never would have wanted me in special classes, mostly because I had a processing disorder and I was so incredibly bright. She never would have thought I needed help unless she saw mental retardation, because my “brilliance” blinded both of us. This is true for so many AuDHD people. They just fall through the cracks because they seem smart and normal. Meanwhile, you’re not diagnosed, you just feel like an alien. Telling people I’m AuDHD is a lot less scary than not knowing and faking it by necessity.

I am not programmed to see people as inherently bad- in fact, “kids at heart” is exactly how I view all adults. I am friendly to everyone, often not tracking when other people aren’t telling me the truth and buying in without questioning it. The only reason I’ve never been taken in by an Internet scam is that I understand the web better than anyone who started learning it in 2003. 2003 is four years too late to be me in terms of Internet knowledge. Yet, I am unlikely to figure out there’s an emotional problem long before it’s huge so that I’m not putting out fires.

I also have AuDHD rage that comes out of nowhere, why I think “stimming” would be so helpful. I would say that it was PTSD if I hadn’t felt that kind of rage since long before the emotional abuse happened. Emotional abuse was not the cause of my rage, it became a directed subject. One that I had to turn over in my head that most people thought was obsession and was actually autism….. monotropic thought processing an emotional problem on this web site is not a “fuck you” sort of thing. It’s that I have an opinion damn the consequences, and I will take them over making my writing what they want it to be. I am finding my audience in real life, too, because it’s so much easier to write about people who don’t care it’s here because they know if I’ve written something they don’t like, they can talk to me about it. But they won’t stop me from having an opinion because they are certainly entitled to theirs. It’s more even than than think because when they’re hurt I process, it comes across as “you are entitled to my opinion,” not “clearly I have upset you and you are researching why you feel that way. What can I do to make you feel more secure so that you don’t keep ruminating on it?” There is no equal exchange, I’m just a bad person. It’s always my writing, not what they did to trigger what I said and thinking perhaps that though my story might have validity, theirs just has a little bit more.

If Supergrover had come to me and said, “hey, this is starting to feel creepy,” I would have said, “same.” I would have asked what I could do to change, not doubled down and said “your feelings are wrong.” Also, here’s three friends that don’t hate me. Call them instead of Dana. We’re on the rocks. In fact, I actually did say “you’re betraying the one who’d take a bullet for you over the one holding the gun, beautiful girl.” I ended up in the psych ward of Methodist hospital, and not because of anything she did. It was because I was overstimulated and struggling with both the processing disorder and the depression/anxiety stemming from it. Not everything was situational, but I didn’t know that because I didn’t know overstimulation and rage to it is a normal autistic response. Not pleasant, but true. There was so much rage at Dana because her behavior always came across like Supergrover didn’t do anything wrong except picking me over her. She did no such thing. Dana didn’t write to her. There was no relationship to save. Two paths diverged, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My beautiful girl and I got closer in a way that was too much to share with another partner, because by then she really felt like one in a yellow string sort of way and not red. Jay and Silent Bob vs. The Notebook.

None of this made us feel like children at heart, though there were moments and I wish I had more of them. We are excellent at teasing our siblings, terrible at treating each other like one because we are first children used to getting everything we want. Supergrover has never had an older sister, and so far treating her like one has been FROWNED UPON IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT. And yet that cute baby is her. I pushed her away for good reason. I felt like a kid at heart with 15-year-old reflexes, in appropriate for 36. I could have done so much more to prevent going that way, both if I’d known what my brain was doing and now having the gift of retrospect and reminiscence.

I was a complete jackass and I’ll never get over it, but hopefully she will. She is not a kid at heart, and not because I don’t see it. She doesn’t. Or perhaps she does, until you hurt her, and that’s the most likely answer. I do not find fault in this. I find fault in telling someone they’re forgiven and treating them like they’re not. I hate hypocrisy more than life itself. But once I made one mistake, it snowballed every bit as bad as a problem at work. I got overstimulated and angry, expressing genuine needs softly at first, building over time, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could she, but we had two different approaches to the problem. Hers was to be nice on the surface and avoid talking about the problem, just calling me a judgmental dickhead without laying her side of the story on the table. It’s not “my side,” it’s “you’re mean.”

No the hell I am not.

You didn’t give me any information and started exploding because I didn’t have it. That’s quite a bit different. You think my blog entries are bullshit becaue I’m writing from what I know and you’re writing from what you know. When you don’t compare stories, you don’t get to react like you have and I’m just aiming for the bomb. Therefore, we are starting from a place of be being overstimulated and anxious because I know that if I need you, you’re only going to get angry. This happens with multiple friends, Supergrover is the latest example in a line.

It’s “blame the person who told the story instead of realizing I could have told my own and just didn’t because it’s so much easier to stand in judgment of you than admit my feelings.” There is nothing in that kind of dynamic that takes away from stimulation, so I tend to explode once resentment has set in and all my social masks are failing. Deep emotions are always frowned upon in that particular establishment. More communication makes a relationship better, not less. She understands more about me than anyone else because I went back to the place of “everything is normal,” not knowing that it wasn’t. I’ll never get that back, and she’s responsible for a whole lot of ground where I just have to say “get your shit together. This is not okay.” The building blocks of our relationship are adrenaline and dopamine. We never quite managed to turn it down. We just flamed out.

Not doing it again is turning down that adrenaline and dopamine on my own, hard but not impossible. I want to let go and move on because she pretends not to see what I’m putting down and assumes I am trying to hurt her a hundred percent of the time. I am trying to make her feel bad, goad her, provoke her, throw emotional bombs, and a hundred other emotions I wasn’t attaching because I don’t track the same. I was trying to find the problem because she wouldn’t.

I can do all that on my own, because she wasn’t showing up- so why does it matter whether she is here or not? Once I start forgetting details, I’ll be fine. Right now it’s too much, all the time. And that part is all her fault separately from all of mine. It was three nuclear bombs, not just one emotional bomb in her direction. She does not recognize me for taking on her shit anymore, everything is a treatise on why I’m a bad person.

She doesn’t see it my way, and says that I’m the only one who ever ruins anything…… but she made me so glad to do it after EIGHT FUCKING YEARS of going up and down trying to prove to her that I was the person she met in the beginning. I wasn’t this narcissist who thought my emotions were more important. I am not going to include your story in my thought process if you don’t tell it. It’s easier to shut down, but it’s unproductive and over time, just gets mean. Being called a judgmental dickhead was my every day reality, and if I got mad about it, all of the suden she was enormously impressed with me, just had no time. THOSE ARE NOT THE SAME. That’s because when the “enormously impressed” was over, she hammered me into the ground. I have a million terms of endearment for her, she used to call me her goddess of the moon. It was replaced by judgmental dickhead a long time ago and I’m out if the only time you don’t seem angry is when I call you on it and it goes back the way it was within days.

I’m not the only one in her family that goes ignored, but I am the only person she’s kept on a string for this long…… and I really don’t even know why, because what in the hell? You accuse me of stalking and then write to me as if it’s no big deal? You think that’s not going to fuck me up six ways to Sunday when you’re the one that told me the things that separated me from my wife in the first place? No ma’amela, Pamela.

It was too much, too fast, and I am not entirely responsible for that. But it takes a kid at heart to see it, because adults double down. Nothing is ever wrong with them.

While I have no problem skipping down the sidewalk.

The Monotropism Questionnaire

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

If you think you might be autistic, here’s a test that will tell you how your brain processes information and the likelihood that you’re autistic, not the diagnosis. Autistic brains have specific traits, and I seem to have all of them except “stimming” all of the time. However, I know it would help me to do so because emotional strength is also handled with movement. Movement is what stops you from flooding out, like looking at the ceiling when you’re crying to help you stop…. not because crying is bad. It’s that when I’m crying I know people can’t understand what I’m saying. You can also interrupt intrusive thoughts by standing in a “parade rest” sort of position and rocking back and forth side to side. It interrupts your pain signals and refocuses your attention.

This is a trick I picked up from an alto in my church choir who is also a therapist (probably retired by now)…. it’s how she taught me to handle my music triggers when they popped up. Church music affected me completely differently after the clusterfuck of 2013. I had trauma responses to every single one, deservedly so. It was helpful learning how to breathe through them. I got away from both the church choirs that created those triggers, but you can’t control when triggers happen.

I remember sitting my choir director down, a mutual friend of ours who would come to know me well and whose partner had known her for years and years. Therefore, I felt like I had to establish boundaries quickly. I walked into a random church in my neighborhood and immediately knew this is where I wanted to study classical music, but I had requirements, and ironclad ones. I said:

I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to believe me the first time. If I leave rehearsal or church, just let me go. I will come back. But you have an anthem coming up for me that I know will trigger me in advance. I have true trauma and anxiety, I’m not blowing you off.

His eyes got wider as I laid out the story, but I needed him to buy in whether he believed me or not. It wasn’t negotiable with me because no one gets to decide how hurt I am. He did choose to believe me, I am not castigating him. I am owning my space in the world. I was able to be in choir and take voice lessons while only singing the things with which I was comfortable or could desensitize before it came up in worship. That was the most productive route. I sung an entire movement of John Rutter’s Requiem all by myself without falling apart, something I never thought I would be able to do…….. but it wasn’t the Pie Jesu, either. Linking to it because this is as close as I’ll ever get to feeling Dia de Los Muertos, coming back to it often when I feel the most bereft that my mother is gone. However, I don’t listen to this because even though it is absolutely incredible compared to how I was feeling that day, I can pick out the notes where feeling bad made me not respond with my voice the way I wanted…. but it’s something other singers would notice, not a layperson. I love listening to recordings at Westminster Abbey the most, because I know that Rutter writes for children- boy sopranos- and my voice has the same qualities, so I know I’m doing him justice.

But one of my choir directors told me that I had a lovely voice as a soloist but needed to work on blending. That’s true of most soloists, to be honest. There are some voices that are just bigger than others. Fact. So, people with huge voices often have to mute to the point where it’s painful. That’s why it’s so hard to get a sectional sound when the notes are very high.

I also know that opera is a bigger voice than Rutter, so when I have to turn on the afterburners, fitting in is even harder. As in, I alternate between straight tone and vibrato depending on the phrasing of the piece and what voice I need for it. Sometimes tamping down “my opera voice” is harder than others. It’s mystifying to me how some notes are easier to hit when you’re doing straight tone and some notes better when you’re at full voice. It’s the difference between a little boy in a cathedral and someone like Charlotte Church and Reneé Fleming. Both beautiful, both unique, different kinds of breath control. My particular favorites are Kathleen Battle dueting with Wynton Marsalis and Jessye Norman singing Christmas music.

See? I have a few different interests because of ADHD…. except do I? Is the monotropic thought process the music or the writing of it? I believe it is the latter, and you can tell by the way I’ve worked through the problem with Supergrover in particular because it was an unfamiliar environment at first, then the only one where I was truly comfortable- alone together- then the thing that made me ruminate the most because I needed to understand what happened before I could move on….. and for autistic people, that takes a long-ass time.

I think autism is such a good answer for why I don’t fit into the system. I mean everything literally and I have harsh judgments of everything because my sensory perception is always turned up to hell. Comfort in my situation is threatened and I react that way. It’s not that I am trying to hurt you, it’s that I cannot deal. I am trying to focus on why that is, and learning the differences and similarities between monotropism and ADHD/Autism is a fascinating study. How I am a secret wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a classified document…. with a system that has thus far made me feel like I was kept in a bathroom.

Autistic/ADHD rage is a thing, and nearly a hundred percent of the time it’s not you. It’s that we don’t feel safe even before we talk to you, our anxiety sometimes looking for confirmation bias- that we are damaged in some way because we just can’t get with a program that was never designed for us in the first place. Plus, we have so much more information than we did when I was a child, so people are getting diagnosed earlier and earlier. But for kids who were never tested, they’re only realizing they have monotropic responses as adults.

There’s a whole lot of us who just don’t fit in because social cues land differently for us than they do for you. It takes an extensive amount of communication that neurotypical people are just not used to doing and get frustrated. No one is going to give me anything for free in terms of a career, so I have to find a way to do things differently. Like I said earlier, you can use your superpower as a deep thinker if you can get help with your intellectual difference at work.

Neurotypical people do not like truth bombs, and autistic people launch them all the time because we don’t process the same way. We’re here to tell you how it is whether you like us or not…. but we don’t realize we’re doing it because we are not tracking with you…………. but we think we are.

This is because you take every social mask you’ve ever worn and keep compiling information so that hiding your autism and ADHD becomes par for the course. Where this becomes problematic is when you have a situation for which there is no mask, and the difference in processing shows itself quickly. Like having autistic responses to everything and it coming across as narcisstic rage. The reason I know this is true is that I am always, always humble enough to think I’m wrong and often do. I apologize. I make amends. I change my behavior so that something doesn’t happen again. I don’t blame the other person for all my shortcomings.

I turn a problem over like it’s a die from DND…. one of the reasons I get angry when people hold me to a single entry because I have the right to be angry and the right to work it out through my own thought process. I have had character development over the last year, this blog dynamic because I am, not the other way around. I am not making up interesting things to get views; reading about my life is interesting just as it is. I am not “Angry Anymore.” I am dealing with all my issues in the best way I know how- processing them with a singular focus. My monotropic interest is helping me to become a better person, because I am never any one thing….. and I can see it by reading my catalogue. I don’t have to have external validation to know why writing benefits me. I get it, but it’s not the point. I get more out of seeing patterns in my own behavior than I do when other people notice good things.

Writers are the kind of people that want to tell their story while being terrified you’ve read it. I decided to punch through that one fear alone, because it’s the one thing I do well enough that it could become my superpower. I don’t think I’ll win any awards, but I do think that people identify with me whether they say so or not. That’s because I’ve talked to enough people to get a representative sample… if something is true for 100-200 people, it probably resonates with a lot more people than that.

Autism makes you feel like an alien, and you can’t control how people respond to you. However, you can control how you respond to them. You have to let go of people that you feel are trying to talk you into being normal. Putting their expectations on you. You don’t need that anxiety. Lean on people who do have autism or take the time to look it up. The people that love you will want to understand you. The others will feel like they’re trying to modify your behavior like a dog….. which probably feels more pronounced if you were never diagnosed so your family did this to you early on, leading you to believe that some people are doing this even when they’re not.

ADHD and Autism generally lead to depression and anxiety. Our brain chemicals go haywire from having to manage how we act in public and how we act at home. For me, it’s trying to be engaging in public and completely detached from everything and everyone when I’m alone. When I’m recovering from a party, I need a sensory deprivation tank if it’s available. I just want to become a human .7z file for a while. Therefore, while I sometimes have energy to go to a party, I rarely have coping mechanisms for staying. It’s too much, too fast. It’s not that the pandemic made me more introverted, it’s that introversion revealed my autism. That I functioned better with sensory deprivation and good sleep. I got a weighted blanked and started sleeping with the sun. I write in total silence, often with the lights off. Sometimes, in ADHD mode, I can handle writing and music at the same time. Right now I am listening to a space heater and it’s enough.

Speaking of “enough,” I think you can tell that my one interest is writing because I get so lost in the story that paragraph breaks fail me. I need a neurotypical Karen editor who will go apeshit on my writing like a white woman at Applebee’s in her 40s….. for lunch with her inferior mean girls.

I thought I had one of those, but my ADHD and Autism got in the way. Not that anyone should excuse my behavior like it’s no big deal or “I can’t take responsibility, I’m autistic.” It’s only context, it’s not the whole show. I view it like having alcoholism. You don’t get to write off your shitty behavior just because you’re drunk. You can’t use it to avoid consequences. However, you can make amends by being humble and apologetic. You will get nowhere if you double down with “I didn’t hurt you, it was a symptom and therefore you can’t blame me.” Autistic children can do that. Not because they’re autistic. Because they’re children. You, on the other hand, have to find your own coping mechanisms and you’re responsible for handling your own shit. Autism doesn’t render you incapable of working on a problem and treating people respect. Recognizing that neurodivergent rage is a thing, but that doesn’t render what you did while you felt it acceptable.

Freedom of speech is not freedom from consequences. But if people are unwilling to compromise on those consequences, you have to move on. That’s because you know you’re neurodivergent. There is no chance that you’ll ever stop making mistakes when it comes to miscommunication. Some people take it out on their partner, which is why being a neurodivergent’s support system is so difficult for both parties. Generally, if one partner is neurotypical, the other feels parented/bulllied because their reactions are considered “normal.” There is no room for error in that scenario.

I will forgive anyone that I feel will forgive me…. but when I stop feeling that sense of balance, I will detach quickly because I feel that if you are not listening to me now, you certainly won’t later. If we are in conflict now, that speaks volumes about what happens down the road. Treading over someone’s boundaries the first time causes a fracture, and people only forgive so much.

Allow for that. Give them a break. Acknowledge that this is hard and will never end. That autism doesn’t allow you to pick up social cues in the same way, because I watch how people act and cannot duplicate it. It’s not that I can’t pick it up, it’s that I can’t put it down.

Literally. I turn things over like a die in DND. If you’re curious, I got 210 out of 235.

Three Wishes

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?

“Three magic genie wishes” sounds like “New York Football Giants.”

I honestly think I would have different wishes depending on which processing disorder was at the forefront, and I’m not being snarky. I genuinely do see things differently when my ADHD is winning. My ADHD side is a thrill-seeker. My autistic side wants NONE OF THAT. I want to conquer the world, but not when I’m wearing uncomfortable shoes. I want to lead a nation, without leaving my house (some of you live in countries small enough where this might be possible. Call me.). I could rule the world if I could understand it. 😉

Truly, it is an interesting place to be- so understanding of how neurotypical people work in conflict, and unable to fit into it. I am not, in fact, doing something a neurotypical I’ve observed does, because mimicry is not authentic. What I’ve laid down comes off wrong and I don’t know why. I then take up less room and let more start happening around me without participating. Things happen to me, I don’t direct, because when I have had a voice, no one has listened. I am learning to find people who listen so that my voice does matter…… and because I haven’t had a voice, I haven’t used it for anything except in my writing. It took me until I was 45 to realize that I was hurting myself by only letting other people set boundaries with me. That if I never said there was a problem, it would never go away.

I found out who my friends were. It’s the ones that even when they disagree with me, acknowledge what I’ve said. I feel heard, not gladhanded. I feel they’ve listened, not managed me. I don’t want anyone to be a “yes man” to my crazy ideas and I don’t want to be infantilized. By the way, “crazy” is relative. Like, “what if I downloaded the beta version of Ubuntu? What if I went to Walgreens past nine. Finding out that someone wasn’t my friend was finding out that they didn’t care they were hurting me when I asked them to change. After all I’ve written, it sounds pointed at Supergrover and it is definitely not. Lots of people liked having no boundaries with me. If dopamine was money, why would they want a different deal when they used to have free withdrawals all day, every day, without ever making deposits? People who love you genuinely don’t want to feel like they’re draining your emotional ATM all the time and care when they’re doing so. It’s easy to find your real friends when you say it out loud. I have to have boundaries set so I don’t worry myself to death in your absense….. and most of the time, it’s because I’ve taken off a social mask and don’t know how you’re going to react to it.

The anxiety at not having canned responses in unfamiliar situations is frightening, and something with which all neurodivergent people deal. I’m not saying I don’t try every day, only that it’s easier to pick out patterns when you are outside a system rather than in it.

With wishes, I couldn’t fix all that. But I could help.

I would make other people do well so that it was like they got a magic wish, too. The first wish in either case (whether autism or ADHD is winning) would be “socialized medicine in the US.” People know not what they do when they vote against socialized medicine- that insurance premiums from private companies are more expensive than you’d pay in tax and millionaires who don’t want to pay tax have convinced people that socialism is evil. Why wouldn’t they? They don’t need it. The gate should have closed after they got in.

The second would be erasing Reaganomics off the board. It didn’t work and no one will admit it. Go back to the 50s tax structures so that our millionaires and billionaires are actually subsidizing us as they should through tax, thus having money for a safety net. We could do it right now, but we would have better facilities and a wider network of services if we had more influx…. money that isn’t already allocated, in other words. Being able to do it through magic wishes is the only way it would happen- that tax structures would be restored and all the influx would go to social services, the people who need it the most.

If Congress can’t agree that we should do our best to stop school shootings, what makes anyone think they’ll do anything in the way of social services? These are the same people that try to call government services “entitlements” like you’re being an entitled Karen when you use them. They forget that they’re called “entitlements” because you’ve already paid into them. It’s just more rich people shaming poor people as the barrier to entry gets higher and the stigma gets worse.

The third wish would be overhauling education. It is a disaster in this country that most people don’t recognize the names of the Vice and the Speaker, and barely recognize “Biden.” It’s a misnomer to think that the US is a country of extremes. No, it is a country of apathy represented by extremes, because voting participation is so low. Voting needs to be more important, certainly, but we’ve always been failing history and now have a shoddy relationship with science at best.

We stopped focusing on leaps in education and it cost us, clearly. We’re in deep and most people don’t even know how bad. This is not limited to a candidate because fascism is a movement. If it’s not Trump, it’s DeSantis. If it’s not the Proud Boys, it’s QAnon. Education is the only way out, and I don’t think any of those people are going to change whether we educate them or not, but we can prevent it from happening again.

Notice all three wishes are for me. They are just not only for me. I have the idealism to believe that we can make a better world, so I’d use the genie to facilitate it. I would rather grow where I am planted rather than trying to find another country that has these things. I just know they won’t happen in my lifetime and want to help.

But even after I’d done all that, I’d still wonder if people liked me because I messed up their sysem.

Just one? I’m ADHD.

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 7 Comments

Describe a family member.

I didn’t do the Daily Prompt yesterday because I’ve aready said all I want about exercise in “Don’t.” But today’s is nice because I don’t describe my family that much. First, let me give you some context.

My mother had two brothers and one sister. My mother, Carolyn, and her brother, Bill are both gone. Nancy and John are living in northeast Texas, where all of my family is from. My dad has two sisters and a brother, all living. My dad divorced my mom in 1995, and remarried to someone who also grew up in the same area as my mom and dad. Therefore, I have a sister biologically and two stepsisters through her. My stepmother also has two brothers, both living. All of my grandparents including from my stepmother are now dead, but that is very recent. My father’s father was the last to pass a few months ago at 92.

My cousins on both sides were close to me when I was young, but now I’ve lived outside of Texas for longer than I’ve lived in it. I am not close to them because I don’t run into them, not because I have any particular need to avoid them. Yes, we are politically very different and it causes waves. But our family can handle waves. I’m not even the only queer one, and I will leave it to everyone’s imagination who that might be. 😉 So, Southern Baptists mix with flaming liberals and we’re all happy. Truly, not just saying so.

But this says to describe “a family member.” The above is background information. I still won’t talk about only one person, though, because you really can’t talk about one without the other. It’s my cousins Jason and Jonathan. They belong to my aunt Shawn, my father’s youngest sister, and they are relatively famous compared to the rest of us. Jason appeared on “American Idol,” video at the end if I can find it…..

So, Simon Fuller (producer) finds out that Jason is a funeral director, so his first appearance on the show was him singing a beautiful a capellla rendition of Josh Groban’s “You Raise Me Up.” I was dying. DYING. I think Simon must have picked Jason because they could build such a funny narrative around him.

Enter Jonathan.

Jonathan has been the class clown of our family since he was born. For instance, one year at Christmas he showed up and announced that he was “Rabbi Claus.” He is not Jewish, but we call Santa “Rabbi Claus” to this day. Welcome to the Lanagan family, where if it’s funny, run it into the ground.

So, of course the show has segments of Jason and Jonathan. Jonathan said he should do well because he has such a tiny head that getting a big one could only be an improvement.

Now, they work together at the funeral home, and are both doing well. Jason didn’t make it very far in “Idol” because he left of his own accord (don’t remember why). But he did get paid, so he sunk his money into house building and body transport and a few other things, diversifying to an enormous degree. If you don’t think Jason and Jonathan are a big deal outside of the funeral industry, you don’t know them very well. I do. I felt my heart break when they were both on call for the aftermath at Uvalde. I do not know if they did any of the kids’ funerals, but I do know that Jason’s body transport service was instrumental. They do all the things we don’t think about in everyday life.

Jason recently bought the funeral home in his old hometown, serving families he’s known his whole life. He has, in effect, taken over my role as a preacher’s kid having never been a preacher’s kid himself. It’s not the same, but it’s the same loving patois. Jonathan is in the same boat. They are so admirable, living in the pockets of northeast Texas where it’s easy to establish yourself because industry isn’t already there.

Jonathan is still just as laid back as the moment I met him.

Jason and Jonathan are both successful outside of work, raising their kids to be amazing people. Jonathan (and his wife, Molly) adopted their little girl from China. She makes me laugh at her antics, but no less than all the others. She’s just the one I’ve met the most recently. 🙂 It is really fun to watch first cousins give me more of them…. well, cousins anyway. I can’t do the math.

The bottom line is that my grandfather has a legacy of which to be proud. It took me a while to see how that extended to me, too. He wrote a book about our family. It’s got at least five volumes, maybe seven.

It has been taken over by a different author.

Saying Macbeth Outside the Theater

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Shakespeare understands grief better than I do.

Sir Patrick Stewart said on Graham Norton that when he took on the role of Macbeth, Sir Ian McKellan asked if he could give him some advice. Patrick said, “PLEASE!” Patrick proceeded to make tears roll down my face when he said that Sir Ian said, “the key to unlocking Macbeth is ‘and.’ It is not “tomorrow.” It is “tomorrow….. AND tomorrow…. AND tomorrow.” It is the interminable march of days, the piling on of all kinds of trauma small and large, the fact that it seems like it will never end right up until it does. That’s why there’s such a dramatic boost between happiness while poor and happiness while comfortably middle class. When you have savings, the minutiae of life does not drown you, constantly. It is also true that happiness does not get much deeper after that. Once your basic needs are met, it doesn’t make you another 50% happier to be a multimillionaire.

I think that’s because Shakespeare recognized a specific kind of future. The one where you, too are stuck in a moment and get get out of it. I wish I could do all of life like I cook, which is knowing enough to be able to correct a mistake on the fly… not knowing whether I have just experienced a symptom or whether it’s a regular dumbass attack and treating everything like the latter, blowing it out of proportion with rejection sensitivity disorder. And I could give truly frightening examples of it, but most people who have anxiety and depression jump to the worst of conclusions first because they can’t handle their environment in the first place. It’s hard to feel like people love you when they’re exhausted by behavior that frustrates you all by itself.

It’s hard not to feel like everything is your fault when people are so insistent that the common denominator in every interaction is me. There is no possible way I own a hundred percent of the blame for every situation in which I encounter. It’s just not physically possible, especially when I’m a fixer/pleaser and do things to make people smile often. But people are more naturally drawn to you when things are going well…… and when things aren’t going well tend to think they’re right more than they are. So do I. It’s human nature. The objective truth is found in the chasm between our two stories, and most people don’t have the stomach for that.

People conflate “the common denominator is you” to mean that you are responsible for every slight that happens (as if you have that kind of power) and every misfire in communication; it’s “you are somewhat responsible because a situation takes two or more people to create and you need to own your part.” For instance, Dana and I agreed that we both fucked each other up. After one fight, we divided up percentages and decided it was 60/40 in her favor. Then, I told her I would have taken 75 and she lowballed herself. I tend to take on more guilt than I should, and I am now only reclaiming a normal amount of room in the universe rather than being unable to dictate any terms with anyone. It leads all my energy to bleed out, trying to please everyone from my family to strangers. This has often led to people being entitled to their boundaries with me while ignoring mine because I’ve let them get away with it for so long.

I didn’t decide that I was the only arbiter of my friendship with Supergrover. She shut down and didn’t give me information, then didn’t have any tolerance for me making decisions based on what I thought rather than what was actually going on with her. But it wasn’t because I didn’t ask or want that information to purposefully ignore her needs. It’s that mine were never addressed, ever. She felt great about me adoring her, but not about the fact that she had severely emotionally wounded me. And I wouldn’t have cared by now if she hadn’t forgiven me on the surface so that I felt like I was a ghost in her life. The one in which she thought I was a threat and then checked in with me, not establishing new boundaries so that I didn’t constantly walk on eggshells around her.

Like getting annoyed that I wanted to know something basic through conversation, seemingly annoyed I hadn’t looked it up when I couldn’t have Googled the information, anyway. Why would I do that if I don’t want to give you the impression that I try to get information about you that you don’t want to give?

Tomorrow…. AND tomorrow…. AND tomorrow….

The feeling of how she treated me hasn’t gone away, and I know exactly why I didn’t walk. It felt like the pattern to which I’d become accustomed to in childhood, trying desperately to please someone that had already moved on so that it felt like I was pouring love into them while they tolerated me. Fully capable of being a baby monkey, too scared to walk away from wire because I don’t know how to find cloth yet. I haven’t been taught. But I am teaching, reparenting myself. Trying to give mysellf what I didn’t get, and part of it is saying what I mean and meaning what I say. Everything is a lie as I figure out what’s masking and what’s not.

I just know that my social masking wasn’t limited to autism, it was reinforced by trying to be good (which meant quiet and out of the way) and covering my needs. I’m not special. Most women and girls do this. However, most girls aren’t preacher’s kids, either.

I’m not trying to piss anyone off, it’s just a side effect of change. People see me differently and they ought to. But remember that we’re both going through a struggle and behavior doesn’t exist in a vaccum. If I have to be responsible for my behavior, you have to be responsible about what triggered it. You cannot say I am wrong a hundred percent of the time, because my self-esteem isn’t low enough to believe it anymore. I can work with boundaries, but not when you don’t set them.

So much of my need to run from Supergrover stemmed from her marrying Michael, then not telling me for almost two years, then saying “surely I must have gotten the wedding announcement,” then saying there weren’t pictures, etc. I can believe that last one, but everything else sounds like “lies you tell” when you want to protect someone…. and this isn’t the first or only example of her doing it. Her identity fundamentally changed, her life had moved on in a concrete way, and it felt like I wasn’t worth telling…. whether it was/is true or not. It’s not what she intended, it’s what I felt in those moments. She also didn’t talk about anything but work when that was the last thing I wanted to know about her most days.

It was too big a hurt to mend alone, but an even bigger one that she was right there and couldn’t hear me. She had the right to set that boundary with me, but I had the right to walk away when she did it, because she explicitly said that there were things she wouldn’t be opening up about again…. which was, of course, the thing that drove my crazy dreams. Then, over time, she relaxed about it and I felt like there was a new boundary set with no way of knowing whether it was true. Actions and words didn’t line up for a long time. She wouldn’t have reacted to me so angrily all those years if I hadn’t hurt her, or if we had truly mended the rift. We “put the word ‘free’ on a note so high we couldn’t sing it,” paraphrasing Tony Kushner. Or, one of us couldn’t. Taking Kushner literally, I can hit that high B flat at 1500 yards when I’m on my game. I’m currently not, but that’s not the point. The point is that you get out what you put into it. I wouldn’t be able to hit an emotional high B flat at 1500 yards without years of understanding someone, just like years of voice lessons makes me able to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” (No one will ever, no not ever beat Whitney Houston taking it in four at the SuperBowl.) I will never be Whitney Houston without another party’s input. It takes both of us being vulnerable to move forward.

It’s so counterintuitive, but leans the relentlessness of life into rolling joy rather than rolling pain.

Being able to move fast and take chances doesn’t happen in a vacuum, either. It comes from examining yourself to the point where you understand and trust your own intuition, because you’ve talked to enough people to know whether you’re a good judge of a situation or not. How often your behavior is a source of joy or worry. When it pays off to focus on yourself and when you’re ignoring people. When you ignore them too long, they’ll go away.

When I tried to set boundaries with someone who had no issue setting them with me and just not apprising me of the situation consistently enough to understand it, she ran. I don’t have to take it personally, but I do have to remember it’s what she does. She doesn’t let me know what the boundaries are and blames me for overstepping them, but is also the one I’d trust with my whole life because she’s shown me she’s rock solid in other areas of our relationship. It’s worth working on, but…

Tomorrow….. AND tomorrow… AND tomorrow.

I Actually Am a PhD

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I am driven to create through writing stream-of-consciousness blog entries because it is showcasing the random order of my brain and entertaining people (even if only through schadenfreude). I haven’t been told that I’m worse writer than Brene Brown, Glennon Doyle, and Martha Beck- so I continue to believe that I am capable of writing on their level with an editor. Someone to collate my thoughts into a self-help book by taking out the filler and focusing on what matters. An editor is important because I do not want to be the one in charge of going through what I’ve already said and deciding whether it’s worthy of editing and publishing. I also think I’ve got a framework for at least three books woven into one based on past writings, but not enough hubris to say that they deserve more than they’ve been given…. which is readers on the day it was published.

When I’m in the middle of a problem, it runs continuously in my brain and I look at it from a million different ways. Therefore, I do not know which of my entries regarding any of my characters/subjects/plot points explain something the best. One runs into the other. It is a continuing monologue. I have been told I should publish a bound anthology, but I will not do it unless I’m approached because I do not want to take on the task of deciding which entries are essential and which are just fluff. That’s because sometimes my intuiition is off as to what will resonate with people and what won’t. An editor coming in blind would relieve my soul greatly.

The other thing that relieves my soul is that I don’t have to write a book to have something worth publishing. I already have 20 years of entries- 10 from this blog and the other 10 in the Wayback Machine. If nothing else, writing these entries has proved to me that I am capable of writing a book. That’s huge.

I have known that I could write a book since I was a child, but I didn’t have the confidence when the writing went so well and my research skills were so poor. I developed a doctorate in bullshit, because I could get an A on a paper by writing the whole thing as fast as I write a blog entry and just making up the books I used as sources; I knew the names of the publishing houses off the top of my head and wrote convincing titles. I didn’t do this in college because I did not have to manage my papers against six other academic subjects, choir, and marching band.

I am going back and picking up building blocks for my true self that I never had because I couldn’t see all the social masking I was doing for ADHD and autism. What I know now is that I am capable of taking in a firehose’s width in information all the time, but knowing what’s important and what’s not is a challenge. My brain uses an obnoxious yellow highlighter on every word, because I am making connections so fast that everything is important under the right circumstances.

I have started reading celebrity autobiographies recently, and not because I like stardom and pop culture. It’s that there’s no other genre that sounds more like me. First of all, they’re actors. I’m a writer. Creative process. Second of all, they’re just telling the story as they saw it. Making judgment calls about how others’ actions affected them. Being angry. Being remorseful. Being guilty. Being all of it and through the process of writing it down, letting it all go.

I started with Prince Harry, Kelly Ripa, and Lauren Graham. I’ve got “Worthy” by Jada Pinkett Smith on hold at the library. It’s helping me find a lightness in tone that doesn’t come across with spy fiction and non- except “The Unexpected Spy” by Tracy Walder- she’s a TV show and Ellen Pompeo noticed. By and large, people like Le Carré don’t put as much humor into their books as I’d like, but it’s ok. The jokes land harder when they don’t happen all that often.

My favorite line from “Homeland” is “Karachi….. After you stole the car.” My favorite show about intelligence is “American Dad,” and feel that if I was any character on TV, I can best be summed up by Roger Smith. Pretty sure I asked for Pecan Sandies. I am the type person that grows to love a subject through the criticism of it. As in, someone becoming more beautiful to you because of their flaws. Both shows are great at taking the piss while also being sensitive to the fact that intelligence officers are people. One of the reasons I loved “Argo” was the incredible humor while in the midst of a serious situation. Using humor as a reflex to deal with what’s hard. Masking to protect their real identities, feeling like frauds. Roger Smith is the only one that walks in the world unafraid of being caught. I want to walk like that, and I am trying to find the keys to be able to unlock that part of myself.

I like seeing people without their social masking because if they stop doing it, so will I. For me, it’s to cover a neurodivergent brain. For others, it’s just the secrets they’ve kept are now killing them. For neurodivergent writers, it’s both. You’ve kept the shame and guilt at not responding to others the same way they respond to you hidden because you know it’s all your fault. My brain is not different, it is damaged.

When people do not understand this, they treat me as intellectually inferior. When they do, it’s so much better… but there is only so much of a leap you can make between having empathy for a disorder and having a disorder. Those two types of people communicate completely differently, because that person has what they’ve read on their minds while the other has a lived experience. Having a disorder is exhausting when you feel like you have to prove you’re ill because you look fine. Autism is just a processing disorder, but the anxiety and depression stemming from it is caused mostly by the enormity of the difference between what we mean and what other people hear.

This entry was interrupted by my need to eat. I sauted some hot dogs in butter, then added eggs and ghost pepper cheese. Hot dogs aren’t my first choice, but I thought that’s all I had and in retrospect, lunch meat would have been better. All sausages, vegan and meat, taste better if you split them down the middle and let them confit. The butter will mix with the fat in the sausage and develop a sweet, firm crust. Thus why it’s called caramelization. I also tend to saute sausages whole and cut them up later, because it’s easy to obtain said crust when you don’t have more than two surfaces. Hot dog pieces are too small to make sure every piece touches metal and cooks evenly. The better the crust, the more expensive it will taste. Because butter has a lower threshold for heat, I’ll wait longer for the caramelization so I can keep using it. Even if I was using Pam or olive oil, I wouldn’t put the temp up much further. You don’t want to burn the crust while the inside is still warming up. Burgers cooked low and slow this way are pretty hard to beat, particularly vegan because the crust will taste familiar even if the sausage doesn’t. A good crust made ith butter will cover a lot of sins in a sausage’s ingredients….. particularly if all you can afford is franks from the Dollar Tree. For breakfast, I would choose low-sodium Spam before hot dogs because it’s sweeter, but the outcome is the same. Caramelized, crispy outside, soft texture inside. The thinner you cut it, the better it will taste because the butter and caramel will be the forward notes, skipping over the flavor in the Spam and making it taste like real food.

There should be an award for that.

Meat always tastes better to me cooked in its’ own fat and butter. This is why I don’t grill. Whether it’s a Beyond Burger and margarine or a beef burger and butter, the caramelization beats the fat dripping off onto the coals. I do like grilled meat, I just don’t prefer it. I also like turkey because you’re continually circulating the butter over the bird by basting it. Grilled and fried turkey is also very good, but I prefer a crispy skin with Cajun seasoning.

Also, people tend to have way less faith in the red button than they should. When it pops up, people kid themselves that they know better. What they don’t know is that when you take a turkey out of the oven, it continues cooking internally. The red button accounts for that time.

“Zip code. Fargo, North Dakota. Right now.”

I learned everything I know about turkeys from Joe Bethersonton, “King of Auto Sales” and the Butterball Hotline. When I realized that there were things I didn’t know about cooking a turkey, I credit that show for making me want to learn. Dana usually grilled our turkey outside, and it was great. I wanted to be good at the classic presentation, one reminiscent of Norman Rockwell.

These last few paragraphs are indicative of how my brain works. My superpower is being able to explain the things I do well as much as I do the things I do wrong. For instance, acknowledging that I am not at fault for every conflict I’ve ever had. I own part of the fault. That other people are not responsible for my reactions/responses, but they are responsible for knowing that they don’t come in a vacuum. That we have to talk about my behavior in the context of what triggered it, because without it we do not reach mutual empathy for the other’s position.

Thus, trying to find solutions to the ways in which I feel like a burden by focusing my talent on something productive. Getting to know myself certainly is, because by admtting my failures, I let go enough to move into the future. Otherwise, you are trapped by feelings of murkiness at unclear boundaries, unsure of how to proceed. Even worse when you establish boundaries and they run right over them due to the nature of their personalitites. It’s hard to deal with consequences when you know your ADHD is at fault- your disorder, not your personality. No one else can excuse your behavior, a “get out of jail free” card, but people might have more empathy for you if you’re honest rather than trying to hide the limitations in how your brain works. It helps other people cope in the way they phrase things to you so that conflict doesn’t pop up to begin with.

So many people do not establish boundaries at the beginning of a relationship, the most important time. That way, when you’re wrong it’s clear you’re wrong. There’s no way to argue about it, you apologize and move on. Difficult to do when the other person’s response is to shut down at a threat. It only keeps you out, it doesn’t help to resolve anything. People think they feel better by avoiding a problem when solving it is just harder than they thought and they give up. Understanding someone else’s perspective is so hard when you’re invested in the fact you’re right.

Nobody made you do anything, yet no one should make you do everything. We are built for friendship intimacy, eros, agape and philia, whether you’re monogamous and coccoon with one partner, shutting the rest of the world out, or whether you’re a social butterfly. But there is also a fine line between interdependence and codepence, which everyone should study. You cannot be emotionally intimate with just one person and expect all your needs to be met. You don’t have a sounding board with which to correct the story that you’re telling yourself. You have to have friends with whom to bitch about your spouse and a spouse to bitch with about your friends. But both parties have to know that you’re just going somewhere to vent, you’re not going somewhere to make an escape plan….. and it always will be if you don’t develop emotional bravery.

I haven’t had it lately. I’ve met some incredible friends and dropped off the face of the earth because I had to- I’ll get back in touch. I am just trying so hard to focus on my own mental health that it’s taking my ability to connect with others. I just don’t have the spoons. I am in the unenviable position as to having anxiety about going through all of this on top of social anxiety when I call people, a necessary evil when you’re dealing with health insurance companies, GPs, and specialists…. not to mention the government if my occupational therapy doesn’t reveal my gaps and fix them. It just feeds my anxiety that I’m incapable of living within a system that helps most people. I do not want to go the disability route in the slightest. I just don’t know where I am on the spectrum and I want to get it resolved. Why I can spill my thoughts like a pro and struggle with things that make you look like a dumbass in neurotypical eyes. I think that’s because neurodivergents are not managers unless they’re high-functioning ADHD. Enough executive function to deal with fires and not drop details in paperwork. I think that’s because younger people are diagnosed than me, have had years of training in how to cope. I have no idea how people just learn those things on the fly, and get horribly anxious when I struggle.

People with ADHD require inertia, hard to get started when you’re bipolar and anxious about everything. I don’t need to tap out, I need to tap in. I’m just discovering that the barriers to entry are great and I wish I could hide from it. Surely I’ll just get better by not leaving my house because a magic fairy will come and fix me.

Learning to deal with autism and ADHD is the grief that you’ll never get your moment. You are told your entire childhood that eventually things will all come together as you get experience and I have gotten none of that. I have developed a talent for bullshit that I only saw when I started getting real. Patterns emerged in my writing that I couldn’t see before, the reason my autism is beating out my ADHD on a consistent basis. Going out is too much stimulation, but my ADHD side makes it where staying home isn’t stimulating enough. So, I go out and want to come home nearly immediately because walking in the world seems like our entire society is blaring at me. It is through no fault of their own. It’s my sensory percepton issues. The world is loud even if you were born neurotypical, male, white, able-bodied, straight, and cis. With sensory perception issues, the fact that the tag on your t-shirt is scratching the back of your neck feels as important as anything the boss has handed down, because the stimulation of it is overwhelming and covers everything else.

“It’s just a tag.”

I don’t go anywhere in which I don’t feel armored to take on the world. Clothes that do’t irritate me, comfortable shoes, a hoodie to guard against being cold in the air conditioning or outside in the season for it (you need good gloves, socks, an insulating layer like a vest or thermal shirt, and shoes padded on the inside with good tread. More important than the quality of your coat- with all that, I can wear a hoodie. Uniqlo. Look into it.). In the winter, I like sweats and long underwear as opposed to jeans…. but an open cuff so that I don’t always have to wear sneakers with them…. and stirrup pants drove me crazy in the ’80s because of the elastic strap. I wore them anyway because I liked the feeling of my pants not sliding loose and they kept me warm. I like hiking sandals with socks, but the kind that look like tennis shoes so that only the color of your sock shows through. I like wearing them without socks, but it doesn’t look good with pants. The reason for this is that in the cold, water dries quickly from your shoe, but not from your socks. They get soggy and you’re finished. With hiking sandals, you dump out the water and your foot is warm again because of the rubber in your shoe heating back up. Sandals don’t have anywhere for water to absorb except the top straps…. and we have already mentioned that my toes are covered. I don’t understand those people, but William Sledd’s Summer Rant goes through my head when I see it. “If you see someone with a toe ring, I would just go up to them and say, ‘girl? What the fuck is on your toe?'” “The anklle bracelet…. the perfect accessory to a toe ring.” I think it came out over 10 years ago, and it makes me double over with laughter every single time.

Again, entertaining my audience through only storytelling, a stream of consciousness unmasking of what it’s like to live in a neurodivergent brain and the struggles in remaining positive around it. You don’t immediately realize it’s relentless. And then the struggle sets in. This is not a transitory state. This is the same hassle you’d feel if your cat got diabetes. You mean I’m going to have to give it shots for the rest of my natural life? You mean I’m going to have to teach housesitters how to do it? You mean I have to justify why I’m willing to take care of an animal with serious needs? It’s all too much because in this case, the cat is you and the last person you want to take care of in that way. Most people are focused on others to avoid the deep dive I do.

And it only helps them so much. Breaking free does not come without costs, but it does come with self-worth when you realize you do things extraordinarily well…. it’s just not the way in which everyone expects. I hope that one day I’m in the position to say that I don’t like the crowd and where it’s headed so that I’m grateful for this journey, but right now it’s too difficult and scary to say that.

I just know that I have a doctorate in bullshit, and now I’m learning all the reasons why…. not to avoid having responsibility, but to learn which ones I can manage.

Anything Within My Means

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

How much would you pay to go to the moon?

For me to to go to the moon, we would have to pretend my assets are limitless first. I would not want to go to the moon on the cheap. I would feel weird about only paying $49.99, because if it seems too good to be true……. So, short answer, at least a million. It doesn’t cost as much to go to the moon as it does to stay at present because we have no standing facilities. I am also not ignorant about the cost of fuel. Everybody hates hauling people places who don’t kick them some money for gas. I just don’t know what’s in the scope of the question, so the price of the ticket would be dependent on the length of the trip. In short, how much of their resources am I using?

We don’t have a hotel on the moon already, so I’m thinking maybe just a moon landing? If we are assuming my assets are limitless, I could have a hotel built….. provided I got the approval of several different earth governments. But I don’t think I’d want to go that route, either, because then I’d be constantly stuck in the battle between the US and everyone else, particularly Russia. I would never be able to get away with a hotel in space and not have to constantly check it for bugs. The panic of the space race in the 50’s was real, and there are carryovers- like knowing if I built a hotel on the moon, GRU would be on my ass for all eternity. First, they’d try to recruit me as an asset, then, when they realized I wouldn’t do it, become passive aggressive and put me under surveillance, anyway.

Our relationship with the Russian people is inversely proportionate to our distrust/hatred of their government, particularly among astronauts who have lived in Star City for weeks at a time. We love Russian food and culture, we do not love the competition. Thank you for Tetris.

Our fear was that if Russia won the space race, they would arm the moon with nuclear weapons. It seems crazy now, but we were genuinely frightened. This was not Trump hysteria. This was based on actual facts. The dissolution of the USSR abated that fear because all of the sudden, Russia didn’t have enough money to run with the big boys. I don’t know how much that has changed, really, I just know Russian attitude hasn’t. If Putin doesn’t have the money to destroy us, he certainly has the will.

It’s an interesting point of history at NASA and CIA…. how science had to move with intelligence and vice versa. It’s a beautiful dance if you get time for the deep dive. The best part is that neither space program nor intelligence agency got everything right, and most of the space race ends up being a comedy of errors that’s not actually funny because we could have all ended up dead. 😛

Now, we have a branch of the military called “Space Force,” and I think it’s ridiculous and not because we don’t need the intelligence (we are nowhere near ready to talk about putting a standing military in space). It’s because all of the things that we could do are within the scope of another branch…. but it’s too late, now. I have a Space Force patch from Zac that I need to sew on my bag. I do wish it had a batter name than that, though, because it sounds like a cliche. Like naming a dog Spot and thinking that’s original.

I mean, I get it. Air Force, etc. But it still sounds like a Seth MacFarlane show…….. except MacFarlane’s two space shows, “Cosmos” and “The Orville,” have been outstanding.

Maybe the name isn’t all bad.

Unclear

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments

What alternative career paths have you considered or are interested in?

I am at a crossroads right now, and I don’t know what to do. Historically, because of my mental and physical limitations, I am great at getting jobs because I mask and seem neurotypical to get by…… get severely overwhelmed and stop performing………. and the death spiral begins. I get social anxiety at work, which has only been exacerbated over the last eight years by many different things. But social anxiety and masking are only part of it. Right now I am unsure of how capable I am and need both counseling and a neurology consult.

My brain just does not fire and I do not understand logical processes. I also have to understand what I’m doing to buy in. When I seem to fail at enough things that neurodivergents struggle with and neurotypical people don’t, I tend to beat the hell out of myself because I didn’t know it was ADHD struggling against autism so that even I couldn’t tell what was what and didn’t think of myself as autistic until i watched a shit ton of YouTube videos, got peer reviewed, and now need a confirmation. But don’t underestimate the value of people relating to other people’s stories. I have found myself in multiple videos on autism, stories from multiple people and lectures by doctors and psychologists. It’s overwhelming because now I know why I’ve always felt like an alien.

I am so interested in other people that I’ve stood back and studied group dynamics for years…. since I was a child. What I cannot do is then turn around and see why my reactions are so different. To not really know why people’s interactions with me are confusing because everything makes sense in my brain- except for office politics. I have never been able to figure out those because so much goes on that is hierarchical and you don’t know who is really doing what. Your name comes up in meetings you don’t attend, and people are so full of HR-speak that you cannot find a clear path with a map and a flashlight because no one will tell you the truth…… that they have reached their ability to explain something and now I’m just being obstinate.

No, I am trying desperately to please you and I do not know how because something that makes sense in the moment fails when you walk away. Over time, this becomes truly problematic because it comes across as not being able to work independently….. and I’m not entirely sure this is untrue. I seem to have the most success with writing, but I cannot count on it because the validation from writing comes in believing in myself. The compliments I’ve gotten are astounding, but since I haven’t gotten them on a large enough scale, I cannot bet my future on going viral. What I do know is that by helping myself, I help others. I would be a good Glennon Doyle-type character, if only to end up married to a soccer player. 😉

That depends on other people seeing it first.

I don’t have the ability to do everything, but it’s different when you can hire it out rather than having to be the one where everyone’s expectations are heaped upon you and as a neurodivergent, you have no coping skills on how to mask in unfamiliar situations. It’s not a canned response. You have to be okay with going to your boss and asking for help more than everyone else, and they only have so much time and patience. Their executive function isn’t fucked up, but mine sure is.

Because of the cerebral palsy affecting my movement and my neurodivergence affecting my brain, I feel incapable a hundred percent of the time- until I sit down to write.

So, when you ask me about other career paths I’ve considered, literally all of them. I do not have the echo chamber that says “keep plugging away. Eventually you won’t be in trouble all the time.” I always am. The last time I had job security, I was in a government job where it was almost impossible to get fired and on a college campus where everyone attributed my gaps in functioning to being young. I am a child in an adult’s body because that’s how people treat me. It is hard to break those patterns because you don’t know what’s going on and why you can’t get with the program. It is not built for you. No one in an office has taken me under their wing without getting so frustrated they wanted to fire me that I wasn’t let go within six months. It was always attributed to other things, but in the kitchen my ADHD and lack of masking worked in my favor while also not having the dexterity to move fast and carry heavy shit. Because of my floppy muscles, I couldn’t predict when I could or I couldn’t hang. People saw it as my performance going up and down, and they always do. But it’s never a case of my limitations. It’s that I’m lazy.

In any job, you are defined by who you are…. the popular kids, the geeks, and the mean girls all have to work together. The degrees are not as pronounced but the microaggressions are real. You are marked quickly as a “type,” and if that type is incompetent because they don’t understand what I’m putting down, it’s never a matter that they didn’t explain it where I could pick it up. The hierarchy doesn’t have time to adjust.. they have time to hire someone they feel can actually do the job.

People expect me to be so capable because they’ve seen me “act normal” my whole life. I am fucked and having to catch up. Occupational therapy and seeing if it helps, because I drop so many details that I don’t feel capable and constantly have that message reinforced. I wish I had stayed in academia constantly. The river is slower, and makes the learning curve less steep because I have time to get comfortable in my environment, but even that is tough if I don’t have an office. Cubical farms are death to the ADHD and the autistic.

I cannot solve someone’s problem on the phone while hearing everyone else’s conversations and write down the problem and contact other people on line two. It’s too much stimulation and it’s what was expected of me every single day. I liked night shifts because of it. My body screamed in pain and I didn’t care because I could focus better. I dropped less. If you wonder why mainstreaming is hard on both parties, stuff like this is it. We get overstimulated and can’t function, you get frustrated and angry. Perhaps guilty that we don’t get it, because you know we’re neurodivergent and you’re still at wit’s end. You’re running a business here, man. You’re not a special needs teacher and we get it. We just don’t know how to deal with it and feel constantly horrible about ourselves for things we can’t control. It’s relentless.

When you get into simple jobs that I can do, they generally involve physical activity. I could be in a bakery, more laid back than a restaurant, but I can’ lift 60 pounds of flour. I can’t stock in a grocery store because everything is as heavy there as it would be in a kitchen. Perhaps a courtesy clerk. I don’t have a problem with an entry-level job because I don’t have to be brilliant at my job. I have to be brilliant at writing.

I am one of those people for whom disability would be perfect, but I don’t know whether I want to go that route. It involves giving up a lot, and I don’t know whether it would be worth it in the end. I need to wait until I get finished with the diagnostician and the neurologist. With disability, I have the ability to focus on what I do the most well, the job I actually can handle, with no ability to keep money I make from it. So, I’d rather learn what I need to know and so far behind the eight ball.

That’s because I refused to admit I have limitations before. Not only to everyone, but lying to myself as well. I have the energy to sit at my computer all day and type like a coder, but not the talent for STEM. I have tried to learn programming many times, and I do not have the executive function to understand logic to that degree. It’s like playing the pipe organ. I cannot keep track of what all my limbs are doing, and I cannot keep track of the music while I’m doing it.

I went downstairs to get some tea (maple espresso), and my housemate Magda told me that I was like a mushroom. That I grew where I was planted. She meant that I needed to get out more. I took it as a compliment. I also take trash and turn it into beauty. So rare a pig searched for me, something plentiful yet hard to find.

You can’t use truffles in everything. They have a very specific set of applications, and the rest seem off…… it’s just…… unclear.

Grief Sucks

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Lindsay and I have been through the emotional ringer because of our stepfather’s death, and I use that term loosely because my mom didn’t marry him until the aforementioned trip when I was 24 in which my wife called me up nd told me she was cheating on me and she was leaving. So, I don’t have fond memories of their wedding at all. She wanted to be the monarch, I wanted to be the democracy. I did not like it, and I’m glad the trash took itself out. I was miserable for a while, but not long enough for it to matter in retrospect.

It’s been a complicated relationship the whole time. Trying to appease my mother and being frighteningly uncomfortable around him because he felt entitled to my body and I don’t as a general rule like people who don’t know me touching me in a seductive way, being more familiar than they have any right to be. He kissed me on the lips once without asking and I thought I was going to punch him with rage and didn’t. He told Lindsay and me that he was sorry, that he had kissed his other daughters on the lips without incident…. *but they had grown up with him.* He, like every man I know, felt entitled to touch me and obsessed with Lindsay to a degree where I am not noticed.

But that came later. At first he picked up on the fact that my mother loved Lindsay’s voice and she didn’t treat me the same, so he buttered me up with compliments to make me feel better. It wasn’t necessary. I am used to walking in the world behind her, because the attention she gets that I don’t might be annoying, but she saves me from having to deal with a lot, too. Everyone, in my observation, rushes in to do things for Lindsay in a way they don’t rush in for me.

But our stepsisters didn’t even bother to tell either of us that Forbes was being buried next to my mother and give us the time and date. Lindsay found out on Facebook. No one in that family who is still alive ever accepted us, but I had a relationship with the oldest, who thought I was brilliant and deserved to work in DC. The funniest conversation we ever had was her outrage that Ben Affleck played Tony Mendez because he wasn’t Hispanic. I wish I had gotten to reassure her that Tony didn’t care. He just thought he was more handsome than Ben. 😉

It’s nice that I have some good memories, but they weren’t consistent because Susan lived in San Antonio and I lived in Houston at the time. She was half Latina, half white and was the chair of the Mexican studies department at University of Texas- San Antonio. We both identified with The Struggle, a perspective no one in my family shared because they are all white. Someone actually said to me “why do you focus on minority issues. You don’t have to live with them.” She was making fun of Oregon, deservedly so, but still. It felt like she as laughing in a way I didn’t like.

But that’s Texas for you. Everyone riding the line with polite racism…… which is ridiculous because we annexed part of Mexico in the 1800’s. So many, many, many Latinx people are discriminated against every day when their families have been Texans for hundreds of years. There is no “go back where you came from.” We’re on their land, Holmes. Slow your fucking roll, Karen.

I feel like I have to apologize to the Karens in my life, particularly the ones who are Latina, because they are not the stereotype. But there’s just no other word to give that complete a picture of a white woman who feels like she owns everything and everyone. Double that for POC and queers, depending on whether they’re an angry liberal Karen or a MAGA Karen (which now stands for *making attorneys get attorneys.*)

So, Lindsay went apeshit after the funeral on the youngest two of our stepsisters because she was so hurt. Forbes’ sister in law tried to make it okay, but there’s not a way to make it so. Lindsay was traumatized, and so was I because when Lindsay went to the cemetery and sent me pictures on the anniversary of my mother’s death, the gash was still there from the burial and the headstone wasn’t there for carving.

I made sure my mom’s side is beautiful. It has a treble staff with the beginning notes to “Amazing Grace.” Forbes was a CPA so his side looks like an incomplete Word Document.

And if that’s not enough, I don’t know whether this is true or not, but I haven’t to Forbes’ lawyer directly, but apparently Lindsay gets to start her financial planning and I don’t because I don’t have a trustee and it will have to be set up before the money is mine. Lindsay says this is not true, that both our trusts are set up the same way, so the jury is still out. We are also requesting a list of beneficiaries for our dad’s retirement, because we think that Forbes may have used it on a down payment for a house he built with the woman he married six months after my mother died. This was not problematic to me. He had health problems and if his wife wanted to take over his care and feeding, great. The problem is that our mother didn’t leave us any money in her will. She left it to Forbes to manage. The money that we got from him doesn’t add up. It feels like he may have padded the gifts to his biological daughters with money that wasn’t his by dividing everything equally.

I need it for my retirement, but it’s a possibility that I’d sink it into a down payment on a house if I wasn’t taxed at 40%. This is because I think I could do better with DC real estate than I could with an IRA. It would also be a crash pad for my sister. But the money we have isn’t enough for a down payment unless we bought an apartment or condo in a shitty neighborhood, paying attention to when industries might move in. If we’d had the money for an apartment in ’01, Kathleen and I would both be in a very different financial situation, especially considering where we lived. If we’d applied for a mortgage to buy a house in Alexandria or Arlington, we would have made a nest egg no matter how long we stayed. If we’d kept the house as a joint asset and just rented it out, today we would be millionaires, especially if we’d been willing to risk it a bit and buy in Columbia Heights or Shaw. You can buy a house anywhere in the city of Washington, but you’ll get the most bang for your buck if you go into a neighborhood that is currently trashed out. Washington, DC is only 60 square miles. That means property values begin to skyrocket quickly in undiscovered pockets. Think about the people that bought in Georgetown in the 70s. Their houses are worth five million.

I don’t have the money to dream big, because it takes money to make it. But it’s a nice thought and a good thing for both Lindsay and me, so we’ll see. Even if we never do it, the idea is fun to explore. I don’t know that Lindsay wants to work past retirement age, so I don’t know if she would even need a pad in DC by then. So, it’s the equivalent of just searching Zillow for house porn.

It feels better than arguing in my head about why I don’t walk in the world like Lindsay, and how I can use my strengths so that people don’t see me as her weaker, meeker counterpart. I am learning to deal with my emotions differently, which lets go of a lot of rage. I don’t feel like everything is going wrong all the time because I have more emotional strength to be able to handle something like this. I am not getting edgy at an enormous change that as of yet, I do not understand.

New environments are difficult for me to handle, and this is one of them. I have never had to think about money before in this way, and it’s frightening to have something explained to you that you had no capacity to understand in the first place. It feels good to be in a different financial place than I was few years ago, but untangling the emotional strings around it is difficult…. most notably that I’m angry my mother died. My mother is the one that I could have just said, “I cannot make this phone call under any circumstances right now and it’s time sensitive. Will you help me?” My mother would not have understood why I couldn’t make a phone call due to social anxiety, but she’d do it anyway. I will make a phone call for you because I am not emotionally invested in what the other person has to say. I will clean your house for the same reason. There needs to be an exchange between people like this who all clean each other’s houses for free, because we don’t have the emotional attachment as to how it became that way. Shame and guilt, etc. I don’t think it’d be a problem as long as we don’t get lazy and under value what others are doing for us. Bartering vs. getting work done for free because you can’t be arsed.

I don’t want any more stimuli than grief most of the time, because it’s what I can handle right now. It has to be managed before I can manage anything else. It’s not a constant scream of pain anymore, just that my reactions are always going to be irritated and angry if I’m thinking about grief and dealing with other people.

When I am being short with people, I only want it to refer to my height.

Yours

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What food would you say is your specialty?

When I love someone, I love their food. I make breakfast the best, in my estimation, because I spent so many hours bonding with Dana over our brunch program (chef and ex-wife for those just joining us)… but it wasn’t just that. We loved to cook together more than life itself, and breakfast was the thing that made her face light up. Breakfast food comes easily to me, because now I picture what Dana would do and how she would do it every morning of my life. This is not a bad thing. We’re not together anymore, but I decided to stop spending time with our negative memories a long time ago. I will talk about them to use them as an illustration, occasionally, but I would never talk shit about her just for sport. Our fights make us both worse characters, because our joy was so apparent. I am also not in love with her anymore, which I know is confusing…… and yet not, in my brain. I can write about her in  all the romantic terms I want because of the tense. It may sound like I’m in love with her, but not when you look at all the “used to” instead of what is happening in my life right now. Remembering someone fondly is easy. In your memory, they become the people who fucked you up, and it doesn’t matter because you’re at peace with the fact that you fucked them up, too. No one is 100% a victim…. or at least, that is the case most of the time. I am sure there are examples, but by and large everyone contributes. Just like when I cook.

Because breakfast food is my love language, I used to have dreams of cooking Supergrover breakfast, and I don’t mean that in a sultry “morning after” kind of way………….. anymore. 😉 I mean that I could have been the chef, directing everyone as to what to do. That’s my happy place. Lording over a kitchen in order to teach other people how to fend for themselves. I want to go into a kitchen where I am given that authority without the responsibility. For instance, everyone saying “you should do it because I’m not a chef.” That’s not helping me, that’s succumbing to fear. If you don’t teach other people to work with you, over time you’ll become the cook all the time. “You’re just so good.”

That’s what’s great about marrying a professional cook. They work on you from day one, and it’s better if you want them to do so. They are not going to be your personal chef. I, like her, started with the basics. An egg. Diced vegetables……… repeatedly. Respecting first contact with eggs and knowing when to flip them. Interestingly enough, learning to make an omelet is so storied as part of a cook’s education, but Dana never taught me and I was never in a restaurant where it was on the menu and had to get up to speed fast. I play around in my own kitchen, but I’ve never folded anything successfully…. and because of anything but effort. I can only get better so fast, because I can only feed myself so much. I can only store so much when I make it ahead of time. Getting good at pancakes and oatmeal took a week or so of doing multiple iterations every single day.

Breakfast is also the only time I bake. I do everything from a can or box, but still. My favorite are orange rolls. The bread is the same as a cinnamon roll, it’s just the at the icing has orange or orange juice in it. They’re pretty divine…… If I’m in a savory mood, though, scones are stupid easy and forgiving. You can throw anything into them and the dough will react like a pancake, adjusting so that the food doesn’t take a left turn at Albequerque when you used a teaspoon and a quarter of something because you didn’t measure it. Cooks, by and large, hate baking because they’re used to tweaking by hand. You can do that with dough and pancakes. You cannot do it with cakes. In general, dinner service and pastry are two different fiefdoms, and bakers’ personalities are more laid back because they’re not in the same pressure cooker that the brigade is. Of course, there are exceptions. But most restaurants don’t sell as much dessert as they do main courses, anyway. Most nights the restaurants I’ve worked in could have had only one person on pastry, because we didn’t need more than a pie’s worth of dessert all night. Dessert went out of fashion with Atkins and South Beach. For people who aren’t foodies, dessert has been passed over for more bacon.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The only thing I don’t use much is chocolate. I mean, I’ll put chocolate in pancakes a lot of the time, but it’s just a flavor note. I don’t make chocolate pancakes with chocolate chips and chocolate sauce because I’m not a Death by Chocolate sort of chick. Black raspberry chip vs. New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Ice cream is the dessert that’s my specialty, but I don’t have an ice cream maker, so I haven’t done it since Tapalaya.

First, you take a bunch of bacon and cook it in a rondeau. Then, you strain the bacon and put it aside, making ice cream base in the pan loaded with bacon flavoring with the drippings from straining it and re-adding it to the base. But the bacon just makes it insane when I prefer plain sweet cream or Mexican vanilla. Mexican vanilla is the one place skim milk is a good application, because you can make an amazing ice milk with it. Ice milk, to me, tastes better without fat because you can tell a difference between it and ice cream.

I would rather have ice cream with 23% butter fat and just eat less of it.

Except on the nights when I’ve been too tired to cook and it was immediately available. I can save my cooking for the morning, when I have the most energy for it. Getting up early and eating breakfast sets the tone for how much energy I’m going to have later. If I just drink coffee because I’m too lazy to eat, I don’t have enough strength to mask and I recede inside myself rather than sounding like a put-out dickhead because I can’t cope with my environment and it’s not personal but it sure sounds like it. I take precautions not to be that guy. I can’t get by on a piece of toast. My body needs a load of energy early on. So, I need eggs at a minimum. Eggs with more butter than people usually add and probably peanut butter toast and some Greek yogurt (full fat). Vegan sausage patties if I have them, and I don’t care whether it’s Just Egg (plant based eggs) or actual chicken eggs. One doesn’t really taste that much different than the other when I add all my spices. I love Old Bay or simply salt, pepper, and garlic. Season eggs like you would season a chicken. For instance, Montreal Chicken Seasoning is really amazing in a scramble. So are Tony Chachere’s, Paul Prudhomme’s Chicken or Red Fish Magic, and Slap Ya Mama. SYM is Cajun spice like Tony Chachere’s with the heat turned up. It’s probably beyond most people’s comfort level, so use sparingly when cooking for white people.

Another breakfast favorite is extraordinarily thick Greek pudding with cinnamon and nothing else. It makes your brain *find* sweetness in the cinnamon rather than sugar. If I had an Instant Pot, I could learn to make my own and I would, because I like it thicker than most companies make it. Yogurt is particularly good with fruit like raisins, prunes, and dried cranberries, because if you add them and put it in the fridge, they’ll plump back up. Yogurt with plums sounds more legit, right? Raisins are good in ice cream base for the same reason, particularly rum raisin and putting the alcohol in the base at the end so that the alcohol doesn’t all cook out. The bite of alcohol stands up to the fat of ice cream base very well. It will also make you feel tipsy immediately. Tread carefully. It will hit you before you really know what you’re doing.

Two scoops would have done it.

That’s an old joke for three people.

I think I’ll wrap it up there, because I have so much to discuss that doesn’t have to do with food. But I’m going to go make some breakfast first.