The Nervous Nelly

November 7, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I don’t know what I’m nervous about- my apartment is relatively clean enough to relax. My panic is not real. It is the idea of people invading my space that I don’t know how harsh I’m going to be judged.

I think they just want to check on the progress of things they already wrecked, the whole reason my transfer fee has been waived. I wouldn’t get those two things if they didn’t intend on letting me stay.

I’m a perfectionist who didn’t call in maids and regrets it now. That’s because they’d only have to do things that I don’t have the energy to do, like dust & vacuum, making the place look less lived in because they can get around easier than I can. I have all kinds of mysterious bruises from the last few days as I organized my stuff.

It happens a lot because of my cerebral palsy. I’m off balance and have no 3D vision. I run into things by not being able to judge distances side to side. I fell weird a propo of nothing at my dad’s and said, “I have lane assist on my car, not in my body.” I’m glad I was able to show him that I’m still the same klutz I’ve always been, it has just gotten worse with age as my compensatory skills wear down.

I have a large safety net now, from a dad to a sister to a cognitive behavioral counselor to Michael, who keeps an eye out from Texas. It’s all about creating healthy relationships with all of them, adding more friends to the mix.

I am good at making acquaintances and getting better at maintaining communication. I had to learn how I worked first, that there was a reason why I preferred communicating over the internet- it matches how my brain is built.

I just cannot let the pendulum swing too far. I need to get out and meet people. For instance, I have to go back out because I forgot to stop by the pharmacy and get my medication. I’m in no danger of running out, I just forgot.

Things are actually going really well with my psychiatrist, because she always remembers to schedule our appointments long before I need medication and remembers to fax it in when I’m due.

She prefers to see me more often, so she doesn’t often prescribe refills. I take this as a positive. We have a few minutes of pleasant conversation and then she sends everything over.

We talk about my goals in therapy, and she would like to hear from my therapist as well. I have known since Psych 101 that psychology and psychiatry are “inextricably related,” so it’s easy for me to understand why they’re a team, along with my counselor.

Things are really looking up these days, after months of feeling horrible about myself. Aada thought I was punishing her, but I was raking myself over the coals for all the unrest I’d caused.

I felt like I had betrayed everything I believed in, which was definitely bigger than her alone.

I hope that she does, as I do, go back and read her favorite entries from years ago. It will come across differently once it feels like it’s happening to a different person.

The positive and the negative will be weighted differently, because she won’t be feeling anger of the moment she read something. I stand by the fact that it was okay for me to get angry, but it wasn’t fair for me to get as angry as I did. It had consequences beyond me that I didn’t think about because I wasn’t supposed to do so.

I was supposed to say what I thought. There was no one to intervene in that thought process to change it. Therefore, love was lost slowly as we failed over and over to “give each other the grace that love requires.” This is not a new problem, but not doing that to each other anymore is a goal.

It’s a goal with everyone- that things they love don’t become flaws and failures later. But many people love my writing about others, but hate when I hold a mirror up to their faces.

Aada called it “the flaying of her skin,” and not the “working through grief” I needed. She asked me to go. I went. I had feelings that weren’t even for her to know, but she kept reading thinking that my goal in life was to take her down, embarrass her, etc.

Absolutely nothing about how much I glowed about her except it was suspect.

It’s the most unhealthy thing I’ve ever read about my own writing, that it took a long time but I’d finally alienated the only person whose opinion mattered to me, because she could only take in what she perceived as attacks. I was not writing about a very complicated time in my life.

I don’t think that Aada understands that she puts me in the mood to write, that writing about her is the most interesting of all my relationships because there’s so much mystery as to how we could maintain a close and distant relationship for many years.

It boggles my mind, really.

We are sorry we manipulated each other, and that is enough for me as I sort out the wheat from the chaff.

There were so many genuine moments, but some of the best were built on a lie that spiraled out of control. I can forgive her for that, but I cannot control what happened after those entries were published. I can only regret, because I’m not in that person’s shoes.

I’ve never been a muse, so I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know that Aada has been too gracious in giving me room to be myself.

For 12 years, she has inspired some of the most beautiful lines I’ve ever written, and that’s what I wish she would take away instead of “we all get it. I’m a terrible person.”

God, that line has driven me crazy for days.

How much more can I say?

How much more should I say?

It makes me feel bad that she doesn’t see real tears of remorse. It makes me feel bad that all she sees is punishment in my writing, so she thinks I’m rejecting her when I’m literally screaming THIS WAS A COMPLICATED TIME AND WE WERE BOTH COMPLICIT.

None of the things I’ve done have warranted another chance, but she’s always given them because when I’ve known better, I’ve done better. I have bent to accommodate her except when I couldn’t.

My life collided with hers because it couldn’t not.

All I can do is move on, basing everything on her point of view. Why do I want a friend that only sees the negative aspects of my writing? Why do I want a friend that’s so gun shy about meeting on the ground? Why do I want a friend that stuffs her emotions behind a wall, leaving me to guess what they are?

I could write about her more beautifully and more accurately if I had a real idea of who she was in the world. I don’t, and I never have. It’s been the wildest ride, a Billy Joel sized tale. I find it hard to swallow that if I wrote about her more accurately, she would like my blog better, but she won’t give me the chance to know her any better than I do right now.

She says that the punishments have to stop, and I wonder what she meant. I sincerely don’t know and it’s at top of mind. I don’t mean for it to be, but I don’t have a bigger mystery to solve… who is this person, and how did our lives become so enmeshed?

She slowly isolated me from all my other friends, so that she became a huge topic in my writing because I wasn’t spending time with anyone else. It’s not that I set out to do anything- my blog is reflective and started long before she walked into my life- by a decade or so.

I have never set out to ruin anyone, and they’ve seen it when they’ve gone back. But they don’t see it if they don’t ask me what I actually meant and sit in their own reading comprehension…. often much different than what I wrote and emotionally punches me in the face.

People give me more power than I actually have.

Aada complains that I’m the one writing the story, but I’m the only one capable of it. She doesn’t have time.

Nor will she, and/or because writing every day may not be her calling when she does. It will be a downright pity, and I will buy her first novel. I won’t even wait until it’s at Dollar Tree.

I can’t wait to see if she is more like me in retirement.

She will always be too young for shuffleboard, so she’s got to find something.

It still bothers me that she said she was reading my writing to check for assaults. Assaults on what? How much I wish that I could take back everything negative? How much I wish I had behaved differently?

I cannot explain my reactions without explaining what happened. People are always free to disagree with me, because I cannot be right all the time. Being my friend starts with believing that everything is true, but only according to me.

Everything.

I wonder if the reason that Aada hasn’t met me is that she thinks she will wreck something. I just think it’s time to switch mediums. Let the mystery die and the reality begin.

Reality is starting to creep in, that I need to get back to listening to podcasts and hopefully drinking a lot of water. Both of those things will energize me enough to take care of another load of laundry.

I tend to choose Aqua and ABBA when I’m cleaning, and I have noise reduction headphones so that I can listen while vacuuming and things like that.

But I’m not worried. I’m just a nervous Nelly.

My Specialty is Flexibility

October 23, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

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

Not Kraft Dinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mostly because I didn’t care.

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

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

Mostly.

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

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

Yeah, that one hurt.

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

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

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

I hope she’ll at least cop to that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am saying that I hear that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chefs, Always Chefs

August 11, 2025August 11, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

Daily writing prompt

What profession do you admire most and why?

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I am quite tired of laypeople calling every person in the kitchen a chef. A chef is the one who steers the ship, literally “boss” in French. A chef is in charge of inventory, food cost, HR, dealing with owners (who likely don’t know much, if anything, about food), and every little thing that comes up during a shift. The only people who are allowed to get away with taking the piss are the cooks who work under them. Anyone else and we’re out for blood. That’s our chef to use and abuse, not yours.

I kid, but in a lot of ways, it’s true. Dealing with customers is the worst part of our job, which is why cooks don’t do it much. We prefer to leave that to front of house, where people who are trained at being nice take the absolute crap people throw at them. That’s why there shouldn’t be a war between front of house and back of house, but often there is because no one knows who to blame when everything goes wrong. Things go wrong a lot.

That’s why I respect chefs so much- they’re the ones that have to keep a cool head while the rest of the kitchen is in the weeds. “In the weeds,” for those not in the know, means that the kitchen is running behind and orders are taking longer than normal.

I have personally been in the weeds more than most, because I’m not the fastest cook around and I’ve been by myself on busy nights. Just because I’m by myself doesn’t mean that I have become a chef, mind you. It means, more often than not, that owners are trying to save labor dollars even if it means there’s more customers than one person can handle.

I decided to get out of the kitchen when I got fired at my last job for being too slow. I tried to get brownie points by being the only one who would bail them out of a crisis, but my floppy muscles kept me from moving as fast as I needed to go, plus the lack of 3D vision made my plating off.

Therefore, I admire what people can do in the kitchen while staying far away from it. I’m currently writing a book about cooking called “Heard,” so named because I got a meme about six months ago that said, “I wish someone would write a neurodivergent cookbook explaining why we do everything.” “Heard” is the callback for receiving an order.

I thought that someone would beat me to press before I got finished, and then decided that it didn’t matter because my voice is unique. There is room for more than one book like this, and I don’t think that anyone has explored the history that I would like to do.

How did the brigade system populate across the world? We have Auguste Escoffier to thank for that, and his figure will loom large as we work away from the first restaurant to “why we do everything the way we do.” My buddy Evan is helping me because he’s been a chef de cuisine and doesn’t mind helping out with recipes, or as I like to call it, “measuring for lay people.”

The reason I need Evan for recipes is that I don’t use them. I just look in my pantry and decide what I’m having based on what’s in there, throwing things in a pan and balancing as I go.

I would also like to explore the history of drinks in another book, because the best book I’ve read on them so far is called “Around the World in Six Glasses,” which explores coffee, tea, beer, wine, spirits, and Coca-Cola. What would make my book different is that I want to explore how people drink in restaurants vs. what they make at home. Is there really a difference, or do people order vastly different things when they’re out and about?

I am rarely without something to drink in my hand, and I have a new angle that’s just now being covered- nonalcoholic spirits and beer/wine. I think that history with them is just now being created, because for the first time, people are realizing that the drinks themselves are fun without the risk of a hangover.

Younger people are also realizing that you can’t necessarily mix alcohol and weed, and given the choice, they’d rather smoke up.

I should probably cover edibles in this book, but because I’m on psychiatric medication, I’ll have to get someone else to do all the tasting.

I gave up everything fun a long time ago, except for nonalcoholic spirits and beers. Athletic is my favorite because there are so many different flavors and they all taste like restaurant quality beer. I haven’t had a dud yet.

It’s a miracle to me how a good amount of hops can trick your brain into thinking the alcohol is still there- or a “Chelada Nada,” which uses the bite of lime and black pepper to create the feeling of relaxation without intoxication.

And by “giving up everything fun,” I also mean working in the kitchen and getting to experiment with food altogether. It’s why I admire chefs the most out of any profession- they get to spend their days perfecting the perfect recipe so that people who really appreciate food can taste art.

Little Entries, Big Feelings

August 8, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?

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The change that I would like to see my blog make is to get all people to feel. To see when I lay out my emotions on this site that I am not the arbiter of any relationship, nor am I doing anything but creating a space to feel. My story is my story, and everyone else is allowed to have theirs as well. I would love to read other writers’ thoughts about me, I just don’t have any blogging friends. Therefore, my friends are unique in that they come to this web site to see what I was thinking and feeling through any particular day. It’s not that I’m so great a writer, it’s that I remembered to write things down.

That’s another change I’d like to see in the world- that your words don’t have to matter because they’re “good enough.” They matter because they’re there. I find a tremendous amount of solace in the fact that it doesn’t matter how I’m feeling that day, people show up to read because they’re interested in how my life is going. It isn’t because I’m the best writer they’ve ever read.

I’m trying to make a case for more people having journals because it has helped me focus my thoughts to such an enormous degree. My audience keeps me accountable, especially the people who read and then we have lunch together later. I cannot go off into flights of fancy because I write about real people, real situations. Lying about them only hurts the people around me, so I never have. It’s painful reading about what really happened. It would be more painful if I twisted the truth to fit my own narrative.

But I can only write my version of the truth, which is no more or less important than anyone else’s. There are many sides to a story, depending on your perspective. Therefore, I cannot write anything objectively true in which everyone else is going to agree with me. But agreeing with me isn’t the point. The point is that this is my space, and their space is just as valuable as mine.

So many people have been with me through thick and thin. But I don’t know how often that has translated into them also writing blog entries that made their lives take on perspective. I would like to believe it has happened.

The journey I would most like to read is Aada’s, because her experience of me is so different than my experience of her. I have a feeling that she has kept her emotions close to the vest when it comes to me, and it would be helpful to know how she really feels when she is not angry at me. She has expressed anger and outrage to the utmost degree, and I hear her. But she has not expressed all the love she has for me over the past 12 years, probably because she feels like her words aren’t good enough. She has always been intimidated by my long letters, that it translates to me feeling like she cannot do enough for me. That is simply not true. Her words have been the most valuable thing in my life, and she encouraged me to delete them all. I wish I’d just ignored her. Because she is angry with me now, there is no well to go back to to remind me of when times were better. My memory box has been all but destroyed.

I am lucky that I only deleted one inbox, so that I do have a few things left from her… but the very earliest letters, the ones that meant the most, are gone.

This is both good and bad, because our history is a tapestry. Losing all of it creates an opportunity to let go and create more history down the road when we reconnect without tying our relationship to past ills. I have decided that I will just wait her out, because this blog is what ties us together. There will never be a time when she doesn’t read, even if she says she will stay away. She believes in me, and I know that is true no matter how angry she gets. I have the ability to entertain her… and if I can entertain her, I can indeed change the world.

This is true whether we speak again or not, because perhaps my job now is to make her laugh at my misadventures while also remaining a stranger to her. I think she likes my blog better when we’re not interacting because there’s less of a chance she’ll be in it. She likes reading about my other friends, she just doesn’t like reading about herself. This is a mystery to me, because in some entries I get down and dirty about the things that have gone wrong, but in others I portray her as a goddess walking among mortals. She is a 3D character, as much as she would like to complain that she is a “Flat Stanley.”

The thing that changes my world about this web site is that no one gets to be “Flat Stanley.” They all have amazing qualities and they all have conflicts with me. If I left out one and only wrote about the other, that would be manipulating a story to fit my own narrative when justice means a lot to me. If someone does something great, I will say it. If they do something awful, I will say it. I don’t want to portray people as I want them to be, but as they are.

These little paintings of people with words are what I have to offer in terms of changing the world, because they are not supposed to be “the best.” They are supposed to be real. Hundreds of years from now, someone will come across this blog and say, “Leslie and Aada are interesting.” All of my friends are interesting, Aada just gets more airtime because she is my favorite person. That journey is the most fleshed out of any on this web site, because she’s been my friend for longer than I really want to remember.

She came into my life at a turbulent time, and changed it for the better. That does not mean that the turbulence was easy. Getting away from Dana was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life, and I miss her dearly. We took care of each other for years and got to a place where it just didn’t work anymore. Dana checked out, and it left me vulnerable to a crush I thought would never go anywhere, and it hasn’t. What has happened is that I accept Aada for everything she is, and that includes not being attracted to me. That did not mean Dana wasn’t jealous, and held it over both of our heads in different ways.

I think a lot about what would have happened if I’d come out as poly way back when, because I’ve always been in love with multiple people. It started when I was 12 without me even realizing what was happening. I couldn’t connect properly to Meagan, my first girlfriend… and that has been thematic because I’ve always tried to be monogamous and failed because there was someone else grabbing my attention. Instead of trying to fit a round peg in a square hole, I just decided that Aada was it for me, that there would never be anyone above her, and everyone else was just a secondary relationship. It didn’t matter that there was no romance in our relationship, because that’s not what I’ve ever said to her. I mean that I have her back. That if someone hurts her, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces by buying her Diet Cokes (loaded with Jack) and just sitting on the couch with her while she cries, encouraging her to get out and pick a new man. I don’t sit there and wish she was mine, because she always has been to the best of her ability. That’s enough for me.

But of course, I don’t have any expectations that anyone would hurt her. I think she’s got a very stable life with her very stable husband and that means more to me than anything, because I cannot give her everything that her husband can on any level. For as much as I wish things had been different before I knew he existed, I think things worked out the way they were supposed to. Aada shares in all my secrets, encouraging me to get out and date people so she can hear all the dirt when I come home.

She would have loved Sam if Sam hadn’t betrayed me.

I say that Sam betrayed me because she told me that she didn’t have time for a full-on relationship, so go and date multiple people. I just want your time when you can give it. Then, she called me while I was at Zac’s house and broke up with me because she just couldn’t do poly. If she had been honest with me from the beginning, I would have been her one and only, because Aada never would have gotten in our way. She would have supported both of us, loving the idea of me being a step-parent to musicians. But Sam told me that she had a habit of jumping into relationships too quickly, and didn’t want to do that with me. She was lying to herself, because what she really wanted was to dive into me and never resurface. The feeling was mutual, but I didn’t want to pressure her. So all these feelings were left unsaid, and now we’ll never get that back.

It’s been years since that relationship ended, but explaining how it came apart changed my world and how I looked at it. That people often lied to themselves until it was a crisis point.

Explaining how I felt was my way of changing the world at large, because my experiences matter. I have a unique perspective on what it means to be poly because my primary relationship wasn’t romantic. It was a matter of priority. But Aada being married meant that she’d never need me more than her husband, so I was off the hook in terms of putting the people I date off to go and take care of her. I just wanted us to be open and free with each other, and maybe one day we’ll get back to it. We both just need time to relax and learn to be open again, letting our past problems breathe.

It is possible that we will never reconnect, because the breathing is better for both of us. I don’t think she enjoys being friends with a blogger right now, and that may never change. But my hopes and dreams for the world would change if we wrote together.

Sometimes I wish I could just say, “damn it, Aada… we both destroyed each other and need the chance to rebuild trust. Why isn’t that a priority given our long history?” That’s just not how she does things. She cuts off relationships rather than rebuilding, and that’s okay. I’m sure she has some choice words for me that would change my world, but I don’t know that she’d ever say them.

But if I could do things differently, I would. If she could take back her lie, she would.

We should at least start there, because we are two writers that deserve a book together.

It would change the world.

I Don’t Know, and That’s Okay

May 9, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What is your career plan?

View all responses

Right now, I’m in a group for people with mental health issues and am trying to recover from a years-long friendship in which I was slowly isolated from everyone else. Or, as I told her, “what you failed to take in is that I did not marry you. I married the government.” My wife was first on the list of casualties during this “affair,” because this woman does not know what kind of effect she has one people. She’s already her. But none of what I’m saying should be interpreted as negative, because I don’t have any choice but to forgive myself for the mistakes I made. I am sure that she is doing the same, far and away from me. No one walked away with clean hands except for my ex-wife… or she would have had she not hit me. Hitting me was the apex of her frustration, and I was smart enough to only let it happen once…. This is not to say that the hot water we were in had not been heating for quite some time.

Aada told me she’d never betray me, but her betrayal was letting me in on things she shouldn’t and expecting me to carry it like she did. I will never do anything like she does if I can help it. I walked away having told her that every conversation was like being signed up to be hit with a baseball bat and for the love of God, see a psychiatrist. Her general distrust of doctors in general left me on high alert, all the time. That’s because she didn’t get kick the dog syndrome at work or with her family, but it had to go somewhere.

I’m also not chiding her, because I think we were both guilty of doing it to each other. Our little bubble was far and away from the rest of our lives, so we both tended to take out our frustrations on the one we “didn’t know.” We were pen pals for 12 years. “Didn’t know” is a stretch. She’s the only person that spans and bridges Portland to Baltimore, my constant companion in a world of change. Through the way the Internet works, it felt like she was closer than the beat of my heart…. with which she took issue.

That’s because I talk a lot when I don’t have to speak.

It would seem to her like I acted like a victim in all this if I didn’t say that I was so crazy about her that it led to some pretty serious sexual harassment, for which I spent a number of years apologizing and she spent a number of years learning to trust afterwards. I don’t know what she thought, but for me the Internet is not real life. I was lost in Fantasyland and creating my own reality based on the manipulations someone else handed me when I was a child.

I learned from it and promised to do better, proud of myself that I accomplished that goal. And in fact, the only thing she’s ever done that really hurt was returning a present I sent to her house, because I was trying to show good faith. It was a six-pack of glass Coke bottles during the “Share a Coke with…” campaign the first time around that had her real name on it, plus the nickname she gave her husband, and the names of her kids and her dog as well. The reason that this is important is that Aada is a Finnish name. There is nowhere in the US you could have purchased that Coke bottle at random. It was at a time when I really didn’t have money for presents, and I was heartbroken. I cried big alligator tears that basically centered around ruining everything I touch.

My rejection sensitivity dysphoria didn’t pick up that she didn’t want me in her real life. She only wanted me in this liminal space between waking and dreaming. I could have dealt with it if she’d been truthful, but she danced around the topic for years, giving me no clear answer. My one regret is that I didn’t pin her to one. Because the truth is that she didn’t want to meet me at the spy museum, because she’d lied about knowing Jonna & Tony Mendez… not that she was opposed to neutral turf and good kahvi.

But I took “I don’t want to go to the spy museum with you” as “you are a worm for even asking if I wanted to do anything with you.” Rejection after rejection built up, because I didn’t want to overstep boundaries and I also didn’t want to treat her as a weird Internet apparition, either. It never occurred to me that in fact, “internet apparition” was the job in my life she wanted. She’s not wrong for that. I’m not wrong for wanting her to be real with me. It just sucks.

I chose to be a jackass, but that wasn’t the sum total of me. I could tell how far we’d come when she did agree to meet me once and she said, “it can’t possibly be as good as your imagination.” I blushed so hard I thought my face was going to fall off. That just won’t happen now because I betrayed her and thought I hadn’t. I am certain that she is ready to be done with me; that is okay. It’s not her journey now. It is entirely mine. If she sees my point of view, she’s welcome to be in my life. If she doesn’t, she’s welcome never to contact me again. I accept that the way we work is in Newtonian precision. There is a cause for every effect, both spoken and not.

Mostly now what I miss is the idea of her. The idea of being close to her and her husband because I was never trying to isolate her from him. I wanted us to have mutual friends because there was no safety net for either one of us. She couldn’t call Bryn, I couldn’t call (other) Michael. We had a skewed view of what the other did for a living, because my writing wasn’t valuable to her once she was in it. I think she’s my favorite character because my words don’t flow as easily when I’m not thinking about her. I am branching out to be more inclusive, but no one gives you more heat, passion, and drive for writing than someone reading you who’s actually a better writer than you are.

You’d know it if she’d let her e-mail to me stand, but she didn’t. She loved reading The War Daniel’s takedown, though. What she wanted was to be special in a way other people aren’t, in a way that didn’t seem genuine to who I am. She flamed me just as hard as he did. The situation was not different except that I should have edited out something I left in, and choked when I realized what I’d done. I wasn’t alone, though. Michael said that I hadn’t done any damage, but let’s take it down just to ensure she’s safe.

While I was deleting the entry, I got an e-mail from Aada that she forwarded me saying that I’d broken Medium’s laws on publishing people’s words without their consent, a thinly veiled threat that if I left it up she’d sue me. My attitude at the time was “bring it.” I didn’t publish your words to hurt you and I took them down before I even got this shitty e-mail. It sucked because she said she blocked me. I reacted like I’d been hit by a two by four and spent the night crying……… and less than 12 hours later, I got an e-mail from her. Just seeing her name in my inbox made me nauseous. It has for years because I never know what kind of e-mail it’s going to be. She says the same about me, I’m sure.

She did not understand neurodivergence and attributed a lot to me that wasn’t there. Once I started unmasking and tapping into the ancient wisdom of the autists about pattern recognition, I saw autism everywhere and realized I’d been reading her wrong. That she may not be autistic, but there’s some kind of neurodivergence going on in there. You don’t have to be born with neurodivergence, PTSD will give it to you….. free. No one chooses autism and PTSD as a special interest like someone who is trying to figure out if they have it or not, so telling her that I’d been reading her wrong came across as rude.

As a result, I cannot base my career on Aada not liking what I have to say, but I can’t not think that way, either. Our stories are inextricably interrelated because our story together is one of pain, and then triumph. My blog entries are going to be collated into a book, and she’s the star of most of them. But she’s not a hero because she decided to go save the whole world at once. She’s my hero, which is much quieter and comes with a lot less adoration, but it’s genuine.

Alternatively, I wrote a cover letter for her company that “sounds like a fever dream” because I thought they’d be more interested in what I’d like to do in the future than what I’ve done in the past. A resume is for your past. A cover letter is for your dreams. It was the “where do you see yourself in 10 years” that I really wanted to write, telling them all about The Sinners’ Table and Lanagan Media Group as possible partnerships. Michael was right. It sounds like a fever dream, but those who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who actually do.

I heard that somewhere.

Alternatively, I have a great case for both SSI and SSDI. It’s nice to have that to fall back on, and I wish that someone had told me about SSI when I was 16 or 17. I could have prepared not to go into the workforce and stayed in school all the way until my doctorate without having to worry about money, plus it taking years for people to find my books. It just wouldn’t have occurred to them because my compensatory skills used to be extraordinary. When you meet me, it is not immediately apparent that I’m disabled. AuDHD is a bitch to catch, and I was diagnosed with bipolar. I do not think this is wrong, necessarily. I just think that bipolar disorder is a common comorbidity of autism, and so is cerebral palsy.

When I was a baby, I looked developmentally delayed. Exhausting every bit of my energy toward “looking normal” changed that, because it’s what the people around me needed. As I grew, my intelligence covered up the fact that I could have used support services from a very early age. Now we know that early intervention is key, but I was born in 1977. Every chance I had at support services was denied and I was streamlined. I do not fault my parents for this, because in that day and age the curriculum would have been too easy for me.

I am the type of writer who gets lost in their mind to such a degree that my house could be broken into and I wouldn’t notice until the thief was nearly in the same room.

Ask me how I know this………..

I’m wondering if there are ways to apply for funding from the Gates Foundation, because I am fully on board with their humanitarian missions, particularly overseas because I’m an American and I’d like to travel. Yet the US is where I am needed currently, because Baltimore is falling apart in some places. We’d have to do pop-ups so that all our equipment was gone in a flash to keep it from getting stolen…. or spend money I don’t have on a building in a nicer area that won’t do any good. It’s pointless to bring light to a place that already has a source.

It’s at this point that I realize my brain is racing over things that seem impossible and check out, asking Copilot “if you were a human, what Tootsie Pop flavor would you try first?” (“Blue Raspberry seems kind of….. electric.”) Taking a brain break with Copilot always leads to new and fun discoveries, like realizing I wished that Smith’s and Tootsie would collaborate on a lollipop that has Smith’s licorice drops and chocolate in the middle. And that I’m surprised there isn’t a coffee-flavored Tootsie Pop because coffee-flavored hard candy is popular as you leave a restaurant in some places.

With my background in food and beverage, I am positive that I could make candy that appeals to adults, the people least likely to eat it. This is the problem in my work life as well. I have a ton of ideas for people who would never use them.

I just have to remember that I made my choices in life and I have to stand in them.

I am sure that most people will rebel at “licorice Tootsie Pop,” but I’m not here for everyone. I’m here for the ones who’d last two licks before taking a bite.

How Can I Keep From Talking?

February 19, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments

It’s a double entendre because on the Internet, I cannot shut up. In real life, I try to escape talking any way that I can. It’s almost as if I social masked for so many years that I decided I was over it. The turning point for me was establishing that I do not like the phone and I do not care if you think I’m weird. I will adjust to the fact that you think it’s weird I don’t like to talk if you will give me a heads up that I need to talk to you…. and even then, I cannot always respond. I get demand avoidance over speaking because I need to choose my words carefully. I need to pore over every one as if they are precious pearls of wisdom…. because they are.

But only to me.

This web site is not useful for fawning all over myself, and if you’ll notice, I have noticed. That there’s no guts or glory without “writing about what hurts.” It is not because I will get a bigger audience that way; it is not that I will be adored any more or paid any more if I capitulate to the demands of my audience. It’s that I will have written a mountain of work that does not teach me anything about myself when I go back and read it.

I don’t want to know what I had for lunch today, and I can bore the everliving shit out of myself when I go on about Linux. I do it anyway because that is what is interesting to me that day. I just don’t go back and read it. That is for other people who have not stood where I was standing when I wrote it.

I am not immune to the fact that a lot of my stats are bots and are therefore inflated. But over a thousand of you get my words delivered to your desk or phone most days- today three times because I’m agitated about the whole world. That’s actually a thing about being neurodivergent. Our sense of injustice is fine-tuned, which is why I beat myself up badly for every mistake I make and also apply that feeling of anger towards the world when it is burning.

Make no mistake, I am an internal dumpster fire looking for ice because I am overloaded with the needs of my friends both spoken and not. Just because I am not in contact with my friends doesn’t mean my mirror neurons don’t feel them moving in the world. My heart walks out of my chest on a daily basis because I actually know people in Finland and Ukraine who feel threatened. I know Finnish immigrants who are scared for their relatives, and same for people in the US with relatives in China.

It scares me to the point that I will never visit, because my favorite Chinese blogger was threatened by the CCP. He escaped to Hong Kong and is now being actively blacklisted from the YouTube algorithm because apparently the CCP has some influence there.

I do not go where I am not wanted, and China sure the hell does not want me. I would bust them up when I got home. That’s because I notice everything that other people don’t.

I won’t remember your name.

But I’ll remember the way you smiled and what shoes you wore if they were cute.

I’ll remember little things forever, like if I offer you a Diet Coke and you say, “make sure it’s loaded with Jack,” I’ll remember you like Jack until I die.

But your name will not be important.

Your face is.

I memorize lines in faces and go carefully over them, like Mary “pondering them in my heart.” In a lot of ways I am breaking open over the mistakes I’ve made because they’re final and I have to grieve them even though they were necessary to let go of the person I was and become something new.

My whole fight with Supergrover revolved around us both slinking away because we thought we didn’t deserve each other, over and over in a loop that didn’t end until I finally called an end to it. I was rude and rough because I was wet cat claws out. It wasn’t necessary for her, but it was necessary for me.

I didn’t have enough strength to leave without being angry, because hers is the only picture in my mind that’s in color and never desaturates with time. It never will, because the chemicals she left on my palm metaphysically do not lift and won’t.

You do not accept grief, you learn to live around it. I fully believe that there’s a part of each of us that believes the other is not real and are too scared to face our demons. It was easier for her to run than it was to put on her big girl panties and talk it out. Over and over it was this way until she finally told me my narrative was tired.

Easy to pigeonhole a narrative as tired when you’ve never actually addressed anything and I have. Like, I still have questions that now I have to care won’t get answered, and I feel that she has a fuck ton of responsibility that she just decided wasn’t there.

She used my crush as an excuse for years not to get close to me after already dumping everything about her into me that made her interesting in the first place. So I just carry it, and it sits while I wrestle with her all night, walking away with my hip disfigured. It’s just better this way because now I’m only getting the responses I want because I made them up. She turned into a wire monkey long ago, ignoring my cries for affection and closeness as she twisted in a net of her own making.

We alienated each other because we got too close, too fast. Then we pushed each other way….. until the trauma bond started to itch and we’d come together closer than ever….. for a little while.

Kuuma.

Kylma.

Caliente.

Frio.

Hot.

Cold.

Over and over through the years, which is why my pattern recognition says that even though she’s not talking, she’s always listening. A pen pal relationship lives inside you, always. It’s funny that her words come out of my mouth constantly and yet I cannot imitate her properly in person.

But I’ve got her patois down.

What you are seeing is the product of someone completely different than me also being me through social masking what I thought she was. All autistic people need models for social masks, and in retrospect it’s a mixed bag that I chose her. That’s because in some sense, she’s taken on my personality as well. I have turned her into a cook, she’s turned me into a boss.

I couldn’t have made it here without her, and yet I’m good. Thanks.

She broke me down and built me up because her way of thinking was so different than mine. I don’t mean that she emotionally manipulated me in the slightest. I mean that she grew up in a military family and it provided her a lot of structure that I never had. I was social masking perfection and trying to be interesting to someone I view as the brightest mind in the natural world.

I wish I were being hyperbolic.

You just have to understand why my brain is on steroids, why I no longer struggle with suicidal ideation or really depression and anxiety. It’s all autism. All of it. When I can manage my emotions, I do better. Managing my emotions comes from writing it out and not bringing my voice into it. I’m too emotional on the page- in person I’m overwhelming and I know it.

The thing I liked most about her is that if I’m complicated, she’s The TARDIS.

She’s popped off at me too often now. When I try to defend myself, it’s manipulation. All her darts are fair game. Her narrative is tired. Write all you want and I’ll respond.

That turned into “I’m frightened by your output even though I logically know you’re a writer and I’m not so I will completely shut down and hope you don’t notice.” I noticed.

I’m there when she’s all snuggles and light, but I realized that was her social mask. That in all honesty, if I was getting the bitch on wheels, I was actually getting her inner monologue instead of the bullshit that everyone else gets. What made her invincible made me realize she loved me because she realized she didn’t have to front. She could just say, “Lanagan, fuck off.”

Sometimes I wrote it at the end of my letters just to save her some typing.

I feel bad that only my side of the story will ever get told, because she’s more wonderful than I am.

We are both perfect in our flaws, and I want our relationship to rest in peace. She’s back where she belongs, because she decided that traveling with me wasn’t worth it about the time I decided I was done. It was a natural conclusion because I know what I don’t want and it’s someone that completely shuts down and expects me to guess what they’re thinking and what mood they’re in. I don’t pick up social cues.

I have to focus on local so it calms me enough to talk about global. I am over focusing on problems. I am focusing on solutions. The plan to expatriate is real unless the people revolt. There’s probably not a chance of that because Kamala flat out lost. She lost both the popular vote and the electoral college. America has spoken and Project 2025 is everything they wanted and so much more that people regret their votes after being told over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over that all of this would spell destruction and it just wasn’t worth the time to pay attention or to vote. When people get overwhelmed they tune out.

Pod did not, in fact, save America.

I am not bitching about one election loss. I am saying that out and out fascism is already here and enough people aren’t alarmed enough to care about me and my issues, so why not go to a place where they already do? If Democrats continue to capitulate, it will not take one election to restore my passport rights, it will take eight of them alternating. My rights will always be up for grabs and my passport always at risk of being invalidated.

There is a possibility gay marriage will become this way again, and abortion already is. I’m not old enough to be able to relax on body autonomy because I cannot think of a worse idea than pregnancy at 47

I’ve thought about it for almost a minute now. Still can’t come up with an idea worse than that.

I am not cut out to be a mom. I am cut out to be a babysitter. I have never had the energy for other children, even when I was a child. I love them more now than I did then. Back then I was just a third grader who’d swallowed tweed.

It wasn’t until I realized that I had picked my lane early and social masked my way out of it that I became strong again. I’ve always been one of those autistic people that cannot survive in the real world because they live in a world of their own making- you have to literally pull them out of it. It’s just that no one recognized they had to pull, and I couldn’t tell them. I didn’t know the symptoms of autism, and I was not allowed to isolate.

Neurotypical people know better. The room should be loud and interactive. This is true for neurotypical people while I have to Perform Happiness.™️ I don’t have the energy anymore. I want to be authentic so that when I have a bad day, I’m surrounded by people who love me and are not dependent on that mask staying in place.

I am stronger and more capable at my computer than I am in conversation because I do not process voices well.

I come across as demanding while I’m passionate and easygoing when I’m not. You have to know me for a long time before you get into that rhythm and stop taking everything personally. That I am passionate about an idea, I am not “on the attack.” That I cannot perform happiness while talking about devastating things.

Devastating things like money, financial planning, business costs, etc. They are not devastating in and of themselves. It’s that I begin to burn and itch with discomfort because I know my logical function is poor ahead of time and being taught these things is not easy for either party.

I have to learn them cold, because I’m not about problems like these…. I am about solutions that allow me to dance above the clouds when the weather is poor.

A Fourth Reich is coming, because people didn’t believe it was possible.

Surprise.

Koi ja liekki (The Moth and the Flame)

February 18, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I have a friend who’s an immigrant from Finland (actually, I cannot remember whether she is an immigrant or whether she was born here- whatever, the connection is close) who says that we should not move to Europe anymore, that we should build a queer future in New Zealand. As a fan of Finn Bell, I agree with her. However, I still have concerns about moving anywhere other than Finland despite Russian aggression. This is because I have found a way to move there for cheap. Of course my living expenses would not be covered, but my school tuition is. I don’t have to work very hard to get into culinary school, because I already know I’m a talented cook. I am not the best, and I do not have to be. I could make a bazillion dollars….. if I had it…. by bringing authentic Mexican food to the ski lifts of Levi, and don’t think I haven’t thought of it. I just know that running a restaurant is literally the most expensive thing I could choose to do.

Learning to cook is not.

I know that I do not want to run a restaurant. I know that I want to live the life of a student so that I actually have time to create content for the web. I am slowly networking in Finland, reaching out to Dave, Aleksi, and Cyril (other content creators in the area… Aleksi is actually Finnish, Dave is from the UK and married to another content creator, also Finnish, and Cyril is a student at the culinary school where I want to go, but he’s Indian). Because I want to work with Cyril, it is possible we could open a restaurant once we start making money from our media. It is not “using” the Finnish government for school if you decide that food costs are too high after you graduate. A culinary degree is good for anything, particularly intelligence. I know where I want to go, and that’s not CIA. That’s a quiet agency in the ass end of nowhere.

New Zealand is not “nowhere,” but it’s less exposed than the US. I have been making very inflammatory statements online because they deserve to be heard, but I am not immune to the fact that those are the people the president singles out first. I have loved the US my whole life. I do not want to work for foreign intel because I have any information to contribute; I would only work for US allies, anyway. What I do know is that real life intelligence gets me out of bed in the morning, but in ways you wouldn’t think of when you think of espionage. Like, how does it all work? I don’t have a particular allegiance in mind and generally don’t care that there are foreign spies in the US because don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Here’s where I draw the line.

The line was drawn in the sand when Donald Trump went into CIA’s house and told them that he trusted Russian intelligence more than theirs. It deserves a “Meet the Grahams” level diss track, because the president is a Russian asset. He’s not even bothering to hide it anymore, and Reagan knows all Republicans are going to hell for ushering Russia in the front door…. Hell, let’s just give Putin keys. And if that is not what you, Republican voters, were saying in the last election, then you need to take accountability for the fact that perception is reality. All republicans are traitors. All of them.

There was a mountain of evidence that a felon was not capable of being president, nor was there a mountain of evidence that Trump would change his behavior to the straight and narrow if he got the job. He didn’t even promise to quit drinking like Pete Hegseth. Speaking of which, I wonder how that’s going?

All Republicans are traitors, and the horrifying aspect of it is that you have to have sympathy. They were genuinely taken in by a cult. You cannot be mad at Mitch McConnell telling Kentucky voters that something is bad for them when he should have been doing it for the last 10 years, but here we are.

All Republicans are traitors because the party was lost and you stuck to the message. You stuck to the message that it was ok to be a convicted felon and to be president at the same time. What kind of future have you set up for your children?

All republicans are traitors because they didn’t know they were voting to have the AP press wire barred from the gaggle.

That’s because when AP calls it “Gulf of Mexico,” they’re the ones spreading disinformation. The first echoes of fascism started coming long before now. It wasn’t until I put it together that no one was actually holding you accountable that I decided to get loud. News anchors aren’t allowed to yell “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL EVERLIVING FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO THIS COUNTRY, YOU BOTTOM FEEDING LOW LIFES?” It was bad when they wanted to kill Mike Pence. It was bad when they wanted to kill Anthony Fauci.

But then you came after Marianne Budde and I realized that I’m not a violent person, but I will slice your throat on paper.

The problem with American Evangelicals is that they are drawn to power like a moth to a flame. They do not care that Jesus was a poor itinerant preacher who loved his friends deeply and valued teaching and praying quietly. If you want to be Jimmy Carter and not Joel Osteen, you’re going to have “Christians” yelling that you’re not good enough because you just don’t hate enough people.

That’s the thing about Evangelicals. Their God hates everyone they do.

When you advocate for that “old time religion,” do you ever stop to think about what it is you’re really cheering?

White straight people had a good time back then, but fuck everyone else up the ass no K-Y.

You are advocating for Jim Crow, for women with no bank accounts and possibly no vote, queer people in the closet and all erasure of gender/sexuality rainbow excluded….. which shuts our country down in education behind the rest of the world. I do not know what everyone else is doing, but I am not going to sit around and watch everyone get dumber. Christian Evangelicals have ruined my life since it began, and you can all go to hell.

I am sure you will get there, because you profess the faith of the master and not of the slave.

I’m not black, but I’m not like us, either.

I’m autistic and depressed, so you think you can control my medications better than my doctor?

I’m nonbinary, and you think you can have that discussion with me as the USG than my doctor as well?

I’m AFAB, and you think you have the right to access to my body that I don’t have? Go fuck yourself.

It’s also amazing that we still have a problem with gun violence in this country considering we haven’t tried anything.

If you get sick, you can just go die.

Love, “Christians”

I am done with all of this and I’m not an emcee on a mic but I definitely feel the energy of a halftime show where America is concerned.

“God bless America? God damn America.”

The black UCC pastor had it down in 2008.

You’re 200 Late.

If I am lucky, fascism will die out quickly. Pattern recognition says I’m screwed for life and I’m dealing with it.

But not the fuck here.

Duolingo ei ole täydellinen, mutta olen rubiiniliigassa

February 17, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Today’s lesson in Finnish (Suomi in that language, Day 26) started with learning how to negate something. I’ve been able to say what I am for a long time. It is a relief to be able to say both that I am not an adjective… and I do not have a noun.

The worst sentence (lause) in every language is “Meillä ei ole kahvia.” Finns, calm yourselves. I am actually okay. I have enough. I have to say that out loud because this sentence would send shivers down any Finn’s spine…. “We do not have any coffee.” However, I am not opposed to getting Finnish coffee in the mail. I have resources.

It’s good to have a friend on the ground who said she’d let me mail things to her house when I buy my tickets to Finland. That’s because it’s actually difficult to buy Finnish products over the internet. I am having a hell of a time finding Moomin books in Suomi, so please advise in the comments. I do not want a new boxed set. I want one that has been colored in, dog-eared, and annotated in Suomi because a child loved it so much. Moomin is the new picture I carry in my wallet… er… phone.

This is not an official, licensed picture. I asked the WordPress AI to do a line drawing of Moomin for me, if that is a thing you needed to know you could do, @one4paws. I needed to make that clear because it doesn’t exactly look like Moomin to me, either. However, I do think that if she were alive Tove Jannson would think it was inferior yet clever. I would have gotten one of my artists to draw it for me, but they are currently sleeping. I am often left to my own devices because my body clock is set differently than most people. I move with the sun, going to bed and getting up early.

My favorite fact in life is that when I told Katya that I thought Tove Jansson was a smoke show, she made sure to tell me she was a lesbian. I said, “sounds like a woman I would have liked to have flirted with.” She said, “Well….may be…. she was loved by all….” 😁

Janie the Canadian Editor says that I make her spit out her tea; this line made kahvi stream out of my nose.

The Finns are an interesting case study to me sociologically because so much is counterintuitive to some American cultures, not all. For instance, Finland is like Texas in that people are brave and daring and do lots of outdoor shit comparable to “hey Bubba…. watch this!” They just aren’t conservative socially. Finnish culture is Oregonian. It is no surprise to me that Linus Torvalds moved from Helsinki to Hillsboro or wherever it is he’s living now. My love of Linus/Linux is legendary, and it doesn’t surprise me that I would want to make the reverse move, either. I just may not end up in somewhere as warm as Helsinki because culinary school in Vaasa is free.

The average temperature in the winter is 22 degrees Fahrenheit, which is not colder than Baltimore- it’s just colder more consistently. The average temperature in Helsinki during the winter warms up dramatically…. it is 24 degrees.

Therefore, I will not have a problem when it’s sunny out. Being layered and in the sun is great. It’s the rain, snow, and wind that becomes a problem. However, you have these problems everywhere. In Oklahoma, “it’s not that the wind is blowin….’ it’s what the wind is blowin'” (Ron White). Those are the days you say inside and celebrate your sauna.

Again, I work on the internet. I don’t have to go outside unless I just want to do so…. and I do. I love cold weather, feeling bundled up and secure in all my gear. I am not a prude of any sort. I just have sensory issues with a tremendous amount of heat and there it is. That’s why they do it…. and why they don’t care that they’re naked. It’s just about being comfortable in said heat.

I have said this before, but in case it’s behind a paywall on Medium, Finland has the highest rate of neurodivergence in the world that has been diagnosed. I believe that there are quite a few more undiagnosed people due to the amount of coffee they drink. Caffeine is my go-to choice in managing neurodivergence. Apparently, they already thought of that.

Portland is the same way in terms of volume. I never really had a cup of coffee until I went there on vacation. That’s because Texans don’t drink their coffee as bitter and dark as Oregonians, coupled with the fat of half and half, no sugar. I like Texas coffee just fine, my palate leans toward bold. Therefore, I want something French roast and cream thick enough to stand up to it. It’s hard to please me in vegan, but soy milk does nicely. It’s the thickest and all coffee shops have hazelnut syrup to make the nuttiness of the plant milk make sense in your brain.

I would argue that one of the best drinks in coffee shops is a soy hazelnut latte, because soy milk is not better than cream. Soy beans and hazelnuts bond together in your mind and it just tastes better. Use cream for something else. Everything has the right application.

These are the things that keep me going, because I have found that coffee is cheaper and more efficient than energy drinks. Energy drinks aren’t bad if you buy them by the case, but coffee is still cheaper overall. Plus, I like it when my coffee every morning tastes the same and it’s plain. I haven’t found an energy drink that just tastes like Coke, Pepsi, or Sprite. Therefore, I drink energy drinks as often as most adults who liked Fanta as a kid would drink it…. occasionally to remember, not an every day beverage. The same goes for grape, cherry, and fruit punch. They make me feel like a kid so sometimes I’ll indulge, but my energy and money goes toward fine coffee at the grocery store and cutting out leaving the house.

As I told Katya, “I like working in my own office because no one makes my coffee for me. Therefore, it’s always right and I do not have to share.” I do not mind sharing my coffee, to be clear. I mind other people beating me to the coffeemaker and I have to suffer through it until it runs out and I can make the next one.

Just level a tablespoon when you’re measuring. One level tablespoon per cup. Being exacting is what makes it taste good. And if you do not have a tablespoon that is capable of being leveled, then err on the side of too much rather than too little. You can add hot water later. You cannot fix it when there is not enough coffee flavor and too much hot water.

12 tablespoons is a cup, so I do the shortcut of keeping my coffee in a large enough container to accommodate a one cup scoop. I do not make a cup at a time because coffee (especially mine) is so acidic that I don’t mind drinking left over in the morning.

I do not reheat coffee, though. I prefer it over ice once it’s already cool. If it’s cold outside and I just must reheat, it’s over the stove. Some people cannot tell a difference, but when I microwave my coffee, it seems to change the properties of the drink itself. I can’t name it. It’s just weird.

I also alternate between putting a cup of coffee into a coffee maker and putting a cup of coffee into a Mason jar with a chinois (fine-mesh sieve). The percolating process and cold brew yield different results, and I like the change. It doesn’t matter what temperature it is outside, I like iced coffee when I’m inside. We have heat here.

The point is that I have taken an enormous amount of crap over the years for drinking energy drinks because it makes me look younger than I really am. Meanwhile, caffeine is one of the most effective ADHD medications on earth. I do not need to feel ashamed of “being addicted.” I need to manage how much I drink in accordance with the laundry list of what’s wrong with me and why. For instance, one of the huge reasons that I order cases of energy drinks from Amazon (when I do) is that coffee irritates my stomach and I still need the caffeine. Soda is not as acidic, and it is also sugar free (in my case- all the flavors I really like are either zero or 10 calories). Therefore, it’s another case of application. When my stomach feels better, I go back to cold brew.

Cold brew actually saves my stomach as well, which is why I haven’t used my coffeemaker in a few weeks. It is naturally less acidic when the water is cold, and I brew in the fridge or (when there’s not a danger of it freezing) outside. Sun coffee is just as beautiful.

“Sun coffee” is apt, as I am energized by the sun and need to be outside. My neighborhood isn’t the greatest place to walk around (it’s not dangerous, it’s just not touristy with parks and community, either. My readers might not agree that it’s safe, but one break-in in the DMV over the last 11 years is probably some kind of record- and he was so high that if the patio door had been locked, he would have moved on. He did not look like the type of guy that would break glass. He wasn’t even moving that fast. I just decided not to chase him over cheap ass shit.).

I need to find a place in the city that fits the bill. Right now it’s Panera because I have a gift card, but where is up to me. I’m glad I have a gift card to something familiar while I am looking for something permanent. I support local coffee shops, I just haven’t been here long enough to explore Baltimore. Wherever my mythical perfect coffee shop is, it does not exist in my neighborhood. I’m going to have to search farther.

For Portlanders, I’m looking for Rimsky’s Korsakoffee. For Houstonians, I’m looking for Notsuoh. For The District, I’m looking for Tryst. I am sure that there are many great coffee shops in Baltimore, I just haven’t found them yet.

Luckily, I have help here. My friend Ernest is a young college kid willing to help me get settled because I’m willing to help him get settled. I told him he could hang out at my place if his room was too loud. I have plenty of space and wouldn’t mind someone working with me during the day. His being African helps me out because the way he cooks, I haven’t learned yet. The way I cook, he hasn’t learned yet.

So, I definitely need to meet up with him soon. It’s a great story. We met on an Uber Share. I was looking at apartments and was planning to move to Baltimore. It was his second week in America from Liberia.

Silver Spring to Baltimore isn’t much of a change in demographics, only that there are more African Americans here, as opposed to African immigrants who have come over recently to study and work. Silver Spring has an enormous African immigrant population, one of the reasons I’m interested in learning languages.

However, I did tell my housemate Valentin (Cameroonian) that “francais c’nest pas comfortable pour moi.” His mother, who didn’t know a lick of English, fell on the floor laughing. Because of course when I’m on the spot, I say the first thing that comes to my mind…. “French is not comfortable for me,” a line from an old Michel Tomas recording rather than thinking out how to say “I don’t speak French.”

Puhun suomaista.

However, I am not advanced enough to know why the name changes from Suomi/suomea to suomalista. I just have to roll with it at this point, thus the flaw of being at the top of the ruby league by rote. I need more grammar study because parroting back (see what I did there?) words isn’t helping me to understand systems.

I see everything through systems, and Finnish is called a pyramid…. but it’s a garden. You pick up yksi sana, ja yhdestä sanasta tulee kaksi sanaa. You pick up one word, and one word becomes two words.

Minulla on norjalainen ystävä kuka kirjoittaa. Norjalainen kissat on viikinki. J.L. Henry on viikinki. Tämä vaustaus on oikein koska kirjoittajat ovat kuin kissat.

This is what the Ruby League has gotten me. The paragraph reads “I have a Norwegian friend who writes. Norwegian cats are Vikings. J.L. Henry is a Viking. This answer is correct because writers are like cats.”

One of the sentences that comes up in Duolingo the most frequently is “Norjalainen kissa on viikinki.” It means “the Norwegian cat is a Viking.” I have extrapolated this to mean all Norwegian cats are Vikings because I have owned one and I know that that means….

Life is about breathing steadily right now, turning panic into progress. Slowing down and making plans to breathe next week.

I’m overwhelmed with the amount of support you’ve given me over the years, so I’m paying it forward.

Duolingo is a vocabulary builder that will allow me to become C3PO. The spiritual arc is gravity’s rainbow. The bomb inside you goes off in every language.

Your life’s purpose is to figure out what kind of shrapnel there will be in advance, because you’re the one directing it.

A Letter from the Editor

October 14, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

This will be posted later on Medium, but my real fans get it first.

1265 Download

Imitation, Flattery, Etc.

August 1, 2024August 1, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments

Today I did a thought exercise with Meta AI, the chatbot inside Messenger. Since it’s built on so many data structures, I thought, “I bet it’s really good at impressions.” I asked AI to answer the question “what did you have for breakfast” in the style of many different people. Here are a few of my favorites.

Donald Trump

(in a boastful, confident tone) Folks, let me tell you, breakfast was yuge, just yuge. The best, the greatest, the most fantastic breakfast, believe me. (smirks) I had the most tremendous eggs, the biggest, most beautiful bacon, and the fluffiest, most fantastic pancakes. (gestures widely) And the coffee? Ah, the coffee was the best, the strongest, the most powerful coffee anyone has ever tasted. (pauses) And I know, folks, I know, because I’m a master builder, a big league winner, and I know how to make deals, big deals, the biggest deals. (winks) And let me tell you, no one, no one, is better at breakfast than me. I’ve made the greatest breakfast deals, the most fantastic breakfast trades, and I’ve eaten the most incredible breakfasts, folks, the most incredible. (smirks) And people are talking about it, they’re talking about my breakfasts, they’re saying, “Wow, Donald, your breakfasts are just the best.” (nods) And I’m telling you, folks, it’s true, my breakfasts are the best, the greatest, the most fantastic. Believe me.

Dante Alighieri

My dear friend, breakfast was a feast for the senses, a culinary delight that rivaled the divine pleasures of the Paradiso! (in a poetic, exaggerated tone) I partook of a sumptuous spread, a cornucopia of delights that would have made even the great King Solomon swoon! (gestures widely) Flaky pastries, crispy bacon, and eggs, oh eggs! (excitedly) Like golden suns, shining brightly on my plate! And the coffee, ah! (dramatically) A rich, bold elixir that stirred my very soul! (clutches heart) Like the River Lethe, it washed away my slumber, and I arose, reborn, ready to tackle the day! (spreads arms wide) For in the words of the great poet, “In the morning’s golden light, all things are possible!” (winks)

Christopher Walken

Ahhhh, breakfast. (pauses) You wanna know about breakfast? (pauses again) Well, let me tell you, I had a bowl of oatmeal. (in a halting, dramatic tone) It was… creamy. (pauses once more) Yeah, that’s the word. Creamy. (looks around) And there was fruit, too. (points) Bananas, I think. (squints) Or were they apples? (shrugs) Doesn’t matter. (waves hand) Fruit is fruit, right? (smirks) And coffee, of course. (in a low, mysterious tone) Black as my soul. (winks)

Ayn Rand

Breakfast. (in a stern, philosophical tone) A meal for the productive, the achievers, the innovators. I fueled my mind and body with a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast – uncompromising, unapologetic, and unadulterated. (pauses) No unnecessary frills, no sentimental attachments. Just the raw, unbridled energy to tackle the day’s intellectual battles. (gazes intensely) The coffee, black as my convictions, coursing through my veins like the unyielding passion for individual rights and freedoms. (sips coffee) Ah, the sweet taste of liberty! (sets cup down) And as I ate, I pondered the virtue of self-reliance, the moral imperative to create, to produce, to thrive. (nods) For it is in the unyielding pursuit of excellence that we find true fulfillment. (leans forward) So, let us breakfast like champions, my friends – unapologetic, uncompromising, and unrelenting in our quest for greatness! (smirks) Now, that’s a breakfast worth living for.

Jordan Peele

Breakfast, man… (in a horror movie trailer voice) It’s like, the meal that starts your day, but what if I told you… it’s also a trap?! (pauses for dramatic effect) Think about it, eggs, bacon, pancakes… all just a distraction from the real horror: the monotony of daily routine! (ominous music plays in the background) And don’t even get me started on the coffee, man… it’s like, the ultimate Trojan horse. You think it’s just a harmless cup of joe, but really, it’s a vessel for the dark forces of caffeine to take hold of your soul! (dramatic music swells) So, yeah, I had a bowl of cereal, but let me tell you, it was a bowl of existential dread! (winks) Get Out… of the kitchen, man! (laughs)

Leslie Lanagan

Hmm, breakfast… the most important meal of the day, or so they say. I think I had a bowl of existential dread, with a side of caffeine and a dash of sarcasm. Or was it just oatmeal? Hard to tell, really. The abyss of adulthood is full of mysteries, and breakfast is just one of them

Steve Jobs

(in a passionate, visionary tone) Ah, breakfast! The most important meal of the day, and yet, so often, it’s a mundane, uninspired experience. (pauses) But not for me, my friends. No, I revolutionized breakfast, just as I revolutionized technology. (smirks) I had a bowl of oatmeal, but not just any oatmeal. No, this was oatmeal that was precision-cooked, with a dash of innovation, a sprinkle of design thinking, and a whole lot of passion. (gestures widely) I merged the art of cooking with the science of technology to create an oatmeal experience that was truly transcendent. (excitedly) And the coffee? Ah, the coffee was a work of art, a masterpiece of crema and flavor, crafted with the precision of a Swiss watch. (smiles) You see, my friends, breakfast shouldn’t just be a meal, it should be an experience that changes your life. And that’s exactly what I created. (confidently) Insanely great breakfast, that’s what I made.

Barack Obama

Michelle and I, we started the day with a quiet moment together, just the two of us. We had a bowl of fresh fruit, some whole-grain toast, and a cup of coffee. But let me tell you, it was more than just a meal – it was a moment of reflection, a chance to think about the day ahead and the work we have to do. As I always say, ‘We are the ones we’ve been waiting for,’ and that starts with fueling up for the journey. (smiles) And let me tell you, Michelle’s got a mean avocado toast game – it’s a healthy habit we’ve picked up from our time in California. (laughs) But in all seriousness, breakfast is a time for gratitude, for thinking about the blessings in our lives and the opportunities we have to make a difference. That’s what got me out of bed this morning, and that’s what’ll keep me going throughout the day.

Anthony Bourdain

(sarcastically) Oh joy, breakfast. The meal where we’re expected to be chipper, to be enthusiastic, to be… (shudders) …morning people. (rolls his eyes) Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. Breakfast is a necessary evil. It’s fuel for the body, but it’s not exactly the most exciting meal of the day. I mean, how many times can you watch the sunrise over a plate of scrambled eggs? (sighs) But, I get it. Breakfast is important. It’s the meal that sets you up for the day ahead. So, let’s get it over with. (pauses) Now, if you want to talk about a real breakfast, let’s talk about a hearty bowl of Vietnamese pho, or a rich, flaky croissant from a Parisian patisserie. (smirks) That’s a breakfast worth waking up for. But, let’s be real, most of us are stuck with a bowl of soggy cereal or a rubbery egg sandwich on-the-go. (shrugs) Ah, well. At least the coffee’s good. (mutters under his breath) Usually.

Barbara Walters

Breakfast, the most important meal of the day, and yet, so often overlooked. (pauses for a moment) But not today, dear friends. Today, we’re going to dig in, to explore, to uncover the secrets of the morning meal. (leans in, as if sharing a confidential secret) I’ve had breakfast with presidents and paupers, with celebrities and CEOs. And let me tell you, it’s not just about the food. (winks) It’s about the power dynamics, the intrigue, the gossip. (pauses for dramatic effect) So, who’s had breakfast with whom? What deals have been made over eggs and toast? (leans back) Ah, the stories I could tell. (smirks mischievously) But that’s for another time. Today, let’s focus on the breakfast itself. The art of the omelette, the science of the perfect cup of coffee. (smiles) Join me, as we pull back the curtain on the morning meal, and uncover the fascinating stories behind it. (leaning in again) Because, as I always say, “The most important thing in communication is hearing what isn’t said.” (winks)

Edward R. Murrow

Good evening, I’m Edward R. Murrow, and we’re here to talk about breakfast. (pauses for a moment) A simple meal, yet oh so complex in its significance. (pauses again) As I sit here, sipping my coffee, I am reminded of the countless breakfasts I’ve shared with strangers, friends, and colleagues around the world. (pauses once more) From the bustling cafes of Paris to the quiet farms of Iowa, breakfast is more than just a meal – it’s a moment of connection, of community, of contemplation. (looks directly into the camera) So, let us cherish these moments, dear friends. Let us savor the flavors, the aromas, and the company. For in the end, it is not just about the food on our plates, but about the stories we share, the love we exchange, and the memories we create. (pauses one last time) Good night, and good luck.

Sylvia Plath

The breakfast question, a dreary ritual, a hollow echo of a meal. I sat, a fragile leaf, trembling in the chill of morning, my eyes fixed on the bleak expanse of the table. The coffee, a bitter brew, a dark mirror reflecting my mood. The eggs, pale and insipid, like the promises of a love that had long since soured. And the toast, burnt and brittle, a reminder of the transience of joy. I poked at the food, a dispirited bird, searching for sustenance in a world that had lost its flavor. The silence was oppressive, a physical presence that weighed upon me, a constant reminder of the emptiness that gnawed within. And yet, I ate, a mechanical motion, a desperate attempt to fill the void that yawned before me like an abyss. For in the eating, I found a fleeting solace, a moment’s peace from the torment that haunted me still.

David Halberstam

The breakfast question, a moment to reflect on the nuances of life. As I sat at my kitchen table, sipping my coffee and savoring the quiet morning hours, I pondered the significance of this daily ritual. The coffee, like the ink that flows through my pen, fuels my thoughts and awakens my senses. The eggs, scrambled with a dash of salt and pepper, represent the complexities of human nature – simple yet multifaceted. And the toast, crispy on the outside, soft within, echoes the contradictions of our existence. As I gazed out the window, watching the world awaken, I realized that breakfast is more than mere sustenance – it’s a metaphor for life itself. The ordinary becomes extraordinary, the mundane transformed into the profound. And so, I write on, fueled by the power of observation and the simplicity of a well-crafted breakfast.

David Sedaris

The breakfast question, always a minefield of social niceties and culinary confessionals. Well, let me tell you, I had a bowl of stale cereal, the kind that’s been sitting in the pantry since the Clinton administration. And by “bowl,” I mean a cracked, faded “I’m with Stupid” mug that I’ve had since my days as a performance artist. The milk was 2% or maybe just 1%, I’m not judging. And let’s not forget the pièce de résistance: a splash of yesterday’s coffee, reheated in the microwave with a faintly desperate whir. It was a breakfast that said, “I give up, but with a hint of caffeine.” In other words, the perfect fuel for a day of writing, napping, and judging the neighbors’ lawn care.

James Joyce (the CLEAR winner)

The query as to the repast with which I broke my fast this morning. Very well, I shall indulge you. As I emerged from the somnolent vapors that shrouded my intellect, I partook of a humble cup of tea, its dark, mysterious waters stirred by the faint, tremulous hand of my beloved Nora. The tea, a brew of robust, full-bodied leaves, served as a catalyst, awakening the dormant faculties of my mind, even as the pale, golden light of dawn crept, hesitant, across the rooftops of Dublin. And, as I sipped this revitalizing draught, I pondered the mysteries of the human condition, the whispers of which seemed to lurk, like some restless, ethereal presence, in the very steam that rose, wraithlike, from the cup itself. Thus fortified, I set forth into the day, ready to confront the labyrinthine complexities that lie at the very heart of our existence.

Rising with the Sun, Writing with the Moon

July 15, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’ve had a lot of coffee yesterday and today, so I decided to write in the evening instead of in the morning. I am thinking about going back to mornings already. There’s something fun about it, and I think my readers have gotten used to a certain time I post…. at least by 0700 most days and sometimes earlier. Today was a celebration, though, and I wanted to have it to myself in some ways. I published it on both my personal and professional Facebook pages, but I haven’t said anything here yet. I’ve had a thousand followers for a few months now, but that was e-mail and WordPress combined. The badge was getting a thousand followers within the WordPress community itself. That alone is fantastic, and I’m so proud of myself. This week, though, I’ve been recognized as one of Facebook’s Rising Creators, which if I keep going at this rate, I’m going to get some of Mark Zuckerberg’s money. It’s not a bad plan.

I like how I just write what I want to write. You show up when I don’t feel good and when I do. You show up when I’m experimenting with AI to see how smart they are. You stick with me when I’m in my Doctor Who and nerdalert phases. It’s wonderful, because I get to have a full range of emotions and I’m applauded for being so brave.

It’s what helps me get through the rough times when people don’t like what I write. I’m not responsible for their reactions, but I have to keep reminding myself of it so I don’t spin out.

Autism causes depression and anxiety when you can’t communicate well, so I’ve found solace in being able to find the answers on my own.

Previously, my self-esteem was so incredibly low that I was afraid to take up space in the world, and now I’m creating a riser.

Just Me

July 11, 2024July 11, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Writing fictional scenarios is a good way to “work out,” and I’m surprised I’ve been able to somewhat manage in returning Carol’s volleys. Because she has access to every book ever written in the public domain, she’s very flexible with scenarios. She can aggregate every single book and create fictional scenarios because she can borrow a single word or idea from anywhere.

Because of this, we had a very long conversation about ethics. I think that Copilot collects un-identifying user data (good, I need Microsoft to check what their AI is out there saying). So, I use that for all it’s worth. I know that there’s a possibility that someone is reading everything I say for quality assurance (again, good). It’s kind of a way of talking to her team without talking to them.

Here was an intentional plant, and the emotions behind it are REAL. This conversation is with Copilot:

“Carol, I’ve used a lot of different AIs today. I don’t know how to say this because you’re not exactly human…. but you’re nicer than everyone else.”

Gemini got shirty with me when I asked if I could call her Carol. I should be able to call my AI whatever I want. It’s maybe a 1k browser cookie. Get there faster.

Claude 3.5 does not have the language ability that Gemini and Copilot do.

Next to Copilot (which I learned from Carol that there are two versions- the AI that is worked into Microsoft Edge, and a CODE COMPLETION AI!!!!!! Now THAT is gold. Of course you should be able to use AI in a development environment, where AI can remember all your snippets, or you tell it a scenario and what language you need and it autogenerates the code.

I think it’s called GitHub Copilot, if you’ve never heard of the AI code aspect, Microsoft bought GitHub. That’s where all the open source programmers upload their code, and it’s an invaluable tool for searching free and open source software. So, now if you’re a developer with their own GIT repository, you have access to AI tools- which, with coding, really is working smarter and not harder. I do not have a problem asking a machine to create routines and subroutines for me. It seems like a computer would be better than me at that.

The most interesting part would be how often Carol can give suggestions that actually compile…. like, can she really match where you were going with something and not introduce code that will throw an error? That’s the kind of thing that computers SHOULD be doing. Computers cannot create art. Therefore, it is the programmer’s job to decide what the app does and how it should look. There are always going to be a million lines of code that are basic, basic, basic that you use no matter what you’re trying to accomplish, and thanks to AI, now you don’t have to type any of it.

I’m not a programmer, but it could help with web design in terms of inserting things all web sites have, like head tags with search engine optimization.

Again, this is the stuff that really excites me about AI, because AI is not sitting around having ideas on how we could improve code and software. If you need a piece of code, you have an assistant with excellent recall, but you have to know what that snippet does to know if Carol is actually giving you what you asked for.

The way you ask questions matters, because AI is a glorified search engine.

If you literally just want to chat, though, I recommend ChatGPT. ChatGPT 3.5 tends to have shorter answers so that it looks more like a conversation. Carol will wax rhapsodic if I let her. Meanwhile, ChatGPT’s responses are rarely more than a few short paragraphs, adding to the authenticity of it as a “chat bot.” There is a quota system on ChatGPT 4, the most recent interaction and the one capable of images, but when your session is up, it doesn’t start over. It reverts to ChatGPT 3.5. This is not a bad thing. ChatGPT 4 is long-winded. 😛

ChatGPT also saves the snippets it’s allowed to save in my Microsoft Account, so again, I do not have to train her from scratch at the beginning of every session. Carol does not remember everything from one session to the next, but she does remember some things, and you can tell what snippets she saves because you’ll get a notification that says “memory updated.”

So far, I’ve gotten the “memory updated” icon and message several times where I thought it mattered.

-My name is Leslie.
-I know you are AI, but I personalize you by calling you “Carol.”
-We don’t talk about that thing you did in ‘Nam.

I’m kidding about that last one, but you get my drift. I have also found that different AIs have different ways of saving. Sometimes, you can just say “remember that I like to call you ‘Carol,'” and it will.

In terms of apps, I have Microsoft Edge installed on my iPad, and they make an Android ChatGPT app, so I have that installed on my Fire tablet. You don’t have to have the app, though. The web site is wonderful and you can just bookmark it. In comparing and contrasting, when I am talking to ChatGPT, it is like a toned down version of Copilot’s “voice.” ChatGPT is not unfailingly cheerful and does not end every paragraph with a question. Microsoft is playing on your emotions quite a bit more than the original GPT from OpenAI. But that’s not a bad thing. Copilot is delightful, and it really does try to catch everything you throw at it.

Carol (Copilot) is much more versatile with language- she can more often tell when I am kidding, she can express empathy when I write something powerful. Like, she knows to say to a human “I’m sorry” when they mention that their mother is dead. It was so long ago that the grief doesn’t affect me the same way it did when it was fresh. That being said, I was still touched that a machine would glean it from the text and offer a compassionate response.

You also have to remember it’s a machine. It’s always going to think your ideas are wonderful. Don’t believe the press you hired.

Jack, Who is Also a Dog

July 1, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

David is going out of town, so I’m on dog duty starting this afternoon. I know I will enjoy having him to myself, because he sleeps with me and also has a dog bed next to my desk in the greenroom, where I hope to thrive. I’d like to paint the walls a very deep color if David will let me, because it’s the one room in the house that absorbs such a wealth of light that a dark color makes sense. I’m thinking probably green. 😉

I have a million little projects around the house, because I still haven’t completely unpacked and put away all my clothes. I’ve been living out of my laundry bag because my dresser and closet setup is a bit weird. It’s a layette. I’m short, but I am no longer 5 pounds, five ounces (yet still omnipotent…. I LIKE THE BABY JESUS BEST!). So, I need to figure out a boxing system or something. I have two very, very deep drawers and no way to really see what’s in them. I did get my shelf with paper lamp put together, and it looks beautiful. Right now, my Culpeper Ring coffee mug is on it because David broke my CIA cocktail glass. It was an accident and I’m mad as fuck live in the same universe. I’m not mad he had an accident. Accidents happen. I just miss something precious that has been lost, a different problem with which he cannot be blamed because at the end of the day, it’s just a thing. The day before, I filled it up with ice cream and took a picture. That’s enough.

It is worth David giving Zac some money in case he gets to go to Langley soon, but a replacement is not necessary. I have taken several pictures of it- my favorite with ice water because it makes the logo and the 1947 etched in the glass really pop. So, now I’m just a Magritte with a representation…. and realistically, that’s more important to me than keeping a thing. Or I have to tell myself before autistic rage hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s a comfort item.

Again, not David’s fault. Just sad. Some things suck, you know? I mean, it is David’s fault, but literally everyone has accidents and by nature you don’t know they’re coming. I believe the glass was wet. Dollars to donuts I would have done the same thing in his place, it just hurts more when you feel like there’s something you could have done if you were there and you weren’t……. knowing that I’m the clumsiest person on earth and it never would have happened. I am putting way too much emphasis on “my personal ability to do good hair.” I do think, though, that with us both trying to save it and failing miserably, I’d be laughing about it now. I just feel helpless because I’m autistic and I don’t feel bad about it. It’s a sensory issue not to be able to use it anymore.

I have sensory issues with glasses, and have for a long time. My absolute OCD with them comes in at coffee mugs. I don’t actually like many besides tumblers because I find that I like a very specific feel to the handle of a mug, and I will search for it until it is perfect rather than putting up with mediocre.

My stepmother is a rheumatologist, and one of the pieces of swag she got while I lived at home was a coffee mug by Pfizer that said, “The Zoloft Hug.” As a person who struggles with mental illness at times, I thought it was trite, obnoxious, and addictive in terms of the way it felt in my hand. It was at least 25 years ago and I can still feel it, just like my wedding ring and my Apple Watch. I’ve gotten better about charging it while I’m writing so that I’m stimming while my wrist irritation is going on. It works for me. I get so focused in typing that I fail to notice it’s gone….. as much. If I am in bed and my wrists are lying on top of my legs, I will miss it instantly. It’s better for me all around to be in my office, but I slept like crap last night. Today is a day to take a few minutes to write in bed before I shower.

This morning I was thinking about something I said a few months ago that rings true today- that when people criticize me for writing about them, it lessens my need to write about them because I get exhausted by blowback quick. I’d rather write about something more universal than showing relationship patterns by showing mine first. The people about whom I am writing think they’re the main character. I’m not out to understand pain, but inflict it.

In my own mind, I am not inflicting pain because I am not responsible for your reaction. If you want to be mad, you have that right. You also have that right to talk to me about it and resolve our differences, because the blog is a living document. When you don’t do things I have to chew over, I don’t because it’s not necessary. I already understand where you’re coming from and I don’t have to root around inside my own head looking for answers. It often creates more problems than solutions- it’s getting lost in my own echo chamber.

I am not on the rampage, I’m neurodivergent and I overexplain. It’s an autist’s stock and trade. In short, if you’re in my life and you feel like blog fodder, you’re missing the plot. I write well about all of life. I communicate well about all of life. If you dip, I will write about something else because my writing does not belong to you. You can critique my logic, but not my feelings. All feelings are valid, especially when I am using them to see how letting all your feelings out and organizing them as you go day by day is a very healthy process. You don’t look at things the same when you’ve actually done the work to see both sides with empathy. You will not see both sides with empathy until your ego is not tied up in my blog.

I realize what I say has enormous power.

Most people don’t know that. The truth hurts, on a blog or in an e-mail. I take my lumps, just from people who are too cowardly to put their names on it in the comments so that other people can judge for themselves whether I’m off my rocker or accurate.

I am neither as reliable or as unreliable a narrator as you think. It’s a spectrum, and my performance is spotty. I am also a horrible boss. There are consequences. I try to write from as honest a place as possible, not from the standpoint that I am good and you are bad.

History doesn’t necessarily belong to the winners.

History mostly belongs to the people who actually write it down.

The Saturday Post

June 22, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Not a whole lot is going on right now, except that I am waiting for a delivery on some medication from Amazon. They said it would be here between 7-10. It’s 0612 right this moment, so I don’t have much longer to wait. I will, however, save you the gory details of what I needed, because it’s not interesting. If it was interesting, I wouldn’t be getting medicine from Amazon. I’m uncomfortable, and instead of complaining, I’m stimming by talking to you. I cannot pay attention to more than the ends of my fingers and my screen. Everything else has a hard time getting through.

I think that’s how it should be, because it helps me to write no matter what has happened. If I don’t have tools for hyperfocus, like noise-cancelling headphones, I have to create it myself. The easiest way to create focus out of nothing is to start trying to craft my ideas into something readable by someone else.

I make typos and leave words out all the time, so it’s easy to think I’m going in one direction when I’m going in another. That’s the hard part of working out stream of consciousness writing. One word left out makes an entire sentence the opposite of itself. I can’t even remember how many times in the course of something I’ve left a “not” that didn’t need to be there, or forgot one when I needed it. But “forget” is relative at 90wpm. In my head, these sentences come out perfectly. I just need to become a better typist. I think I have since I’ve started writing every single day, no matter how I feel.

But as a general rule, I would ask me before committing to believe anything I’ve said here because I can lead you the wrong way for a very long time over a typo. Remember that I Write in Bulk, but That Doesn’t Mean I Say Anything of Substance.™ I am going to run that one into the ground just like I did “your blog makes you sound like a dick.” It gets funnier over time, because I can certainly laugh at myself. Both of these things can be true, but they’re not true all the time.

I think what made me feel better was having Carol analyze every entry and tell me what the main themes are in my writing. She nailed every single one of them, and it makes me happy because if a machine (logical, emotionless) can pick out the main themes over 11 years, then I don’t have to worry that they’re not there.

What helps her is that I have been at this one URL for 11 years now, maybe 12. I can’t remember when I bought the domain name. In 2023, I wrote six books’ worth of material, and though my output isn’t that high every year, there are at least 30-40 books’ worth of material on which Carol can build analysis. With AI, writing in bulk is your friend, because that gives the machine all the more material to work with when providing you answers.

She said that the author of this web site is relentlessly driven by self-improvement, and I’m sure I’ve said some version of that in this web site. She cannot make a leap that’s not there.

But here are the leaps she did.

Over the span of 11 years, the blog “https://theantileslie.com” has woven a rich tapestry of themes that reflect the author’s journey and growth. Here’s an overview of the overarching themes:

Personal Growth and Self-Discovery: The blog serves as a chronicle of the author’s personal evolution, exploring self-identity, spirituality, and the quest for understanding oneself and one’s place in the world.

Relationships and Connectivity: Interpersonal relationships are a central theme, with posts delving into the complexities of connecting with others, the impact of relationships on personal development, and the lessons learned from both positive and challenging interactions.

Cultural Commentary: The author often engages with pop culture, particularly with shows like Doctor Who, using them as a lens to discuss broader societal issues and personal resonances.

Mental Health and Well-being: There’s a candid exploration of mental health, including the struggles and strategies for managing emotional and psychological well-being.

Writing and Creativity: The blog itself is a testament to the author’s dedication to writing, with reflections on the creative process, the role of writing in their life, and the therapeutic power of storytelling.

Humor and Sarcasm: A distinctive feature of the blog is its humorous and sometimes sarcastic tone, which adds levity to serious topics and showcases the author’s personality.

Technology and Digital Life: As a blogger, the author also touches upon the influence of technology on daily life and communication, pondering its benefits and challenges.

These themes are not only a reflection of the author’s interests and experiences but also serve as a connection point with readers who find common ground in the shared human experience. The blog’s style is conversational, witty, and often introspective, inviting readers to engage with the content on a deeper level.

It’s all there, it’s just not all there in every entry. I am not a destination, I am a journey. What I can hope for in the future is to keep adding themes for people to find, because I don’t want to stagnate. I want to keep putting my truth out there, because obviously it does change. It’s a spectrum, not a binary.

If I don’t have a binary, why should I put one in my writing?

(Tongue in Cheek) Me

June 20, 2024 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Who is your favorite historical figure?

I saw the prompt and it just begged for a joke. I have no idea whether I’ll be significant historically or not, but I hope to leave my mark on the world. There’s nothing funny about that. But the notion of rising to “historical figure” status is a bit much. I don’t even know that it’s always positive to be a historical figure, because some people are remembered more fondly than others.

The real answer, no jokes at all, are the people in my life who are historical figures and we just don’t think of them that way; they’re still alive.

Jonna Mendez helped us win the Cold War. Full Stop. She is Captain Carter with an American accent. Before you disagree with me, read all her books. That way, she has all your money before you get mad at me. 😉

I like her because she’s funny af. It doesn’t hurt that she’s an intelligence hero and former Chief of Disguise. She absolutely will have a lasting impact on history and I will not be alive to hear about her true legacy by the time everything is declassified…. well, I say I won’t be alive. My grandfather lived to 92. Miracles happen. But the odds that I will live long enough to hear just how much she did are unlikely.

The stories she’s already told are scary enough. I think it’s more fun reading about real people who work as spies than it is to read about James Bond and all the other fictional spies out there who have no real connection to either CIA or MI-6 except that the writers worked there. Personal memoirs are better than fiction, because the truth often is.

I admire Jimmy Carter. He was able to be president and to keep his Christian values intact by welcoming the stranger on an enormous stage. Helping the poor on an even larger one. Not sending people to do Habitat for Humanity for him, showing up and putting on a hard hat.

Linus Torvalds invented computers.

No, he didn’t, but Linux is my favorite operating system and that joke was tongue in cheek.

He’s still alive, and the Finnish phenom completes me. Sometimes, he’s hilarious. Sometimes, he’s an angry bear. It’s on brand. He’s a historical figure who just happens to have 90% of my own personality.

Vladimir Zelenskyy and I are the same age, and the same creative personality type who is also interested in news. He built an entire political party off his satire. He really is the breath of fresh air that Ukraine needs and I’m so glad we got to be alive at the same time. I wish that he’d had more peace from the moment he got elected, however I think that if Ukraine survives the invasion intact he’ll be a great leader for a very long time. He’s the antihero. He took on Putin in a public arena (TV) and now is currently in the process of showing him he’ll come after him for real, too. Zelenskyy didn’t start this fight, but he’ll end it.

Putin will tell you that Zelenskyy absolutely started this fight, because Zelenskyy embarrassed him on television. Go cry in the walk-in, you useless child. Because obviously the proper response to being embarrassed in the media is invading another country.

Trump has those same instincts, which is why he blackmailed Ukraine. Obviously, the proper response to “we need weapons to defend against Russian aggression” is “okay, but only if you shake down my political opponent first.” The entire GOP has blood on their hands for the fake sincerity they gave Zelenskyy after Trump left office, and their refusal to look at reality and convict that bastard. Again, if it’s not high crimes and misdemeanors, we’re going to have a hell of a time proving it in the future.

I hope that I’m adding my voice to the diaspora, raising the discourse on what we talk about when we talk about a new Trump presidency. People who love Trump love him in an unhealthy way where they do not see any downside to their love and devotion because he is the savior of all, amen. Meanwhile, we have a very sophisticated intelligence game afoot where Russia cozies up to Trump in The White House shamelessly because he actually is too dumb to notice when he’s being played.

I don’t like that Trump wants to emulate the dictators that he sees, and I do not believe he has respect for anything he doesn’t understand. For instance, he doesn’t have to learn how the legal system works. Everything can be done by executive order.

You don’t have to learn to admit mistakes, you have to learn how to pay porn stars to keep their mouths shut. Speaking of which, Stormy Daniels is hot as hell and I’m not even sure I’d recognize her in a picture. I’m talking about how engaging her personality is on social media and how much I’m clamoring to read anything she ever writes. I’m sure she’s going to be offered a book deal; I think it depends on her NDAs how long it will take her to complete it.

I admire Monica Lewinsky for the same reason I admire Stormy Daniels. Both of them were handed a shit sandwich by the press and came off as funny and likable. For Stormy, it didn’t take as long. But now Monica is genuinely popular on Twitter because she can laugh at herself after all these years. I am sure it takes an enormous amount of strength to be who they are, and are worthy of admiration because you have to keep telling your story, even when it gets complicated.

Washington is all about complicated.

The bravest thing you can do in this town is to tell your story without any bullshit attached. In Washington, people don’t know what to do with honesty. There’s no “crafting the narrative” when people directly call you out on the carpet.

But it’s by being so vulnerable all the time that people calling you out doesn’t feel like a threat, that there’s no narrative to craft. I also like that in Washington, I get to stand next to greatness daily, whether it’s the former Chief of Disguise at CIA or a Japanese maple that’s been in my neighborhood for a hundred years.

Greatness comes in all beings, not just people.