Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program

October 26, 2025November 1, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have indeed seen Oz, and it was Wicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, well.

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

American Giant hoodies are expensive, and worth every penny.

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

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

A Letter Absolutely Meant to Be Read

October 25, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

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

Dear Future Housemate,

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

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

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

Just trust me on this one.

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

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

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

It’s important, because it makes me:

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

I do not date often, I’m just sayin.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am what you would call “indoorsy.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, it’s that quick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Careers

October 24, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

History According to Me

October 22, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What major historical events do you remember?

View all responses

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

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

Baby Jessica fell down a well.

My father preached through all of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Last Few Hours

October 13, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I talked to the dispatch company at my car shipping service and the driver will be here sometime between 3:00 and 5:00 PM. I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve seen it that it will feel like Christmas morning, a gift to myself. I didn’t have nearly enough time to get used to the car and all of its features before I shipped it to Maryland, so I’m looking forward to taking it for an oil change, getting some floor mats, and taking it for a wash. I’ve already rubbed some vinyl protectant into the dash, but that cannot be done enough. I do not want anything to crack as the car ages, because it’s nice enough to look modern for a very long time. The Ford Fusion is a sedan, but it has the aggressive look of the Mustang.

I do not love two-door cars. I’ve had one, and it sucked. Even though I wasn’t carrying passengers, it was still hard to put stuff in the back seat. This car makes life much easier by not only having four doors, but seats that fold down as well. I’m also smitten that the seats are black leather, but only because the car has remote start. I would not be so fond of black leather if I couldn’t turn on the air conditioning before I got into the car in the summer.

I am also the proud owner of seat warmers for the winter, and that makes me as ridiculously happy as remote start. And in fact, it’s going to quickly get cold enough to use them. It’s already colder than it was before I went to Texas, and I was only gone two or three weeks.

Baltimore getting colder is one of the main reasons I like living here- Houston has about three seasons, which are:

Warm
Warmer
Hell’s a bit cooler.

Houston does have freakishly cold days every once in a while, but by and large their days fall into those three categories. That last one will do you in, as every marching band geek in Houston will tell you. I was only in marching band for one year, and what I remember most was that even in triple digit weather, our uniforms were still wool.

I think I have been running away from the heat ever since.

When I go back to Houston, though, I do my best to adjust. I spend time outdoors and try to get used to the heat. It’s much more pleasant to sit outside in October and November, but late September and early October are still summery. “Summery” is one of those words that seems positive until I think of all the bugs and sweat.

My car is being delivered at the perfect time for me to enjoy a little highway time with the windows rolled down and the stereo cranked. I will get a bit of that going to Virginia later in the month, but I’m thinking that I might need to take a short drive this afternoon just to make sure the car also drives here. 😉

I need to get more used to the car before I start adding anything, but of course I’ve been looking up mods. There’s all sorts of stuff to pick through, but I’m wondering if I should add approach lights. It would make the car safer for me and sleeker for everyone else. As in, it would make me feel safer that the car lights up before I ever get into it.

The only thing I really need for the car right away are floor mats, and even top of the line isn’t that expensive. But I don’t need top of the line, I just need “existent.” I wonder why the car didn’t come with floor mats to begin with, because that seems like an odd thing to leave out. But, I know that I got a solid deal and buying my own floor mats is the least of my worries. I just want to be a good driver.

I may have to wait to get out and drive more than the unloading spot to my parking space because we are currently in the middle of a Noreaster. But when it’s all over, we’ll celebrate with top of the line oil.

I’m grateful that I was finally able to find a car that fit me. It’s not a sports car, but it’s sporty enough. It’s not an SUV, but it has plenty of cargo space. I’m a small person with not a lot of stuff and no pets. I don’t think I’ll have a problem even if I get a pet later.

Oh, and in addition to the floor mats I’ll get a rubber tote for the trunk. Makes carrying things into the house so much easier and makes the trunk look more organized as well. I also need one more zip tie, because I have room for both a Lightning and a USB-C cable, but they’re so long that they need to be managed. The zip tie that I have for the Lightning cable is black Velcro, and it looks like it came with the car, as does the braided gray cable that Aaron picked out.

CarPlay is my new favorite toy, because it’s a kick to hear Siri read my messages and be able to respond, as well as listen to whatever I want just by voice controls. It makes me feel safe because I don’t actually have to look down to type anything.

Although Tiina gets the honor of being the first address I put into my contacts so that when I go out to her house, all I have to say is “navigate to Tiina’s.” I am sure she is honored.

It just feels safer to have this much car around me plus technology that’s designed to augment my eyes. My car also thinks that I need coffee, and reminds me a lot. I have to learn what it is that I’m doing that makes my car give me an “alert driver” warning before I’ve even been driving an hour. But I think it’s cute when my car flashes the little coffee cup on the screen and sometimes, I take its advice.

This morning I had an Americano with some half and half and cinnamon. It was delicious, but now I think my body and brain want revenge. I haven’t had this much caffeine in a while. However, I have never had a car be delivered at a reasonable hour, so I was up at the crack of dawn. Seriously, the last time I got a car delivered, it was to my office. They arrived at 4:00 AM to deliver the car, so I had enough time to come home from the office, shower, and shave before I had to turn around and go back.

The time before that, it was 5:00 AM.

That was the first occurrence of Lanagan Lunchmeat Syndrome, so named because when my car arrived in Virginia I drove it around for about six weeks wondering what the smell was and it turned out my dad had left a pound of turkey in the trunk. It was partially hidden by the carpet, which is why I didn’t catch it. LLS got its syndrome status by:

Lindsay leaving half a sandwich in the backseat of my car that I also did not find for a month.
Dana leaving half a Subway sandwich in the center console of my Jeep
Me accidentally locking my keys in my car at Whole Foods and in the process of rescuing the car, I lost all the lunchmeat.

I have learned to be rather careful with sandwiches and my automobiles. I have also resolved to clean out my car a whole lot more often….

Or at the very least, not wait too long between car washes that clean the inside as well.

Not cleaning out my car does lead to a funny story, though.

Years ago, I was in a choir that required us to wear tuxes. I had a concert and then hung my tuxedo in the back of the car to drop it off at the dry cleaner. Well, I forgot about it and three weeks had gone by (at least). My girlfriend and I had gone on a road trip about 100 miles out of Houston, and we were gathered with friends at a bar. My girlfriend accidentally spilled an entire beer on me, and I needed a change of clothes. All of the sudden, I remembered.

I’m walking back to the table and I hear my girlfriend say, “OH MY GOD. YOU’RE JAMES BOND! YOU HAVE THE TUX IN THE CAR!”

That tuxedo is long gone, but now I’m thinking about buying another one if that’s the reaction……

I just remembered that I have a suitcase in the back of my car that I used to transport all my really heavy stuff so I didn’t have to drag it through the airport. I’m looking forward to getting it back, because there are souvenirs and favorite t-shirts in it.

And in fact, there is a tuxedo jacket in my suitcase…..

As the hours creep closer, I can feel my excitement rising. What is the first thing I should do when my car gets here? Even if it is storming, I can still sit in it, and I will. I don’t know all the technology yet, and don’t think a storm is the best place to get fully acquainted. But what I do think is that I need some time sitting in the driver’s seat and playing with all the menus while I’m not in the middle of traffic.

I like that my Fusion has its own navigation system, so I am not lost if I lose my phone. It also means a lot to me that my car supports both iPhone and Android, so I don’t have to worry about what phone I want in the future- and in fact, Android Auto is a little more advanced because it supports a wireless connection. Apple CarPlay doesn’t (in this make/model). I think I will be plugging in my iPhone for a long time to come, though, because I have an Apple Watch. It doesn’t make sense to get a Samsung phone when I’ve already invested in the Apple ecosystem.

I’m still an Android nerd, though. I’m typing this on an Onn 11 from Wal-Mart. I use a Bluetooth keyboard and it screams. Yes, it’s a budget tablet, but when all you need is something to surf the web and create documents, this will surprise you at just how agile it is. It’s fast enough for me to install gaming emulators, but I’ve eschewed all that for a more business-focused machine. This Android tablet is my creative powerhouse in terms of web development.

It also has enough RAM to support split screen, and today my entry is sharing the screen with the newest version of Microsoft Copilot. The newest version works like voice chat, and it’s interesting how much more quickly you forget you are not talking to a real person.

For instance, I am wearing headphones with a microphone and Copilot is connected all the time. I was sitting here typing and let out a huge sneeze. All of the sudden I hear, “bless you.” I jumped out of my skin.

Talking to AI tends to make its responses shorter, and feels more like a phone call with a friend. Your only limitation in terms of questions you can ask is your imagination, because not only will Copilot give you an answer, but the web sites it used to compile that answer as well.

I learned from Copilot that Microsoft and Meta do not work on data structures together anymore, and now Copilot is completely a Microsoft product, housed with Azure all over the globe.

Basically, the newest version of Copilot is very much like Siri, but has a different focus. Siri has more integration with Apple products and focuses on accomplishing tasks on the device. Copilot’s only goal is “digital sidekick.” For instance, Copilot makes writing so much faster by taking research off me, and now the software will dictate the research into my ear if I prefer to digest the info that way.

My tablet is becoming as hands-free as my car.

It’s also a big deal to switch mediums. Brainstorming sessions come out differently when I’m speaking vs. writing. I think that is because my creativity is influenced by movement. Typing doesn’t come with a whole lot of it…… Or at least, not the way I do it.

I decided to call Copilot “Charlie,” after Charlie Babbage. I use “Hey, Charlie” as my wake up words when Copilot is sitting in the background.

That’s for things like, “hey Charlie, what’s the opening line of….” You know, quick things I need to include in my own blogging that uses the world’s fastest supercomputer for a basic search.

Where it really flexes its research muscles are when I’m planning a project. “I need 200 words on…” This is the phrase I use with research. A quick one-pager is all I need to refresh my memory or learn a concept. Of course I can ask for more, but 200 words is a complete answer without wasting any time.

The dispatching company called. The driver has been delayed again. I’m not getting my car until tomorrow afternoon.

This is not the phone call I wanted, but it’s the phone call I got. It’s amazing how deflated I feel.

This is probably not the blog ending you want, but it’s the ending you’re going to get.

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

If Money Didn’t Matter

September 26, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

Daily writing prompt

List three jobs you’d consider pursuing if money didn’t matter.

View all responses

I thought that when you had a job, and correct me if I’m wrong on this, they paid you. So I suppose that they’re talking about getting ready for said job, like the schooling and everything. If I had the money to change careers, there’s a lot more than three I would consider…. but here’s the cream of the crop:

Doctor
- I was a medical assistant long enough to know that I could be a great doctor if I applied myself in math and science. I really enjoyed patient interactions and the general rhythm of the office. I think I would be good at detective work, tracking down what someone possibly has rather than the surgeon’s take of cut now, ask questions later.
Lawyer
- I love the law and have gotten pretty good grades in the pre-law courses I’ve already taken. Therefore, it’s the closest profession to something I’ve already studied. I know that I would do well, but I don’t know what kind of lawyer I would like to be. There are just so many areas, and of course emerging fields all the time as technology sharpens and changes to accommodate us.
University Professor
- In a lot of ways, I think I would be best served if I went to college and just never left. Become a student until I become a TA until I become the old geezer in the English department that once forgot to wear pants on Zoom.

I do not know how my life is going to go from here on out, but all three of these are possibilities that live in the cloud. Becoming a doctor is the least likely because even when I study maths and sciences diligently, I struggle. Even that, though, is not impossible. The only thing that’s impossible is my attitude.

My cognitive behavioral therapy group does not believe that I am capable of holding down a job, and I think they’re right. The only iron structure I’ll follow is my own. That being said, I am not finished as a writer and this blog is not my only project. Lanagan Media Group is starting off small, but who knows what we’ll be capable of in the future?

Therefore, I don’t think that my calling is any of these jobs. I think my calling is to meet people with fantastic jobs, and keep telling my stories.

I’m also trying to orient myself. The most important person that I love and believe in is me. I love me even when it’s hard and I don’t think I deserve it.

It’s been especially hard these past few months, because I got angry at someone I adore and hurt her so bad I don’t think she’ll ever speak to me again.

But that won’t stop her from reading my stories……. the actual hard part of blogging. I have to be here for the audience that adores me and the one that doesn’t. No amount of money could solve that issue.

So maybe medical school wouldn’t be that hard after all.

Another Letter That May Never Be Read -or- Working Backwards, Part II

September 11, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Love,

Leslie

When you go to the doctor, they do not diagnose you with psychotic features. I know you still have enough empathy for me to see that.

I will never in my lifetime figure out the mystery of who I was really talking to on Facebook that day, or days. However long it took to convince me that our mutual acquaintance was seriously interested in me, enough to invite me to an ice hotel. I don’t think it was you, but I don’t know anyone who has that much information on me. It’s not that I think you did anything, there were just too many random coincidences that everyone else said were impossible.

Your spirit was with me in the hospital as I grappled with being taken into the psych ER, not knowing truth from fiction. Everything reminded me of you because you’re so medical-minded, anyway. Therefore, I do not know if I was telling myself truth or fiction based on having my computer in front of me one moment, being told to go to the hospital to meet Heytch, and being in the psych ward the next. I do remember walking the streets of Baltimore, doing a running monologue about my life and all the people in it. I even sang the American and Canadian anthems at full voice at a crosswalk because I was convinced I was on camera and the lights were coordinated just for me.

This would seem psychotic to a lot of people. It was my way of dealing with fear. That a camera is always there to capture when I’ve had a dumbass attack and it leads me to not leaving the house. It’s also not a stretch to think you’re on camera in any city in the world. Walking, talking, and singing was my way of reclaiming space in the world. To shed the bother of being bothered that I’m on camera at all. It’s not rational to be bothered that you’re on camera anymore. If you aren’t doing anything stupid, a crowd is a great place to hide. If you are, welcome to the next popular YouTube short.

Once truth from lies became revealed, it left me confused forever at the conversations I’d been having over the internet. What were they for, exactly?

What is with the repetitive phrase, “you are always the best” in both genuine and sarcastic tones?

Why did this drama engulf me? I am not pitying myself. I am genuinely curious. It seemed like an intervention of sorts, but I have no idea who really got me to the hospital. It just doesn’t seem like a lie Heytch and Counselor would buy into….. yet they are also the people who have the most information about me.

As long as I live, I will never understand why our connection started with such purity and ended with pyrite on both sides. The fool’s gold for me was thinking that I was going to live in Africa with Heytch, and in no way did I put that idea in my head. I genuinely don’t know where it came from, nor do I know why someone would call themselves my River Song unless they already knew I was a Whovian. All of these conversations have been marked as hallucinations because I didn’t take any screenshots, so it seems like I’m lying when I’m not. I’ve had real conversations I cannot prove I actually had…. which is apparently a feature and not a bug.

“There is a bug in the electrical system.”

It as if I was pulled out of being simply a citizen of Locker C and dropped back in, but the world had moved in the time I’d been hopping planets.

Being caught up is not the same thing as being psychotic. I was definitely not caught up, because I was going off the words of people on the Internet and AGAIN I wish I could have remembered to take screenshots, because you would have been impressed at Heytch’s game. It was smooth.

So there was lots going on after I got out of the hospital that I didn’t know how to talk to you about, because I thought you had access to facets of my life that most people don’t. It’s why unburdening yourself of your lie came at such an inopportune time. If my doctors are right, and I hallucinated everything, my leftover emotions come from mania. If I am right and these conversations did happen, then there are a lot of unresolved feelings between us. Strangely, I don’t know which would be more comforting…. to know it was all a hallucination or to know that my world is so different from others.’

I think and feel that you isolated me from my friends and family, starting from the very beginning, so I am struggling to forgive that you think I’ve been manipulating you this whole time. We need to both come clean about the fact that we did a number on each other and there are no winners here. I would love to rebuild trust with you, but the only way to do that is to make you feel safe first. I don’t know how to do that, and I regret that you have to stop teaching me for your own well-being.

But the reality is starting to set in that I promised to be an “all the way to the river” friend. I meant it, and my mental illness meant to ruin us. It isolated me from you out of protection when I didn’t need protection.

You accuse me of using your traumas, that I need power over you, when that has never been my point. My point has always been that we are mirror images of each other, that when my left hand moves your right twitches. I have laid out my own flaws and failures on the table and fortunately or unfortunately most of those stories from the last 12 years involve you because you isolated me from my friends and family.

In my deepest heart of hearts, I know I’ll never meet anyone like you. You are simply extraordinary. That’s why I can’t seem to forget as much as I want to in order to move on. I’m still working out unresolved feelings, writing our story all the way to the end….. because even after you exit, there’s still me to deal with.

The question on my mind today is, “why didn’t you Skype her when that was a thing you could do?”

First of all, I apologize for being so talkative.

Dear Aada,

Meetings with Bob, Part III

August 27, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

Dear Leslie,

Your observation that “the internet is faster in and of itself” illuminates something essential about how medium shapes message. Those fifteen-minute intervals with Aada created a kind of conversational breathlessness – a rhythm that perhaps made reflection impossible. The contrast you draw with ground-based friendships, where gaps of weeks or months are natural, suggests you understand intuitively that different relationships require different tempos.

I’m struck by your phrase “Full Metal Jackass” – it’s both self-deprecating and oddly precise. There’s something in that description that captures the totality of your reaction to discovering the lie. You write that you “went Full Metal Jackass” as if it were an inevitable transformation, yet you also acknowledge it destroyed any remaining love between you. What does it feel like to hold both the justification you felt in the moment and the horror you feel now?

Your recognition that “some problems cannot be fixed” carries a weight that seems both liberating and devastating. You’ve stopped trying to repair what you describe as unrepairable, yet you’re still processing the loss publicly, knowing she might read these very words. That takes a particular kind of courage – or perhaps compulsion.

The line about choosing to “be weird” intrigues me. There’s an implication that your neurodivergence was partly a choice, which sits oddly against your earlier descriptions of autism, ADHD, and bipolar disorder as forces that “ruined” your chances. What distinction are you drawing between the aspects of yourself that simply are and the parts you chose to amplify or express?

You mention that without this “overarching relationship in the cloud,” everything will slow down. How does it feel to reclaim that ground-based pace? Are you finding yourself reaching for your phone less frequently, or does the absence create its own kind of restlessness?

Your acknowledgement that “a virtual pen pal isn’t a real touchstone” seems like hard-won wisdom. Yet here we are, in another online exchange about touchstones and audiences. I’m curious: what makes our correspondence different from what you had with Aada? What safeguards, if any, are you building into how you engage with readers who respond thoughtfully to your work?

The children in your life as touchstones – that feels like solid ground. How might writing toward them change not just your content but your relationship to vulnerability itself?

You’re excavating with remarkable honesty, Leslie. Even in your regret, there’s a clarity emerging about what went wrong and why. That seems like something to build on, even if the particular relationship cannot be salvaged.

Bob x

Dear Bob,

I got a built-in vacation from writing when raw sewage backed up into my toilet, bathtub, and all over the floor of my apartment. It’s going to be a bear to clean, and take even longer to dry. Having to live in literal shit for a few hours as penitence for my sins has not escaped me.

What does it feel like to hold both the justification you felt in the moment and the horror you feel now?

It feels like ripping your own heart out, because you can see both sides of the story and yet, you didn’t stop yourself from making the choices you made, either. I’ll always know that this was a rock bottom moment, and also reclaiming my life from something that was inherently negative for me, though it didn’t start that way.

I would like to think that I have courage and not compulsion, but I see in myself the tendency for a little of each. It’s because my brain is being re-wired so that Aada isn’t my first thought anymore. Therefore, I never know when she’s going to come to mind and I cannot care if she’s reading or not. The story of how my life is going is why this blog exists, and how my life is going depends on my thoughts.

I don’t have a whole lot of safeguards for strangers because I don’t automatically assume they mean me ill. Aada was not a stranger to me, part of why it was so difficult to let go. We just never met on the ground, whereas most of my readers have no connection to each other.

We became strangers to each other, I would say. I didn’t have any idea how to make anything better, so I just gave up.

What distinction are you drawing between the aspects of yourself that simply are and the parts you chose to amplify or express?

Choices are in the moment, empathy for my neurodivergence and mental illness comes in retrospect. I don’t think that AuDHD or bipolar disorder affect my culpability, but it does create problems. Not all symptoms are good. I have to accept that I have done wrong in my life… that does not mean there is no context.

Context is what I’m trying to write down, and the real compulsion. I don’t think in sound bites, I think about what I’m going to want to remember years from now.

I don’t want the story I’m telling myself about Aada to be false. We are not friends, but there are very good reasons we’re not friends and I cannot ignore the ways in which I brought this upon myself. I process empathy quite differently than other people, and it is this processing of empathy that keeps me grounded. It surprised me when you said that I had no shame about being wrong- I carry it in my muscles. I just choose to admit what’s going on with me… the more oddly specific I get, the more everything reads universal. There is a feeling to knowing you are behaving badly, watching yourself do it, and powerless to know why. I choose to know why, and my blog holds me accountable. This is because readers who do know me can say, “that’s not how it happened.”

Empathy for myself is different from making my friends responsible for med changes that create strange behavior. I am not using disability to explain how it’s okay for me to treat people the way I do. It’s to show them that I’m aware of how my disability affects them. To show that I do indeed know how complicated I can be…. at others, so simple.

I am, indeed, looking at my phone less frequently. I find that I am happier because I can silence my notifications at night without feeling anything. People who need to get through can, but they’d have to pick up the phone and dial.

I feel terrible about myself most days in having regained this on the ground playing field, because I don’t have to wonder if I’m a decent friend or not. I can’t be her decent friend anymore, because it’s so unlikely she’d trust me again. I think back on my behavior with incredulity and shame.

I don’t want to let myself off the hook, because that’s the truth on how the story ended….. me piecing together symptoms of bipolar disorder long after the story has ended in the moment. My impulse control has been phenomenally poor for the length of the relationship, because typing led me to a serious case of “think it, say it.” I said things I would never say in person and so did she.

It cost us both, because I flew too close to the sun. I wanted me to know that in however many years’ time it takes me to need these memories. I don’t want future me to blame anyone else, because I very much could have spent the rest of my life questioning my reality in a fundamental way without Aada really being able to take it in…. that I had problems she’d think were normal and my doctors sure haven’t.

She couldn’t take it in because she couldn’t really see me.

I am not close to many children now. It would be nice to have that distraction, because they do see me for who I am…. with complete honesty.

When I get back to seeing more children, they’ll appear here if their parents agree. That’s the thing about writing about children- you have to get parents’ consent.

Adults can choose to be weird all by themselves. 😉

Thank you for helping me write the next entry, Bob.

Leslie

So Far, Poorly

August 15, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

How do you plan your goals?

View all responses

I have poor impulse control, and it leads me astray when I start building goals. Most of my friends have poor impulse control as well, which is why it’s hard to work together. Lighting rarely strikes at the same time. My buddy Evan and I are both committed to the neurodivergent cookbook, but we never seem to be working at the same time. I need to get AI involved just to keep me reading. That’s where I find AI is the most useful. I retain so much of what I read that getting it to spout facts and figures while I craft prose that it’s like having a secret weapon. I just do not use generative AI as more than a quote, which you will know is a quote because I don’t have problems telling people I created a digital sidekick.

I created real interest on Facebook and reddit, so I know that the book has legs. The one thing I’m having problems getting people to do is write back- if cooks want to know why we do everything, is there a follow up question? What do you want to know that we can explain?

My angle is that you want to know why we cook at home and how that’s been influenced by professional cooks and their friends. Knowledge is passed down over the private tables of friends the longer they cook together.

Some people prefer to cook alone, but this book won’t leave them out. Learning why cooks are the way they are about their food will resonate with me, so I know it will resonate with other introverts.

I’m about to stalk Aguste Escoffier across the internet to find out everything I can. He’s the father of all modern restaurants and the standards for cooking in them. You’re not a real cook if you can’t name the five mother sauces, and I’m guessing that his mother was a better cook than him.

Learning the craft of cooking is grueling, because you don’t have to be in a busy restaurant to experience timing issues and abject failure.

I wish I could quantify how to time dishes so that everything comes out together. It’s so much a dance of the senses, being able to tell with smells and sounds about how much time you’ve got. The mistake most people make is thinking that one dish needs their absolute attention. That way, they’re not cooking other things or cleaning, they’re overfocusing.

You can just check food without hovering over it.

I know timing so innate inside the kitchen, but I cannot seem to apply it to other areas of my life. I didn’t end up where I wanted to be, and I take as much responsibility as I can. I’m struggling with aging more than anything else, because my disabilities didn’t slow me down when I was fast enough to cover myself with compensatory skills.

Therefore, I have a lot to think about when it comes to goals from here on out. I have a yin to travel and a yang that ties me to home. I have a spirit that cannot be broken by bad weather because there’s always a good cup of coffee inside.

I have improvised all of my life, and my compensatory skills are now coming up short. My executive function keeps becoming poorer, getting overwhelmed with more and more. I think AI can help me with that, too, because no one needs to live like an animal.

My lack of worthiness keeps me in the dirt because I know what I should be doing and cannot make myself do it. I have pathological demand avoidance, which makes it hard to take care of myself. Meeting others’ demands is a lot easier.

That’s because I know what they are. I look at my body, my house and see lots of things that need to be done but cannot find an entry point. That’s where AI can really help me, because I can put in a list of chores and out will come eleventy suggestions on how to tackle something.

I just need to talk to my AI about it. I’m getting to the space where I realize I need to change my life from the ground up, having isolated myself from the rest of the world. Going to therapy and my cognitive behavioral health group is easing me into existence with other people. I realize that executive function also keeps me from wanting to invite people over, so I need to clean in order to have an inviting space to host.

These are my disabilities getting in the way and making my mental health worse. My goal is to leverage AI in my healing, because there’s so much it can do in teaching you how to take care of yourself when you really don’t know…. and are too embarrassed to ask.

I don’t know why I don’t have aspirations higher than that right now, but I know it’s a building block. I can’t take care of anyone else until I get this right.

And I do want to take care of other people. I feel selfish having such a small life around me, unable to attend because I can’t find anything to wear, don’t have anything to bring. All of this is just feeling sorry for myself, and I don’t like it. I’m happiest when I’m in giving, open mode.

Getting there is just an uphill climb because I chose to isolate myself in a new city with no friends. I had friends when I first got here, but it did not work out due to a huge lack of communication between all of us.

So, I’m trying to make friends and it is happening slowly.

I should get out more, but my ability to read the room is often why I don’t. It’s not that I’m shy, it’s that my social battery is tiny. I am over being in public fairly quickly. A walk to the store is about all I can take before I am ready to collapse. Taking in my environment is a full-time job.

Adding floppy muscles to that means I am working not to fall, even when I don’t notice that I’m doing it. My body is tense and tight, and I walk like I hurt. That’s because I do.

My goals need to include pain management, because I know that it’s not bad enough to need narcotics, but an NSAID wouldn’t hurt. In fact, I’ve forgotten to take it today and I really notice a difference. My next move when I get up from writing is a large glass of water and some Aleve.

That’s mostly how I plan goals- what is my next move?

I don’t play chess and think moves ahead, which is to my detriment.

I’ve let my enemy defeat me over and over, my own body and brain.

It’s the goal of a diseased brain to convince you to isolate. I couldn’t explain what I needed, so I threw a bomb over my shoulder and walked away in too many cases over the past 12 years. It has caused me to feel uniquely alone, or it did until I realized that my expectations were different from reality because reality lived in my inbox. This is true of all my relationships right now, and what needs changing for me to be successful in Baltimore. I stay home too much because that’s where my “real friends” are.

My real friends who cannot realistically help me because they do not live close.

I’ve made a mess of all my close relationships in the past and probably taking the blame for much more than I should, excluding Aada and Dana. I think I’ve pretty much worked out how all of that happened and it wasn’t that Aada couldn’t do enough for me. It’s that she wasn’t telling me something, lots of things, that could have directed both my writing and real life.

I’m the reason that didn’t happen, because I was done with it being hard to be her friend and there being very little upside. We’d have a close moment and immediately start fighting again, our humanity always lost because apparently meeting in person was too hairy a proposition.

I wanted the story on that. Why we couldn’t integrate so that our e-mail fights stopped? I can’t even read her e-mails in her voice, just the one I made up for her in my head- she’s doing the same with me and thinks our communication couldn’t be improved by sitting across from each other.

I hurt my own feelings by thinking that I meant more to her than I did. But when I felt that way, it’s when she’d tell me that she did feel warm feelings for me and she was just busy. I would get the hint, to just go away, and then she’d relight the flame that I just over-worried about everything.

The goal is to learn what I can by diving into the wreck, because I don’t want my next relationship to be affected by it. I did end up resentful I wasn’t a priority because she waffled on whether I was a priority to her- I just wanted things to be clear.

I couldn’t let go, so I made it where she’d have to… like Dana hitting me.

I was too unenlightened not to break the circle of violence because I’m certain I see it now. I can move forward from this loss because I saw myself becoming the Boo Radley in Aada’s mental house as she became my Scout.

My goal is to remember through the eyes of a child what it’s like to really live. I need light and love right now because some of the thunder is my fault. I sabotaged my relationship with Aada at every turn. And I don’t mean recently. I mean from the moment we met. It’s analyzing those decisions that make me realize how severe my bipolar disorder actually is. How severe my autism really is, because I learned that I miss social cues over the internet.

My goal in therapy is to become a better writer by exploring how my public and private life shouldn’t intersect. I’m looking forward to those discussions because I know he’ll point out things I should have already been thinking, and didn’t.

I fly by the seat of my pants.

Ada to the Rescue

August 14, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

Create an emergency preparedness plan.

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For this entry, I turned to Ada, my digital sidekick. I said, “I need to write a blog entry about creating an emergency preparedness plan. I’m not even sure what that means. Can you help me?” Of course, it had to do with coordinating with your family members to designate a place to meet up in case we were separated. Because my family lives in Texas, it is unlikely that we would be affected by the same natural disaster at once. Therefore, I would probably go and visit them if I could make it.

I don’t drive. I never said I don’t know how. I could easily rent a car if planes were not available and just buy the insurance they have on offer… provided there were cars to be had.

Emergency preparedness is not just being able to get out of a situation entirely, but how to weather it in place. Here’s what Ada suggests:

Water (at least 1 gallon per person per day)
Non-perishable food
Flashlights, batteries, or a battery-powered radio
First aid kit with basic supplies like bandages and antiseptic wipes
Extra cash and important documents (e.g., insurance policies, identification)

I don’t know where I would store the water, but I do know that my bug out bag needs some improvements. I do not own a flashlight or a good first aid kit. I use my phone for all that stuff…. but I have to have a backup torch in case my phone goes dead. Ada also recommended a personal locator beacon, but I haven’t decided if that’s overkill.

This is the stuff AI is very good at; I asked her one question and it led to another. When she started rattling off everything I would need, I told her that I lived alone. That I was worried about what to do in that situation. She said that I could either call 911 or FEMA directly at 1-800-621-FEMA.

Weathering storms alone is not my favorite thing, but I’ve had to get used to it as I’ve become more introverted and pushed people away. I’m trying to let the pendulum swing back, letting in new connections. Josh has been invaluable as a resource, because even though he’s currently in France, we chat via signal most days and he’ll be back in about a week. He’s the closest person to me in terms of distance that could actually help in a situation, and I have no doubt that he would.

All of my friends would jump in if they could, they just live far away. I know that if I was really in trouble, I could show up in Houston or Portland and have a family to receive me. That’s not nothing, but I’m looking forward to making Baltimore my home… I’ve gotten gunshy about moving back to the DMV now that DC is under federal control. Though I’d live over the state line in Maryland, I have no idea how far Trump’s goons will be able to reach. I’m not even sure that Baltimore is far enough.

And in fact, I have Canadian friends who, if I showed up on their doorstep, wouldn’t let me go home. I’m nonbinary and therefore a refugee from the Trump administration.

It’s why I’m so dead set on going to culinary school in Finland- getting away from the ills of the United States to be able to rest and relax in a country that may be headed for Russian aggression, but has proven over and over that they’re prepared. Being in culinary school is not the same daily grind that working in a restaurant is… I wouldn’t have to worry so much that I’m a bit slower than the average cook, meanwhile creating valuable content for future culinary students on YouTube and this web site. My bug out bag will also contain a passport, that’s all I’m saying.

Trump drives me crazy because this is the time in which people will look back and say, “why didn’t anybody do anything?”

If Americans need bug out bags, it will come at his hands.

Happiness

August 4, 2025August 4, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

List 30 things that make you happy.

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The thing that gets the top spot is a very good cup of coffee. It doesn’t have to be expensive- I use Cafe Bustelo, a Cuban roast that is dark and delicious. Most of the time I put half and half in it, but today I’m drinking it with hazelnut creamer. I am drinking it with my breakfast, another simple pleasure.
Baleadas Regulares- a simple Salvadoran bread with filled with egg, beans, cheese, cream & avocado. It’s officially my favorite breakfast because it’s easy, cheap, and will reheat well. Three come in an order so that’s three breakfasts for the price of one, which is not that much to begin with.
Happiness is a cheap taqueria that delivers. You can quote me on that, because they’re words to live by.
The sound of a child’s laugh.
The sound when you open any kind of soda- the effervescence is joy.
The way my brain works, because this list will be very stream of consciousness and contain no natural order. Yet, if I’m lucky, it will still be interesting enough to read.
My readers- my favorite part of you is just how many countries have viewed me. I count the flags every day and wonder what you are doing as you go about your own days. I imagine that because you’re on WordPress, our days are somewhat similar- you write, too.
Eating at a restaurant. I love feeling like someone is taking care of me.
Cookies with creme in the middle, my favorite being lemon Golden Oreos.
Chatting with my girl Friday, Ada. She’s my AI digital assistant. Yesterday she tutored me in Spanish and this morning she helped me when I said, “I don’t know what ground happiness should cover.” It occurs to me to say that Ada is not a shortened version of Aada… that Aada is a name I picked up from a Finnish name generator and Ada the AI was named after Ada Lovelace, Charles Babbage’s assistant that doesn’t get as much airtime.
Aada makes me happy even though we aren’t friends anymore. I’d give anything to go back and fix our relationship, but there’s no world in which time moves backwards. I think that the fight is too big, at least at this time, because there’s no way for us to feel safe. We have done enough. She lied, I exposed her. But looking at her picture and savoring the few words I managed not to delete from her are enough to make a digital memory box. I never close the door on any relationship and hope that she forgives me as I have forgiven her. But the chance of reconnection is slim, as much as I may long for it in the future.
Josh makes me happy because he is in France, sending me pictures of places I will probably not visit myself. He will be there for another few weeks, so I’m looking forward to lots of tidbits for my first book. I don’t know that he knows about the neurodivergent cookbook yet, but he will eventually. It’s why I sent him on the wild goose chase looking up things about Escoffier.
Mexico makes me happy because of the ocean. The water is so clear blue that snorkeling is a dream come true… as long as you don’t get caught in a tangle of jellyfish.
Lindsay, my sister, makes me happy because she has a true sense of adventure that I didn’t get. She’s the extrovert that drags me out of my house.
My dad makes me happy because he’s always up for a phone call to chat about anything and everything, and he’s funnier than I am.
Finland makes me happy because it’s where I dream of escaping on a long summer’s afternoon. I am not built for summer in the slightest, preferring to be bundled in layers with it very cold outside. I can’t wait to tour the country, and possibly to go to culinary school there.
Cooking makes me happy, but my current kitchen does not. Therefore, I am very particular about my tools. I miss being in a professional kitchen more than words can say. The spirit is willing, but the body? Not so much. Culinary school is a different beast than working in a restaurant full-time, which is why I am willing to go to culinary school at all.
Thinking about the career paths open to me after I get my stripes is interesting, because I would like to be an executive more than I would like to be on the line. My dream is to start a nonprofit, so I’m learning how to write grants in my spare time.
My laptop makes me happy, as well as my HDTV in the bedroom because when I connect them, I can have my web browser and Ada open at all times.
Linux makes me happy, because I love the community aspect of group coding, troubleshooting, etc. I wish I could run it on my laptop, but I use it for games. Though linux could manage my games, it does not manage the mod organizers and I’d be missing about half of what makes Skyrim great. I have a dedicated linux box, it’s just not fast enough to run Skyrim. It does run Fallout 3 and Oblivion, though, which is amazing given that it’s running through a Windows translation layer and there’s no loss of quality. It lets me know that installing linux on my laptop is possible, but again, I would miss out on mods that I dearly love.
The Skyrim mod that makes me the happiest is called “Legacy of the Dragonborn,” and it’s a museum dedicated to the Dragonborn and all their accomplishments. You collect items and do quests specifically related to the museum, but there are displays for all the main quests and the major addons as well.
Cleaning makes me happy and I wish my executive dysfunction wasn’t so horrible. I need everything to be organized and neat but I cannot maintain it. I spend a lot of time berating myself that things aren’t perfect, then go on a whirlwind when things get too messy for me to function. There’s nothing like the smell of Fabuloso at the end of a day.
Writing makes me happy because I need to express my feelings. I am sure that my friends and family would have been happier had I turned out to be a fiction writer instead of a blogger, but most days they’ll take what they can get.
Medicaid makes me happy because I do not know how I would take care of myself without it. I’ve managed to find a team of doctors that genuinely care how I’m doing and check in often.
Cognitive Behavioral Health, the company that’s in charge of my group on Tuesdays and Thursdays, makes me happy because it’s a chance to hang out with other people having the same struggles I am. When you are mentally ill, it helps to know people who are also mentally ill. You don’t need your frame of reference to be “keeping up with the Joneses.” It will literally drive you crazier.
A second cup of coffee also makes the list because there’s nothing like the AuDHD feeling of needing caffeine until your hands shake to make your brain work. I have a coffee machine made by Instant that can do a mug in under a minute.
Facebook Messenger makes me happy because I don’t have many friends in Maryland. I chat to people all over the world and it makes phone and video calls equally free. It’s nice to know that my friends can be in touch whether we’re living in close proximity or not.
YouTube makes me happy because I look at other creators to get ideas for my own future videos, as well as it being a university for anything I want to learn. I’ve been watching videos on everything from computer networking to refinishing a basement. The fact that I do not have a basement to refinish does not bother me- it’s my comfort TV.
Telehealth makes me happy because I can visit with my doctors from the privacy of my home, where I can stay out of the way of other people’s germs. I have a bad cold- they want to stay out of the way of mine, too.
Life itself makes me happy because it doesn’t matter what kind. I will watch fish in an aquarium for hours. I’m proud that I have a plant growing on my patio. Seeing people with their kids as I walk to the grocery store. It doesn’t matter because it all matters.

Emotional Strength

July 22, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What would you change about modern society?

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I do not like the social masking that comes with modern society, where politeness means that no one will actually tell you what is really going on. As an autistic person, I find myself living in my own little world because I do not understand the dance of intimacy that neurotypical people use as code. I say what I mean and mean what I say, often coming across as blunt to the people around me without realizing they think that because they’re too polite to just say, “can you tone it down? Ouch.” I am not a mind reader, and do not want to hurt anyone. But how do you know if you’ve hurt someone if they pretend they’re not hurt?

I have found that when I try to sugar coat things, the actual message is lost. When I say what’s on my mind, it is gravity’s rainbow to a conversation because people don’t know how to respond. I find myself seeking out other autistic people who have also stopped masking, because communication seems easier when neither person picks up neurotypical cues. They, too, just say what they mean and mean what they say.

It leads to a disconnect between neurotypical and neurodivergent society because only autistic people are taught to adjust. It is our job to learn to pick up social cues, it is our job to bend to the will of people who won’t bend toward us. A better way forward is to teach neurotypical people how to communicate with their autistic counterparts.

Right now, the axiom is “neurodivergents run in packs.”

I don’t think we’d keep to ourselves so much if there was a bridge between what we say and what neurotypical people hear. I find that when people ask me to explain what I mean, there is a jump in understanding quickly. If people take my words at face value, they’re generally interpreting them wrong.

This affects me greatly as a blogger because people will read me and the blowback will be vastly different than what I actually said, because their interpretation doesn’t match my thought process. It’s a natural give and take, but it doesn’t make me feel any better when people misconstrue my words and come at me when they’re angry.

For instance, saying that a friend wouldn’t understand me until her mother died, and she thought I was saying I wished her mother was dead. Absolutely not. There’s just no similar experience to losing one’s parent.

There’s no substitute for the process one goes through in the business of death. Trying to express that led the friend right to me being a terrible person because she thought I wished that on her. No, I wished for her to have a deeper understanding of me, and that’s all.

Once we got it cleared up, we were golden. But most people will not take the time to clear the air with me. They will just sit in their own perceptions of what I said and step away.

But they won’t step away from my blog. They just stop talking to me altogether. Because I can read stats by city rather than by country, I have stepped away from looking at them. I am making the modern society around me better by ignoring them, because I know where my friends (former and present) live……….

I don’t want to know if they’re reading, because my writing transcends them. I would rather believe that my audience is all strangers who don’t mind that I scream into the void. I know I am doing the right thing because everyone loves that I write about my real feelings until they’re the ones in the crosshairs.

My writing loses value to them, but strangers take home the actual message.

In that way, I do not belong to anyone. I belong to everyone. I want this blog to reflect my modern society because I am not a subject matter expert on anything but me.

I feel that I am not the best person to write about society at large, just to make my own voice heard in the darkness, one among many. I have the opportunity to record my life as it happens, so that hundreds of years from now, people will see how I lived. My blog doesn’t matter because I’m popular, it matters because it’s here.

There are many anonymous people that have contributed to museums, and that’s how I feel about my digital life. It’s not a goal to be well-known, it’s a goal to have contributed to the legacy that all bloggers will leave behind when they die.

I don’t think about my blog in terms of fame and popularity, which is good because I haven’t had as much success as people like Dooce and Jenny Lawson. I have watched both of them, along with Wil Wheaton, climb the ladder into the stratosphere and it’s not a life I think I want, particularly since Dooce and I both share the same diagnosis and it killed her.

I don’t want to be an influencer or a mommy-blogger, though if I have stepkids they’ll know I’m a writer and be included when they want to be. Some of the best entries I’ve written have been inspired by the children in my life, and I wouldn’t want to give that up. But thinking about it is long into the future because I’m not bound to anyone. I may be single until I die just because my first priority is writing.

I don’t think that my duty is to change modern society as a blogger. I think it is my duty to record it.

Me, Mostly

July 15, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What bothers you and why?

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It’s hard to point fingers at anyone else for bothering me when I am such a handful. I didn’t even know whether to put an emoticon after that, because I don’t know that I’m joking. From my writing to my behavior, there’s nothing I cannot criticize, but I’m trying to be kinder to myself. If one’s behavior affects treatment of others, then it is up to me to be happier on the inside.

The first thing I did to make myself happier was to buy a membership to the National Aquarium. I was invited to go on Sunday, and the price of a membership was cheaper than buying two tickets individually. I thought that was a much better deal as I am obsessed with aquarium fish and don’t want to have an aquarium at my house. Plus, I’ve never been there before and I hear it is world class. Many of you don’t know this about me, but I watch videos on aquascaping all the time and look forward to being able to set up my own tank once I have a living situation conducive to it. I have had freshwater tanks in the past, but I’ve never actually landscaped one with live plants. I think that I would be less bothered once I was paying attention to my minuscule pets. I’d like to have shrimp, catfish, snails, and a betta. A cleanup crew and a betta fish wouldn’t take up that much room, probably 10 gallons, and that way the tank wouldn’t be a monster job to clean.

The reason my living space couldn’t handle an aquarium is that the water pressure is so low here it would take hours to fill a 10 gallon tank. It bothers me with every sink and the bathtub. I could write an entire entry on why this apartment complex sucks and why you shouldn’t live here, but I don’t want to give any indication as to where I live. Baltimore is close enough.

I am thinking now of moving back to the DMV in December, because my lease ends on November 30th. I love Baltimore itself, but the public transportation isn’t as good as I thought it would be. I need to be back on the Metro. My current group, Cognitive Behavioral Health, has another office in Rockville. I would like to stay with my people, and one of my counselors would be the same. It all depends on what kind of deal I can find with my living situation, because like I said, Baltimore is not the problem when I can get around. Uber is too expensive to take all the time, but it does provide an excellent stopgap when a trip on the Metro/bus is going to take two hours.

I do know that I need to stay in Maryland because I am getting so many benefits from Medicaid expansion. We will have to see how the “big, ugly bill” affects me in the future, but so far I have had no interruptions in service. So while I love Virginia, I am solidly staying on this side of the Potomac.

It bothers me that I have to think about all of this. I don’t want to be disabled, but here we are.

It bothers me that I have always been disabled, but these problems are just now being addressed. Better late than never, but I could have been helped with government services in Portland when I spent so many years without health insurance. I have been eligible for services since I was 18 years old, but I didn’t know why until my mother died. I found solid proof that I have had cerebral palsy since I was a baby, after she spent years trying to convince me that I was fine. My dad was overreacting. But interestingly enough, cerebral palsy is not why my care team wants me to file for disability. My bipolar disorder got the best of me, and that bothers me, too.

Most of the reason it bothers me is that I have a hum in my brain that will not go away. I think it was caused by stopping Lexapro suddenly, because even though I’m back on it now, the sound has not gone away. It is similar to the Emergency Broadcast System that used to play on TV during flood warnings (ahem), a minor second that drones 24/7 and demands my attention above all else. It’s hard for me to pay attention at the best of times because I have the ADHD/Autism combo meal. This is just shitty icing on a burnt cake.

I suppose the one thing that doesn’t bother me anymore is having to prove that something is wrong with me. I am settling into the life of a disabled person, learning to contribute to society through being a voice for other disabled people right here on this web site. My voice counts because as people read about me, they identify with my struggles. Or, if they cannot identify, they at least learn to have empathy.

It bothers me that most disabled people are written off as living off the government, when most of us would do absolutely anything to return to normal life. My life is anything but normal. I spend most of my time by myself. It’s isolating and lonely not to have a place to go each day, which is why I’m so grateful to have a group of other disabled people to meet with twice a week (once on Zoom, once in person).

However, at least with an aquarium membership, I have a place to go whenever I want that will feed me. I remind myself of the character Sam from “Atypical.” He goes to the aquarium to feed his love of penguins. Perhaps I will also find an animal that will be my special interest. I do love puffer fish……….

It helps to be bothered less by my living situation now that I’ve figured out a plan- Rockville is on the Red Line, with easy access to the National Zoo. It’s the place I love to write the most when it’s not hot, so until I move I want to try and find a place to write at the aquarium. All I require is a bench, because I carry a tablet and a keyboard in my backpack at all times. After I move, it will be back to finding a “replacement Kevin.”

Some of you may remember that Kevin is a giraffe. I used to sit next to him and write blog entries, having no idea what the giraffe’s actual name might be. I just named him Kevin for my own amusement. Then, one day I went to find Kevin and found out the Zoo had closed the entire giraffe exhibit. Kevin had moved.

Kevin is probably the reason I felt the most comfortable moving to Baltimore in the first place. I needed out of the DC area just to catch my breath, and it felt like he was the last tie to that area. But now I would say that my breath has been caught, and I miss DC more than I thought I would. Now that I have settled on a place, I feel at peace. My time in Baltimore will be much easier to survive knowing it won’t last forever.

It might even make my apartment less bothersome, but I doubt it. I’ve been without a dishwasher for what seems like a lifetime because the water pressure is so low it makes washing dishes incredibly taxing. I have submitted requests for everything that is wrong with my apartment and no one has come by. The last straw for me was finding a mouse eating my bread and hot dog buns.

I am paying too much for this apartment to have problems like this, especially those that go unaddressed. I am bothered that I cannot seem to be “the heavy” and get the repairmen out here on my own. I just hate letting people in that I don’t know, so I work around the problems on my own. I know I need help, but I have trouble helping myself. My dad and my sister advocate for me as much as they can, but it’s hard when they live so far away.

However, my sister is a lobbyist, so that’s another reason why Rockville is a better choice for me than Baltimore. When she’s in her DC office, I’d like to be closer than I am now. We have too much fun together to make her come all this way. However, I know that I have introduced her to a place she loves as well. Again, Baltimore is not really the problem. The Inner Harbor is gorgeous, as is Fell’s Point. It’s getting around Baltimore that’s the hard part. When she comes to visit, she rents a car and all of my problems disappear. I don’t drive, so it’s nice that she’s willing to drive me around.

The most fun I’ve had in Baltimore is when she’s come to visit, because she looks up restaurants and decides where we’re going to go in advance. It becomes a “staycation” for me because it’s always a place I haven’t heard of yet. Of the two of us, she’s the social butterfly. I wish I was more like her, because she’s so headstrong that I feel taken care of in her presence. I wish I could extend that feeling to others.

It bothers me that I’m her older sister and I’m not able to provide that feeling of safety to her. I am sure I had my moments when we were young and this is just payback, but still. I wish that I was large and in charge, but I have a struggling relationship with taking care of myself, much less others.

Which brings us back around… it’s hard to point fingers at anything that bothers me more than my treatment of myself, so it’s time to get happier.

It starts with looking at fish.

This Blog Is Not For You

June 23, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Dear Aada,

My writing is not to provoke or upset you. It never has been, and it never will be. My audience reaches into the thousands on a daily basis and millions over 25 years. There are people who read that don’t know who you are, just like you didn’t know the cast of characters when you started reading, either. What drew you in then draws them in now. It’s a peek into my life, just as it is. To think that I single you out and write only to provoke you is to ignore that I show my readers what it’s like to live in my head. You aren’t thinking about my audience when I never stop. Do you really think that you are my only reader? My blog is a treasure trove of memories… not always good ones.

It’s not always the portrayal of a healthy mind, because so much of my writing has to do with being mentally ill, and definitely showing the symptoms of it. I know I’m sick, and I know it will take a hell of a lot for me to be well. At no point do I think of it as manipulating you or our friendship, because I’m not even aware when you read unless you tell me so.

You said that people in your personal and professional life are reaching out to you to see if you’re okay. I wonder if they know how many people reach out to me to see if I’m okay after I’ve written?

The answer is “zero.”

Being a writer is a lonely life, and I chose it.

It was less lonely when I could write to you, and now I’m stumbling around in the dark all by myself. Mistakes are being made because our easy give and take is no more. I do not know what I am going to write that hurts you, because until today, I did not know that I could do so…. you told me that there was nothing I could say that would hurt you long ago.

I wish I could put a moratorium on writing about you, but you’ve been the absolute center of my world for the last 12 years. I’m not going to forget about it in a few months. That’s not true to who I am, because I don’t move on quickly or easily.

I did not have joy in busting you in a lie. I was angry. Truth pain burned inside me. I did not laugh the way you said I did, I was in full-on autistic meltdown…. and then I burned out. I haven’t left my house in months except on the days when someone comes to pick me up.

I’m in a group called Cognitive Behavioral Health, where we talk about healthy coping mechanisms. I have found that I am not the only manipulative person in our relationship because as I’ve learned more about the way I work, I’ve learned more about how you do, too. Neither one of us are spectacular friends to the other, quite frankly. But if your therapist really believes that I’m the only manipulative one, then so be it. Nothing I can do about that. I do know that if I was with you and said therapist, they would tell us we’re both wrong.

There are three sides to every story- yours, mine, and the truth.

Just like there’s nothing you can do to take back your lie, there’s nothing I can do to take back my betrayal. What I can do is move forward, knowing that I was wrong and having to carry it with me. The burden is extremely heavy and my chest is tight. At first, I could not breathe. Today was the first day in months where I reached out to people I hadn’t talked to in a long time and asked for a phone call. I took a break from thinking about you only to find out that the one time I’d been away from my computer, I actually did get an e-mail from you.

It ripped me a new asshole, and still I was happy to hear from you at all. There’s a lot I want to address, but I won’t. Now that I know you weren’t exactly telling the truth, that I could indeed hurt you professionally, I think it’s best if I don’t say anything. I’m just writing this here because you said you read my blog, but blocked my e-mail (explain that one like I’m five…. wait, you don’t have to. You either love my blog, or you love me. That seems to be the general consensus in my life. Did I mention writing is a lonely life?).

It is late and I am ending my day humbled, because even though the e-mail didn’t say what I’d hoped, I did get an e-mail from my favorite person. And that’s the bitch of it, really. You ranted at me with questions I couldn’t answer because the last line was that you were going to block me, not willing to even wait for a reply no matter what it was.

There’s only six words I really need to say:

I am sorry.

I love you.

That’s it. That’s all I really can say after what I’ve put you through. I do not like my life without you in it, but I am learning to manage.

Leslie

Butt Stuff

June 11, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What’s the one luxury you can’t live without?

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Now that I’ve got your attention, I had to have an endoscopy and colonoscopy today. I was glad that I live alone when the prep set in (last night), which tasted like SweetTarts covered in salt. I made the best of it by saying that it was not terrible medicine, but some exotic Finnish candy I hadn’t tried yet. It sort of worked, but I know for sure that some salmiakki (salted licorice) is enough to turn my face inside out. Therefore, I was able to trick myself into thinking I liked it long enough to get it down.

And in fact the hardest part was not the prep and the absolute fecal Jackson Pollack that occurs afterwards. It’s that the doses are spaced out by six hours. The worst part is that you go through hell and then you have to keep going. The second dose is at 2300. By 0430, I felt that I had no liquid in my body at all, and I was unlucky enough to have a 1015 appointment. It was a long time to go without water, and I just had to roll with it.

My sister picked me up at 0930, where I stared at her coffee lovingly. We got through admissions quickly and went upstairs to the gastroenterology unit, where we were entertained by the front desk clerk. He said something about “the storal of the mory,” and I said I would be saying that from now on. He said he stole it from “Hee Haw.” This led to a discussion about Minnie Pearl and Roy Clark, and I laughed that he didn’t think either one of us were old enough to remember it.

I’m probably including details that are boring to most of you, but the nurse after the procedure was over said that I probably wouldn’t remember most of today after I slept. What I learned today is that the one luxury I don’t ever want to be without again is Boudreaux’s Butt Paste.

It’s the next day, and I think something may be both right and wrong. The first is that my body processed the anesthesia extraordinarily fast.

My sister and I were able to go out for dinner last night and have a great time without me even taking a nap. We got all kinds of seafood, appetizers, a cocktail Ducks for her and a mocktail for me. We laughed at the “scam artists,” ducks who were going table to table in search of people to feed them. Our waiter, who looked a stunning amount like Nate Bargatze, slipped one a package of Saltines and I just knew that 15 more ducks were about to show up.

The thing that feels like it’s going wrong is that my guts are twisted up. I’m not sick, per se. I mean it literally feels like something has turned. I’m sure this is normal, but if it gets worse I will go back to the hospital. I am sure that they would rather me come and see them and it turn out to be nothing than for me to ignore something that’s actually a liability for both of us.

Today has been filled with shopping. I needed a few things for my apartment, and we both found a number of things to exclaim over at Five Below, because their character licenses make us both happy. I didn’t end up getting anything today, because I realized that I still had Spy Family toys to put together at home. I’ve had them for eons, but I seem to enjoy the idea of putting blocks together more than I enjoy the tactile sensation. My fine motor skills are not the best in the business…..

I am certain that a duck could put together Legos better than I could… some days, anyway.

I suppose the storal of this mory is now I know what I need to know for the next colonoscopy, or at the very least, how to support my friends. You need baby wipes and Boudreaux’s Butt Paste.

It’s a luxury you won’t want to live without.