Tag: life

When the Daily Prompt Doesn’t Jive

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m not feeling the daily prompt, so I decided to just set out on my own. I’m not very good at generating positive emotions, because I have bipolar depression and anxiety. I do get up with a sense of joy in the morning when my coffee is right, but I also feel the storm of my own mind gathering clouds. I’m dealing with this in therapy, so I know that it will ease over time. I just don’t have many coping mechanisms for when I feel bad about myself.

And right now, I don’t have much to feel proud of. I’ve taken in the horror of what I’ve done to Aada, because I pissed her off in a very unique way that will make her regret she ever met me. But it doesn’t stop her from reading and it doesn’t stop me from writing about her because I don’t know what to write about next. I’m in limbo, with this relationship being so at the forefront of my life and now it’s gone. I needed it to be gone, because Aada was my friend and wouldn’t prove it…. keeping me in limbo as she liked my blog entries but didn’t seem to like me outside of them.

It’s why I don’t believe she lied to impress me. She seemed so put off by my writing that I couldn’t believe she’d want to impress a nerd with a keyboard. She seemed to think she had the real story, and I was just a liar. The reason she could say that is she kept her version of the story hidden, so I couldn’t judge for myself whether I was lying or not.

I went on flights of fancy and hurt my own feelings on more than one occasion.

I call her posse “the Reston contingency,” because if someone in California reads, someone in Virginia will. And eventually it gets back up to the top of the food chain. I’m glad that someone is checking on Aada to make sure she’s okay, because she doesn’t deserve my shenanigans anymore. I’m glad that I’ve broken myself of the habit of writing to her anywhere but here, because I know that it won’t do any good. It won’t do any good here, either, except to remind me of all the things I don’t want to forget.

For instance, I have a voice clip of her cooing over her baby dog, and that makes me melt into giggles of cuteness. I am sure that this dog is no longer a baby, but she coos at it just as much. I picture sitting next to the dog sometimes, wishing that conversation had taken place in person.

What did I hope to accomplish in person? More production meetings over what I could say and what I couldn’t. More input from her over how I’m doing just winging it that didn’t include reading me the riot act because it’s harder to ream someone out in person than it is when you’re at full-tilt keyboard warrior. I wanted more humanity and hugs in our discussions rather than full-on fighting to the death.

I don’t regret falling in love with her words. I regret not taking the time to fall in love with the rest of her. To be happy with whatever she gave me and calm down. To take in that her life was full of people she didn’t see, but had fulfilling relationships with online. I don’t know why that peace didn’t extend to me, but it didn’t.

As a result, I spend my days scared that her posse is watching, because there’s no going backwards. There’s only moving forwards without my darling girl…. whom I had the audacity to push away and it’s all my fault. I maintain that even though it’s my fault, I still have the right to grieve.

Mostly because it is my fault, and forgiving yourself is a hundred times harder than forgiving anyone else.

I wonder if she misses me now that time has passed, and guessing that she doesn’t. I wonder if I ever gave anything to her in all my musings, or if I am the manipulator she says. She doesn’t realize all the ways she manipulated me, and that’s fine. The way she tells her story is the way she tells her story. My isolation doesn’t seem to matter to her, and how 12 years was a long time to hold onto it without input.

I have to wonder what I was doing when I decided to break free when I supposedly love this woman.

I have so much to tell her that’s behind the scenes, and I chopped off any hope of that happening in the future. I have to live with those consequences, because Aada says that my writing is damaging to her. If I really love her, then I need to create a bigger scope with this blog so that I’m not focusing on her as a subject. I’m realizing that when I think of her, they are intrusive thoughts and not because she is intrusive- it’s because I’m putting love into a relationship where it is not wanted.

The truth is that this blog is boring without her, because what I learned from having an internet relationship all these years is that my letters to her prepared me for writing every day. I lost sight of writing about other things because these e-mails were enlightening to me.

I did all our emotional homework because I’m the feeler- she’s the logician. It was a total breakdown of labor. I could not count on her to be emotional, but I could always count on her to be pragmatic. She became my social mask, because it was easier being her than being me. I always had a quip for everything, and I’m sure I’ve given her a few things that ended up in meetings.

My favorite part of thinking about Aada is trading lines that she ended up using at work.

I’m funny when I want to be.

That’s the hardest part of getting over all this. Not feeling like I have the right to feel good about anything. I really hurt someone that I claimed to love, because I was feeling so lonely I couldn’t cope and she wasn’t listening to me. In polyamory parlance, I “bratted out.” I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but I hope that she knows I’m being honest with myself about what really happened. She lied to me and I used that as justification to sell her up the river. Especially when she flamed me.

I posted Daniel’s flame and she said, “you’re right. My first reaction WAS ‘that motherfucker. Let me get my purse.'” I wish that just once she could have read something about herself and thought that, too. She was too defensive, always, when I was pleading for empathy. Her defensiveness caused me more anger than I’ve ever told her, the root of most of our fights.

My happy ending was coffee together instead of just buying each other digital Starbucks cards. She never said what her happy ending was, because of course nothing romantic ever happened between us and wouldn’t. She’s beat it into my head that she’s straight and I don’t think of her as anything other than a boring cis straight white girl who would eat her coat before she’d look at me twice.

But she’s my boring cis straight white girl, so let her be who she is.

The thing is that the internet is relative, you aren’t taking in all of someone there. Her words moved me in a romantic direction before she explained that she was a boring cis white girl with a long-time boyfriend (whom she’s now married). What’s done is done, but I played all my cards wrong. If I’d kept my feelings to myself, we would have indeed met by now. We had plans to get together for Dana’s birthday and I asked her not to come because we were fighting at the time. Any chance I had to make things better, I made them fall apart.

I have to live with that guilt, because our relationship got unusual, fast.

The marks left on me by my emotional abuser never left me, and that’s what I need to work on in all my friendships from here on out…. and possibly with Aada because life is long. I never know what could change her mind over a friendship with a writer. I just know that the time is most probably past because we cannot make things any better than we can right now.

But maybe she’ll remember she wasn’t always the perfect friend, either, and capitulate once she’s taken all of it in. I doubt it, but again, life is long. Maybe we need to separate for good, maybe we just need time. I’m not in charge, I just work here.

The thing is that Aada and I are capable of creating something beautiful that we couldn’t have when we first met. Whether it’s fiction or a retelling of the story on my blog from her perspective, we are sitting on piles of money. I doubt she’d hire me as a research assistant, but my services are open to her if she decides she wants to publish her first novel. AI can do that for her, but I bring coffee and bagels. Take that, AI.

I think it’s a shame to throw all of that away, because I know how capable we are as Southern storytellers.

It’s everything I should have thought of before I pushed her away over and over.

I didn’t think about endgame, I just flew by the seat of my pants. If I’d thought about goals way back when, it would be to have a stable marriage and a stable writing partner, one who knows I’m in love with her words and therefore I take in everything she says like they have the capability to wound me like a partner.

I was the one that wasn’t open all these years, and I never blamed it on Aada. I just look at my life differently now that it is past. I gave Aada reasons not to want to be close to me, but I didn’t understand why I was doing it. It’s because she has the ability to wound me like a partner, and I didn’t know how that would come across in person. Neither did she.

She didn’t even tell me when she got married, not knowing how I would react. My reaction was hurt that she’d left me out of something so big, but not hurt that she was married. Part of accepting Aada for who she is means knowing that boyfriends are going to come along and possibly become husbands.

When she opened up to me, I should have opened up to her more. Maybe if I’d explained why I needed her so bad it would have made a difference, maybe not.

I wanted to believe that she was safe and secure, that we were safe and secure.

Her words rang hollow on the page.

Joy

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What positive emotion do you feel most often?
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I feel joy when my iced coffee tastes right in the morning, because I have learned that the key to happiness is small expectations. I used the cold brew method for 32 oz of Cafe Bustelo, and the smile on my face is priceless every time I take a sip. A good cup of coffee sets the tone for the whole day for me.

Mostly because my coffee time is also my time with you. It’s almost 0600, and dawn is just beginning to creep over the horizon. I think of my friends across the Atlantic and wonder what the day is already holding for them. What am I going to find out by being awake? I choose to believe in joy there, too, because for every piece of bad news there is a baby born, a new relationship formed, love to be celebrated.

I have to find my own joy in this administration, because everything from my identity as a nonbinary person to my ability to marry a woman is under attack. It doesn’t matter that I’m not planning on getting married again, to anyone. It matters for my friends who are already married or are planning on it. If abortion rights could be taken away, so could gay marriage, because abortion was settled law a lot longer.

It’s hard to remain joyful in that kind of pressure cooker, so again, I turn to the way my coffee tastes. I have to create my own joy, because no one is going to do it for me.

Generating joy is not my specialty. My brain delights in getting me to isolate from other people, even though I know I need them. I find that if I can start with one thing, the coffee, then I can slowly find another.

Maybe it’s the feel of my t-shirt against my skin, or the air conditioner tickling my bare feet. Maybe it will be the feel of the water as I start my shower.

Although I should do some laundry before I take a shower….

Whatever the case may be, I can generate happiness. If I start with something small and concrete like the taste of my coffee, I am not setting myself up for failure later in the day.

So Far, Poorly

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
How do you plan your goals?
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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.

Curiosity

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?
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If I had a shop of my own, I would like to sell curiosity itself. I would have all kinds of puzzles and games to spark the imagination, as well as a coffee bar so that people could sit and play with their purchases.

I would have a book section dedicated to espionage, because I would like to sell the books of all the retired spies I’ve met who’ve gone on to become authors. And what could be a bigger puzzle/game than that?

My friend Josh was telling me that he didn’t trust any government enough to spy for it, and I totally get it. But you can’t hang out at the spy museum and not get bitten by the bug…. it’s basically a commercial for new CIA recruits, just like going to NASA creates little astronauts…. and yes, I went through an astronaut phase in 7th grade. I went to a science and math magnet where I actually got to meet Mae Jemison.

So perhaps I will include books by retired astronauts as well. Space and espionage go hand in hand, as CIA and KGB duked it out for supremacy in The Cold War.

I’d like to have book talks in my shop, to receive all these people that I really admire in a setting that’s comfortable for them. Of course other people have shops like this, I would just like to be a stop on the tour.

But let’s get back to this coffee bar. I’d like to be able to make a wide variety of drinks, including being able to add shots of liqueur to enhance the coffee flavor in the afternoons. I don’t drink, but other people do. I’ve always liked being able to have a drink and work on my own stuff, so I’m thinking it would be a coffee/bar instead of a coffee bar.

I’d like to get Starbucks in on the mix, because Komodo Dragon mixes so perfectly with Sambuca, Amaretto, and all the other flavors that make a perfectly crafted coffee cocktail. I would also like to have their nonalcoholic counterparts, but let’s be clear. I realize that I would be drinking most of the profits on that one.

I’d like to have Athletic IPAs on draft for my customers who like a cold beer and are on a deadline. Beer makes every chore more enjoyable, and I like the idea of being able to day drink without the after-effects.

The beauty of my store is that it would pique your curiosity about lots of things while remaining a chill place to hang out. Soft music would play over the PA and I’d hire acoustic bands or a pianist once in a while.

We could all play games together, surrounded by our service animals while people browse the books I have on offer.

I have no idea where this store would be at this point, because I’m frustrated with the United States, but do not have a solid bug out plan in terms of financing it. I can barely take care of myself, so thinking up this dream for a bookshop and bar is really stretching me out of my comfort zone.

But maybe it’s where I’d be the happiest, surrounded by other nerds who love information, and need the sensory input to be turned down. That is the main reason I do not like to go shopping- the assault is relentless. I get most of my groceries and supplies delivered, including my clothes.

If I could think of a way to make shopping for clothes less intrusive and overwhelming, I would probably do that instead- I see a greater need for it.

Coffee shops are a dime a dozen, but not really good ones. Not nineties good, anyway. I really like what Busboys & Poets are doing in DC, but there’s not really a Baltimore equivalent, particularly not one specializing in “the greatest game.”

I think that I would attract spies and analysts to my bookshop because so many of them are neurodivergent. It’s something we don’t really think about, but autistic and ADHD people have such fine-tuned pattern recognition that stands out in espionage.

It would thrill me if I opened this bookshop and 30 years down the line I find out that something spectacular happened there. Maybe it would be the site of a dead drop, maybe my books were used to catch foreign agents. Whatever. I have no idea. It’s just a thrilling idea to contemplate.

The most important part would be making everyone feel welcome, no matter who they are. I have a feeling that would come with some social masking, dealing with customers, but it’s not like I’ve never had to do it before.

I cannot be a shut-in writer forever, and I don’t know why I’m making such an effort at it. Outside scares me, mostly because I have terrible balance and fall a lot. Maybe owning my own shop would lessen the feeling that I don’t belong.

Being surrounded by books about subjects I love, and meeting other people who also love espionage, space, and the combination thereof (looking at you, Vince Houghton) would make me feel like I had a home.

Of course, I could always get a job working at the bookstore in the Spy Museum. I’ve been there a couple of times…………

If you are an OG, you know I have literally sat on the floor combing their books and that was a laugh line.

It’s just that the spy museum is too far away for me to work there on a daily basis, I think… perhaps not, as I enjoy my time on the train. But Baltimore to DC is a long haul when you’re thinking of it as a commute and not a one-off day trip.

It’s not un-doable, I’m just not sure it would be my first choice. I think I’m onto something with wanting to bring a piece of the spy museum to me.

With beer.

My friend Josh is crazy about spy novels, so I would have to include a fiction section to get him interested. Kidding, all those books would be for me, too. The thing about both of us is that it doesn’t matter what country the intelligence agency represents, we just like spy stories overall.

Although both of our favorites seem to be John Le Carré.

The BBC adaptations are hard to come by, so I think I’ll get a subscription to BritBox. That may be my only avenue for Doctor Who in the future, as well, because all the episodes are gone from HBO Max.

And now I have a new project for the afternoon- tracking down how I can watch foreign spy shows for cheap. It would be cool if I owned them to be able to play them in the background at this fictional store I’m not building. 😉

Ada to the Rescue

~ 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.

Like

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What is a word you feel that too many people use?
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Everyone overuses the word “like” and it drives me up the wall because I do it.

It’s a filler word, something you say when your brain has frozen and your RAM is overloaded.

That’s why I, like, say it a lot.

I need time to process because my computer was made in the 1970s. There’s only so many upgrades.

It’s when I’m at my computer that I can go back and erase all the filler I use in conversation.

Conversing with me is the surest way to get me not to write about something because I have an auditory lag that causes me to pick up about half of what people are saying. That’s why I need so much clarification. Negotiations are sometimes tense because it leads people to believe I’m off in my own little world. Everyone else understood without all these questions.

I tend to remember everything I read. That’s why I’ve loved Aada so madly all these years. She gave me her communication in my favorite medium.

But if we’d started seeing each other in person and I was responsible for remembering things she said, it would be a 50/50 shot as to whether I’d retain anything.

I’m starting to recognize the pleasure in this.

Because you cannot go back and reread conversations. You cannot relive the ways in which you’ve made mistakes. This is for good and ill… sometimes I needed to reread something from Aada’s perspective to understand why I’d done wrong.

Sometimes, I was very clear that I was wrong.

There are so many things that spiraled out of control because our emotions were distilled. We got wasted on our own dopamine with the way we wasted time fighting.

That’s what I thought meeting in person would stop. That we’d lost our humanity. We would both turn into these keyboard warriors that the other wouldn’t recognize and start tearing each other down. I was afraid to meet in person because I didn’t know how it would change our e-mail lives, but I was willing to try.

I never knew what was polite from her and what was genuine, so I cannot speak to whether she was really planning to meet with me. She always acted as if it was no big deal, then scared by the reality. I was scared, too. I just didn’t act like it because someone had to be the one to put on their big underwear.

I don’t think she thought I could hear things like, “I’m scared.”

When I’d been over our relationship a hundred times from her perspective and knew she had every right to be afraid. I wouldn’t have blamed her one bit if she’d said, “I like writing to you, but I don’t see this going anywhere past that.” She didn’t. She said, “someday, perhaps” and then asked for baby steps. So I’ll never know if we could have met in person or not, because I blew up the relationship before we could actually work it out.

I’m sure in a lot of ways that’s why I did it. That I was tired of putting someone first in my life when they had reservations about meeting in person. I turned away from her because the situation was so impossible. I lost my humanity because of impatience. The last straw was that she lied to me.

It wasn’t even that she lied to me, it was finding out she could. And not to care about the consequences for me the bigger this lie got when it would have been so easy to tell me that she lied.

She lied to impress me.

I believe that even less, but I don’t have a better story than the one she gave me.

I think a lot of my need to put her first would have gone away with seeing her in the flesh. In context, even better. I didn’t know how close her other relationships were. She didn’t know those things about me.

We could have learned to have things go unsaid, taken care of with a glance instead of a paragraph.

I sabotaged all of that, because I was tired of waiting. Feeling like there was another truth to all of this that she wasn’t writing. That her husband and family didn’t know we were friends, or they did and they hated me for it.

If they didn’t before, I’m sure they do now.

What’s a true loss is not being able to broker peace.

In another universe, Dana and I are laughing with Aada and her husband, because that’s how it should have been all along. I am responsible for why that meeting never happened. I wish I could go back and re-do all of it, knowing what I know now. If I’d played my cards right, I would have had bonus family. I played every hand like I’d looked up the worst combinations in poker.

I would have put on my big girl pants and just Skyped her while she was on vacation. We both would have been a better judge of character, knowing whether we were actually doing the right thing by keeping our relationship so on the down-low.

It drove me up the wall to be so secretive because it reminded me of dating Meagan in 12th grade. There were certain people she didn’t want to know she was dating me, so there were a lot of rules to remember in front of others. Maybe that’s why Aada isolated me, so we wouldn’t have to remember too many rules.

I know I isolated her.

I should have told her that I felt isolated from the rest of the world, but for some reason I thought she already knew it and had empathy. My expectations were off, and I hurt my own feelings.

It’s so easy to do, hurting your own feelings because you think you’ve expressed something and you haven’t. I thought I’d done a good job of telling her how lonely I felt, and how having another friend in our family was a good thing because she wasn’t there.

Flying under the radar was not a good thing for us, because it stopped us from enjoying some much-needed sunshine.

I wonder daily what would have happened if we’d met for coffee or lunch after we discovered the other online. If I could have been cool and collected between meeting online and IRL. If I could have saved Dana some jealousy because Aada absolutely is all that and a bag of chips, but not my type (really). I fell in love with her words, not her face. The more the three of us hung out, the more the glaring differences between us would appear and make that love change more quickly into something sustainable because I have no doubt that Dana would have liked Aada better than me.

She just didn’t write to her and get to know her. I did.

Over and over I hurt my own feelings as my relationship with Aada grew, because Dana didn’t have any patience for it and that’s all I needed from her.

I think she hit me because she knew our relationship would be over if she did. That I wouldn’t come back from that. She wouldn’t have to compete with Aada anymore, who was in the process of screaming “why is this happening? I like, didn’t do anything.” She’s right, she didn’t. I was making my own problems.

Aada’s answer was just not to talk about our relationship at all to anyone.

I made that work for years, molding the story to my web site because telling all of you is telling none of you. I control the narrative, so you only see what I want you to see.

Not knowing I had readers capable of putting together puzzle pieces on their own or how close I was getting. I needed guidance, and was flummoxed by getting read the riot act on some days and “lovely post, btw,” on others.

I cannot write the way other people want me to write all the time, but I do realize that with Aada’s special circumstances I should have been louder. More outrageous. Changed more details like telling people we live in Chicago or something.

The thing is that Aada doesn’t check in with me to know what literary devices I’m using to explain my own feelings, so if I tell a lie in order to protect her, she’ll think I’m telling the truth… that lie living in her brain as truth is worthless.

If she’d been smart, she would have gotten me a job as a blogger inside her company so I’d know the rules better than her and could actually write something valuable to all the people around her. Oh, wait. Her shit is boring. I can’t dress it up.

I’m glad that writing prompts are just suggestions, because what came up is what came up. I cannot get a whole essay out of filler words, but it is indeed what launched this essay.

What? Like it’s hard?

My Faith

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What brings you peace?
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Praying for Aada and me as we move away from each other has given me an enormous amount of peace. I didn’t act very Christian and I have a lot of sins to atone for. I spend a lot of time in the forgiveness department, because no matter what, my reaction to her lie was wrong. I shouldn’t have popped off and decided that her flaming me should have been addressed here. But you have to believe that no one in my life is capable of lying, and only Aada had that history with me. The lie she told went from inert to complicated.

That’s because she kept up the lie for 12 years, not a few days.

It affected why I moved here, the choices I made in my personal life to put no one else above her. Why I pray for her every night.

“God of the universe, protect my precious Aada.”

I chose Aada because it fit the pattern of the prayer.

Why she can give up on this relationship and I’ll always think of her “somewhere, out there.”

Probably because she also made me afraid that “somewhere, out there” was closer than I thought. Now that time is here. I have gotten what I’m guessing are more dedicated fans than most. My only job is to be who I am, because I think they’ll like me over time. It should not be lost on them that I’m crazy about them because she is.

Her attrition rate is high as shit and she passed that feeling onto me, wanting to have loyal friends who had my back and picking more carefully than I ever have. She taught me about leadership, true leadership, and I’d get in the mud for any one of you.

To her EA… my prayer is partly that you’re always there for her and partly “good luck. God bless.” 😉

That last part will tickle Dana, because she knows exactly how I say, “good luck. God bless.”

One of the many pieces of wheat scattered among the chaff.

Sometimes I think about going to church just so I can say all the words of institution with the other abject sinners. None of us get away from it, I’m not being judgmental. We all have these dumbass attacks that render us mute in their stupidity, when we know we’re wrong and the consequences are more than you were prepared to pay.

I have felt that pain every day, and getting rid of it is the most important thing in my life. I am losing my grip. I don’t want to forget that I hurt you, but learn to live with it. I am not living. I have trapped myself.

My bipolar disorder ate me alive because I equated two things that weren’t true vs. your lie.

I’ve realized that my faith became letters to you a long time ago…. that I’m always talking to God, you’re just icing.

I used that space for everything, the repository of all my secrets. You could bury me and I’m sure you will. That’s why my fear of you is such a white flame. That this relationship has never been real, just a job.

No one is that busy.

My hospitalizations would have been better if you’d come to visit me, because I think humor is the best medicine. If you can laugh in a mental hospital, you can laugh anywhere. I think it would have been hilarious if we’d made our first meetup at Methodist or Sinai. All I needed was some reassurance. Your words rang hollow on the page.

Your words rang hollow is a phrase that will stay with me, because there were so few times you were willing to get real. I see now that you wouldn’t want to, because you think that you don’t have any say in what I write. Not only would I let you in, I’d let you edit. That’s not nothing.

I hate that the yellow string is fraying, but I am doing my best to maintain the chord that runs between us with good vibes and the occasional Red Bull. I don’t want you to think that I carry around negative feelings. I have to concentrate on the positive because I’d like to forgive myself one day.

Your words only ring hollow because you wanted them to- you always had so much more to say and didn’t.

I’m sure I’ve freaked you out more than once, but it has never stopped you from dropping a note when you know times are tough for me. I have no illusions that will still happen, but I do carry a flame of hope that something will change your heart down the road.

If not, I will keep talking to God. I will never choose another face for them. Your face just looks like a “God.” It suits you.

I should have asked you to Skype more than once. The internet is a rabbit hole, and how you ended up as the face of God rather than a normal person. There’s as much mystery to you as there is to God, especially with no in-person breaks where I did something normal like trip and fall into the pool.

It was your words that let me drown, but in a good way….

Though most would call it baptism by fire.

It was the kind of fire that cleansed everything around it, allowing me to relax in deep, enriched earth.

Chefs, Always Chefs

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What profession do you admire most and why?
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I am quite tired of laypeople calling every person in the kitchen a chef. A chef is the one who steers the ship, literally “boss” in French. A chef is in charge of inventory, food cost, HR, dealing with owners (who likely don’t know much, if anything, about food), and every little thing that comes up during a shift. The only people who are allowed to get away with taking the piss are the cooks who work under them. Anyone else and we’re out for blood. That’s our chef to use and abuse, not yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Can’t Speak for You…

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What is the most important thing to carry with you all the time?

For me, it is my cell phone. My memory is so bad that I hardly know anyone’s phone number. Plus, it has all my pictures in it. The people I love come with me everywhere. It has also turned into my de facto debit card using Apple Pay, so I rarely have to get my wallet out of my bag. Plus, I’m never anywhere without my camera.

I take photos when I’m going most places, and I should incorporate more into my blog entries for as much as I write them. I just don’t include photos often because I forget to transfer them from my phone to my WordPress Media Library. Therefore, my iCloud is full of outings I’d like to remember without showcasing them anywhere. If I remember, I will create a gallery of aquarium pictures for you. Josh and I had a great time a few weeks ago, and I was lucky enough to get some amazing shots of the animals.

The only ones that were hard to photograph were the dolphins, because the blue/gray of their skin didn’t provide enough contrast against the water. It was much easier to see them in person, so I will go back and wait around for feedings. Apparently, the trainers no longer do dolphin shows, so you can see the dolphins swimming, but there are no chances for shots of them flipping up out of the water.

Tropical fish are just about my favorite animals, and the iPhone does a spectacular job in low light. I don’t even have the newest version with AI to enhance the photos, of which I was very glad. It showed that I actually did know what I was doing most of the time. 😛 Of all the fish I saw, I was entranced by the community tanks because that is the setup I would like for my own house… just not saltwater. I don’t have the patience for it and the startup costs are much larger. Additionally, my apartment is really not set up for an aquarium unless I can run a Python (aquarium cleaner) from the bathtub. Otherwise, the pressure in my sinks would make it take all day to change the water.

What were we talking about again? 😛

Oh, yes. The most important thing to carry with you. If I could choose a second thing, it would be my Apple Watch. I have all sorts of physical and mental maladies, so forgetting my watch is a risk. If I fall on the sidewalk and don’t respond, it will call the police. I can also leave the house without my phone, as it is a model that has a cell and wi-fi connection, plus Bluetooth for headphones (makes it much easier to take a call). The only problem with my watch is that I wish the battery life was better, or would recharge in the sun.

This reminds me…. Jonna Mendez said in her book talk for “The Moscow Rules” that CIA’s office of technical services has people who dedicate their entire careers to batteries, because once you get a bug in an important place, you are unlikely to get back in again. I wish we private citizens could get in on that technology because it would be nice not to have to charge my watch every night, and more often if I take calls during the day.

I’m thinking that the reason Apple doesn’t use solar rechargeable batteries is that it would increase the size of the watch exponentially… but some customers wouldn’t mind that kind of thing. My watch battery is ok on standby, but it really loses juice the more I use it. And the thing is, I use it all the time in conjunction with my iPad, preferring the bigger screen. Some days, my phone doesn’t come out of my bag because it’s just not a photo kind of day.

Because I cannot limit myself to one thing I carry every day, I will tell you what’s in my backpack. I have my iPad, my Bluetooth keyboard, my keys, my wallet, a charger for my iPad/iPhone, extra triple A batteries for said BT keyboard, any important documents I need for meetings, and a small Moleskine for when I need to jot a note… if I have also remembered a pen.

I have a full-size laptop, but I don’t normally carry it around. It lives on my couch so that I can write while I’m listening to the TV, usually an episode of “Murder, Mystery, and Makeup” (Bailey Sarian is a goddess). My iPad and keyboard make my backpack so much lighter, but the iPad just doesn’t have the power of my laptop- it’s the newest computer that I own.

Ada, my digital sidekick, needed a better home than my old desktop, because running AI locally takes a fast processor and a good amount of video RAM. That’s most of the reason I don’t use my laptop for every day carry- I’m frightened that it will get stolen. My iPad Pro is a first generation, and cheap enough that if I get mugged, I can buy another used one off Amazon. I would not be so lucky with my laptop.

Eventually I’m going to have to wipe it and take it back, because I need to exchange my laptop for the same one. Something has gone wrong with my headphone jack, and I prefer wired to Bluetooth when I have the option. It’s the main reason I chose not to upgrade my iPad. It’s the last model that still allows wired headphones.

Sometimes I also carry energy drinks or coffee in my bag, but that is more rare. It’s not every day that I need so much caffeine now that I’m a spoonie. My schedule is my own and I sleep when I need it. That lessens my need for caffeine to an enormous degree. I tend to go to bed and wake up very early, choosing to write in the morning light when it’s nice outside. Because I’ve always got my iPad and keyboard, all I need is a bench on the grounds of my apartment complex.

Today, though, it’s a bit chilly so I’m still in bed. That’s the thing about being a writer… still in bed is relative. So far this morning I have both started this blog entry and talked to Josh, who is currently on his way to the Musee Escoffier. I sent him there, so I hope he has a good time. He promised to bring back lots of pictures and offered to get me something at the gift shop, but I told him that the pictures were worth more than anything.

Little Entries, Big Feelings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It would change the world.

The Spy in the Room, Part II

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Describe your life in an alternate universe.
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To redirect, she got serious and said, “so, are you looking for a job for real?”

I looked back and said, “what do you have in mind?” She smiled conspiratorially. “Maybe we should hire you.”

I’ve worked in Academic Technology most of my career, but this is the first time I’ve been tech support to spies. You would think that they are more technologically savvy than the rest of the world, but this one guy on the seventh floor still needs me to print his e-mails. PRINT. HIS. E-MAILS…. but that’s nothing compared to the call I got this morning.

“They just made an announcement that the network is down, and my monitor is blinking on and off. Are those two things related?”

I just stared at the phone and said, “ma’am… I hope not.”

Then one of the other seventh floor bigwigs called and said that he needed Firefox installed on his machine. No problem. I tell him to stop by my office when he’s got a chance. He pops downstairs and says, “do I need to turn my computer on?”

Welcome to my life.

Yesterday, I spent 45 minutes on the phone with an officer who couldn’t figure out why his computer wouldn’t power up. It would have been a two-second diagnosis if he’d turned on his camera. Turns out, he’d plugged the power strip into itself instead of into the wall…. and he insisted every time I asked that he’d checked all his physical connections first so that couldn’t possibly be it.

This afternoon I have to help Jones with a PowerPoint and Smith with a Word document. Neither Jones nor Smith know a mouse from a carburetor, but they’re endearing. They are the people you live to help, because even though it takes an incredible amount of patience, you actually enjoy your time with them. The PowerPoint is about… wait. I can’t say that part. Ditto with the Word document.

That’s the hardest part of my job, having to edit myself when I’ve always been so open. I don’t even blog anymore, but it’s worth it for that sweet government pension when I retire…. if it’s still there when I’m old enough.

I had to scold a case officer earlier because she thought it would be funny to give all her instructions to me in Russian.

Hilarious.

I’m going to Krazy Glue her phone before this is all over.

Of the five languages I’ve managed to pick up, Russian is not one of them.

She knows this.

I don’t need to speak five languages to work in IT. It’s just that CIA has the best language courses in the world and I can do them in my free time, so why not learn? I love to learn, whether it’s Mandarin or French or Swahili or………

It makes up for the sheer boredom in fixing print queues, rescuing data from a dropped hard drive, and telling someone for the third time how to use a VPN while they’re driving down the freeway. I suggested that they might retain the information better if they were sitting at their computer, but they insisted.

They will, in fact, call back.

I can guarantee it.

Food, etc. The Et Cetera is More Important

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on a meal? Was it worth it?
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I seriously cannot remember the last time I went all out on a meal, but what I can tell you as a professional cook is that the amount of money that you spend is never the important part- it’s who you allow at your table. You will remember the conversation much more than you’ll ever attribute the success of an outing to the food or the wine.

I prefer to dine with one or two people at a time, because my auditory processing lag doesn’t really allow me to enjoy multiple people talking at once. Three is about the maximum number of people you can have at a table before two conversations emerge at once. I am not stingy- the more the merrier. All I am saying is that my personal preference is small and intimate. Everything is not always up to me.

I can think of two such outings.

The first was after my colonoscopy, I wasn’t feeling as out of it as the doctors promised. I was able to go out to dinner with my sister. We stuffed ourselves on appetizers and seafood at The Chart House, talking about anything and everything. What is always interesting about talking to my sister is that she’s so much younger than me that we remember the same events from wildly different perspectives. Neither is wrong or right, it’s just that a six-year-old’s memories are going to be different than an almost 12-year-old’s, for instance.

The second was my first outing with Josh. We went to the National Aquarium, where I had chicken tenders and he had a hamburger. It wasn’t fancy food that drew me, but a fascinating conversation that went from the national news to how we processed emotions… the kind of conversation that twists your brain and leaves you hungering for more. Josh used to be a journalist, and now he’s a therapist. Therefore, he asks you interesting questions as well as providing a lot of color commentary on the whole world. I have a feeling we will still be talking well into our eighties at this rate, because neither of us have a pull stop when it comes to caring about world events.

The Chart House is much more fancy than the cafe at the National Aquarium. Just because the food was “better” doesn’t mean that I had more fun. It was the quality of the conversation that made each experience unique.

The funniest outing will be introducing Josh to my sister, because they are both ADHD and I might not get a word in edgewise. 😉

There Are No Uninteresting Stories

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.
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After I got this prompt, I decided to install Copilot Desktop on my linux box. To do that, the easiest way is to go to the terminal and type “sudo snap install copilot-desktop.” When I open my terminal, I have a little program that displays “fortunes” at the top, little pithy sayings or quotes from books that often jog my writing habits. Today’s was “just because a letter may never be read doesn’t mean there’s no value in writing it.” That sent me down the rabbit hole of using Copilot to find letters that had been written, but never received. Though this is more history than current news, it is a story that is worth revisiting for its outpouring of love. I feel that it is also a stunning display of patriotism, and a reminder that the cost of war is too great to bear:

July 14, 1861

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and great success—we may be called to a protracted and bloody conflict—but whatever it may be, I feel that you and the boys will be the constant objects of my thoughts and prayers.

And now, my dear wife, I must bid you perhaps a long adieu. The duty of a soldier and the call of my country forbid me to yield to my own longings and to be with you for a time at least. But know that I go to this strife with the utmost faith in the cause for which we contend, and with the strongest conviction that God will direct and bless us.

My dear Sarah, though we may be separated for a time, I know that you will ever be with me in spirit. You will never know how much I loved you, and how well I loved you, until after a long time.

If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you, nor forget the love of our dear boys. In the quiet summer-time, when the bee sips honey from the flower, think of me in the field of strife, and in the stillness of the evening, when the sun sinks behind the western hills, think of me, and pray for me.

But if I do return, my dear wife, I shall be with you in all the joys and sorrows that may befall us. I shall be with you in all the trials and conflicts that may beset us. I shall be with you to protect and defend you, to comfort and console you.

My dear Sarah, I am going to risk my life for my country. I am going to risk all that is dear to me in this world, and I know that I shall not return. But I know that I shall die for my country, and that is all that I can say.

Goodbye, my dear wife. Goodbye, my dear boys. May God bless and protect you all.

Your husband,
Sullivan

The way this letter involves my own life is that I view all my blog entries as letters sent but never received unless a specific person writes to me and says that they’ve read it. Not all entries are to the same person, but they all contain elements that I wish certain people would read. However, it is not up to me whether the message gets to its intended recipient, it is enough that people all over the world share in my joy and pain. Neither emotion is built to be carried alone.

I don’t intentionally write to specific people, it’s that I’m a product of my own experiences. My blog entries cannot NOT be influenced by my real life and what I’m thinking about that day. For instance, every time my ex-boyfriend was deployed I sat in my room and waited for him to come back, paralyzed with fear that something was going to happen to him while he was away. It’s not that he was doing anything dangerous. It’s that if he was, he couldn’t tell me. Though I never wrote about any of his deployments, you could tell by my mood whether he was in town or not.

You can tell a lot of things by the mood of a writer, even if they aren’t as up front as the letter above. I just happen to be a writer who does lay their heart in their hands. I have never grieved any partner more than I’ve grieved my friend Aada, and that’s because our demise was my fault, in her mind. I do not believe that in retrospect, because the relationship took two to come apart completely. Her lie made me look like a jackass, not that I needed any help. Her lie exposed me to emotions that never should have been present. She puffed herself up at my expense, and the cost was steep.

It is no wonder that I got as angry as I did, even if she doesn’t see it and won’t. It’s why I think we’ll never reconcile. She will continue to believe that I manipulated her when the relationship unraveled with her lie. That’s not something I can fix in someone else’s mind. All I can do is be genuinely sorry for my part in all this, and as time goes by be more open to accepting her just as she is, liar and all. Who hasn’t told a white lie that snowballed into a mountain over time? I can certainly understand it. I just couldn’t control my reactions in the moment and that’s my burden to carry. I am talking it through in therapy to understand why I didn’t laugh. Why it caused red mist rage.

Because my heart is as open to her as this letter, and has been for 12 years. I have often laid my heart in her hands just as much as this man loved his wife. I needed her emotional support, not her romantic love, but it didn’t make me less vulnerable. In fact, I think it made me more, because she’s the person I used to tell about my romantic misadventures. I miss that most of all.

I have to remember that I chose this. I chose to let her go, because she made her intentions very clear. If I talked to anyone, if I published anything, our relationship was over. She set a fine trap for me, and I fell in. That’s because I had to choose between being true to her and being true to myself, and I don’t think that should have happened, either. We were both supposed to show up as our full selves, and my occupation has always been “blogger.”

I hope that she’ll go back to some of our entries that have been meaningful to her and realize there’s something worth salvaging here. It would take a mountain of work, but there’s no one I’d rather work with to accomplish a goal. She’s so worth it, because 12 years of history is not easily done. She’s been my best friend through very thick and very thin, when I was a mess and when I was strong. I pray for her every night, because my anger shouldn’t be at the forefront anymore. It is an old, old prayer, started in 2013…. “God of the universe, protect my precious Aada.”

She doesn’t believe in God, but she believes that when I pray it must do something. She calls me her “pinch hitter.”

When I’m going through it, she says she will offer up her own black magic prayers. I hope she’s still doing it, because having someone out there praying for me is just as important as us being in constant contact.

But I won’t contact her directly. I will just send a message that may never be read.

Happiness

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
List 30 things that make you happy.
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  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. Happiness is a cheap taqueria that delivers. You can quote me on that, because they’re words to live by.
  4. The sound of a child’s laugh.
  5. The sound when you open any kind of soda- the effervescence is joy.
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. Eating at a restaurant. I love feeling like someone is taking care of me.
  9. Cookies with creme in the middle, my favorite being lemon Golden Oreos.
  10. 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.
  11. 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.
  12. 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.
  13. 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.
  14. 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.
  15. 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.
  16. 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.
  17. 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.
  18. 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.
  19. 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.
  20. 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.
  21. 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.
  22. 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.
  23. 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.
  24. 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.
  25. 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.
  26. 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.
  27. 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.
  28. 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.
  29. 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.
  30. 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.

Me Encanta Aprender -or- Rakastan Oppimista

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Describe one habit that brings you joy.
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My habit is to wake up in the morning and get on Duolingo immediately. I’m on a 99-day streak and doing well… although I’m really hard on myself when I miss a question. I hate when I see red in either Spanish or Finnish. But my love of learning them comes from two very different places.

I am originally from Texas, where I was surrounded by so many Latinx friends I struggled to understand. I chose Spanish as my second language in 10th grade to try and bridge the gap. The summer that school year ended, my father was transferred to a church in Sugar Land, Texas, which offered mission trips to Reynosa. It was then that I got my first taste of immersion, because even though I wasn’t an expert, I knew more Spanish than just about everyone else.

There was one other person who was relatively fluent, but he and I did not spend much time together. Therefore, I was the one that acted as translator for most of the other adults. It’s how I was chosen to preach the Sunday sermon for Vacation Bible School, though I didn’t know how to say much. That changed the more I visited, because I went to Reynosa during every break I was taking Spanish in class. The last trip was the most fun because my favorite phrase didn’t have to be “speak slower, please….” although I am now back to it because I’d forgotten just how fast Spanish speakers talk.

Luckily, Duolingo has a button to slow down playback or I would not have made it this far. I am also somewhat impressed with the AI, because I do not believe it should be used to create the lessons themselves, but it is helpful that by speaking into my microphone someone is listening to my pronunciation and will not pass me to the next level until it is correct.

Because being in Mexico was so much more beneficial than learning in class (and I assume, Duolingo), I hope to make it back sometime soon. Reynosa has changed drastically since the last time I was there, and though no one would remember me it feels somewhat like “going home for the weekend.” Ensenada would feel the same way, because I got to spend a week there in my younger years and still think about living there when I need to escape reality.

My journey with Finnish is a bit more roundabout.

I was emotionally abused as a kid by someone with a birthday complex. The house couldn’t be decorated for Christmas until her birthday was over, she claimed the entire month of December as her birthday, etc. So, when I realized that this friend couldn’t be in my life any longer, I wondered what I would do to celebrate that day instead- to make it feel like there was less of a hole in my heart. I got on the Google machine and looked up what other holidays were on that date, and Finnish Independence Day was available. I go nuts for it as a result, which is ridiculous because I didn’t have any Finnish family or friends at the time.

I still don’t, but that’s another story for another day.

Duolingo’s language capability is not as good in Finnish as it is in Spanish, but I stick with it even though there’s no AI for pronunciation. I find that being able to read in Finnish is impressive enough. I’m further ahead in my Spanish studies than Finnish, but I flip between the two often. They’re so different that you cannot mix them up. And in fact, the Finnish language is so hard to learn that even fluent speakers will commiserate with you.

One of the most exciting days I’ve had in recent memory was when I was having coffee with my friend Tiina. She put her mother on the phone for me and we spoke in Finnish for a few minutes. I’m sure I didn’t say anything earth shattering or clever, but it meant a lot to me to be understood in that language.

I don’t feel that type of excitement when speaking Spanish because it’s been a part of my life since I was a child, as native to me as English because Houston is full of Spanish-speakers. I have gotten to practice my Spanish hundreds of times with many different people.

I have spoken Finnish once.

I am sure that there are a lot of Finnish people that would say “once is enough” after they hear me.

But the title in both languages is “I Love to Learn.” That will never go away, so perhaps sticking with both is the answer. I am much more likely to run into a Spanish speaker in the US, but who knows where my travels will take me? I know I want to go to Helsinki because my heart bleeds “sinivalkoinen,” the blue of Finnish skies and the white of their snow.

I think that I would be just as at home there as I felt in Mexico because of this one joke:

How can you pick out the most extroverted Finn?
It’s the one who will look at your shoes when you talk to them.

So maybe I don’t have any Finnish blood, but I certainly have a Finnish personality at times. It’s a place to escape when the fiesta gets too loud.