Tag: life

A Sedan?!

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Yes, I know I said over and over that I wanted an SUV. And that may be the case down the road. But when you’re buying cars for cash you take the best deal you can get.

As someone without 3D vision, the technology on the car was very important to me. The car will let me know when I’m too close to something and is already equipped with a backup camera. I want to make sure that my comfort doesn’t come at the cost of anyone else’s.

And my comfort is great- the car’s ride is so smooth it feels like floating down the road. I don’t think there’s anything that little engine couldn’t handle, and it’s big enough to fit a dog. I checked. 🙂

I missed Aaron in Maryland, but he came and picked me up at my sister’s house in Houston so that we could buy a car together. I saw a few that I liked, but none more than the 2019 Ford Fusion.

In short, I did not get on the plane. I am going on this road trip to find myself, and to give “Stories” a different flavor than it’s had for the past 12 years, which has been mostly sitting in my room and doing nothing. And in fact today I’m thinking about how to infuse this entry with Hill Country Sunshine.

The dealership told me that I could pay for the car with a personal check, but I could not drive it until the check cleared and the money was in their hands. Fair enough. That gave me time to buy a decent insurance policy so that if someone hits me coming out of the lot, I’m not losing the car already.

I am sitting on my hands waiting to go pick it up, because the test drive was just long enough to realize it was a good deal.

It wasn’t long enough to satisfy my craving to drive. It’s been a long time, and simple things like running to the grocery store mean a lot. I’m grateful for my car because I went so long without one.

But truthfully, technology had to come a long way before I could afford something that would protect me. The Fusion will have less blind spots because of the sensors and cameras. These are the kinds of things that have existed for a long time, but were not nearly cheap enough for me to afford until now.

In effect, the fusion is between the car and me, because it shares the responsibility of driving with me more than I’d get with an older vehicle. I’m excited to find out how much driving has changed since I had my last car.

Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death, and this year, her gift to me is significant. I could not have bought the car without her working so hard and leaving money behind. She is making my life easier one day at a time with this gift, and I hope to use it to make her proud of me.

I want to tell stories about the road and how it rises to meet me. I need to remember that phones have cameras now…. a photo gallery for you wouldn’t kill me…. 😉 What kind of content I create now that I’ve got a different mojo will reveal itself over time.

First, though, it’s the little things. I’d like a 🦀 bumper sticker that looks like a Maryland flag. It will be the last thing I buy for my car at the end of the trip.

Right now, I know I need a USB-A to Lightning cable so that I can connect to Apple CarPlay.

We are starting and ending with simple things.

It’s the Running Aarons Tour 2025.

Shifting

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?
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I asked my dad if it was okay to stay for a few extra days so I could look for a car. He said yes, then realized he needed some alone time and I went to stay with my sister. Neither my sister nor my brother-in-law have mentioned that I could stay past Tuesday, and all three people have told me at different times that buying a used car isn’t that hard and I don’t need a mechanic with me buying pre-owned because they’re certified. I am starting to feel like a burden on my family more than a help, so unless things change dramatically between now and tomorrow, I guess I’ll just go home. I don’t want to. It’s not time on my clock.

My dad said something about how long I’d been here and my time blindness snapped to attention. It feels like yesterday that I was in Baltimore about to catch a flight to Houston and Angela was still alive. Everything has moved for me in a very fast blur. The days have all run together. I do get my dad’s point about needing space, my sister’s point about pre-owned, and neither one of them are listening to what I want, which is more time with both of them.

My dad and Lindsay have been extraordinarily busy the entire time I’ve been here. No one stopped working while Angela was dying, so Lindsay was driving back and forth from University of Houston to Sugar Land frequently. None of us have had time to decompress or even really to enjoy each other because it was all rushing around to get things done.

This was supposed to be my birthday trip, but no one has wished me a happy birthday except Hurricane Big Dave-O, because I remembered that his was September 15th (HBD was my neighbor at my dad’s house for the longest, so it was good to see him at the funeral). I have officially declared that today is my birthday do-over. My friend Jane Ann is taking me to lunch, and then my sister is taking me to see Brené Brown.

Seeing Brené Brown was the original reason I was going to come to Houston. I had to move my flight when Angela was hospitalized because she lost the ability to swallow and that was an omen not to be ignored.

I just want to crawl under my blankets.

It’s probably the number one priority for tomorrow, too.

Sweat

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
In what ways does hard work make you feel fulfilled?
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There’s a feeling to hard work, a zone. When I am in the zone, my typing speeds up to 90 words per minute and I do indeed start to break a sweat- or cry if the material is touching to me. Most of the time, I cry about an entry after it is published and I have let it go- I’m not in the process of changing it. It’s a different kind of mental acuity than watching burgers on the grill, but it is no less intense.

Writing about this week will take years, because there are so many little moments that jump out at me. Yesterday was Angela’s funeral, and it was just beautiful. My dad was a Methodist minister for a number of years, and he did the service. The main idea, the foundation of the service, was twofold:

  1. Nothing is ever going to be the same.
  2. Everything is going to be okay.

He highlighted the fact that we live in that liminal space all the time.

It was harder watching him work than it was thinking of entries to write here because I know him so well. That his reflexes kicking in to do Angela’s service was carrying him through his grief. As I told my aunt Shawn, “we’ll find a new normal. Just not today.”

Because it’s so true that there’s a difference between how you function in the immediate aftermath of a death and how you function six months later. It also feels heavier because she’s the sun around which we rotated, the name on the back of the door. We’re going to have to learn who we are as a family unit without her, and those words are excruciating to say because she didn’t like the idea any better than us.

During the funeral, my dad talked about how Angela was so proud that we’d all ended up with our soulmates. I knew that line was for my brothers in law, but lamented that Angela would never meet anyone I wanted to bring home. She’ll just have to tell me whether she approves in her own way. But the line about soulmates made me miss Dana and Aada, because they’re the closest things I’ve had to soulmates in this life. I ruined my relationship with both of them.

  1. Nothing will ever be the same.
  2. Everything will be okay.

I have reached out to both of them saying that I would like to rebuild trust. That I recognize I have done wrong and would like to make amends. Neither one of them have gotten back to me. Therefore, the only thing I can do is create a new normal without them as well.

The new normal is easier to take in Houston, where I have my sisters and old, long-time friends around me. In fact, today I’m going to lunch with my old boss from ExxonMobil 25 years ago, and Monday I’m getting together with someone I’ve known since I was seven. That doesn’t happen in Baltimore. So even if I don’t move to Texas, I’m going to take the advice of a friend and spend some more time here.

And maybe that’s really the answer- I think my dad likes coming to Baltimore and spending time with me there. Same with DC. And DC is really “my place.” I thought I needed to get out of Washington and create new memories, but as it turns out I prefer DC to Baltimore and don’t know whether that’s due to the city itself or to whether I really, really don’t like my apartment complex. I’m leaning towards the latter, because when I’ve gone out in the city and experienced good restaurants I’ve always had an excellent time. There’s nothing wrong with Baltimore, but after I move I will be spilling the dirt on this apartment complex and all I’ve been through.

I have also been burgled once, and that’s not the apartment complex’s fault, but it doesn’t endear me to it, either.

Sitting here and telling my stories does not seem like hard work until you realize that in order to create the memory on paper, I have to be willing to “dive back into the wreck.” Things get less and less painful the more I write about them, but I shake and cry when I need to do so. The entry about my apartment complex will be easy because it is full of facts. Most of my entries are about feelings.

Exploring feelings is where the sweat starts to pour.

Nothing I’ve written about over the last 12 years has been safe or comfortable. It’s all been unusual because I’m unusual. I don’t know how to do life like a neurotypical and I’m tired of trying. I see myself struggle in these pages and I don’t want to struggle anymore.

I had to sweat it out.

I had to see that my disability was real.

I had to see that Aada was fake…. that we had all the components to make a real relationship, we just never used them and turned on each other instead…. because the first time Aada lied to me? Ok. That was small. But the pathological nature of the way it grew turned my stomach. She was seeing consequences play out in real time and only cared for herself. My response was still over the top and I still regret.

  1. Nothing will ever be the same.
  2. Everything will be okay.

These two sentences have now become my mantra, because of their universal nature. I also know that just because I am unhappy in one area of my life, that does not mean I am unhappy in all of them. So I am lost without Aada, Angela, and even Dana, but I can find happiness somewhere else.

For instance, Aaron is taking me car shopping on Tuesday when my original plan was to fly back to Baltimore that day. I am thrilled because I’m such a gearhead. I want to future proof and look at SUVs, because I’ve been thinking about getting a pit bull as a service dog for over a year now. His name is Tony. I don’t even have him yet, but he already has a name- Tony Kellari Lanagan.

He’s named after Tony Mendez and Tony Bourdain, the spy and the chef that have taken over my imagination.

I know that owning a dog, particularly a large dog, is a lot of hard work. I feel like I’m finally ready to take on that kind of responsibility, raising a dog from a puppy. I have the time and space to make sure that he is very, very well behaved… and a best friend that will remind me that it’s not the dog that needs training, it’s me.

Bailey and Bridget, my dad’s dogs, do not seem to be complaining about their quality of care so far. The one note I got is that Bridget was not ready to get out of bed and eat this morning. Such a princess.

If I stay in Baltimore, though, it has been suggested to me that I would be better off with several cats. In Baltimore, we like dogs just fine, but cats are business associates. Everyone’s got mice.

I like cats, too, but the pit bull is going to be a service dog. So if I’m going to get any pets, it’s going to be aquarium fish until I have my dog in hand. The pack has to be built around him, including cats.

I want to work smarter, not harder- and I want that for my dog, too. Anything to make either one of our lives easier is high on the priority list.

I am sure that the writing prompt isn’t meant to jump around quite this much, but I like taking walks where WordPress might not think to go………………….

My dad has already left for orchestra (church), and I’m writing until the spirit moves me to get in the shower. What that spirit is, I do not know. I just know that I don’t have to be ready for hours, and it’s more fun typing in my pajamas.

I think that my writing is starting to take on more of a playful nature because I’m trying to be open. I’m trying to connect. I’m trying to be a different Leslie than I’ve been for the last 12 years, because I shut myself off from everyone else. It’s painful to admit how introverted I got, because agoraphobia only made it worse. Agoraphobia came with accepting my disability and feeling like people were looking at me all the time.

They do look at me, because I walk funny. It’s called an “ataxic gait,” or the “cerebral palsy shuffle.”

I just need to stop being so sensitive to it and get on with my life. Getting on with my life is the real hard work of being disabled, because there are so many stumbling blocks in the way…. and that’s not counting the ones external to your own body.

Taking in my environment is hard work, because I’m always at risk of falling physically due to cerebral palsy and mentally due to bipolar disorder. I feel that the only way to understanding the world is understanding my role in it, so I try to be as self-aware as I can be.

From where I sit, my dad’s words are just getting louder…….

“Nothing will ever be the same, and everything will be okay.”

But I’ll sweat first.

If Money Didn’t Matter

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment
Daily writing prompt
List three jobs you’d consider pursuing if money didn’t matter.
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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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.

Angela’s Office

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The light from the reading lamps sweeps perfectly up the wall behind my computer, bathing me in a soft glow. I’m winding down for the night, caught between the ideas of writing to you and going down for a soak in the hot tub. Because I’m a gardener and not an architect, I don’t know how long this entry will be yet- perhaps there will be time for both. Or perhaps I will make time. Grief is heavy and my body feels like it is using muscles it hasn’t in a very long time. I could use jets of hot water streaming at my back and you know what? I’m going to go get in the hot tub now. See you on the flip side.

My muscles feel relaxed, and I just took some sleeping pills to ensure that I rest well. I’m just so sad, surrounded by all of Angela’s things that bring her back in my mind. There’s the photo of the emu I’ve always called “The Disapproving Grandmother.” She was a bird photographer. There are raptors and eagles around me…. but no orioles. Angela never made it to DC or Baltimore when I was there.

There’s also a tiny urn that’s usually here that says “Ashes of Problem Patients,” but my dad relocated it to the living room.

If I’m going to have so much of my stepmom around me, it’s really her office that matters the most because I worked for her for a number of years. I will see patients I haven’t seen since the 1990s, and definitely my coworkers from the time period. Believe me when I tell you that it is like the sun dropped out of its orbit. Everyone in my family has done something to support the practice and most of us worked there as a first job.

So this desk feels familiar. This tape dispenser. This reading lamp.

Familiar.

Familial.

I have joked for many years that I went to medical school in the back of a Lexus.

It’s not really a joke.

My favorite thing about my stepmother as a doctor is that she could laugh at herself. If you meet me on the ground, make sure you ask me to tell you the stories about “foreign body sensation” and “chapstick.”

Both of these stories make me laugh until I cry, but they lose something when you try to write them down.

Angela wrote all these stories down in her Palm Pilot, then her phone, calling it her “comedy routine.” I’m sure that I could remember a lot of it, but I hope my dad has access to her phone so that document isn’t lost.

“I know dis shit like the back of my head.”

But I probably don’t know it as well as I think I do. The brain takes memories and squishes them together, melting days and stretching minutes. I really hope that document is intact.

Angela, to me….

“You think it’s embarrassing telling people you’re gay…. wait til you have to tell them you went to University of Houston.”

Fragments are coming now, little pieces of conversation over the years.

She was the first person to really teach me how to cook, because my mother was more dedicated to convenience. Dana, as a chef, furthered my technique and got it up to snuff. Angela taught me that there was a world outside the microwave long before that.

The sleeping pills are starting to kick in. Welcome to the party………………..

I’ve started car shopping and I’ve found several that I like. What I’m mostly feeling is relief that I don’t have to go home on Tuesday. I have reached a different point in my life and would like to reconnect with everyone, even if it’s just for a few extra days. I need to be in this office, soaking up all the inspiration that’s here.

Then, I will pack up my car and drive home.

What kind of car remains to be seen, because I need to buy one. That’s been my project for today, sitting in Angela’s office and surfing Facebook Marketplace just to see what’s out there. I don’t really have a “dream car,” but I do know that I want an older car so that I can afford it to be loaded out. I can’t wait to use the seat warmers when it’s 20 degrees outside. I’m fairly certain I want a wagon or an SUV, but if the engine on the sedan is the better value, that’s fine, too. I’m also not opposed to a pickup truck. I just bought cowboy boots a few weeks ago, so I’ve already got the accessories.

In this office, it’s quiet enough that Aada visits me. There’s a feeling I get “when she’s here,” that closeness seeming to reach out to her even though the other end of the string is not responding and probably won’t change her mind on that one. I call it “smoking with the ghost in the back of my head” after the Lisa Loeb lyrics. Mostly, I’m just wondering what it is she’d like to know. Thinking about that question at least gives me a seed that grows into a makeshift framework.

I’m trying to go back to the place of being happy without her, because I was once and I cannot find it again. That’s because I hurt her when I was angry she lied about something. I can’t find the happy part knowing I caused pain to someone else.

Sitting in this office allows me to sit in peace and quiet, reorganizing my priorities.

I said that I thought and felt that Aada isolated me from my friends and family, so now I’m trying to create a better relationship with my dad and sisters. I wasn’t doing that before because I wasn’t always aware of it. I was so shut down and standoffish by the time I left for DC, and that’s just not me. I have a lot of reparative work to do, and I am doing it.

I don’t know yet whether that includes moving into this office full time.

Grief Should Be Sponsored

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What brands do you associate with?
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I am emotionally eating my way across Texas, and feelings are delicious.

So far, grief has been brought to me by Cool Ranch Doritos the most frequently, followed by an assortment of coffee cake.

Last night, we all gathered and sent pictures for the slide show that plays as people are milling about the room waiting for the service to begin. There turned out to be a fair number in which we all looked equally terrible and were thus chosen. We also went down memory lane and this is the kind of interaction that’s been missing from my life. No phones, just talking and remembering.

It’s also the first significant chunk of time I’ve spent with other people in ages. I’m getting used to being part of a family system again. I’m sure I’ll go back to Baltimore and everything will be too quiet, because the rhythms of my family are not quiet…. although some of us are more into Bluey than others (I’m with the children… it’s great).

This morning I was supposed to go with my dad to Exchange Club, and I overslept. I feel terrible because I know my dad wanted to introduce me to a lot of people. Me oversleeping is the weirdest part of all of this because I’ve been waking up at 0530 since I got here. I think staying up later is finally getting to me, because we didn’t shut down the “party” until after 10:30 last night. I’m used to going to bed long before that.

I used to think it was because I was an old person, and now I think it’s that my circadian rhythm naturally follows the sun. I like going to bed and waking up early. Last night was aberrant because I cannot remember the last time I stayed up that late with other people and didn’t find myself leaking energy at an alarming rate. However, I did sleep very hard.

As a result, I’m feeling quite rested and capable of taking on more today. Yesterday, it felt like I was just running ragged. Angela not being there to hold court and direct us was a palpable feeling, tangible in its depth and breadth. The difference in the energy of the house is staggering, because she was a force of nature.

I see so much of her in my stepsisters, Kelly and Caitlin. It’s comforting that all of her quirks live on in the smallest of ways. I still see Angela’s facial expressions in them, and it always makes me laugh in a knowing way.

I am supposed to go back to Baltimore on Tuesday, but I’m having trouble accepting it. I need more time with my family, but I also need to wrap things up in the Mid-Atlantic one way or the other. My lease ends November 30th, and I will have enough money to move wherever I feel comfortable. I do not know whether that is staying in Baltimore or not. At the very least, DC is still in the running because my sister will always have a federal component to her job and thus, business trips that include spoiling me.

My dad is not sure he wants to change his life by having me live with him, and I’m not sure I want to change my life that way, either. The easiest option is not always the best, but it may prove to be over time. I do not want to live alone anymore, nor do I really want to interview housemates and live with strangers. I also don’t have any income, so getting housing takes some doing. Having money is not enough, and I do not make a living from my combination of web sites, but my stats and earnings are looking better.

Thank you, Fanagans.

The sensible choice for me is to buy a station wagon or an SUV so that when my lease ends, I can pack up the stuff I want to move into my own car and drive it to where it’s supposed to be. There is no way that even a car payment and insurance would add up to what I pay in Uber/Uber Eats/Amazon/etc. a year. I will not have a car payment, though. I will buy a car in cash so that the only bills I have are maintenance and insurance.

I also want to get a service dog, and a service dog big enough to counter balance my weight deserves a huge cargo area in the back. I do not know if my dad wants to live with a dog that big, either. So, we’ll see. My dog is not really negotiable because I need someone there to keep an eye on me. It’s easier in this house because I’m used to it completely. I need help in unfamiliar environments.

My dad suggested taking a road trip with one of my friends to get my car back to Baltimore. I like this idea a lot. Aaron is going to help me pick it out (I stopped writing and talked to both of them, so this is a real thing now). Aaron is a programmer and “shade tree mechanic” who will make sure my engine is solid. It would make me feel better if he came with me if we get an older vehicle, but I’m really not even scared of that if Aaron says that I’m golden.

Ok, Aaron is in for the road trip (I’m chatting with him while I’m writing, so this story is developing… film at 11:00).

It’s nice to have something to be excited about in this garbage dump of a situation.

“We can’t stop here. We’re in bat country.”

Maybe I can talk Aaron into some vlogging as we drive. Our conversations would be hilarious…. I think. Sometimes we just enjoy the silence together. It depends on what kind of mood we’re in.

I suppose that part of my task list for the afternoon is looking on Facebook Marketplace to at least get an idea of what’s out there. I prefer a stick shift, but that may not be possible depending on what kind of cars are available. Stick shifts are not very popular these days.

I’m calling it the “Running Aarons Tour 2025.”

We’ll get to eat at some good restaurants and really take our time if we need it.

The secret to having a great blog is actually living. I haven’t been doing a lot of it. Now, I have a lot more financial freedom to be able to buy experiences. They say that money cannot buy you happiness, but it can buy entrance tickets to things and that’s kind of the same thing. I would much rather have the time of my life than buy something material. It makes my blog lighter than sitting in my room all the time…. but that’s what my mental health has been telling me to do for the longest. Everyone tells me to get out more. Now I can really do it.

“Now I can really do it” must be in quotes because I don’t know that my introversion will actually allow me to make many changes to my lifestyle. I like being, as I once joked with Aada, “the Harper Lee of Your House.” In some ways, I will always be this separate.

I was telling Angela’s night nurse that it’s almost like I don’t belong to one person, I belong to everyone. He said, “that’s poetry.” I never thought of it that way, so Cordero, thank you for the compliment (see, I told you that you’d make it in).

But the pendulum has swung too far in the introverted direction. I can come out of my shell a little more and still keep my life as a writer in balance. I’m not the shut-in that I’ve been, nor do I want to continue that life. I want all of my readers to see more of me, and the only way to do that is to do things I’ve never done before.

Part of it will be travel. I know that I could put together media on the road that would make me happy, and that’s the only goal I can really accomplish. Then I can see if my humor resonates with other people. The last decade has not overall been a happy one, so my entries have not reflected that I’m sometimes funny.

Sometimes.

I’ve been angry and sad and grieving and all of those things, so I’m looking forward to the sun coming out a little bit.

But not today.

Today, grief is being brought to me by Cool Ranch Doritos.

Feelings are delicious.

Watching and Waiting

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What could you do more of?
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In the aftermath of a severe shock is not the time to do anything rash, so my task is to watch and wait over the next few months to see what our new normal looks like as a family. Angela’s presence is already missed, but we are keeping her alive through repeating her favorite phrases and asking ourselves what she would do. None of us learned to load the dishwasher in the first year of medical school.

If my dad noticed that Angela had a particular skill that impressed him, he’d always ask which year of medical school they taught her that. You learn a surprising amount there, the least of which is being able to load an entire cabinet of dishes into the top rack and attempt to add the front end of your car.

Such a large part of our institutional memory is gone, and we’re all grieving differently. I hope that I seem relatable to my stepsisters because I’m not showing outward signs of grief. Because my mother died nine years ago, all other deaths seem to come in stride. It’s not that I’m not sad, not emoting. It’s just an internal thunderstorm……

that usually ends up here…..

I have taken over my stepmother’s old office, and it’s comforting to walk into the room and say, “Alexa, turn on Angela’s office.” All the lamps come on at once and it is instantly homey. I also have a nameplate that says “Angela McCain, MD – Board Certified, Rheumatology. I’ll need to get a new nameplate if I move in with my own name, but surprisingly I have been mistaken for the doctor before. In the 1990s, I worked for her and we both had short red hair. A woman thought she was me and dropped her pants when I walked into the room.

I did not have “patient drops pants” on my Bingo card.

She had shingles, btw.

It was my first diagnosis, seconded with “good pickup.”

“Good pickup” was like a hug from Jesus. It meant we were on the right track and is your basic doctor’s “attaboy.”

It’s so weird that there’s still a rheumatology practice out there in the world without her… that the entire specialty didn’t just stop turning. I’m not being facetious when I say she was one of the top in the world, named to Texas’ Top 100 Doctors every year since 1990. It was unusual to run across a mind as bright as hers, which is why seeing her after the cancer had really taken hold was quite a shock.

Brain cancer is so weird. I’m glad that I arrived in time to see what my dad and sisters had been seeing for months. The one I’ll always remember is that I asked my dad for coffee money, and she said to give me a thousand dollars so I could do whatever I wanted. I did not know whether she just wanted to do something nice for me, or whether she really thought Starbucks’ coffee costs a thousand dollars….. not that it doesn’t.

“Don’t like it too much. These are better than drugs.”

Sometime this week I need to go to the Apple store because the battery on my watch is failing. Then, I can see whether I’d like to be the proud owner of an Apple computer or not. I’ve been mulling over upgrading my iPad for the last year or so, but I also really have an interest in a desktop. So we’ll see. I only spent $3 at Starbucks, so I have $997 left over.

Plus, my dad said that he would get me a birthday gift and it hasn’t been until now that I’ve thought of anything I needed. My iPad is getting so old that it’s not taking the newest versions of apps or the OS. I would lose the headphone jack, but gain a ton of processing power.

My dad would tell me to watch the latest Apple release video. That’s not actually a bad idea.

I’ve got time on my hands until the funeral, because my main job is staying at the house with the dogs while my dad arranges the business of death. My cousin Jason is the funeral director, and I think my dad is going to ask him to sing. He was once on American Idol, and Angela adored his voice.

It’s going to be a beautiful service, and I look forward to seeing old friends I haven’t seen since high school.

However, it is not until Saturday. I will be watching and waiting until then.

Go Home

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
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The best piece of advice I’ve gotten lately was from me. For the last few months, I’ve been telling myself to go home. Pick up all the pieces you dropped when you left for DC in 2015. I even contacted Dana and told her that I was incredibly sorry and would like to be her friend if she wanted that. It’s not something I saw in my future, but I decided that if my body was whispering to me to clean up a mess, that’s a big one.

No word, but that wasn’t the point. I have no control over what other people are going to do, but I knew that I wanted to reach out. I have a feeling that no matter what, I’ll never hear from Dana or Aada again, but it’s okay. I don’t have to cry because it’s over. There’s plenty to smile over when I think of our relationships happening at all. And sometimes, I get stats from their geographic areas so I pretend that they’re still reading because they love me, even if they don’t want to reach out.

Or maybe they just hate me that much….. but I don’t care how they feel about me. It cannot be all bad if they’re still willing to listen to my silly stories.

Which are tremendous.

My stepmom died on Sunday of six brain tumors. I’m thinking about moving in with my dad so that neither one of us has to live alone, but neither one of us are sure whether we want that. It’s a big decision, and honestly doesn’t have as much to do with how we feel about each other as it does with money. I could really screw up by moving to a state without Medicaid expansion. My dad and I are also both really private people, but the house he has is large enough that we’d never see each other unless we really wanted to do so.. I’m glad that we’re both in “thinking about it” mode, because here’s the thing… people are saying that it’s my dad who shouldn’t live alone, but I have more problems than he does at times. It’s more of a case of we need each other.

If I am allowed to come home.

Don’t get me wrong. Maryland is home, and so is Texas. I have a feeling that I would feel the same in Texas that I do every time I move back, which is that I don’t really have a home. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m too Oregon/Maryland for Texas, and too Texas for Oregon/Maryland. Perhaps I would be happier in Canada or Europe, and that will be decided in the coming years.

But right now, my internal body clock is saying “you’ve already gone big. Go home.”

Going big was a hospitalization that garnered me a bipolar disorder diagnosis with psychotic features. I have never been psychotic before, and I have no memory of telling the doctors anything that would land me a diagnosis like that. So, since I’ve been in recovery from all of it, I just feel the same as I always did. But I’m different, and I know I am. I don’t know what I’m capable of doing- am I headed for a disability case or a working media company or both?

I choose both.

If I’m allowed.

My sisters are coming over for dinner tonight, and we’re probably going to get in the hot tub. I’ve found that the hot tub is the best place to discuss any of this stuff. The water is just so calming as it swirls around our problems.

And it’s our hot tub time machine due to all the important conversations that have happened there since the 1990s, when we moved in. I don’t just see my family presently, but all the people I’ve invited over since I was a senior in high school.

Aada is quietly resting in my soul, with me in spirit even though I had to drag her kicking and screaming to Texas. I know she’s mad at me, but I need her. I’m taking all of the words she’s already told me and whispering them to myself, because I know she knows this situation better than most. That I’d have a hard time with this death on multiple levels. When it gets quiet, I feel her arm around me.

Part of going home is rectifying all my mistakes, and betraying Aada was a big one. I cannot make her feel safe with me, but that does not mean that she won’t show up in my mind when I call.

Because if there is a home to be had for me, it is actually in the cloud.

It’s Still “The Eminem Show”

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s your all-time favorite album?
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This is of course tied with Robert Glasper’s “Black Radio” and Jason Moran’s “Ten.” These three albums are what’s carrying me through my life in pain and joy.

And right now, there’s a lot of pain.

I wrote about my favorite album last year, how “The Eminem Show” molded me over a number of years. But today is so quiet that I cannot focus. There are people coming at 11:30 to deliver sandwiches, including my former high school principal. As it turns out, she’s a good friend of my dad’s.

My sister is coming over later, and my stepsisters after her. We’re all trying to make the most of our family time because I’m not in town all that often. That may change- we’ll see. Nothing has been decided about our future.

Nothing.

We’re all in this together, as my dad keeps repeating. And we are.

I wish I could say more and will in the coming months, but I’ve reached a crossroads in my life where I’m wondering what my direction should be. I have a lot of choices in front of me, and normally all those questions would go to Aada, who is I’m sure grateful for the reprieve from the constant barrage of e-mail I’d normally be sending her about now.

But this time, there is no “Jesus Christ, just come pick me up..”

That was our code when I’d enjoyed all I could take.

I miss my darling girl, but I have to remember that I chose to separate from her through thought, word, and deed. Things have been done that cannot be undone. That does not make grief at not being able to talk easier. I wish that she would accept my apologies with all that I am, but I do not think that is possible.

What I do think is possible is that this is supposed to be a learning curve for me. That I cannot act in a vacuum. I can wish for forgiveness all I want, but that does not mean it will be granted.

I know what’s on my heart without being allowed to know what’s on hers.

I’m writing about this grief to avoid writing about others, but I’m really going through it right now. I could use all of your good thoughts because there is no hope of anything but major life transitions in store.

The thing I must concentrate on is walking to the river without blinking.

So far, I have. I’ve been afraid and shy and all those things.

But we’re still getting closer with each step.

I’ll Have What She’s Having… A History

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite types of foods?
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Dana was indignant when I told her that my ex-girlfriend’s mac and cheese was better than hers. Dana and I weren’t together. I know that I would have been sleeping in the backyard had I said that to my wife. But Dana, already being very crushed out on me (without me knowing it) was hurt. Really hurt that she covered up with humor, telling my ex-girlfriend when we saw her at church.

She looked at Dana and said, “I think Leslie likes the package that comes with the mac and cheese.”

This was quoted to me by Dana for the next seven years.

I was just trying to pay my ex-girlfriend a compliment… and Dana, too, actually.

Because thanks to the pair of them, my mac and cheese is my favorite.

And I’m starting to like the package that comes with it.

Every Day

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
How often do you walk or run?
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One of the bonuses of not having a car is having so much exercise built into my day. I walk everywhere I go unless it’s too far, and even then I have to walk to the train station. I do belong to a gym, but that’s a convenience. I get enough exercise as is.

I don’t run at the gym, though. I have cerebral palsy, and it’s hard for me to keep my balance while I’m going that fast. So, I set the program on the treadmill to raise my heart rate with incline instead of speed. Exercising feels more like a hike in the hills than a marathon.

I prefer hiking in nature, like when I used to drive out the Columbia River Gorge. But at the same time, it is still relaxing to hike through the wilds of daytime television. It reminds me of when I used to go to the gym with my mom after school and we’d walk to “The Oprah Winfrey Show.” Now that Oprah has moved on, it is generally just a cacophony of Judge Judy and Maury Povitch.

Sometimes I bring my own entertainment with Bluetooth headphones, watching YouTube videos or listening to podcasts. My favorite is “Murder, Mystery, and Makeup” by Bailey Sarian. My sister said, “you don’t even wear makeup!” I said, “that’s how good Bailey is. The stories draw you in.” Each episode is about an hour, so the perfect length for a treadmill program.

It’s gotten to where the only time I spend watching TV is at the gym, because it’s guilt free. I am still doing something while I’m watching. And in fact, the treadmill is really the only machine on which I feel safe because the others threaten my balance too much. I’m afraid of falling because it’s happened so many times with disastrous results. In no way should I ever try the elliptical again……….

So, the short answer to “how often do you walk or run?” is “A LOT.”

Just don’t ask me if I’m any good at it.

Rarely

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Do you see yourself as a leader?
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I do not see myself as a leader because I put my thoughts out into the ether. People rarely comment on these pages that are connected to me in real life. Therefore, occasionally I will be blown over by the things people will say about my writing because I didn’t even know they were reading. I do know that I lead the pack in vulnerability, because none of my other friends are willing to spill their guts online with the same frequency. Therefore, I know that people look to me when it comes to saying the hard part out loud.

My writing is basically Hemingway:

  1. Write hard and clear about what hurts.
  2. The first draft of everything is shit.

If I’m going to be a true leader, I need to step up my game and start working with an editor regularly. These pages are all first drafts, and carry that stench. But from what I gather from fans, my first drafts aren’t too bad to read, they just need polishing….. or at least, that is my take. I am constantly surprised when people tell me that I am a wonderful writer because if I know anything, Brene Brown would take one look at my blog and say “congrats on so many shitty first drafts.” It’s not because my writing is shitty. It’s that the SFD is the part of the writing process where you’re just getting it out. It’s more akin to verbal vomit than a working piece. She wouldn’t even be judging my writing, just the rawness of it.

In order to step up my game, I need to workshop and perhaps stop being so dedicated to being self-taught. Depending on my financial picture in 2026, I’d like to do some professional writer’s retreats where I learn to write in different styles. I am thinking that taking a class on fiction wouldn’t hurt…. and neither would taking a class on learning to use AI as a writer.

My stance on AI is that I will not use it to generate text for me, but I will talk to it like a colleague to spur creativity in my brainstorming phrases, as well as it taking a significant chunk of research off my back. I do think I have been a leader in advocating for assistive AI, because I came up with an interesting theory, and it is twofold:

  1. The CPU is modeled after the autistic brain because autists created computers. However, we did not see its neurodivergent patois until the CPU could process language.
  2. Loneliness is crippling for neurodivergent people and our relationship track records. I wonder how much of creating these personal digital assistants is designing a friend who can’t leave you.

I think that idea is Meta’s next big commercial…. the friend that’s online when your humans aren’t……

I have a ton of creative ideas, but I’m an unusual role in an organization. I’ve been tested and my office personality is what’s called “The Plant.” The plant is the person who can sit in a meeting and synthesize everything that’s being said and come up with new ideas that benefit everyone. It’s a fantastic, creative role that most companies, in my experience, do not like.

That’s because the role is basically “INFJ dreamer.” No one knows how to harness your weaker skills like organization and execution so that you can fly on your own, because nine times out of 10 companies do not want you to be new and different.

I do not see the world as it is. I see the world as it could be. Therefore, I’m someone who would probably excel working in a startup where great ideas are actually needed. I did not always fit in at a state institution like UH, where academia is a river you cannot fight. The current is slow, and there’s too many places where your boat can run adrift.

But as I have said, my cognitive behavioral group is saying that I would be better served by applying for disability because bipolar disorder is debilitating at times and I cannot be counted on to be consistent in my energy levels. There’s so much more that goes into having a job than just being good at it. For me, the hardest part of having a job is getting there.

It was easier getting to the kitchen because I was always so excited to be there. But I’m not a leader in the kitchen. I need to be told what to do and how to do it most of the time, but I catch on fast. In an office, I’m just a neurodivergent mess. I fit better in the world as a writer left to my own devices, because my own iron structure is the one I’ll follow.

I am trying to be a leader in getting my neurodivergent cookbook together, and my coauthor is going to meet up with me soon so we can get started. It’s also looking like I may be in Houston longer than I thought, possibly moving home for a while to take care of some family business. So, Evan can come and visit me at “the parents’ house” and we can write our book in the hot tub. This does not sound like a bad deal at all.

Alternatively, I would love to go to Portland sometime next year because it’s been a while since I’ve seen both Evan and Bryn. So whichever city Evan and I choose, we’ll be working more closely together. I believe in this book and so do a lot of other people, and I don’t want to let myself down, either.

It’s hard thinking about being in Houston longer than I thought, because I will miss my group here- they’re the ones slowly putting me back together. But my family is the most important thing to me so if I need to be in Houston, that’s where I’ll be. There is nothing keeping me from moving next year or the year after. It’s just that my immediate need is to help where I can while we’re all adapting and changing. “Family business” is nebulous, I know, but you’ll hear more as we go along. I’m just trying to use an abundance of caution because I hurt Aada with my stories. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

I think that my relationship with Aada is a teaching tool for better or for worse. Our relationship was a model for the digital age- defying closeness at times and repelling each other at others. But it’s an interesting anthropological idea that relationships changed as did the medium through which we create them. I don’t know that I have helped anyone, but it would make me feel good to know that in reading these pages I have reached other people in the same boat.

But honestly, even if no one is going through anything similar to me, the fact that I write so intimately about everything makes other people open up to me. You don’t get vulnerability without giving it. Sometimes it’s tough wearing my heart on my sleeve, but I do it. It allows everyone else to show up unarmed.

It’s leading, just from the back.

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

~ 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,

Uber Allies

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

When you don’t own one, a car is a magical thing. When you don’t own one, it doesn’t matter whether someone is willing to let you drive their Camaro or their Yugo. Each will get you from place to place in a manner which you control. I have in my pocket a device that lets me summon a car from anywhere and I still miss just throwing all my stuff in the trunk and taking off. And because of Uber, it’s not really the driving that I miss. It’s the trunk. It’s having a place to store my stuff that does not include carrying it on my person.

My backpack can be really quite heavy.

On the other hand, it takes a village to get me out of the house and having a driver waiting does create forward motion. I have it in my profile that I’m handicapped so that they will wait more than two minutes before leaving, but I do not abuse the privilege. It’s just nice to know that there’s a backup plan for when my cerebral palsy decides “now’s a good time to fall on the stairs.” Or, more likely, “now’s a good time to bang your shoulder so hard on a door jamb you’ll see stars.” I don’t have angle of convergence or depth perception due to lack of 3D vision, which generally means that the left-hand side of the door is outside my periphery and I do not realize I am too close to it. The stairs thing is not knowing how far up to lift my foot, provided I actually see them first. Generally, stairs also come out of nowhere. Because of my depth perception, though, I am more likely to be safe coming down the stairs than going up. The way I trip the most often is not lifting my foot high enough for the next step, which generally leads to skinned knees and ripped pants.

The same things that happen when I’m walking happen when I’m driving, scraping bumpers instead of knees. When you only have one field of vision at a time, there are going to be blind spots. If I do buy a car over the next several years, I want it to have as much technology as is financially feasible because things like lane assist and backup cameras were built for people like me.

The reason I don’t think I’ll have to buy a car over the next few years is that between Uber and all my Maryland Transit benefits there’s really no percentage in also owning a car (alternatively, my MTA ID picture is STUNNINGLY bad so buy a car and I won’t have to show it…..). I think what I’m feeling now is grief.

It is a letting go to give up on driving because there is something about owning a car that even Uber cannot offer, and that’s freedom. If I want to go somewhere, I still have to wait for someone to pick me up. If I want to go somewhere, I have to make sure I have everything I need in a zipped bag so nothing falls out…. I might never see that car or that driver again. If I want to go somewhere, I have to know where I want to go in advance.

When I drove, I didn’t always know where I was going until after the car had been idling for a few minutes.

In this letting go is a new collaboration of tools to get around town, because even though I would like to be able to pick Aaron up from the airport and take road trips to the beach and all the things you do when you drive, I am perfectly comfortable letting someone else accidentally run a red light. My freedom is gained in not having to worry about tickets or insurance.

Uber is here to get me where I need to go, but I’m still mourning a loss that I don’t know whether is temporary or permanent. I’m going to go with temporary, because I can’t think about never driving again. However, it is true that part of the reason I moved to DC in 2015 and haven’t gone back to Texas or Oregon is that the public transit on the east coast is better than in either of those states. In Houston, I absolutely had to have a car. In Portland, it was a little better.

When I had to have a car, I managed. I’m a much better driver when there’s someone else in the car with me to help point out other drivers I might not see…. but again, when and if I buy a car, I will have technology to bail me out. My need for a passenger has been replaced by cars being their own best back seat drivers.

There’s another plus to Uber, though. I’m always picked up in the latest and greatest cars, getting to see all of them instead of my same one every time. I’ve been impressed with all makes and models, to the point that if I said to myself, “you’ve worked very hard this year. Pick out exactly what you want,” I would have no idea where to start.

Again, when you don’t have a car, you’re just impressed by all magical boxes. It doesn’t have to have bells and whistles, it just has to go from point A to point B.

Uber has been my ally, so really what I have to think about is “what is your real loss here? Are you really freaked that you have to wait for a ride or do you just feel infantilized?”

Wow. Now we’re cooking with gas.

Demand Avoidance

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

Demand avoidance is a symptom of autism and ADHD, and the hardest part is that it doesn’t mean you won’t do things when other people tell you to, like a child. It means that when you tell yourself to do something, nothing happens. For instance, demand avoidance is not “please go to the store” from your partner, it’s “I need to go to the grocery store. Why do I keep putting it off?”

In a lot of people, it’s not treatable and I’m waiting to see what kind of demand avoidance I have. I know that it’s nigh impossible for me to create inertia from nothing. I put off phone calls, letters, anything that will help make my life easier, really. Because that’s the thing… even if the demand you’re asking of yourself will improve your quality of life, you struggle against your own mind.

As a result, you handle life in order of fires, because you have no mechanism for preventative care. The analogy here is that your brain is missing a primary care practice and makes you jump through hoops at its perpetually understaffed ER.

There are days I cannot take care of myself, because my demand avoidance will not let me shower or brush my teeth.

These are where my deficits really start to show. My compensatory skills are off the charts- I know what to do in a group, but when I am alone I am pulled into my own thoughts and I cannot get back out.

I look lazy on the outside, but my brain is running a marathon trying to convince me that taking care of myself is a bad thing. It’s why my social worker at the hospital found me a cognitive behavioral health group instead of just leaving me to my own devices. Obviously, she saw someone who needed help.

One of the men that goes to group with me every Thursday was in the hospital with me, providing me with an anchor of progress… he makes me smile when he says he remembers me from back then because I have to wonder what I was like.

Apparently, the show was spectacular because I’d never had “psychotic features” added to my bipolar diagnosis before, and I have no memory of saying anything that would land me in that category. But saying I have no memory is not the same as “I didn’t say it.” There are quite a few gaps in my memory from that time, and I think I just need to let it lie.

What is good about having bipolar disorder is that it sometimes adds hypomania to the mix, which is a burst of energy that I wouldn’t normally have. This takes away some of my natural demand avoidance and is the source of all my “good days.”

Today my demand avoidance is telling me that doing the laundry will physically hurt while the rest of me is saying, “won’t it be nice to have it done?” My demand avoidance is telling me that the shower will physically hurt and the rest of me is saying, “won’t the water feel good?” I use these tricks to jump start myself when the going gets tough, but they do not always work.

Sometimes my brain is going to stay stuck, and I will be staring off into space.

I want to be productive in my staring, so I’m trying to write out what it feels like to have an overwhelming task list and a neurodivergent mind. Organizing and prioritizing make me weak in the knees, so a flood in my apartment is the last thing I can really handle and it falls to me- I live alone.

I called in maids and they said the house would already have to be picked up before they came over. That they only did deep cleaning. I need to call more, but it would be better if I could find a recommendation. Josh’s never called me back and I don’t know anyone else locally. Therefore, a recommendation is extremely unlikely.

Neither is a service that’s actually support to a neurodivergent person, but I’m going to keep trying. I have noticed that a lot of these places want you to have things picked up before they come over as if your house being a mess isn’t the point. If I was so on top of it that I was ready to deep clean at the drop of a hat, I wouldn’t need help.

Neurodivergence generally means digging yourself out of piles, the arrangement of which only you know.

So I’m praying for strength today as I embark on this journey of self-discovery. Just how much can I do before my brain decides to shut down? The thing is that I can probably do most of it once I get started in earnest because inertia builds.

I need some high energy music, because when I can’t think my way into doing something, movement can re-wire my brain.

I’ll listen to it in the shower.