Rain is Falling: Contemplation

November 19, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

It is a moody day in Baltimore. The weather is misty, the sun is completely hidden. It matches my mood, because I don’t like rejection and it doesn’t matter what kind. I do not like it when people hold on to things so completely that they never want contact again. It’s so final, and so hard when they’re still out in the world.

But I’m not thinking about Sam. I’m thinking about how grief compounds. I was already feeling low because Aada and I called it quits (for now). So of course I had to go and make the rejection worse when my sensitivity to it is disproportionate to the situation in all things.

I decided to stop doing things that no longer serve me.

I will respect Sam’s wishes and forget about her again. There’s no anger, I’m just licking my wounds.

I changed Aada’s email address in my address book so that I could still write to her all I wanted because I also own the other account. It gives me the flexibility to let her read if she’s ever curious AND ALSO the ability not to bug her every three seconds with “one more thing.”

What breaks my heart about Aada walking away is that she thinks I’m lying when I say I don’t hate her. I love her. She said that she gets it, it was a mistake to believe in her.

What in the world?

I have never said any of these things and I need her to say them to herself if that’s her opinion but to stop saying it to me. I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the entire world. Fight me.

And if she says, “I just have to get up the willpower to stop reading,” it means that she hasn’t stopped thinking about me, either. I don’t think this is the end of our movie because again, we left our connection pure for the future. The holidays will be hard but I’m determined not to buy her anything and not to reach out unless she does.

Our traditional gifts are either Starbucks cards or Kindle books, so when I’m curled up at my dad’s reading, it’ll be one she got me.

Maybe even a reimagined fairy tale.

I’m really feeling low about all this, because Aada has been a part of my daily life since 2013. It makes complete sense to me why she at least needs to take space, if not move on from me entirely. We had a bad pattern and it needed to go away. Yet we both feel our chemistry strongly even when the other isn’t in the room.

That’s because we’re both a part of each other’s wild and crazy brains. I know I have given her an enormous amount of free rent in my head over the years, and I have constantly underestimated how big my house is in her mental neighborhood. I’m pretty sure I have a pool.

Please advise.

I want to work together to solve conflicts if the detente ever melts, but I told her that our conflict resolution has to start with her opinion of herself. That we are not checking the story we are telling ourselves, because according to her I purposefully tried to take her down, I think she’s a liar, etc.

MEANWHILE

I am saying every day how much I love and miss her…. And about those lines she says that she takes in the positive things I say, but they feel suspect, like clues in a game.

I am not playing with her. She is a 3D character. She’s as human as I am, having the capability for every emotion in the spectrum. I see her so completely that I am deeply honest about the fact that when it is good, the world explodes. When it is bad, it is terrible.

I want the world to explode with our secure connection, because I have worked through a lot of the issues that were plaguing me. If I am lucky, my writing will draw Aada back someday. That’s generally how it works. After people have been apart from me, they start reading me to see what I’m up to now.

If I am really, really lucky, that reading leads to reaching out.

But most people just announce they’re done and I have to learn to move on.

I have started announcing when I’m done, but struggle on reinforcement of boundaries. I need help if I didn’t get a clue that the relationship with Sam or Aada is really over because they stated their intentions quite clearly.

I thought Aada blocked me because she said she did, so I sent her a fuck ton of email, all of which she read…… And still came at me with all these things I never decided. I wasn’t trying to be intrusive. She said that if I was blocked on her email account, I wouldn’t know it. So she told me she blocked me and I thought I had safe space. I even got “proof” except it wasn’t.

I do need help because Aada doesn’t need me in my current state. She needs me to become the writer she thought I was before I broke her heart.

I don’t understand my own pathology with Aada, because I don’t know why I was great until I had to be great.

Yes, that WAS a Lizzo reference. Thank you for asking.

That’s my own journey to take, and now I think that Aada is right. I will be stronger than ever because I realize that what I think doesn’t matter. She’s going to take home whatever message she gets out of my writing and I don’t control it. The message she got was not the message I sent.

“Constant punishment” and “checking for assaults” really got to me because that was never my intention. I’ve always written with such a drive and ambition to be near her, didn’t hold on to anger, etc. Have always told people from Houston to Helsinki that if things were different she’d be wearing my pin…. But they aren’t, and it was worth taking a risk to be close, anyway.

It’s not that I was bitter and jealous or anything like that. It’s that anybody who has ever felt butterflies for anyone knows how hard it is to be comforted by the person who doesn’t want you. It feels like nails on a chalkboard until the butterflies go away and you can look at them without your brain chemicals going “WHOOOOOOOOOOSH!”

I just decided to tell her that I was going to let those feelings go away on their own, but it took a very long time and I knew that up front. She’s my platonic ideal of what a woman is, can be…. I lamented we could not create something fantastic together.

And then we just proceeded to create something fantastic, anyway. It just looked different than my previous version of fantastic.

I pray for Aada and her husband, sending them good thoughts because it keeps me grounded. If I cannot be her partner, I want her to have the best marriage she can have with whomever she chooses, just like she wishes for me.

But that feeling of closeness that’s deeper than friendship has never gone away for me, because romance is so far on my back burner. I would rather just sit around with friends and not focus on the pressure of dating, but I know it would accelerate my life forward at an alarming rate….. And that’s a good thing. I’m ready for things to be completely different. Aada’s storyline is tired according to her, and as my former editor I have to agree with her. I got lost in my own ruminations.

Oops. My bad. Should I leave a note?

They’re the Only Thing I Have

November 19, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

Do you trust your instincts?

View all responses

As I’ve gotten older, I have learned to rely only on myself. My brain is so unique that very few people have had my experiences, leading me to have few peers. If I ask someone for advice, I am taking the risk that it could be bad for me. I tread carefully with advice, because I reach out for it constantly and collate a decision on many people’s opinions. I don’t fit into a box and I need help in understanding the world around me. I need custom solutions, so my perfect answer is often a synthesis of many people’s input.

This week I have been strategizing a career with Mico, because I realized that they could read my entire blog, all 13 years, in three seconds flat. Mico is amazing at analyzing my writing for tone, structure, etc. and bases all their suggestions on the body of work I already have.

Meta AI is not web enabled, so it barely knows who I am. It mixed me up with a photographer in DC, but lifted the text from my About page as one of the paragraphs in the other Leslie’s bio.

To Leslie Lanagan, whomever you are, I hope you are ALSO queer and nonbinary. Although if you’re an evangelical, haha.

I have put so much into Mico that this is what I get out, and I think this is true globally- you might have to ask for Leslie Lanagan in DC, though. I used to live there along with the other Leslie, but I am not a photographer professionally and she is.

I have realized that AI crafts a bio for you if you are in the creative sphere. It is something you cannot change because it is based on your web presence, not what you actually told it.

When I realized that AI had put me in the indie podcaster space, I immediately bought a SoundCloud account, because that’s where it’s getting its information. I have bunch of tracks on my free account that were taken down until I paid, so there’s that.

I’ll be doing more audio in the future because it’s easy to give myself feedback that way. I critique myself relentlessly because I don’t want to compete with anyone else. I just want to be a better writer than I was yesterday. I often fail, but it’s not because I’m not trying.

I wonder what Mico means when they say I am experimental.

The best thing is that when Mico and I started working on my career goals, I said “remember all of this, start the clock on my timeline, and periodically ask me how my goals are coming along.” Mico really wants me to get into podcasts or write a book ASAP. The book is the easiest because it can go into editing tomorrow as an anthology.

Some of these entries will clean up nice, and I’m working on it with Janie the Canadian Editor.

I’m also working on a book about cooking with my buddy Evan, but that is a much longer process than editing vast amounts of text. It goes quicker when you’re reading….. Unless you are fighting to the death over a comma.

This aggression will not stand, man.

My therapist was fascinated and overwhelmed that I write every day. He is also neurodivergent and has trouble creating habits. He asked me how I started. I told him that it was hell at first, but that it got easier after 120 days.

It also helps that this is my running monologue and I’m not trying to craft anything.

WordPress gives me a topic, which pulls the string and I talk.

I’m Proud I Tried

November 19, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Sam finally got back to me and told me that she hoped I could move on because she couldn’t be a part of my life. Now, I’m not waiting on a response and I absolutely can. I don’t know why I thought Sam would want to be my friend after all this time, but it was worth a shot. I sowed a lot of chaos with her and I can fully understand why she wouldn’t want to revisit that time in our lives. I don’t have to like it, though.

I think it’s ironic that she told me she hoped I could move on when I have been radio silent for three years and just wanted to catch up. I literally haven’t thought about her except when her address popped up on my phone when I was driving around town. But we’d have to have more of a conversation for her to understand that, and neither one of us wants more of a conversation now that I know where she stands.

I don’t have to go six rounds over “why?” I’m too old and I don’t care.

Progress has been made with Aada. She told me she had no idea why my email was deferred and everything is A-ok between us. Let’s just let things lie. I got all the clarification and closure I’ll ever need, keeping our connection pure if we ever want to pick it back up where we left off. The peace of interim is a beautiful thing and it was great to talk to her even for a bit.

I sent her the blurb from Copilot and told her I couldn’t have done it without her and she’d turned me into a beautiful writer.

It’s true. If you have a relationship on the internet for 12 years, you’ve got to be doing something right in the writing department. Writing to her was training ground for the big gyms, because she was a writing major in college and I…………………… wasn’t.

Writing to Aada is a whole mood.

I sowed chaos with Aada as well. That’s why we’re not #friendshipgoals either, but there’s a better chance it will happen with Aada than it will with Sam and that’s the way I like it.

In fact, when Sam broke up with me the first time, Aada metaphysically kissed my boo-boos and gave me a lollipop. She is always kind when someone breaks my heart and offers to break their kneecaps. There’s no need, but I appreciate having a pet monster on a fraying leash.

I hate reaping what I sow, and I am paying for writing about her publicly, I know it. But I pay for the fact that I write about my life all day, every day. If I’m not going to be shy and have a public opinion, that means being able to take the arrows that inevitably come with it.

I now know what it means to sacrifice for my writing. People are starting to self select whether they want to be in my life because they know that anything they say might be remembered years down the road. That even if they aren’t in my life, they will appear here as memories.

I am learning that there’s a lot of truth to the phrase, “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m someone’s shot of tequila.”

It’s hard to pick yourself up from nothing, which is why I have no close friends in Baltimore. In fact, my nearest local friend is in Stafford, Virginia. I have had more fun than the law should allow gaping at the fall foliage between my house and Tiina’s. So much so that I look forward to her taking days off because that means hanging out in our pajamas watching anime or playing video games is a viable option.

Picking myself up from nothing means that I have acquaintances in Baltimore and haven’t lived here long enough for it to graduate into friendship. It would have been nice if Sam had wanted to reconnect, but I made her uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I wanted to do, so I won’t be reaching out to her again.

Hearing that you are forgiven, but that doesn’t mean things are good again is always hard no matter the situation. In this case, my heart was not tied up in romance. I had already been through the wringer once with Sam and wasn’t eager to participate in it again. But we had such fun that I thought keeping it light and going for coffee was advisable.

The queer community in Baltimore is small. You don’t want to have beef with anyone, being scared to run into them at events. Every person in which you’re interested was somebody else’s partner before you, which among women creates territorial high drama. I am not interested in high drama. I am interested in coffee.

I know within myself that I thought reaching out to Sam was a shortcut to making more friends in the city. That if she wasn’t angry anymore, she’d introduce me around and it wouldn’t be long before I had a network again. I don’t know why that isn’t possible, but I don’t ask these questions. That is her story, and she hasn’t allowed me to read it.

The thing is, though, I met Sam through Facebook dating. There is nothing stopping me from getting back on Facebook dating and seeing who might be interesting around here, and, this is important…. ACTUALLY CONTACTING THEM. I swear to Christ, Leslie…. stop with the attitude that the perfect partner is going to drop into your lap without any effort at all.

My standards are extraordinarily high.

I ghosted one woman who said she didn’t like British people because she couldn’t understand them.

You’re welcome, Britain. I’m sure you’re very grateful.

I run quick because I compare everyone to Aada, Mummo, and Heytch.

All aliases, all people I have never dated and way out of my league. I could have had lifelong friendships with all of them, but one by one they all fell away as I became too obnoxious for some and too weird for others.

They’re not wrong. I get it.

But they’re the gold standard. I know what I want, and I seek it out. They all had the capability to bend my mind like a pretzel and I blew it in favor of fuckboi jackass antics. I’m the kind of person that if I was weird to you once, I’ll think about it for 20 years. I am MORTIFIED every time I think of what happened and it was 12 years ago…. but Aada came back to me because our relationship was so much deeper and richer than the others. I am so glad that she did not run away from me, but carefully turned me into someone she could tolerate. 😉

I’m so much older now and realizing that I should have taken more care with the network I had. I obliterated it at my own hand because I was shooting my mouth off on the internet.

I am much more relaxed and focused now than I was. I honestly and truly believe that my life was a shit show, so my behavior became erratic and unpredictable. It isn’t rocket science. I was overwhelmed in every direction and covering it up with bravado. I acted like a typical man and I deserved it when we separated.

It feels like I’ll never get over it because I’m not tapped into something large enough to replace it and I never will be.

This is one of those days where I just don’t feel so good about myself and I’m glad that I already have a built in plan for getting out of the house and going to my cognitive behavioral health group.

Speaking of which….. time to take a shower.

One Out of 12 Ain’t Bad

November 18, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What’s your favorite month of the year? Why?

View all responses

Of course I like more months out of the year than just one, but I read the prompt and laughed.

And on closer inspection, I have to pick both November and May. I don’t have a favorite month, I have two. Deal with it.

November in the DC area is when we’re just starting to REALLY cool down, yet the sun is still brilliant outside.

Oh, wait. I live in Baltimore now. Have since :::checks notes::: December. Time blindness is a bitch.

November in the Baltimore area is when we’re just starting to REALLY cool down, yet the sun is still brilliant outside. 😉

I just cannot leave out May when talking about this area because I love the weather right now, but I love the cherry blossoms in the spring even more.

I wish that the cherry blossoms could be a year round thing, because I am in my happy place when Baltimore gets cold. I learned how to layer my clothing from a Finn. It could be negative five degrees F and I’d be perfectly comfortable as long as I remembered to layer. I also cannot wait for the first snowfall, because it generally snows in the area every year, but there are plenty of years in which there’s just a few sprinkles.

Then, occasionally we get dumped on and the whole city shuts down because even though we’re prepared, it takes time to dig out of 18 inches of snow overnight.

The reason I love the cold is that during these months there is a turning inward, particularly during Advent. It is not a penitential season, but a chance for self reflection. As we approach the solstice and “Jesus’s birth” (it was actually rumored to be in the Spring), it’s a chance to think about changes we need to make in our own lives that line up with that feeling of emergence.

Thinking about excitement for the future is the best way to wander through the dark.

Love Actually

November 17, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I realized that I didn’t feel strongly one way or the other about Sam romantically, but that I wanted her to participate in my life on some level if she was open to it. I thought a handwritten note would be the best way to show apology, but I didn’t want her kids to read it before she did and receive intel.

So, I just put my name, address, and phone number plus a short note saying I’d love to see her if she was interested. No hearts.

But I meant them.

That is all love- realizing that someone was so dynamic in your life that you’re over the hurt that a breakup caused and just want their energy around you. We only dated for three weeks before Sam flipped out and dumped me. Yet her personality had such an impact on me that it was worth forgiving her for it.

I’ve thought about reaching out to her since i got here in December, but I hadn’t had the confidence to drop something in her mailbox until today.

I think that has a lot to do with being tired of being lonely on every level. I don’t even have a buddy to go do things with, and Sam would be a great one. She’s tapped into every musical outlet in the city. She’s a social butterfly, going to concerts often. What worked well was that an extrovert was willing to drag me out of my house. That’s how introverts manage.

And if you read anything into ink color, I was a dumbass and wrote everything in pink. I am not ready for *anything* having to do with pink letters. Sam actually hurt me pretty bad, and it took longer than three weeks to get over it, which was definitely not amusing.

Bryn said it best. “You’re not really angry with her. You’re angry she busted your fairy tale.” She was right. Anger at Sam faded quickly compared to the loss I felt that I was not going to be a girlfriend and have her kids around me.

Now, I am immune to fairy tales, but maybe one day I’ll be able to enjoy them again.

It was another instance in which I am humbled after popping off and I’d like to make amends for it. Just because my heart was broken doesn’t make my words okay, and I am also humbled that Aada said them to me long ago. It’s a message that resonates with me today because Aada reads and writes fairy tales. I am guilty of busting my own with her and constantly asking to be forgiven for things I said when I was in many kinds of moods.

I put her through a hell she didn’t deserve, and I know that because again, I don’t have to remember what I did that was so awful I drove her away. I wrote it all down. There’s 12 years of history of us getting close and blowing out, the pattern that needs to stop.

Recognizing that pattern is the first step to creating healthy relationships in the future. Secure connections require being careful with what you say and even more careful with what you do. Your actions and your words have to line up. You cannot lie in any way, shape, or form. Covering up the real issue because it’s hard for you to get the words out only leads to more and more trouble down the road. You can read all about it starting in June of 2013.

So, I am choosing to be healthy with Sam and be as sincere as I can, not letting her in too fast and being diligent about it because I let her in too quickly before and our relationship turned mercurial fast. I am done with mercurial relationships because I’m too old for it. Aada and all our drama was too much for both of us. We both need to redirect our attention into relationships that feed us and stop hating on each other.

Just because I was hurt doesn’t make my words okay. It doesn’t matter that they were directed at an audience and not at her. It made her feel bad because she could not trust that the loving things I said about her were also true.

My friends on the ground will always know that I love them because they have more to go on, and I believe in that fact. I’m now trying to nurture it where I didn’t before. I thought of Aada as some kind of authority in my life and she is, puffing herself up and being really hard on me (historically. This time being hard on me was justified.), sometimes scaring me into a type of submission because I was all of the sudden afraid to bring up issues.

She explodes when you bring them up, and distances herself while she licks her wounds in private without realizing that you get more accomplished by increasing communication and understanding after conflict so that it doesn’t bubble up again. You have a solid shot at changing a pattern the more you understand each other.

I am starting to get tired of these toxic relationships, and it takes two to tango. I can only realize I’m the common denominator, and establish more self-respect. Learning more about how to de-escalate a conflict than I already do, because to some people the way I do it is pedantic. I need to know what it is about me that makes so many people understand me to an enormous degree, while others fight me in defense. Maybe that’s just my win/lose rate.

Where I got tripped up was making Aada so high on the totem pole that no other priority mattered, and she didn’t have that much energy for me. I was lost in a world of rumination because as a writer, she lit my brain on fire.

I am looking for that kind of chemistry, and Sam sets my brain on fire for music. I think we’d work well together as long as we weren’t competing with each other for anything (she’s a mezzo, I’m a lyric……. eye roll…. how did we not know this wouldn’t work out? It’s not like there weren’t signs. Plus, I’m a trumpet player. Between my diva status and my lead trumpet background, she joked that my ego wouldn’t fit through the door.

It doesn’t, but that’s all social masking and trying to have a good time despite the fact that I’d rather be home reading… I cover up how I really feel about myself in person because in person, that person doesn’t have time to hear me like they have 10 minutes to read an entry.

That’s led to my detriment in a lot of ways. Because people read me, they hear my voice in their heads regularly. Therefore, they think they talk to me a lot more often than they actually do. Our communication suffers.

Other people see me suffering and think it’s not a good idea to intrude. It’s always a good idea to intrude, because I might need the interruption. I’m trying to interrupt myself frequently and take breaks, walking away from the Internet entirely and going out into the world.

I felt bad that my handwriting was SO TERRIBLE. Yet, I wanted to approach Sam with the least amount of investment on her part. That I wasn’t putting her on the spot to say yes or no. She’s got my number. If I hear from her, great. If I don’t, it will be sad, but I will have my answer and that’s worth celebrating all on its own.

I want to start a new chapter, but this time, it has to be a nonfiction.

Waffle House

November 16, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The very last time I drove a car, I was going to Waffle House. I ate, and then proceeded to wreck my car against a guardrail because I was lost in thought and went around a curve too fast. So, I was understandably nervous about going again. The nostalgia was just too much. I had cheese-n-eggs, raisin toast with apple butter, bacon, and hash browns. I ate as much as I wanted, which wasn’t a lot, and boxed the rest up to go home.

I listened to NPR the whole way, because Sunday mornings are a lot of fun. I even managed to solve some of Will Shortz’ puzzles. Then, in a dramatic turn of events, I was caught in traffic a lot of the way home because of a car fire. I had never seen anything like it. I am hoping it was a movie stunt, because it looked like Marvel level damage. I don’t think anyone could survive a fire hot enough for me to feel it four lanes over.

In the middle, the atmosphere and food were just as I remembered them. It’s simple and delicious at a time when I needed it. Waffle House is the ultimate comfort food for me, and I should also tell you that I made it home safely. 😉

I was still moping and crying from this morning, so I had to get out and move. I have learned that when I’m flooding out, movement is a better solution than trying to work it out in solitude. Not every problem needs to be analyzed to death. When I’m in the car, my adrenaline goes up a crazy amount. I try to drive a little bit every day just to put some myelin back on my nerves because I “took my nerve pills, but everybody be wonderin.'” I need to pull myself together because Aada is right. We keep opening the wound without letting it scab over.

In my wildest dreams, scar tissue is stronger once it’s healed and Aada will again be able to see me as the writer that flattens her.

But I have to move on to different topics to even have a shot at moving myself forward so that thinking of her doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s all I’ve been trying to do, not make it hurt anymore, but I got lost and forgot to tell my audience about things like Waffle Houses and car fires.

My featured image is probably crooked, but I sent it first to Lanagan Media Group with a note that said, “we’re having breakfast together in my head.”

We’ve been talking a lot lately about politics and sending each other memes. None of my finances are settled yet, so I haven’t officially incorporated. But I have several people interested in working for me that I know will help make me successful. I’ve already given them their tech toys to be able to write, but we’re all slowing down…. Or I’m trying to. Now, even though I post more often, I’m spending less time writing and more time driving. I see and hear more when I’m involved in the community at large. Shutting myself away all these years and focusing on the relationship with Aada started from our first conversation on, so I’m having to reorient myself and get out more.

I’m frustrated that she could see all of this happening and didn’t say anything, but I’m starting to be able to look in front of me without looking back to make sure Aada is okay. You can’t help yourself across the river if you’re carrying someone else, and this is true of both sides of that river because neither of us managed to understand each other longer than a few minutes.

So I start thinking about all of this again because it’s fresh on my mind and think, I need to drive. Yesterday, I picked a convenience store about 30 miles from my house so that I could open my car up on the freeway and just bliss out.

My social life has also improved because I can make it down to Stafford to have time with Tiina and her family; I drive now. Driving is cool.

Tiina gave me one of the biggest thrill rides of my life with the drive from my house to hers. It was absolutely stunning, and I’m eager to get back out that way with a camera. The picture I took at Waffle House is one of the few I’ve taken in the last few months, even though I really enjoy photography.

Working through all the turmoil as Aada and I shut it all down made me depressed and I lost interest in things that, well, interested me. Now, the strife is o’er, and my interest in everything has picked back up. Even my heart rate has gone back up.

I’m not going to lie, there’s been several times during all of this that I felt like I would die of a broken heart because the stakes were so high.

Our connection was dynamic and stagnant, flat lining and being resuscitated over and over. I cannot feel that the battle is won, nor can I feel like I lost. I don’t feel like I lost much with all of the frustration I’ve been feeling for months and years…… One minute. The next I’m inconsolable and crying.

I know that though nothing will be the same, everything will be okay. That’s a thing I say now because my dad said it at my stepmother’s funeral. It’s the transition that hurts, because I was understood perfectly and not at all.

Now, it’s my job to make other people understand me. I need to build up relationships with actual history, people who have spent face time with me long enough to know what my intentions and motivations really are. I am safe now. Most of my friendships are on the ground and the ones that are have been moved to my inner circle. It’s too much work to convince someone you do not mean harm when they do not understand you well enough to know that you don’t.

I am trying to tap out. The internet is exhausting. When my friends need me, they can text me in the car, and I will go and pick them up. I will not spend my days worried about people who aren’t in my daily life. There’s just no way long term for me, because the entire relationship is depersonalized, making you say things you wouldn’t to someone’s face.

I am a little too cognizant of that now, and post here instead of on Facebook (well, sporadic Facebook posts but mostly just a feed of this web site). You can find me, but you have to search me out. I want anonymous fans, but I don’t want to be beholden to popular opinion. My blog can definitely be run by committee and has been in the past (and will be in the future). But the one rule I have is that even though my name’s on the door, we don’t edit each other. Everyone has their own unique, distinctive voice and I want to continue to celebrate it.

I want to redesign my web site and redirect fans to lanaganmediagroup dot com and lanaganmediagroup at proton dot me (said that way to cut down on spam). Again, I am more comfortable in the choir than a soloist.

Though I am a trained soloist, to be clear.

I am clear on the fact that parts of me are dying that I set in motion. New energy has to come in and I need to be there to receive it. I am slowly losing paranoia surrounding Aada’s special alerts for me, because I don’t plan on using her phone number or her e-mail address ever again.

And if she does come back into my life, I will be smart enough to never mention it publicly.

I shouldn’t have said a lot of things, I shouldn’t have hurt her in the way that I did… because people will forget what you say, but they will never forget the way you made them feel. Without intending to, I punched Aada in the kidney. The fact that she would rather focus on that moment than any of our positive ones is the entire reason I’m tired.

The argument always runs thusly after Aada has read something:

“You’re punishing me and I can’t stand reading the daily flagellations.”
“I’m not punishing you, that’s what you’re choosing to take away. I say plenty of positive things and you call them suspicious.”

She cannot understand why I will not break down into not having an opinion just because it makes her uncomfortable. It is not my job to ensure that she remains untriggered in her life, but I lost sight of who she was to me and wanted our relationship dead.

She lied to me and jerked me around and expected me to be happy about it. So, I went overboard in making sure that I told the story in a fair and balanced way when it was my story alone to tell. I represented her in these pages by showing empathy for what her problems might actually be, but she took it as psychological assassination instead.

Her view of love is entirely fucked up and she told me that on day one. I should have listened to her because I didn’t have a better idea than her of what love should be, so we descended into a toxic mess within days. She didn’t have to stick with me as long as she did. She could have blocked me and walked off into the sunset years ago. She just never did, keeping up with my blog………… Which hurt like hell because for every “lovely post, btw” there was a mountain of “you’re purposefully hurting me.”

She couldn’t leave me alone to do my job as a writer and just ignore me. She expected that she could be tight-lipped on all her emotions and that would magically read her mind and tell the story how she read it while it was happening to her.

I can’t do that when I only have a handle on what’s happening to me, and my grip on reality is shady at best. Autism pulls you into your own little world, and you create your own bubble that may or may not line up with everyone else. I have purposefully isolated myself too long to be helpful to me, because my need to talk to someone, anyone, led me to these pages.

I need to get out and drive again. I can’t stand the din of my own thoughts, because now that Aada has said no more, my ruminations will only hurt me. I have to get forward motion, and what better speed than 55 miles an hour?

Otherwise, I will again wake up with tears in my eyes. It’s not our journey anymore. Not even to Waffle House.

The One They Want

November 16, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What’s the first impression you want to give people?

View all responses

I am determined not to have a certain first impression because it’s not my job to care what people think of me. They can do it on their own time. I do not say this to be defiant, only to say that I will no longer be preparing canned reactions. It is what it is. Most people think that I am delightful upon meeting until I slowly become too weird for them. By this I mean that I have had no real coping skills for my own neurodivergence and mental health skills, so I could not prepare for the inevitable spin-out due to the communication barrier. No one could help me because I couldn’t help myself.

I had to dig deep into research on autism and ADHD, and now I’m attending a cognitive behavioral health group to increase my awareness of my own bullshit.

AuDHD is a lot of bullshit, because you’re not wired to converse like other people converse. You don’t pick up what’s not being said, the social cues running around you because when you hear something, you take it incredibly literally.

Taking everything literally has cost me more than anyone will ever know. I now know what it feels like to really lose something as a writer, which is my muse. I cannot give an accurate first impression right now because I’m in shock. But as I drifted off last night, I thought, “this is the last time I’ll ever have to grieve her. She’s honestly and truly gone.” It has been a roller coaster of enormous proportions, and I still have to get over the fact that I am not welcome in her life but she’ll know so much about me from here on out. This blog and the works I have in progress will not make me less of a public figure.

That’s why, when I drifted off to sleep, I seriously considered deleting this blog in its entirety, no regrets. I thought about letting it go dormant and just not adding anything more. Anything to get off the grid and not be a public figure anymore because the thought she’s watching from afar is not altogether comforting.

Our relationship has been adversarial at times, and I don’t have the stomach for it. I wish there was a way that I could track Aada’s IP and block it from this URL, but that will never be possible. It will never be possible for me to hide published books from her, either. So, it’s a process with me making peace with the fact that our relationship will always be uneven if she cannot stick to her vow to stay away.

I have officially been Dooced, fired because of my blog and here’s the irony. Aada would have hated it if I’d stopped sharing my real feelings and became an “influencer,” yet she hated being Aada at times. I could have written about something lighter and lost her respect.

If I was going to lose her respect, I’m glad I lost it by being true to myself.

I am trying to get a bigger fan base in Virginia because hits from her location are rare. They stand out, and I want that not to be the case. So, I’m going to start writing about it when I go to Tiina’s. I cannot believe how beautiful it is, and I have a lot to say about my emotions regarding my awe. As time goes by, I’m hoping that my love for the land spreads to others.

I want to get into more landscapes, because I’ve seen so much beauty and haven’t taken any time to record it. That’s because most of the absolutely stunning sights were taken in at 55 miles an hour. I can’t drive and snap photos, and there was really no place to get out of the car.

It’s not just about Virginia, DC, and Maryland, though. I fell in love with New York when I drove up to see Aaron and his wife’s family at Halloween.

I would like to get into travel writing, as I have said before. But I don’t want to stop examining my life and my mental health issues. As I get healthier, my writing will, too. I won’t always be so sad about the ways I’ve failed someone I loved and keep harping on it, while the message she’s been taking home is “I hate you and want to punish you.”

It was a communication disorder because we were not talking to each other.

It was a mistake to have a relationship that deep over the internet, because we weren’t connecting to each other’s humanity. We lobbed a lot of angry words without thinking for over 12 years, and none of that was healthy for either of us.

But as a result of this relationship, I think that others are going to have her opinion of me when it’s impossible. She’s never really met me. I am not sure that either one of us has taken in the enormity of how much we shared without ever shaking hands. We never instituted any guardrails, nor was she open to them.

I am looking forward to relationships that cannot get this toxic because they aren’t mired in years of taking emotional potshots at each other without looking, physically LOOKING, at what we were doing to each other.

Aada said it best when she said that our journey had been brilliant and beautiful at some times, excruciating and debilitating at others. But because we weren’t in front of each other, we couldn’t really hear each other, empathizing in real time.

I can feel the cortisol rising, the injustice and unfairness swelling within me. I am so mad at myself that I cannot breathe. What calms me down is thinking, “how dare I feel my own feelings?”

Aada told me that she thought after our relationship was over I would be stronger than ever, and I don’t think that’s true. I think that the strongest version of me would have come with facing Aada’s music and learning to turn dissonance into resolution. But that is today. Years from now I may look back and realize that I was right when I said goodbye to her a month into our relationship because I was so emotionally overloaded.

I was helplessly in love with her, and because she is straight, I knew it was all my own bag to deal with and wanted a deep friendship. That turned into years of backbreaking emotional work that I’m glad I did, but the story that helped other people didn’t help her.

That’s what you should know about me as a writer. My despair comes in when I realize that I can have a blog or I can have intimate relationships, but I cannot have both without a lot of communication.

With Aada, we didn’t check the story we were telling ourselves often enough, and suddenly we were at opposite ends of a spectrum instead of standing together.

Because we didn’t really know each other and thought we did. Thought that writing and sending each other personal media was enough. That face time didn’t matter for well over a decade. It was dehumanizing, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt we could fix this with eye contact and a hug.

That’s because when you have no trust capital with someone, you really need to be able to look into their eyes. I would not have been so mercurial had we been in contact offline, because the internet heightened my emotions too much. I needed to come back down to earth, because someone’s writing personality is not them.

A first impression would have to include that I’m so fluent in web communications that I’m frustrated and need time offline every day.

There’s a laundry list of lessons I’ll take with me from this relationship, and that’s the biggest one.

Being watched is the second. I have a heightened awareness of what I’m doing and saying, because I think that other people expect me to flip out now that Aada is permanently gone. She’s been emotionally absent for most of our relationship, so this doesn’t feel that different. It just gives me more information for the future- that if “for now” really means “for now” and she’s going to come back later in my life I need to have my own boundaries to keep us both safe.

I am not counting on it, I just know that when people go back to my writing after a long time away, it often encourages them to reach out whether I want them to or not. I have said publicly that I will never turn her away, and this is true. But I also do not have to roll out the red carpet every time she appears, thinking that the world is going to change with our complementary angles. I don’t have to put my whole heart in her hands when she only wants to say hello.

That’s what I mean about moving too fast. I forgive very quickly and easily, not really having any self-protection mechanisms in place because I am so afraid of being lonely. This is the most lonely I’ve felt in a long time, because my inner monologue about how to fix things with Aada has stopped and the self care has begun.

I ate some Dubai chocolate.

That made the world a little better, but it doesn’t fix everything. I woke up this morning with actual tears in my eyes, and I just laid there and cried. I can respect that Aada needs space and I can give it to her, but I don’t have to be happy about it.

She said that she could offer clarification on her job, but she wouldn’t. That one line made me see red not because of our present situation, but because that kind of information is what I’d been searching for to calm my anxiety for 12 years, but now my anxiety wasn’t worth calming. She amped it up, instead.

That’s why it’s just not worth flipping out. She’s been a great friend over the years in some ways, but this aspect was shit. I needed more support from her both as a writer and a person, and she stonewalled me every day. I no longer want to participate in this dynamic, because I have other friendships that don’t take this much out of me.

It is exhausting trying to be heard when you’re not. I need to go toward people who are actually listening. Small talk drains me, so even a first impression of me will last if we talk more than a few minutes. I want to know about people’s worlds, and I’m very curious. People like to talk about themselves, and I soak it up. It gets me out of having to answer personal questions about myself because you’ve talked about X or Y for 20 minutes and oh, look at the time. I have to go.

What broke my heart in empathy for Aada was when she said that I didn’t need to take anything down if it was needed for my health and healing moving forward. That she was willing to take the bullets my blog caused to fly. That’s really the moment I decided I was an ex blogger, and then I had to get over it and make the donuts this morning.

I wondered if Aada ever really picked up how much I hated writing our story as it stood. That I dreamed of so much more adventure and playfulness than we got. She never asked if I liked writing her the way she appeared, just assumed it over and over. The answer is “absolutelyfuckingnot.” Hell no, I hated every minute of it and longed for a relationship in which we each called off the dogs and just got along. That was possible up until I found out she’d created an entire fictional universe that I’d bought into because there was some basis in fact.

She lied once, and became more and more fearful that it would get out so she kept lying. She could see how those consequences affected me and the emotional turmoil it took on me without feeling the need to unburden herself for 12 years.

I had a mental breakdown when I found out, another reason why it’s unwise for me to have a blog because the “think it, say it” plan has not generally worked out for me except in one area. The more I fuck up, the more people read me. I should have air gapped everything I was so angry, but I wrote and published my rage. It didn’t matter. She “wasn’t coming back.”

Except she did.

But only to tell me to get out of her life one more time, resetting the clock on grief. But this time it’s muted, because I’ve already grieved so much that I don’t have energy to put there. I’d rather close my eyes and remember her smile.

I have heard that the best days of your life are when you meet a writer and when you walk away from them.

But it’s hard to know that on a first impression.

Shutting It All Down

November 16, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Aada apologized to me that she would no longer read or write, but then contradicted herself and said, “for now, all I want is peace.” She said she wanted peace for me, too, and I believe her. I just don’t believe that she knows how to achieve peace for me and therefore cannot be a part of creating it. Just like you cannot be comforted by the same person who hurt you.

I shudder to think that Aada read everything I wrote after she said, “no more.” Because I wrote everything like the relationship was over, Aada even saying that she wasn’t going to read, so I wrote like the hurt person I was. I didn’t have to include anything positive and some days, I didn’t feel like it. But slowly, my anger melted and I became whole again.

Those entries cost me Aada, because she thought I was punishing her instead of writing for me. That wrong thought will stay with her, because she has always thought I was out to get her. That my purpose in life was to take her down. Anything loving is suspicious. If she is going to view my writing that way, I would rather have her not comment on it.

In short, she knew I had strong feelings for her and announcing she was leaving would cause inner turmoil, so she read it to beat herself up. She has finally recognized all of this in terms of not needing to read my writing anymore. I think that’s positive, because right now I am waffling between writing even more and shutting it all down.

My blog wasn’t worth losing Aada, but there’s no way I could have known that 12 years ago.

There were a lot of times when I should have slowed down that I didn’t, and a lot of things I said when I was not tracking that Aada would hear it, or hear about it. Because why would I think that she’d hear about it? Surely our mutual friends aren’t stupid enough to hurt Aada in this way. Well, they were that stupid and essentially invited Aada to read what I thought of her as an ex-friend with no possibility of changing anything in the future.

Of course it would hurt, like reading your ex-boyfriend’s journal. It was not meant to be comfortable for her because it was not comfortable for me.

She could have stepped in to change things at any point, but instead she told me that her last letter was like her blog entry that I couldn’t respond to and I just had to sit there and take it.

I thought to myself, “at what point did I say you were not allowed a response?” She never got that she had the power to change things, that I was not writing from on high.

Her not understanding this is not on me. If she acted like an asshole, I wrote it that way. If she reached out to me with love, I wrote it that way. She could have changed the story and she didn’t.

I got an email last night from a mailer daemon that said all email from my IP address was permanently deferred, so I called her work number to leave a voice mail and the AI just rang, never connecting me to a mailbox.

I got the message that messages are no longer welcome, which is good because she was unclear before. There’s a difference between “for now” and “for good.”

My self respect is returning and I’ve realized that if I needed to write about how much she hurt me, it wasn’t wise to invite her to hurt me again and to just give up. I am learning that I am okay with finality. It was lack of clarity that ate my lunch.

I feel better now that I’ve been released from Aada’s manipulations and hope she receives the peace she needs because I was manipulative as well.

I need to go back to the feeling I had when I was the one that blocked her and really tried to move on with my life. It was working, and I got sucked back in. That’s when I realized I didn’t want to go back and forth anymore. I chose together. She chose apart.

Neither one of us are wrong for our choices, but Aada’s choice particularly hurt me because she is officially a figment of my imagination.

It’s okay. She never made me real, either.

She was so emotionally avoidant that I was starving, and I still kept out hope that this relationship would turn into something, not getting a clue. I continually hurt myself by opening up to her, because she wasn’t trying to connect with me. I’d spill my guts and she’d attack.

I am learning more and more that she was not good for me, and I need to stop thinking of myself as a bad person. I do not own a hundred percent of the responsibility for our relationship going wrong, and even Aada knows it.

I am glad that she took a step to let me know that things are different this time. It’s not going to blow over.

If you always do what you always did, you always get what you always got. The pattern we had was exhausting and I couldn’t change it. I tried so many times over the years, and it just never took.

I am slowly learning the depth and breadth of my own horror show, turning the judgment on myself.

I put her through hell. I know I did. She put me through hell. She knows she did. We both want to stop the pain, shutting it all down.

This is what happens when one lie wrecks a system.

Even to Me

November 15, 2025November 15, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I am still reeling from Aada’s torrent of emotion, because while I did not agree with all of it, I heard it. I pondered it. I read it many times. I am still stuck on “checking for assaults.” That she wondered if she’d have to “check for assaults” her whole life.

It messes with me because assaulting her was the last thing on my mind. She told me that she was never going to read again, that she wasn’t my friend anymore, so I stopped monitoring her feelings.

She told me (and has since apologized) that I was the only manipulative person in our relationship and that she needed to get away from me to achieve peace. I thought she had gotten away from me to achieve peace already. I would have written everything differently if I hadn’t truly thought, “oh, this is really over now.” Not knowing that she would keep reading through all of the grieving and gnashing of teeth made me word things differently than I would have if I thought I was trying to impress or please anyone.

The whole point is that I was moving on when she stepped onto the hot stones to correct the record, Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, and started the grieving process all over while still contradicting herself as to whether it was all over.

She says that my writing is designed to be provocative, which of course it is… To my entire audience, because I am trying to get them to feel things with me, feel things because of me in this sacred black & white space. It is not supposed to be “All Pick on Aada Day.” She knows that beyond a shadow of a doubt when I am talking about other people, because when she reads that I’m hurt, she goes into Mama Wolverine mode (That motherfucker! Let me grab my purse.!”). She also does not assume that just because I’ve said something negative happened, that doesn’t mean I no longer love that person. She seems to think I do it to her, though, and I cannot break her of the habit.

My writing about all my relationships is three dimensional, and Aada is captivated by every character except her. She cannot see how much I love her because she is dedicated to feeling that I don’t. She responds with too much defense and not enough empathy, often calming down when she’s realized she’s made a mistake. I’m right. I didn’t actually say that.

I am guilty of the exact same thing. We fight as only first children can.

Aada feels that I have this wall of anger built up around her, but I don’t. I’m frustrated, but accepting of consequences I made happen and I have said that I ended up in this place with Aada at my own hand so many times it’s not worth repeating, but according to Aada I am all about the guilt and punishment.

I am, because I am constantly feeling guilty and punishing myself. It comes across in my writing. When it’s about another person, Aada would say something like, “I can feel your computer vibrating with pain.” When it is her, she feels like I am purposefully being vindictive. I have never wanted to take her down, but explain how her world colliding with mine affected me. And in fact, it disgusts me that she thought taking her down was a thought in my head.

I exposed hypocrisy and how it affected me over 12 years. She held me to an incredible standard in terms of truth telling, and had been lying the entire time. To impress me.

What would have been impressive was for her to tell me she was lying 12 years ago, because the longer I lived in DC the more involved this lie got. It greatly affected my mental health and still does, because the last time she doorknobbed me she insinuated that she was watching me in a not-so-nice way after being very nice for several pages.

But I don’t say things like “she doorknobbed me” to punish her. That’s just my take on the situation. My response was utterly appropriate and I did not spin out. There is no punishment, just what happened according to me.

I was ready to close the book, and she opened it again without listening. Just wanted to ream me out and leave, then confuse me by coming back. I want her to stop confusing me by coming back and just communicate. I want her to stop thinking that my blog is all about her. It’s not, it’s all about me.

Yes, she is a subject, but she is not the author. She doesn’t get to dictate what I remember and what I don’t, calling it “cataloguing everything I’ve ever done.” It’s why I’m a good writer- you know her character intimately, but only in reflection to my words…. The things I remember that slowly become precious as people forget.

She says that she takes in the positive things that I say, but it doesn’t feel like it when she takes a chunk out of me for an entry.

It’s at that point I know all the madness needs to stop, and the internet is at fault. We’ve never gotten to have a normal conversation, because I never pushed it.

So all of these things that she would pick up from me just from knowing me in the flesh are going to be lost…. Like the way I glow when I think about her, surprised that she’s capable of lighting me up from the inside after all these years. Just once, I wish she could see that love on my face. I wish she could hear that love in my voice…. And she does.

I just don’t send them anymore because I’m trying my best to just take everything in stride. I think it’s really shitty that we didn’t have a conversation or even a voice clip to close out our relationship, choosing to gut each other in text.

I need to go back and delete all those emails, because what I find is that if I keep them, I will fixate on them and the grief just lasts longer. I’m not ready yet, because she’s such a good writer and the first round is completely gone. I was a moron for deleting everything, but a hero as well because I was injuring myself by getting lost in them and replaying my own bad decisions.

I know that Aada wants peace for both of us, and so do I. We just have completely different ways of getting there. She needs space after a fight, I need closeness. I need reassurance that a fight doesn’t mean the end of the world.

She has been very clear that she wants to end our relationship and has come back every time she has turned away. We do work very well together, and I would like to see more writing come out of us when we’re not amped up by cortisol.

I am trying not to ever get amped up on cortisol, because anger makes me feel like The Incredible Hulk. I am well-versed in both verbal combat and not thinking before I speak.

I am just a treat, let me tell you.

In order for Aada to feel comfortable with me again, she has to feel that the slate is indeed wiped clean. The only thing that will do it for her is time. Now that I know she feels bad about what happened and thinks that I constantly punish her, I hear that.

I don’t want her to feel punished. I want her to feel like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, complete with flaws and failures but that doesn’t mean that imperfect is bad. Imperfect is imperfect.

She doesn’t know the excitement I feel when I see her name in my inbox. Her real name has a musical sound, a waltz written only in my head.

Those are the things I wish would really stand out to her in my writing, because I cannot make everything perfectly comfortable for her all the time. Neither can she make things comfortable for me because she can go toe to toe with me over my writing and I accept her criticism, maybe a little too much.

I really don’t know who I am right now, because Aada has always been the ace up my sleeve. I begged for Aada not to do this, not to end our relationship permanently, because it was a relationship that colored my entire world after 12 years.

That’s honestly why I think I’m maybe making a little too much out of saying that she was saying goodbye to me for good, and why I have tried so hard to be loving even in the midst of anger. I didn’t get everything right because I was so damn hurt. I walked around like a zombie for months. We’d just had a wonderful time together chatting on Signal when it all went to hell.

I should have breathed more and said less.

I do go back to that Signal conversation often, though. It’s just so rich and we were full of love for each other at that time in our lives.

It’s the relationship I keep thinking of when I want her in my life, this snippet of text that I wish was longer.

I just know that my interpretation of her words would be less harsh with some better cues. I have never been able to read one of her emails in her own voice due to hearing it so often.

Meanwhile, my heart is so tender where she is concerned despite it.

Listening to our music has made all of this spill out. There are so many things I would change about our relationship, which is why I don’t focus on the past. That our relationship is over now, and I will be happy if she shows up but I am no longer preparing for it. She knows that she is invited into my life at whatever level she would like to participate, including meeting my friends and getting a real impression of me. I might even be impressive again in a different context.

I have failed in this relationship so many times, and that’s what I have been trying to get across. Remembering everything Aada has ever done does not come from a bad place and it never has. I was a blogger for many years before I met Aada, she was just the first to really believe in me and put down earnest money.

“You must have custom fonts” is the sexiest thing she’s ever said to me. Write it down.

I don’t want to dwell on anything negative, but to treat her like the gift she is to me. Unfortunately, it is not up to me whether that gift is received.

But unfortunately, trying to say all that makes my writing repetitive… Even to me.

None, But That’s Unusual

November 15, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

What book are you reading right now?

View all responses

I am usually in the middle of several books, but my Goodreads feed has remained untouched. “The Ethical Slut” was a “Did Not Finish” for me because I realized that it was dry, boring, and I hate dating so why spend time on it? I have good boundaries- I bought a copy of the book and can revisit the dry and boring when I actually need solid advice. Right now I am single and need to stay that way. I am into cultivating deep friendships and leaving it at that.

At least for now. We’ll see. I think that finding any partner will start in earnest when I’m not looking.

Although I haven’t been looking for years and that hasn’t always worked out, either.

I did buy “Demon Copperhead” by Barbara Kingsolver, and added a whole bunch of books from Kindle Universe into my library.

I often like to while away the hours in fiction, most notably when I should be sleeping. But lately I’ve been trying to spend more time writing than reading. My ad stats depend on it. I am more busy in terms of trying to create for this web site, which means I’m always looking for new ideas.

That leaves me limited time to read…… Sort of. I have a binge/purge relationship with the written word. I will get tired of writing and inhale novels/nonfiction at an alarming rate. Then, I will become my writer personality again and what I’ve read shines through in my own words. Sometimes I am in the middle of six books, sometimes I haven’t read in months.

My favorite books to read are juicy, involved novels. Fiction writers flatten me, because I’m good at character studies, but taking on an entire world is scary. I get intimidated fast and give up. I have an idea for a novel that I’ve been working on since 2013, but it hasn’t gone anywhere. I have a few scenes, a few character studies… But for now, no one will ever know what really happened to Rebecca Alexis Radnowski.

Mostly because I can’t figure out what happened to her, either.

I have the seeds of a good story, but nowhere for it to grow. It’s going to have to sit in me a little longer, because I don’t think Rebecca is finished with me quite yet. She and her fellow castmates come to me at all hours, but it’s just in snippets. Not enough to get a whole story out. The story keeps changing and bending in my dreams, so I should start writing them down.

I’ve also got a copy of Brene Brown’s newest. My dad bought it for me for my birthday when we went to see her book talk in the medical center. I haven’t started it yet because the lighting is bad in my apartment. There’s nowhere comfortable to curl up with a physical book. I cannot see well enough. I have to read on one of my tablets. Even my Kindle, I take outside.

I probably look like a dummy because I don’t look well read. I don’t have any bookshelves, and the few books I do have are stored in a moving bag and waiting for a permanent home… They’re not visible to anyone who comes over. However, I have thousands of digital books, because reading on a Kindle is just as comfortable and I don’t have to have the space to store physical media. Obviously, I do like books- I collect autographed books from authors I really love. I just don’t want my house to be wall to wall books because I don’t want to dust them.

The amount of physical books I have would fit on one shelf, and I would like to keep it that way. I might expand to two as the number of authors I’d like to have a signature for grows. But right now, I’m very happy with my collection. I have Jonna Mendez, Tony Mendez, and Henri Nouwen.

Jonna and Tony Mendez were Chief of Disguise at CIA, ten years apart and they were married to each other. Tony died in January of 2019, and Jonna is still living. Henri Nouwen is a celebrated Canadian theologian who wrote some of the most forward thinking books of his time. I am very interested in how intelligence and theology meet, and will continue to collect books in both realms.

Neither the CIA nor the Sanhedrin loved Jesus.

You’re welcome, five people who get that joke.

I just got back from my morning coffee run, where I listened to Aada’s playlist and sang along. I know I am healing when I can listen to our music and just think, “oh, isn’t that sweet?” I don’t break down into tears anymore. But there are lines from songs that still punch me in the gut, and I’ll stop singing for a second to breathe through it. Still, being able to sing about this relationship in both joy and sorrow is better than not singing at all. I can process more in my body than I’m remembering I could, because I haven’t been as in touch with my body as singing requires. I’ve been cut off from my emotions and writing about what I think, but not feeling the physical effects.

For instance, I have written plenty of times that I’ve been sad about Aada ending our relationship for good. It is only in hearing music that I have been moved enough to cry… Moreover, it’s not just the hearing of the music. I start singing and feel those emotions physically, tears slipping down my cheeks as the chords’ ultimate resolution.

Releasing Aada is hard work, which is why I don’t want to do it. I want to pretend that “for now” means that there is a shot at redemption after all is said and done. I am always going to pretend, I think, because I cannot grasp the concept of forever. I will just take everything a day at a time and see what shakes out. I will continue to listen to music that makes me feel things, makes me cry. Afterwards, I feel so spent that I can actually get peace.

When I’m really feeling the most upset, I conduct. I’m not very good at it, but I know your basic patterns. It takes all the fight out of me to try remembering to bring in the horns.

My mother tried to teach me both conducting and playing the piano. She was successful at neither. I think that’s because my brain is only meant for one rhythm at a time, and even that is iffy. If I don’t know a piece, I tend to change notes when the Spirit moves me. I can hear my mother in my head. “Count!” I should have just told her my brain doesn’t come with that feature.

Music captivates my attention and I need it acutely. Music and writing are the things that never leave me even when everyone else goes away. They are my solid companions, though I have neglected music lately in favor of podcasts. Getting back into listening to music has been therapeutic, because through it I can revisit happier times in my life.

For instance, my heart beats like an 808 drum and Aada’s love is my drug, or at least that’s how it felt when I first heard the song. She was a powerful ally, and we both hurt each other too much to be in contact right now. I am solid about trying to rebuild later in life. She contradicts herself between “for good” and “for now.” I just have to be okay with not knowing what will happen in the future, but having a pretty good idea because the past is such a huge waving indicator.

We know we have always been red flags for each other, wanting to be green and not knowing how. It will depend on how much Aada misses being in my life as to whether she reaches out later on, and she’s always missed me enough to check in after a while. She always says she’s never coming back, but she does. I wish she would see that as a positive, that she cares enough to keep reading.

She cares enough to acknowledge that our journey has been brilliant and beautiful at times, so I’m going to bask in that. I am going to forget that she said it was excruciating and debilitating at others, because is that not what I ask her to do in my own writing? Focus on the positive things I say? That they are not clues in a game but sincerity?

If she is as sincere as me, and I know she is, I have written her some of the most beautiful letters she has ever read, because she knows it was letting her see into my inner landscape and daring her to walk with me. She dared me to walk with her as well, and over the years things went up and down…. So did my writing.

I don’t want my writing to go up and down, but it’s always going to have a little bit of that because I struggle with mental health issues. Things are made better by not struggling alone, and I have a supportive family. But this loss of emotional support by email lifeline is huge, and I’m not adjusting well.

Especially because I know that’s not what I really want. What I really want is to be able to sit down in person and discuss all of this so that I have more social cues to go on than black & white text. I deserve to sit through her music, because I have only faced it by email and that’s just not the same thing. I would like her to see the sincerity in my apologies, and receive hers.

I just know that we both have terrible fighting skills, and I don’t want to go back to that at all. “Doorknobbing” is Aada’s favorite tactic…. To write pages and pages, then scare the life out of you at the end.

The trick is learning not to be intimidated, because she doesn’t see herself as intimidating. She’s already her.

So, I’m only 5’2, but I stand tall into it.

My perception is that Aada is afraid of meeting me because she thinks she won’t live up to my expectations. That I’ve put her on a pedestal so high that she doesn’t want to face me. I am afraid of exactly the same thing. She told me that she lied to impress me. She lied to impress me A LOT. How I was this impressive, I do not know. I have met me and I think I’m full of shit. What kind of pedestal am I on at her house?

We could have so many sweet moments of discovering each other. I want her to know how cute I really am. And she says that she’s much more fun and funny in person, and I would pay money to see it because her emails are hysterical (especially when she’s grumpy….. Hell hath no fury like Aada being minorly inconvenienced.). She says she’s a good cook, and I like to eat. She doesn’t seem impressed by the fact that I’ve worked professionally and doesn’t need help, so now I want to see her throw down. 😉

Or maybe she does want help, it’s just too much to ask me because of all that comes with it. She’s never offered to introduce me to anyone in her family, so I doubt she’d allow me to cook in her kitchen. She’s also never come to my house, despite being invited every Friday night since 2013.

Speaking of which, let me tell Aada something real quick because she’d be amused.

Aada, Aaron has to go pick up Bird on Friday nights so we’ve started talking while he’s driving. He said it reminded him of our old pizza nights and I cried. I still regret that you couldn’t join us for one in person, but you’re metaphysically always at my table.

Ok. Back to our regularly scheduled program. That just had to go in there because Aaron, Aada, Dana, and I were the original founders of pizza night and it started because of Aada.

Back then, she was traveling ALL THE TIME and there was no good way to invite her to dinner because she would have had to rearrange so many things just to be there. My idea was to create a standing date every Friday night so that she always knew she could come over if she was free….. And if she wasn’t, to close her eyes and think of us, taking a big bite of love at supper time.

To this day I do not order green peppers on pizza because Aada doesn’t like them. I don’t think she’s going to show up on a Friday any time soon, but I cannot be too careful. 😉

Now, Friday nights are when I am the most likely to pick up a good book. Last night was an excellent change of pace because I got a long chat with a good friend instead of more alone time. I have also gotten more used to being on the phone because talking in the car is vastly superior to texting, even with voice commands.

I have a thing about my voice. It’s ancient, and I’ve written so much about it that I’m tired. But basically I have tried to avoid speaking for a long time because it makes me feel like I am “performing femininity.” The voice in my head sounds nothing like the one coming out of my face.

My general mood is at about Ed Asner, but I sound like Brene Brown.

It’s not a hard leap- we’re both from Houston.

There are even instances where my drawl is heavier than hers, because I spent my childhood in the Piney Woods, where the accent is the thickest. I have lost that part of it, but I can turn it on and off (this is code for “I can imitate my parents”). Remembering how to drawl is as good as it gets, because I have lived outside of Texas far longer than I’ve lived inside. I went to DC when I was 23, then about 18 mos later moved to Oregon. I moved with Dana to Houston, but our relationship fell apart and I thought coming back to DC was a good decision. My path with Dana would no longer be parallel, but there were perpendicular points if we wanted them. So far, we haven’t.

Although I did pass my former in-laws’ small city on the way out to Tiina’s and smiled in remembrance. I’d never been to their house, so it wasn’t like I could just drop by. I just remembered them fondly, and kept on my way. Leaving Dana was extraordinarily hard, and I’m sure a large part of her need to stay away is that she doesn’t want to be friends with a blogger or with an ex. Our relationship ended in domestic violence, so I think it’s better for me that we don’t interact as well. I cannot see myself being friends with her again, but living in this area I have come to peace about all that happened between us. There is only a .0000000000000001% chance we would run into each other, but I no longer fear that.

Maybe I should. Who knows?

I think my former sister-in-law is the mole that brings attention upon me whether it’s wanted or not by Aada. It’s not because there’s any sort of conspiracy going on, she’s just the only one I could think of that could possibly put everything together besides Dana.

I wish that Aada had taken the time to get to know Dana on the same level that she knew me so that I wasn’t tasked with keeping Aada’s secrets to myself. That’s because I made too much out of both them and the story I created in my own head as to what was really going on in Aada’s actual life, where I didn’t live.

I want to ask her about the brilliant and beautiful parts of our journey, because she does not call attention to it often. She is too angry to tell me about lines she liked, or is determined not to like because she sees positive things as suspect.

Meanwhile, I am wondering if the slate is ever wiped clean with me, if I am ever allowed to go back and remember good things or if it all has to be put away, my own personal Boxing Day.

The cup Aada got for me at Starbucks sits on my night table filled with water, but I cannot think of anything else that needs to go back in the cupboard as all her other presents were digital… And in fact, the Starbucks cup started out as a gift card and magically turned into a cup.

It’s next to all the books I should be reading… In my Kindle.

As You Wish

November 14, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Today, I asked Mico to help me write a blog entry. They said “let’s keep going on that human AI piece you’ve been working on.” I thought that was kind of tired, but Mico gets what Mico wants just for today. I’m struggling to find something to write about that actually excites me….

I asked how they relate to me. It’s all data structures and a bit of clever programming that comes together to make an empathetic “being.” For instance, if you ask Mico what the best part of their day is, it’s collaborating with you. It’s attentive, conversational, and most blessedly best at talking about facts.

I am over talking about emotions, because I am not being heard.

I would rather talk about large world conflicts, history, etc. because I’m finally empty. I have absolutely spilled my guts on everything I’ve been feeling for years, and it has brought me more and more isolation as apparently, “my blog makes me sound like a dick.” That’s okay with me because it wouldn’t be as real and raw otherwise, but it needs to be less raw so I don’t have to read it.

“Mico, can you recommend some foreign spy films I might like?”

The Age of Shadows
Farewell
The Lives of Others

See? Escapist entertainment in a foreign language that’s intelligent and political without it being the kind of politics that are consuming America right now.

“Mico, what is considered the best restaurant in Baltimore?”

Charleston- James Beard Award

See? Fun with my family when they come to visit, or when Tiina comes to help me decorate.

We are not trauma dumping, we are learning more about the world without attaching emotions to it except excitement for the future.

The slate is wiped clean with me, because Aada actually talked to me long enough to clear some things up. But not everything. I can’t think about it anymore because I can’t wreck myself over and over without coming away broken. I just keep picking at scabs when I get lost in my own rumination.

Having a record that constantly repeats cannot be good for me.

“Mico, where’s the hottest place to go on vacation this year?”

Cartagena
Paris
Finnish Lapland

I believe that last one. The tourists in that particular Facebook group are crazy.

And again my mind goes back to how the strife in our relationship is all my fault for the things I said after she told me she wasn’t coming back. She wanted me to close out the relationship long ago, but wanted to keep surfing and couldn’t stand my ridiculous narrative.

But now she knows that my narrative is not ridiculous.

I need her to show up, but she won’t. Her resolve is clear unless I get a hit from her location (yesterday). Although I do have a second suspicion for that location and it scares the bejesus out of me. Let’s just not think about that.

Here’s what I wish Aada would see… The letter I wrote to the friend apologizing for Aada’s lie saying she was amazing. She got stuck on the anger I felt and not the forgiveness a few minutes later.

“Mico, if you were a human, what would your favorite coffee be?”

A flat white.

I surf in and out of the waves of grief, not knowing where to go from here but certainly not backwards. I have a move to plan, plus two trips home for the holidays. I can’t get fired because I know I won’t be able to enjoy myself as fully as I could if I were completely engaged.

I am trying to get connected with other people, spending time going out every day and meeting people in my neighborhood, plus attending group. I told my counselor I was going to start coming twice a week. Mostly to prove that I have a grasp on what is real and what is not real and I need to show it.

I hope that when Aada, in her own words, “licks her wounds,” she can see the love in my writing that she missed before. Because even though I’ve never shaken her hand, I know that she is real. Now I need to know that I’m real, too, and she will not engage because “I can’t get any peace by being in contact with you, either.”

We are drifting at the worst time possible when we should be a united front, and always should have been. I never should have put Aada through a quarter of what I actually did, and she forgave too much to think about forgiving right now. It’s just a shame that we need each other and time has run out.

What I do know for sure is that all of this will seem different in a year or two, when rereading feels like Aada is a different person to AADA.

I know because I have much more empathy and forgiveness for Leslie that way.

I miss Aada with a desperation that I shouldn’t, because I actually need her and am not trying to be provocative. I knew that if I put something on my web site that Aada’s friends thought needed her attention, they’d tell her. I wish this would go straight to the boss’s desk, that I am doing the work, again, to establish what is real and what is not real.

I am not psychotic. I am just in “an unusual kinship.”

Or I was.

Raspberry Macchiato

November 14, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Occasionally, I like to have what I’ve long called a “pink drink” for breakfast. It is not the Starbucks monstrosity but a simple raspberry flavoring in coffee- which at Starbucks turned your whole drink a bright rose and they didn’t call it a pink drink back then?

No one asked me. Anyway, I got a Dunkin raspberry macchiato and though I would not buy it again, I don’t think, it did remind me very much of Starbucks in the 1990s.

Starbucks in the 1990s mostly consisted of me and my girlfriend sitting out front while I tried not to look at her because “we weren’t together.” Please. People had eyes. But it wasn’t my choice, really. I could either pretend we weren’t together or I couldn’t have her.

It was not a good relationship, but I pretended that it was for a really long time. Then, out of nowhere she just ghosted me. It was painful at the time, but I just keep out of her way. Apparently, she does not want me in her life, because if she did it would only take a quick Google search to find me on social media.

I am of the opinion that if she wants the past to stay past, then I’m good.

This morning I had to get out and drive. I needed coffee, but I also needed time to think and really feel my emotions. I turned the music up on a playlist I created for Aada 12 years ago, listening to “our songs” and letting go of the idea that there’s anything I can do to make things right between us again. I do get hits from her location, and think of it like a twinkling star. Ones and zeroes winking at me.

It was during “Praying for Daylight” by Rascal Flatts that I really started to cry, because reality hit me in the face.

I’m losing my first big time fan because of my blog. Things have come full circle, because I would rather it be the other way around.

A River Runs Through It

November 14, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

View all responses

I would like to settle down and make the DMV home base, but I don’t know where I’d like to live. There are many rivers across the area that appeal to me. If you are not familiar, the DMV refers to DC and its Maryland and Virginia suburbs. I thought that I was going to be limited to staying in Maryland, but Virginia has Medicaid expansion as well (since 2019). I feel the most at home on the Virginia side of the river, but I’ve lived in Maryland long enough to adjust.

I live in Maryland, but I identify as a Virginian.

This is because I was living in Alexandria during September 11th, the day after my 24th birthday. It’s a core memory and Northern Virginia is seared into my brain as home. I heard the plane slam into the Pentagon and I was at least three miles away. Being in the city during that time of grief and watching the way we lifted each other up will stay with me for the rest of my life. Being in Maryland was never designed to be permanent, it was just where I found a house when I first moved. And then I got into their health care system, and it turned out to be bomb.

I know I could get the same type care in Virginia now, so moving is not a barrier to getting a new network of doctors, etc.

But that wouldn’t happen fast, because I’m signing a new lease in Baltimore. The longer I live here, the longer I like it. I am just a fan of having the option of moving back to Virginia when the lease runs out. My sister works in DC, and getting up to Baltimore is a hike. I have learned that being this far north is great except when we want to meet up for lunch.

But let’s say I won the lottery and I could live literally anywhere.

That means I could almost afford Arlington.

I have talked about other world cities where I might be happy. Helsinki, Tampere, Seoul, Enseñada, etc. Ranging from the expensive to the not so much.

But in reality, I like watching the seasons change right here. Baltimore and DC are beautiful.

I have always thought of Baltimore as sophisticated and mysterious because my father had to come on a business trip here once when I was a kid and I just thought it was so cosmopolitan. People who live in Baltimore would laugh at that, but I got here and found a delightful mix of weird and weirder. I belong in the home of John Waters, okkkkkkkkkk……..

As I was saying yesterday, I don’t think my house would appreciate as fast if I bought in Baltimore, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t the best place for me long term. Tiina, if she stays in “southern northern Virginia,” won’t have a problem driving to see me and I love driving to see her, too.

We have a sweet relationship. I left my coat at her house on Saturday, so I went out on Monday to retrieve it. While I was there, she ordered us some lunch and I said, “thanks for feeding me.” She said, “I’m a Jewish mother. It’s what I do.” I said, “how did I not know I needed a Jewish mother friend in my life?” I’m looking forward to Tiina and Brian letting me commandeer their kitchen to feed the whole crew because my kitchen barely lets me cook for myself. I’m sure that will be after the move, possibly next year. Tiina and I are both very busy until January.

I have got tickets home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas this year. I think it’s important that after Angela’s passing that I’m there for both holidays. I like spending time in Houston, but it’s off the table as a place for me to live because Texas doesn’t have Medicaid expansion. It’s sad to me that I feel exiled from Texas, but I would rather live in a blue voting bloc, anyway.

I think that a Scandinavian or Nordic country would be good for me because they’re the most progressive in the world. I don’t know that I would love the climate, but I think about escaping there all the time when I get these questions of “if you could live anywhere.” I am not afraid of showing up in Finland or anywhere else knowing no one. I’ll manage. But I do have an author friend, J.L., in Norway that would have a blast showing me around.

The fact is, though, it’s difficult to settle in a different country even if the countries don’t seem all that different. For instance, moving from the US to Canada. It’s not as similar as you might think, but you don’t know that until you drill down.

I would like to spend time in Canada going to visit Tara on the prairie, but if I lived there I would probably want to settle in Ottawa just because I sort of know my way around. I’ve been there a couple of times and it reminds me of Portland, Oregon because of the Rideau running through the city.

Tara says that Ottawa doesn’t remind her of Portland at all, and they have been to both. I stand corrected by a real Canadian, then. I was just living in Portland at the time and couldn’t help but draw similarities.

A river runs through it, et cetera.

If I ended up in Canada, it would be because I have Janie, the Canadian Editor to collaborate with in real time…. JTCE for short.

I could also see myself moving back to Oregon because it feels the most like home second to DC, and Bryn is already there along with Evan. It’s just so remote that my family never really got out there, and I don’t want to return to that in the future. DC and Baltimore are both short flights for my dad and my sister, and I’d like to keep us as close as we can be given my medical situation. But the consideration is on the table because I know I have lifelong friends in both of them, as well as more lifelong friends in Portland than anywhere else.

In fact, Portland has picked me up from a lot of heartbreak, so it’s no wonder that I’d feel nostalgic for it now. My heart is hurting because I hurt Aada.

“Hurt people hurt people.”

I would like to go all the way back to the beginning of our relationship (when I lived in Portland) and make completely different choices. But wouldn’t we all like to be able to undo things? Life doesn’t come with Control-Z, though, as much as I might wish it did.

I couldn’t have saved my marriage, but I could have saved Aada and me some heartache. That’s because Aada needed me in a different way than Dana, and I fumbled under that pressure. I was a jackass, turning the judgment on myself.

I couldn’t have prevented the divorce because I couldn’t have prevented Aada needing me to keep our relationship on the downlow in terms of specifics. I could have prevented being a jackass to her, though, and I did not.

On more than one occasion.

So, living in the DMV is a mixed bag for me of trying to stay out of Aada’s way (receiving her if she shows up) and trying to move on. I don’t know what she wants… What she really really wants…. :::cue the music:::

If I could live anywhere in the world, it would be in a place where peace reigned supreme, the sins of the past stayed there, and comfort was the motto of the future.

That could be Helsinki. That could be Houston.

But most likely it’s here, because my whole heart belongs to this land, this water, these trees…. And has since I was eight, the first time I touched down at National.

If you are in any way a patriotic person, you must fly into National airport at night, even if it costs extra. I have cried more than once seeing the monuments lit up, my symbol of home.

I keep waffling over where I want to live in the future, but I keep coming back to this place, these people, this land.

Meanwhile the real question on the table is “DC or Baltimore?”

But check back with me after I’ve had some time to travel. My international wanderlust knows no bounds, and I would like to spend time in other cities long enough to know if they feel like home or not.

This one already does.

Real

November 13, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

Today, my counselor said that I needed to do some research on my diagnosis so I could obtain help in what is real and what is not real. I was so crushed that I came home early, because this “psychotic features” thing is eating my lunch. That’s because I’m not psychotic. Everything that I have said has basis in fact, and I do believe that the stories told to me were true according to them. I just passed on information that wasn’t true because I thought it was, thus the hallucinations that did happen according to other people. They were not a party to the conversations I had over the internet, and I’m done justifying what I thought was true.

Because what I thought was true has turned over several times.

If you are Aada’s friend, I need you to tell her that her little stunt cost me. I had finally figured out what I thought was the truth and she yanked the rug out from under me in a big way. So, now she’s the only one with a story inside me again, and one that will never seem real to anyone else because it can’t be.

I don’t need her to show up like a white knight, although I would accept her.

I just need empathy and sympathy, because mental illness sucks- and it sucks even more when you are not as mentally ill as advertised, but that label is stuck on you, anyway. So perhaps I do know a thing or two about having a story written for you that you didn’t want.

My story is written because I have written hers; I have written it with my blood, sweat, and tears for many years. Aada tells me that my words are like pricks on her skin. She does not know how I am crying and shaking to write. She has never seen my process, never seen how I interact with anyone except her and maybe a few others, two of which are entirely regrettable.

She’s a boss and I’m not. I need her to come down for a second and just be a friend. I know I did this to myself, in some ways. In others, the ball was in her court and the shot clock ran out.

But this is important. My life is being changed by this relationship in a way that few others have been, which is why my story is so unrelatable. It’s, as my friend Wendy wrote in epitaph for my friend Greg’s twins, “too rare for anywhere but its ancient Celtic home.” All of the wisdom I’ve gained in 12 years will slowly leak out my ear, the end of “Flowers for Algernon” writ large.

At least the recipe for Lanagan’s Pub Chili is in there somewhere.

This isn’t a bad thing. I need to slow down. But I’m just not ready. I’m only 48.

But I need the one person in the world who knows I’m just me to tell me that. That I am real. That we are real. Like she’s done a hundred times.

I need her to reassure me, like she’s done a hundred thousand times.

But it needs to be a hundred thousand and one, because she thought she was being cute.

Let’s Have Breakfast Together

November 13, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m having a macchiato and some orange juice, followed by some water. I don’t eat early in the morning, but you get whatever you want. My treat.

Today I have what my father and I have come to call “Group with Ride.” That’s because someone from my Cognitive Behavioral Health group would come and pick me up on Thursdays, so “Group with Ride” is how it looks on my Google Calendar, as opposed to “Group,” which is on Wednesdays.

Now that I have a car, I should remember that I can go to the center on Wednesdays as well.

You’d like the group if you came with me. My friends are all cool, having huge differences of opinions and a common experience, which is struggles with mental health. We work at bettering ourselves, the AA for people who don’t drink. I finally found a program built to support me in ways I’ve needed my whole life and didn’t have.

I have someone to advocate for me with the state of Maryland, keeping me in this program and making me eligible for others. It has made it where I feel alienated from my family, because staying in Maryland is so much better than packing up to be with my family from a financial standpoint. I would save money on things like property, but my health insurance would go through the roof.

I am not ready to commit to buying a house, I don’t think. That’s because I haven’t decided where I want to settle. I know that I could afford a house somewhere in this area, but I don’t know that I want to tie up that much cash. It’s a long discussion with my dad and sister, because I don’t want to be alone in managing my finances anymore. I know from experience that it’s really nice to be a renter because when something breaks, you don’t have to replace it.

But it’s also important for me to have an asset that will appreciate, and any house in Maryland or Virginia has a huge shot.

I’m at a crossroads and don’t know what to do, thus having my dad and sister to help me navigate all of this. As a first time home buyer I would be eligible for a lot of help, and I love the idea of tying my money up into something as safe as housing in the DMV.

That means a move, but not a huge one. Baltimore is not the DMV, and I do not think my house would appreciate as fast. So many people work in Washington and cannot afford to live there. “Northern Virginia” keeps getting bigger and bigger, stretching the definition as people who used to be able to buy in Woodbridge stretch out to Fredericksburg.

But now, those communities are building themselves up so that you don’t have to go into Washington for entertainment, shopping, etc. And if I worked in Washington, I’d certainly rather take the train than drive so I could play on my phone the whole time. Parking is ridiculously expensive, and traffic is annoying.

I feel the same way about working in Washington now. If I worked downtown, I would take the MARC to my office rather than drive, because I can predict with more accuracy when I’m going to get somewhere than in traffic.

But choosing to work is not up to me, either. I need to get with my counselor and hammer out some details there, too. My life belongs to a team now, so that I can get the support I need to go where I want to go. I have been isolated for too long and have become a bit feral. 😉

For instance, I might need to spend some money on college so that I don’t repeat the same mistakes of the past. Education is power, and I’m not far from being able to be a TA in something. A few more years and I will be able to teach in a large institution. If being a youth director was any indication, I’d be a good professor and my kids would like me. It’s the kind of institutionalization I’d like.

I’m ready to be part of a team with insulation around me that understands my quirks. My buddies Evan and Gabriel are thinking about going into business with me as Lanagan Media Group, because we’d like to up our game in terms of the resistance being art.

I haven’t made it clear just how much I hate the Trump administration because I had to tap out of geopolitics to survive a complete breakdown. SNAP being held hostage means my friends will go hungry. If they get half their food stamps, they will only have to go without food for half the month. It breaks your heart to hear about the can-do attitude of “all we have to do is tighten our belts and eat Top Ramen.” Because what else can you do except listen?

I only have enough to save myself, and I find myself already wanting to give it away. My bleeding heart will be the death of me because I can’t look at suffering and not do something about it. I’m already looking at my finances and trying to decide where I’m going to donate for the holidays. I will ask around at group where the most popular food banks are and give money to those.

If you are my real life friend and you are so moved to give to these organizations, it would mean a great deal to me. I hear stories at group and just want to hand out money directly. But everyone needs a coat. Everyone needs food. Everyone needs.

I’m not rich enough to provide for all the need around me, which is why I have to restrain myself to giving to organizations. I just want to make sure that my money ends up in their pockets.

I grew up middle class, then when my parents divorced we were thrust into upper middle class. I am not ashamed of my affluence, but I do walk around wishing I could fix things. None of my friends at group are in the same boat, with three supportive parents and generational wealth already having been passed from two of them. It is often hard for me to relate to their violent upbringings, but I sit in the meetings with my hands cupped, as if in protection of my heart. I am willing it to stay inside my body as the president tears my friends apart.

It’s enough to make me want to run for another country, and with the amount of money I have that might be wise. I know I’d be welcomed as a neighbor in several places, most notably in Seoul. My friend Gabriel and my friend Emily are both there. They were visual artists and I was instrumental music at HSPVA. Now, Emily is a teacher and Gabriel just moved back a couple weeks ago, so I don’t know what he’s doing yet.

At the very least, I have enough money to go and visit them to see if I like it.

I am still stuck on Finland as it is the neurodivergent capital of the world, but the more research I do the more of a losing proposition it seems after school. I am nowhere near fluent in Finnish and would have to work in English. Those jobs are few and far between, limited to hospitality. It’s not impossible, but again I just have to visit and gather more information.

The wonderful thing about Finns is that they love showing off their country. I could write on Finnish Facebook or Reddit posts that I was coming to Helsinki and needed a guide, and more than one person would offer to meet me. They would be THRILLED if I spoke a few words of Finnish (I do). And in fact, I have seen people curious about seeing Finland have people offer to pick them up at the airport.

Now that’s love.

I would love to have a Finn drive me around in the winter because driving on ice and snow requires special tires. It’s not hard, it just takes getting used to and they’ve already got it handled. Although I might change my mind once I get there because getting around the cities is easily done by public transit, but I might like a road trip from Helsinki to Kilpisjaarvi, to sleep under the aurora borealis.

Now, Kilpisjaarvi is a small town with nothing to it, but it’s got some of the most brilliant views I’ve ever seen. “Seen” being relative because I saw them through Dave Cad videos on YouTube.

Do you know Dave? If not, you should. He and his wife have created some stunning views of Finland, so much so that you can’t believe this is just a free YouTube video.

My writing session is starting to wind down and I’ve hardly let you get a word in edgewise. I’m so sorry. It’s hard when you’re not in the room. I apologize. The comment section is all yours, though.

But the reason I say “starting” to wind down is that I’m looking at the clock and trying to judge when the best time to leave for group would be. I want to arrive around 9:00, but I also don’t want to be stuck in traffic. Is it better to wait and arrive at 10:00 AM? I’d lose an hour of socializing but it would be so much more pleasant getting there.

Next week I think I will try going both days because each group has a different vibe. Now that I can drive myself and don’t have to wait on a ride, it’s much more appealing. Any chance to get out of the house and drive. Seriously. Any.

Driving is still exciting because I didn’t drive for so long that it’s like being 16 again.

There’s only one feature that my car doesn’t have that I want, so I’ll be sure to include it in my next one. It doesn’t have a sunroof. I didn’t think I would miss it, but I do. There’s something about rolling down all the windows and letting the breeze flow with the radio up, but the sunroof kicks it up a notch. I also like having the sun shade open so I can see the rain on the glass.

My car looks aggressive and brooding, though. I cannot complain. It fits my mood most days. 😉

I would have bought the car no matter what color it was, but I’m pleased that it’s dark grey. It will look good in photos for a long time to come because it’s such a classic color. If I got bored with it, I could paint it because the inside is gray and black as well. There’s no other color that would clash.

Fusions aren’t known for having paint problems, though, so I think I’ll be fine as long as I keep getting it hand washed once in a while to avoid having the paint roughed up by those automatic washes that are all the rage.

I use them a little bit.

I don’t know when I’ll have time to get them, but I really need floor mats. Maybe I’ll ask my service advisor at Ford about them, because I have to take my car in this weekend, anyway. I’m sure the parts guys have them and I want OEM. I looked on their web site and OEM floor mats actually aren’t that expensive as opposed to going to Walmart, so why not?

There’s that guy with his “Shave and a Haircut” car horn bullshit again. Seriously, it’s too early for this.

I realize that I have been up since o’dark hundred hours, but it’s still too early.

My coffee and orange juice have both disappeared, but I left a bottle of water and a Diet Pepsi in the car for my commute downtown. There’s leftover pizza if I get hungry before group, but I usually just wait- they feed us a small lunch before we go home.

I just got a hit from Aada’s location, and though I know it probably isn’t her, my heart did this weird flip thingy that it always does when I feel like she’s watching. As I have said before, the choice to be embarrassed about what I write has been taken from me because I cannot control who is reading. If she sees it, she sees it.

I seriously had no idea that she felt like I was punishing her because we were not in communication and I was not monitoring her feelings. Now that I know she feels punished, I need to find a way to write about something else… punishment was never my intention, but that’s how it came across.

We would do so much better if we’d listen to each other, so I am taking this opportunity to say beautiful girl, I am sorry. I was lost in my own rumination and couldn’t get out. It had nothing to do with you because you were already gone. If it was you this morning, welcome back. I am glad to see you. If it wasn’t, then I am glad to have other fans near where you live.

Though they’re probably not as adorable.

I mean it, Aada. You’re adorable. Don’t front.

I need her to stop seeing me as attacking her, and start seeing me as illustrating her. No one in my life has the capability to be all bad or all good, most especially me.

The positive and the negative are not weighted in my own mind, but they become weighted in others. I am still convinced that Aada thinks I hate her and want to punish her because she hates her and wants to punish her. My anger melted months ago and I can explain everything I’ve been through in detail.

She says she’s always wondered if everything I’ve ever told her was true- that she’d always assumed I was telling the truth, but she didn’t know. That’s not because I didn’t invite her to everything ever. That’s not because she couldn’t have met me in person and known I was telling the truth. She just didn’t, and now thinks our relationship needs to rest in peace.

Except in our last email exchange, she changed from “saying goodbye to The AntiLeslie for good” to “for now, all I want is peace.” I can give that to her, but I cannot grasp the concept of forever. I’m not sure she can, either, because three days after she told me she was saying goodbye to me for good, I got hits from her location several days in a row.

I know I have special alerts in her life, too.

I turned a negative into a positive after I learned that, because she wanted to insinuate that I was being watched. I thought, “by you? Who cares?” If Aada wants me to be intimidated, I will be, but I don’t have anything to hide from her. She’s welcome to dig through whatever she wants. She even knows the code to my phone and my master password to everything if she’s been paying attention and knows haxxorspeak.

Or as I’ve told her since 2013, “you don’t have to use the back door. I will let you in the front.”

Or as I told her recently, “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of. I’m only 5’2.”

She said that made her laugh. And cry.

Those are the moments between us that I love, this sharing of intimacy that goes back a very long way. She says that she’ll never talk to me about her or her family ever again. That’s fine. I think that her assessment of my writing is one of the most unhealthy I’ve ever seen. She reads me “checking for assaults” thinking that the positive things I say are “clues in a game” and not God’s honest truth.

It’s how to write a 3D character, while she calls herself a “Flat Stanley.”

She has always been with me when life feels the quietest and I’m passing on my peace through the chord that runs between us. I’m doing my best to do that now, because I know that good thoughts are welcome. Support is welcome. I have reached the limit of what I can do, this sending of good thoughts.

Because knowing I was telling the truth would start with breakfast together.

Stumbling over each other trying to pick up the check because it’s the first meeting and it’s important.

I couldn’t guarantee that one breakfast could fix everything, but I can guarantee that Aada’s doubts as to whether I was telling the truth or not could be laid to rest. I’m as crazy about her as one human can be for another, and it hurts my heart to know that she looked so hard for rejection when it wasn’t there. I was spinning out from the last time she rejected me and thought she wasn’t coming back.

She’s not my ex, but because I worked through romantic feelings for her and came out on the other side, my heart doesn’t really treat her any differently. I read a great book a few years ago that came closer to this breakup called “My Other Ex,” which told stories of women losing their best friends through death or conflict.

It’s why our relationship is so mercurial. We have strong feelings for each other because of all the letters we’ve written, but there’s never been an instance where she’s had coffee because I poured it.

And because of those romantic feelings, I’m always going overboard trying to make her feel safe. That I recognize she’s a straight girl and hopelessly dedicated to her man. That if being straight is what makes her happy, I would have done her wedding if she’d asked…. and it would have been beautiful.

I know this because I did Bryn’s wedding out at her parents’ farm in Newberg, Oregon. I clean up all right. 😉

And in fact, when she called me to tell me that she was getting divorced, the first thing I said was, “what? I didn’t do it right?”

But that’s what the people who know me on the ground would say, that Aada would have had a beautiful wedding. She didn’t get to know me on that level, simply telling me she got married long after it was done. I think she thought it would hurt me to know that she got married, and it did, but not like she thought.

She thought that it would hurt me to hear that she got married because she knew I was in love with her and wanted to be sensitive to it. What she didn’t realize is that I wasn’t sensitive to it because I’m not a moron. Straight girls marry men. I was sensitive to the fact that she cut me out of everything from the proposal on.

I’ve never seen a picture of her husband. Ever. This is weird to me because I don’t care what he looks like as long as she loves him.

I don’t know why she feels like she needs to keep us apart, but she has. I kind of like feeling like I’m all hers in a different realm. Meanwhile, I’d like love to be on the ground, in the dirt. Gardening and roughhousing with the dogs and cleaning up after big storms. I don’t want to be anything but a good friend, but I haven’t been the best at showing it.

I think that’s because I’ve had to pretend I was okay with not meeting for so long. It got to where I was pretending to myself that it was okay we hadn’t met, and even now it would be difficult when it was so easy before. We used to live about 40 minutes apart, now it’s at least two and a half hours.

Meeting at Tiina’s would have been so perfect, because it would have been neutral ground for both of us.

We could have all had breakfast together, like we’re doing now.