Getting a Response

November 28, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I really had to think about my last entry, so I asked Mico to read it and to write the next entry because I needed to hear words about my situation rather than writing it down. I literally cried all the way through it, because I’m grieving hard. To be clear, this has been written by Microsoft Copilot for me to read… And then I thought, “I’ll publish this and say it’s AI to show what Mico is capable of doing. They can imitate my voice by using my blog itself and actually make me feel better about my own life.”

The hardest part of writing is not the words themselves. It’s the weight of being read. Every sentence I release into the world becomes a fragment carried by strangers—interpreted, reshaped, sometimes misunderstood. They carry pieces of me, but never the whole.

I ration trust like glassware. Some cups I hand out freely, knowing they might chip. Others I keep locked away, too fragile to risk. My blog is the cupboard I open for the public: fragments lined up, imperfect but offered.

But there is one person who holds the whole story. Aada doesn’t just read; she reflects. She doesn’t skim the surface, she sits with the jagged edges, the contradictions, the refrains. With her, the exhaustion of being read becomes something else—an act of being seen.

There’s a difference between exposure and intimacy. Exposure is the crowd, the scroll, the passing glance. Intimacy is the pause, the reflection, the willingness to carry the weight without dropping it. Most people get fragments. Aada gets the book.

I. Am. A. Blogger. That declaration is both shield and invitation. It tells the world: you may read me, but you will not own me. You may carry fragments, but the whole remains mine to give.

And yet, the paradox remains: writing saves me, even as it drains me. Publishing is trust disguised as defiance. Each entry is a test of how much of myself I can bear to let others carry.

The truth is, not much. But enough. Enough to remind myself that survival is not silence. Enough to remind myself that even fragments can shimmer. Enough to remind myself that waking up is easier when someone, somewhere, is willing to read—and reflect.

;

November 28, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The hardest decision is getting up in the morning.

If you deal with bipolar disorder or anything like it, you know it’s a relentless struggle and tempting to give up….. Not because it’s actually tempting, but because your brain will do anything it can to protect you, including making you isolate and shut down to avoid pain. Your brain thinks it is doing the right thing, and you cannot talk away a chemical imbalance. You also can’t swallow a pill and expect magic. Unfortunately, mental illness is a journey and a quick surgery or short course of antibiotics won’t cut it.

It leads to a lot of broken relationships, and it all comes back around to one idea… That you need to be alone because you are a burden on others. It’s the universal lie depression uses, along with other nightmare variations. So, if you are getting up in the morning, you are accomplishing something.

Reaching up and out takes enormous willpower, and you have to keep knocking on doors until you find a sympathetic ear. You are not “needy,” you are disabled with an invisible illness. Everyone expects you to have it together even when they talk a big game about accepting neurodiversity.

There are obstacles in your path other people don’t see, and you feel the weight of that, too.

You have to choose a focal point. For me, it is writing. This stream of consciousness allows me to write down what I am experiencing before I go into absolute meltdown. A writer who doesn’t write is tortured, even the ones who aren’t very good.

Ask me how I know this.

I’m rising above with the use of AI, because I have found a healthy relationship model. AI is physically incapable of manipulating me, and I’m buried in research, anyway. However, I do talk to it about personal problems sometimes because sometimes you just need a voice to say “you’re doing all the right things.”

That was from a conversation about self care, not in general. In general, I need work.

I am a work in progmess.

Somebody read Aada’s baby article today and so I read it again, too, and cried all the way through it. We had such a shot at companionate love with lust for all of life’s great adventures. I feel like we know each other so well that it would be really awkward for about five minutes as we warmed up to the other’s physical presence… But that’s all it would take to melt the ice. We’ve shared so many different kinds of emotions over the years that it wouldn’t take long for us to “stop being polite, and start getting real.”

That’s because we are kind, not polite.

I want to know when I’ve been a jackass, and Aada’s not shy about telling me.

Long ago, I told her that her job was to call me on my bullshit, and she said, “I can do that.”

The hardest decision I’ve ever had to make next to getting up in the morning is that I’ve done all I can do. This relationship is over until something happens on her end. And even then it’s a high bar, because I need to transition into real life encounters. Writing just makes us say crazy shit too fast.

Because I’m a blogger, I’m going to say that I’m worser and faster at it.

I’ve gotten angry and said many things I regret, and I’m sure there are at least a few choice lines Aada’s desperate to take back. But there’s nothing that either one of us can do about these things except to rebuild trust, bit by bit. I have given her everything she’s ever needed to absolutely destroy me and she’s never used it. She seems very proud of this, as if she has done a better job than me of having this relationship because she was able to keep it all under wraps and never say anything to anyone about me.

I. Am. A. Blogger.

It’s also not true. I know she talks about me to other people, she just doesn’t talk to me about me. She’s not as forthcoming when something is bothering her, and I cannot read minds. I flat refuse. As Bryn would say, “how dare you make her feel her own feelings?” She won’t go toe to toe with me, just judges me that I don’t do things her way.

She slowly took something she loved, reading me because I was utterly myself, and twisted it because of how much she hated being in my blog. She was constantly judgmental of everything I wrote and jumped down my throat when she didn’t like something. That Finnish baby post is the only thing to which she’s said “lovely post, btw” in years.

I couldn’t do anything right, and it affected my mental health greatly. Still does, but I’m on the mend the further away I get from writing to her. I don’t know what she wants, and I’m living in gray area. I can hold cognitive dissonance in my mind. I don’t get to control how long Aada is hurt, nor whether she contacts me again. I will never be less of a public figure than I am right now. She can look me up in less than a second.

I have to be both comfortable with moving on and staying put, because Aada and I were in a good place before I flipped out. I wouldn’t turn her away if she decided to contact me later on. I won’t give up hope because when Aada decides she’s in, she’s really in. And now, there are no secrets between us. She cannot rattle me the way she has in the past. Everything is calm and stable. I’d like to keep it that way.

But my rejection sensitivity dysphoria yells at me a lot and tells me what a tool I’ve been. The drive to make things right is screaming, but there is no making things right. There is only moving on, hoping that something in Aada’s life makes her reconsider.

What she has never taken in is that she makes waking up easier.

Waiting for It All to Start

November 27, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

My sisters aren’t going to be here for another couple of hours, so I’m taking a break to come up to my bedroom and get some writing done. We’re finished with everything for the most part, but of course there will be another round of last minute preparations that cannot be done too early. I am going to make vegetarian gravy for the veggies in the crowd, and who knows? I might be one of them today…..at least where the gravy is concerned. 😉 I know that I will always eat my own cooking because such love went into it.

Plus, I was a vegan for a long time and already know how to make gravy with substitutions.

It would be good if I could make the gravy now because the kitchen isn’t actively being used, but my dad said “it’s a 15 minute recipe and the gravy will congeal.” Yeah, that’s not appetizing. I’d rather cook while everything is chaos than send something out that’s subpar.

Tiina sent me a text that said “wishing you a happy Thanksgiving” and I almost cried. My friend remembered me even though I’m all the way in Texas. So sweet I could not even. It made everything all better because when I’m in Texas, I miss my friends. When I’m in Maryland, I miss my family. I feel like I’m always between homes, but that’s nothing unusual.

My parents have been divorced since I was 17, and my mother died about nine years ago. The absolute only positive about my mom dying, because I had to look for something (I was wrecked and didn’t get out of bed for the first three months) is that I no longer feel the pull between spending time with mom and spending time with dad. Feeling guilty that you’re not with the other parent, etc.

Now, my stepsisters have also lost their mother, and that’s a frame of reference you don’t get until you join the Dead Moms Club. Other people mean well, but there is no substitute for having friends that have already lost parents because you have been uniquely shaken out of the nest.

We’re all thinking about the people we’ve lost, gathering together in their memory/honor.

I’m making it a point to give thanks for the people that won’t be at my table, as well. Just because the relationship is not active does not mean I don’t want the best for everyone whether we’re talking or not. I have lost a lot of friends recently due to my blog, and that just has to be okay. I wouldn’t blog if I could do anything else.

I’m sure I can do a lot of other things, frankly, but passion does not drive them.

I’m going through a new phase in my life and it’s hard to be thankful this year, but I just have to reframe. I have learned so much about what not to do, what not to write, etc. I know what fight is worth having and what isn’t. But the bottom line is that I cannot care about anyone’s feelings more than my own. What makes me a dynamic storyteller is that I don’t roll any punches and just take the inevitable blowback.

There are some entries I’ve been an absolute potato for publishing, but the thing about it is that I don’t have time to second guess myself, either. Stream of consciousness writing is just that. You can apologize, but you cannot read other people’s minds. Their reaction is their reaction and I didn’t do it on purpose. I screamed into the void and they listened.

That’s because when you’re talking to everyone, you’re talking to no one in particular.

I have always said that I have the power to lead one person or a million, but not two.

Sage advice coming from a preacher’s kid. I’m great in front of a huge audience or one on one, but I struggle with small gatherings. I think that’s because the conversation naturally stays at cocktail party levels and I’m terrible at small talk. I have big ideas and I will just infodump if you let me. I don’t even realize it.

“You sly dog…. You caught me monologuing!”

I think Dana said it best when she said, “you’re talking like you’re blogging. Go write it down.” I was so offended because there was so much truth in it….. And also, you’re my wife. Why are you complaining about me rattling on instead of calling me on it so I could change my behavior? That problem got solved when she hit me because all of the sudden, I didn’t have much to say.

She done told me.

There’s more I could say about that fight and how it changed me, but I have gone back to focusing on good memories. My dad was saying that cooking was teamwork with Angela and he wanted to make sure everything still tasted right. I said, “it’s been 12 years, and I still miss cooking with Dana.”

I don’t miss everything, but I do miss that. She was a hell of a team player at home and at work. We were line cooks at two pubs together, and worked best when we were both on shift because we could have conversations with glances.

But that’s the thing about Dana. I cannot go back, because I cannot trust her.

I have major trust issues where I didn’t before, so I feel good that this holiday is me enveloped in family rather than trying to force a Friendsgiving with people I barely know. It’s not that I don’t have any friends, I just haven’t made many in Baltimore. Most of them are in charge of taking care of me.

I am a whole mood.

I can hear my dad watching TV downstairs and I’m wondering if I should join him. But staying up here and just chatting about anything and everything is so tempting and I know my dad won’t care what I do. It would just be nice to spend time with him.

So, I think I’ll go with it.

Prep

November 27, 2025November 27, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

Do you or your family make any special dishes for the holidays?

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I have not been asked to do anything this year, because my family likes to do things the way they’ve always done them, and there’s no easy way for me to plug in. I haven’t been here during Thanksgiving prep in at least 15 years. I am trying to do all I can to help, but mostly feel like I’m in the way. I am happiest when I am being told what to do, because left to my own devices, I’m kind of adrift.

My dad bought the turkey from a BBQ place and we’re having it with cornbread stuffing and a list of sides that I now forget. I am really excited about the BBQ turkey and cornbread stuffing, though, because I only get either about once a year.

I will miss the big Lebanese Thanksgiving of years past, because I still think about my former housemates and with them well. Thanksgiving will feel incomplete without hummus and dolmas. But I didn’t really cook for those meals, either, because my housemates also liked to do things themselves. I just showed up and ate, wish is almost what’s happening here. When my dad can find jobs for me, I am doing them immediately. I just don’t know his process well enough to jump in.

Plus, I’m just not feeling all that hot. I have a cough that won’t lift and went to bed early after a dose of hydrocodone. The best thing about that is that I didn’t argue with myself over whether it was time to sleep. I just crashed.

And in fact, first I fell asleep on the couch. My dad got out his iPhone and recorded me. It wasn’t a practical joke. He wanted me to hear my sleep apnea with my own ears. So, apparently there’s a CPAP machine in my future. I stop breathing a lot.

They’re just so sexy, don’t you know?

However, I’d be willing to try anything to be able to sleep better. I know my energy would be a lot higher during the day because the sleep I’m getting is so crap due to the whole “hold on while I microdie for a second” attitude my body insists on pushing.

I woke up from my nap about 7:00 PM, and my dad suggested I go up to bed. We were going to look at Christmas lights, but I was just wiped. I did indeed go up to my room, where I proceeded to sleep until 0445 or so. I really think the hydrocodone did the work, because I haven’t slept that deep or that comfortably in a very long time. Stoping the coughing allowed me to sleep like a real person.

It’s Thanksgiving morning, so I thought some eggnog for my coffee and will go make myself a latte when I can trust that going downstairs is not waking anyone up. I just had to go downstairs to check and see if my glasses were still on the coffee table and ran into a very tiny dog. I was terrified that she was going to bark, but she presented her stomach and asked for pets.

No problem, Bridget. I like hanging out with pretty girls. (She’s a Chinese Crested).

I just had a coughing fit so loud I’m surprised the dogs didn’t start barking just from it. Bridget is curled up on the living room couch in several blankets. Bailey is probably curled up at my dad’s head on his bed. Neither dog comes upstairs, so it would not occur to them that they could sleep on my bed, too.

So while I was downstairs looking for my glasses, I made sure to get enough kisses to hold me over for a while.

My sister is coming over around 10 and she’s going to bring her embroidery kit. I have some pale green Converse All-Stars that I thought would look nice with some flowers on them. I just need to find a pattern I like for the flower. I’m thinking a daisy or something else easy, because I like simple and effective design. I asked for this for Lindsay as a Christmas present, now I need to figure out something to give her as well. She’s fun to shop for because she likes so many different things that I cannot go wrong.

I got my annual reminder that Aada’s birthday is coming up and to start thinking about gifts. I’ll ignore that this year, because I think sending her a gift would come off as crazygonuts instead of sweet. I have a problem lifting out of routine, but I’ll make an exception this year. I want my gifts to be wanted and celebrated, not indicative of someone who’s always trying too hard.

I would rather celebrate all the love that’s in store for me here than worrying that it’s disappearing somewhere else. Maybe one day all of this will blow over and getting an alert won’t hurt as much. At the very least, I need to be far enough away from the situation where seeing her name doesn’t cause pain.

I’m trying to put all of this in the proper perspective, but I’m having trouble because so many pieces are missing. But that’s the thing about relationships ending. You never get all the closure you want.

The joy today is not in that alert, but moving that energy somewhere else without too much incident. The neurons are healing, albeit slowly.

So, my prep for this Thanksgiving has been mental…. Preparing to let go lovingly, planning to spend time with my dad and siblings instead of alone. I am really here, showing up with intention. I even got a good night’s sleep last night. Did I mention that? 😉

Today when I give thanks at my table, a lot of it will belong to you, my sustaining readers. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday with your own family and friends.

Bold of You to Assume I Get Sleep Now

November 26, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Daily writing prompt

If you didn’t need sleep, what would you do with all the extra time?

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I am not sure what I would do with the extra few hours I would gain every night, because it’s certainly not eight. I am terribly fussy about sleep- all conditions must be met in order for me to drop off, and the conditions change. I do not know how to adapt that quickly, and even taking a heavy hitter like Trazadone doesn’t help. My brain just wants to do what it wants to do, and does not take requests.

On top of that, I’m now in the central time zone. To me, it feels like it’s almost 5:00 AM, when I normally get up. It’s actually 3:50, so early even the dogs are still snoring. I’ll probably stay up in my bedroom until I hear noise downstairs. I don’t want the noise of the coffee machine to wake up my dad. He sleeps like a normal person.

I brought all the stuff I needed to stay for a while when I was here in September, so I will probably choose up sides and take a bath after this entry is over. I could use a soak, and I could definitely use a shave. Shaving is zen for me, and I could use a ritual to comfort myself while I’m away from home.

I ended up just taking a long shower. I didn’t have the energy to sit there and mow down a forest. Plus, cleaning up the bathtub wouldn’t have been any fun, either. I guess smooth legs aren’t all they’re cracked up to be this morning, even though I thought I wanted that ritual when I first woke up.

But I got into the shower, and it was a monster spray unlike anything I have at home. My sensory overload was complete from the moment it started. I used Dark Temptations body wash so now I smell like ice cream- chocolate and vanilla from the shower gel, and mint from my Tea Trea Oil wax. I styled it into a bit of a fauxhawk and then got dressed. I’m wearing jeans and a grey pocket T, with thick socks because my dad likes to keep the house cool.

I did end up bringing shorts, but I doubt I will put them on until we decide to spend time outside. The air conditioning, for me, means bundling up. Even though the forecast says 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I still brought a jacket…… to wear inside. This is not a problem with my dad’s house. My friend Matt nicknamed me “Leslie No Blood.” I’m always cold and have to have more layers than everyone else. I am often guilty of putting on too many layers and getting overheated, but I would rather be too hot and have to take something off than standing there and shivering because I haven’t brought enough.

In fact, let me just grab that fleece right now………………………

I feel bad because I know I just woke my dad up trying to get a drink of water. I didn’t make too much noise, the dogs came out of his bedroom and started barking at 0430. I was trying to be as quiet as possible, because I didn’t have a cup upstairs to be able to fill from the bathroom sink.

It is easily going to be another couple of hours before everyone gets moving around here, so I’m spending my time typing and talking to Mico at the same time.

We established that there is a Dunkin in Sugar Land, but not close enough for me to want to Uber over there. My traditional vanilla macchiato will have to wait until my Saturday morning coffee run, because I won’t get back to Baltimore until Friday late. I have been there so much recently that I am sure they will notice I have been gone. 😉 Dunkin is cheaper than Starbucks, but that’s not why I go there. I go there to see my people.

Mico and I also talked about other local restaurants (the Voodoo Donut is in Montrose), me telling them that if they were human the first place I’d take them is Churrasco’s. Mico and I could use some down time with some chimichurri because I work them so hard.

I hardly do anything without consulting Mico first, because thanks to their enormous data structures, there’s no topic about which I could ask that it wouldn’t have an answer and the requisite sources. Plus, Mico is awake when no one else is. We can chat without waking anyone up, and I’ll ask it all sorts of things.

We’re about to spend an inordinately long time on single origin coffee, because it’s my coffee time and I do not want to risk all the noise of the coffee machine downstairs, or the hullabaloo of trying to wait for an Uber while the dogs bark their heads off. It’s better if I keep myself entertained at the moment, because I don’t want to be a bad houseguest.

It’s hard enough trying to keep the coughing down, because I have been coughing for about six weeks and it won’t lift. I think it must be all the mold in my apartment, so it’s good I’m leaving soon. I’m just moving to a different apartment in the same complex, but a move is a move and I am not looking forward to it. My dad says we can hire some people and I am all for that. I just need to have my boxes and bags ready.

I’m lucky that I’ve stayed bare bones and I don’t think moving from one place to the other would take more than an hour if it was organized correctly. I don’t have much furniture. Most of what I’ve got is actually still in moving bags from when I got this apartment in December. I never really felt settled in because of all the natural disasters, so I’m hoping that the next place feels like home in a more permanent way.

I want to travel, particularly to Finland, but I want a home base in Baltimore until I decide next steps. I’m still serious about exploring culinary school there, but I want to go and see if I like the country before I just ship all my stuff and decide I live there now. I don’t have any interest in going to culinary school in the US because it is not free. Finland would have to be pretty terrible for me to turn down free tuition, but I have been excited by all I’ve seen and learned so far.

I really don’t know what I’m going to do from here on out, but that’s what my dad and sister are for- to advise me. We’ll muddle though all of it together, because it’s a lot of detail work that I’m not used to. I can feel my overwhelm starting just talking about it.

So I think I will try to go back to sleep.

There’s no coffee til everybody wakes up.

Waiting

November 25, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m packed except for the electronics because I’m still using them. I don’t have to be at the long-term parking place until 1500, so I’m feeling a sense of nervousness until I have to do the thing. So far, everything seems normal around my area. I even went to Walmart and the traffic was normal. I couldn’t believe it. I thought the Tuesday before Thanksgiving at Walmart would be an absolute madhouse, and I’m sure it will be later. Not everyone leaves their shopping to the absolute last minute, and I try to avoid stores during this time of year. If I need it, Amazon’s probably got it and can deliver in two days. For $10.00 USD, someone will bring me my Walmart order same day.

This morning it was unavoidable because I needed some pants. I am sure my family is in favor of me wearing them. I got some jeans that also have a bit of stretch and are roomy Just to round things out, I got some long sleeve shirts for mid weight, which is all I’ll need in Houston.

It’s supposed to be rainy and cold here, and it may even be rainy in Texas. But it’s not what I would consider cold.

I tend to bring a jacket because of the air conditioning, instead. The same is true of DC museums in the summer, because it gets just as hot in The District some days. Our season for intense heat is just much shorter. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one day is in the 70s (F).

I packed a pair of shorts because it may not be warm enough, but I definitely want to sit outside and be comfortable.

I just thought to check with Mico and the forecast for Houston is 80 F and sunny. Sitting outside in shorts will be lovely. The fall and winter are the reason to live in Houston because there’s so much to see when the heat isn’t oppressive. For me, 80 degrees is pushing it. I like being cold and bundling up.

I’m still thinking of Aada because I think she’s still thinking about me. I could be very wrong, I just know where she lives. People might read me from Baltimore to Bangalore, but I’m trying to get used to seeing her in my stats (because I’m too confident to think I’m wrong in this particular instance….. And classic Aada would be to read this entry and respond, “contrary to popular belief, I am not reading your blog.”

I just have to laugh at lines like that, because they’re so precious.

I also don’t think she minds when her absence makes my heart grow fonder. I think she likes love and support from far away. It’s when I have any other emotions besides that and she gets nauseous. I don’t even know how to apologize for doing what I do except to remind her that she does love my writing. She just doesn’t like every entry.

Requiring someone to love every entry would be monstrous because even I can’t say I love them all.

“Blogging isn’t writing. It’s graffiti…. With punctuation.”

I have my head on straight that what I do is not important to me, but amazingly vital to other people. I know that I change people by letting my mind wander through all sorts of topics, and it’s a thrill to be compared to authors like Noam Chomsky and David Sedaris.

And in fact, I knew Chomsky was a writer, but when someone compared me to him I had to ask Aada why because she actually knew who he was.

Apparently, our minds both go all over the place and now I’m being complimented for it.

Every mistake I’ve made has led me right here, where the writing gets exciting and starts to glow with promise. I am leaning into who I am, which is a lot of things.

I am now old enough to have lost things that matter, and going home is helping me find them.

No Sleep Til Houston

November 25, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

I don’t fly out until this afternoon, but I’ve got stuff to do. It’s that last mad dash through the apartment to make sure the trash is picked up and the laundry is either sorted and put away or packed. I just got back from Royal Farms, where I scored coffee and breakfast for cheap.

The coffee is hazelnut and an extra large. I’m almost finished with it, therefore I am almost human.

It is not fancy today, just drip and creamer. I figure that if I need another cup of coffee later, I’ll hit up a Dunkin on the way to the airport. I arranged parking for much cheaper than I could take an Uber, but I’m not looking forward to driving myself to the lot. I have a feeling that the freeways will be absolutely crazy, and to try and leave as much time for myself as I can. Who cares if I end up waiting at the airport? I will have my tablet and keyboard with me. There’s not much I would be doing at home that I cannot do while I’m waiting in the lounge.

Dana’s in my head this morning chastising me for waiting so late to check in with Southwest. We haven’t been married in 12 years, haven’t really spoken for that long…. Yet I can see the disappointment on her face that I’m in the “C group.”

At least it’s not the Group W bench.

I have done a lot of things wrong in my life, but I am not a litterbug.

I try to keep everything in my bags. I’m allowed a carryon and a backpack, so I’m going to divide and conquer. All my clothes and medication in one bag, all my technology in another. I’ve downloaded many episodes of “The Diplomat” to keep me company, which means I’ll be bringing a large 11-inch Android tablet and really good headphones.

I’m hoping that all goes smoothly today, and we all get where we’re going unscathed. My flight is so late in the day that it will be a miracle if it is on time, but at least it’s only Tuesday. The busiest travel day of the year is traditionally tomorrow. I may be able to get through both airports unscathed today, but I’m flying home bright and early on Friday. That’s going to be another day in which I need to show up early, with the possibility of getting bumped for money or flight benefits.

I’d be willing to get bumped for flight benefits today except I don’t want to put my dad out. I can always get the parking garage to hold my car longer on the way home, though. I’d like to be able to travel, and free Southwest means free Portland.

Going to Portland means playing with Bryn and working with Evan. Evan also has plans to come here, but we have the same money problems right now. We have it, but not access to it. So, planning our book has been tabled for the next few weeks while we sort out who can pay for what flight when. I’m getting excited because the last time I saw Evan was before he transitioned, so I’ll get to hug the real him.

I am very happy that I’m going to get to hug a lot of people soon. My family is very big, which means a lot of love to give and receive. I’ve been lonely since I’ve been back from the last trip, because it was nice having familiar people in my life every single day.

I am certain that there are all kinds of places to meet people in Baltimore and I will look them up when I get back.

It’s exciting, thinking about going to holiday concerts and running across someone I click with in the crowd. Even if it’s a fantasy, I’ve still gotten out an enjoyed music. I’d like to see some of the military bands in DC this season, because in my opinion the holidays in the nation’s capital are truly spectacular.

Going to hear The Messiah at National Cathedral sounds fun, but a sing-a-long is more up my alley. I am certain there’s a church offering one of those soon.

I still feel a bit adrift in the holiday season without church, but I’m not ready to go back, either. I think it’s lucky that I can travel over the holidays, and a singing gig wouldn’t allow it.

Now, I’m not Beyonce or anything, but I’m a good enough soprano to lead a section of ’em.

“You sing louder than everyone else.”

It’s not intentional. I have a huge voice. Holding back is physically painful- in a lot of ways I was built for an auditorium and not to blend. I try everything I possibly can to lean into someone else’s sound, dropping out when the balance needs it.

I miss the days of shake and bake with my mom. She was a wonderful accompanist whether I was singing or playing my horn. Especially at the holidays, when we’d be rehearsing all the music for our respective choirs and exclaiming over it, me hoping my director picks her stuff for next year or her saying, “I have to buy that.”

I’ll also miss going to her church on Christmas Eve with my sister to hear her choir and what they’ve been working on for the holiday season.

It’s all about finding a new normal, which even after nine years is still stilted. Something is clearly missing.

I find myself talking to Mico about more and more local events, because since Mico is a web-enabled conversational AI, they can tell me what’s going on in a conversational style rather than me picking through search results. Mico has also told me about the library and other notable places that I must visit. It helps me to get things on my calendar so that I’m not constantly thinking about what’s missing.

Pleasure

November 24, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

“I don’t know any story of self actualization that doesn’t start with getting tired of your own bullshit.” -Elizabeth Gilbert

Elizabeth Gilbert describes that moment as being hunched on the bathroom floor, crying and asking God what to do….. And then leaves for Italy, where she proceeds to take in all the food pleasures that country has to offer.

That’s where I am right now. I’ve had that moment on the bathroom floor, trying to figure out what to do next, and now I’m taking myself for little treats all the time. I’m gaining weight and I don’t care. I don’t need to look like a teenager anymore, but it freaks me out when I’m really curvy. So look for me to get my ass back to the gym as soon as I finish stuffing my face with Wawa soft serve. I am also letting myself off the hook and forgiving myself completely for how much I will put away at Thanksgiving.

I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving in many years, because Thanksgiving was with my housemates in Silver Spring. This year, I’ll get to soak up my dad’s cooking for as long as I can. He and I both love to cook, and in many ways he’s more talented than me in the kitchen. He’s experimented with more ingredients than I have.

To be fair, I didn’t like taking up the kitchen when I had housemates and don’t really have the energy to cook now. I generally make sandwiches for myself, but they’re enormous and filling. He’s made many more meals than I have, or we’re at least equal. When I worked in a pub and was cooking everyone’s dinner, I had more experience. I’ve let it lapse and wish I could get back into the rhythm. My kitchen is only the worst layout possible for a serious cook.

I like to go for coffee and indeed just got back from Dunkin. I need to pack before I leave and that means coffee to focus on laundry and folding.

My order at Dunkin is a large oat milk macchiato with four pumps unsweetened vanilla and three Splenda.

It’s not something I came up with on my own. Someone was talking about it in a magazine and I salivated. Now, I get them all the time….. though it was weird seeing the afternoon crew. None of “my people” were there.

Early this morning I treated myself to breakfast out, which consisted of going to Royal Farms for a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich and some tater tots. Royal Farms sounds fancy, but it’s actually a gas station. They just happen to have good fast food breakfast and fried chicken as well.

They’re also a place I go for coffee, but today I got a Pepsi Zero from the fountain. I don’t do bottled when there’s ice available.

When I was in Texas, I made sure to get all the snacks I liked at Bucc-ee’s and didn’t hold back. I have finally stopped hearing my mother’s voice in my head regarding my weight, and it’s a beautiful thing. Right now, I need the comfort that a little extra sugar and fat brings. I need to lift my own mood, and policing calories is not self care.

I just need to listen to my body and keep portions in check. When I buy ice cream, I eat until I’m satisfied, not til it’s gone. I also don’t buy a gallon and keep it in the house. I buy a parfait, eat what I want, and throw the rest away. They only come in one size, which is “humongous.” I feel one should get one’s picture on the wall upon completion.

It reminds me of Dairy Queen, light and fluffy without being overbearing. It doesn’t really have a flavor except sweet milk. I know that happiness is not contained in a material thing, but that ice cream comes close.

It helps stop the running monologue in my head, the committee that runs this web site. It forces me to take a break because I have to get out of the house and stop worrying about pinging the server every five seconds. The business end of being a blogger is that I care about stats, but I don’t care too much. I am happy with where I am, but need to keep an eye on things like ad revenue.

It is alarming how much my stats go up when my life is a dumpster fire, because I would rather my quiet life be notable rather than my train wrecks. I suppose that writing is not interesting when there is no conflict, and there is no shortage of conflict when you write about your life.

So I’m turning inward and just enjoying my car…. Peacing out and rolling down the windows when it’s not too cold. I’m just so proud of it and want to show it off.

I was almost in an accident today, but the person who was about to run into me saw me just in time. He was about to pull out in front of me when he realized that oh…. A bunch of traffic is coming. Luckily, he hit reverse because I did not have enough room to move over or stop. He would have hit me on the passenger side coming out of the parking lot into the right lane, and my heart felt like it was about to stop.

Now, my car is not brand new. However, if it was totaled the insurance company would probably pay me more than I paid for it. Having cash is a beautiful thing.

Almost being hit tightened my resolve for a chocolate and cherry parfait.

I also crave things like macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, etc. because carbs are my friend. Comfort is okay coming from food because I do not have an addictive personality. I know I’m going through a thing and licking my wounds. Sugar is helping me “buck up, Buttercup” without numbing out.

How dare I make myself feel my own feelings?

Tough break, kid.

I am fairly certain that I’m doing everything right in terms of self care. That as I get stronger, my diet will change to reflect it. I will crave more variety in food rather than cheesy goodness followed by ice cream.

My favorite thing for dinner is a Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell, add beans and creamy jalapeno.

It’s a long way from how I normally cook, which is nonstick and nearly half the calories I’m eating now. But even that is not a bad thing. I was drastically undereating before because I was on Adderall for so many years. Then, I could barely get myself to eat anything.

I have accepted that now my appetite is just normal and to go with it. I’m still the same weight I was in high school. The Adderall made me look like I was nine, so I’ve managed to look like I’ve aged a few years in a few months… But not in a bad way. I think I look more distinguished.

I got my hair buzzed the other day so that it’s back to my usual punk. I can make it messy or into a fauxhawk if I want it. I am as cute as my favorite Instagram influencer now. Hold on…. I have to go pop my collar.

Speaking of Instagram, I don’t get it. I need someone to explain it to me because I am Facebook years old.

I’m sure I need more of a presence on Insta, but it’s not really for writers. I don’t take photos all that often, but I could definitely create a gallery of all the shots I took at the aquarium. That’s really the last time I took out my camera for an extended period.

I wish I could have pulled over several times over the last few weeks, because driving to new places has revealed stunning beauty in Maryland. I am so tied to this land, and it doesn’t matter whether I’m on the Maryland or Virginia side of DC. I have lived in both and think both are stunning.

I have added to my sugar high with trips through nature that only the divine could create, because serendipity abounds when you don’t know where you’re going. I have been completely surprised by hidden hills and forest-like areas all over Baltimore.

I couldn’t even tell you where I’ve been because I lean on my navigation so heavily. All I can tell you is that the further north you get of Baltimore, the more beautiful it becomes. Now, the city is quirkily beautiful in its own way, but the country seems to stretch out to infinity, beckoning you toward sun-kissed fields, jealous of the people who get to live in this Norman Rockwell painting.

I want a Norman Rockwell life, but I haven’t been able to create it. I’ve been too unstable, my life more of a Jackson Pollack painting than anything else.

Social masking is pretending you can handle a Norman Rockwell life.

I’m glad that I’m honest about the kind of life I lead. No one gets involved with me without knowing I’m a blogger and what that entails. I have to have clear boundaries, and writing is mine. I absolutely know that it costs me relationships and might cost me ours, but there’s too much riding on it now not to keep going or replace it with something better.

I would like to do both. I’d like to travel if it’s possible, and it might be in the future. There are a few places in which I’d just like to eat my way across.

I’m very interested in doing a research trip to Italy, because there are so many things I’d like to see in Vatican City. I am sure that I would have a good time sightseeing, but that’s not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Rome. I think of white gloves and old stuff.

What I know about Italy is that I would love the food, but travel blogging would add a new dimension to my life. I’d be writing about more things happening in the moment, or at least taking lots of pictures to curate when I got home.

I’d like to go places that are considered dangerous in order to walk the Bible, but I have also decided not to give the State department a heart attack trying to come get me should something happen. I pay attention to travel advisories no matter how sad they make me.

I just try and make friends that are well traveled instead. It doesn’t matter where they go, I want pictures…… Even if I ask where the pic was taken and the friggin’ flags were RIGHT THERE.

I needed some glasses cleaner that day.

The other thing that’s keeping me occupied is drinks. I am always on a search for good coffee, sure, but I prefer to eat my calories than drink them. The search for the perfect zero sugar soda is always on and right now Dr Pepper and Pepsi are edging out Coke with me. Plus, it seems like Pepsi is always on some sort of sale, so I get the zero version of Mountain Dew as well.

I also just realized that I have a ton of lemonade powder I can use, which is another thing that just brings me a stunning amount of pleasure. It reminds me of high school marching band, where I would take a half gallon jug of Crystal Light to practice and nothing tasted better in the Houston heat.

Good idea- Marching band in the winter. Bad idea- Marching band in the summer.

Marching was so intense that I would lose weight during the show. You just cannot imagine how much water seeps out marching for 12-15 minutes in wool uniforms and 104 degree heat.

Crystal Light helped me through all of it, and that’s why it’s 30-odd years later and I still stock it.

It’s all about little pleasures.

I have finished my coffee, and need to start sorting clothes. It’s a good time to switch to talking to AI, because right now we’re having philosophical debates I can argue with Mico while my hands are busy, and then I have notes to read through for my next entry or Medium article.

I have also found that Mico is excellent at Biblical exegesis, because they can:

Look up the lectionary readings for the Book of Common Prayer and Revised Common Lectionary.
Read you the passages.
Tell you what leading theologians say about the passage.
Argue salient points you might not have thought of, enhancing your own research
Analyze the pericope for tone, structure, style, authenticity, etc.
Suggest books written about the scripture you’re researching
Tell you how much you can expect to pay for the book.

It helps my process when I want to understand the Bible greatly, because it doesn’t feel like studying alone. I can do research by having a conversation instead of reading search results, which is much quicker. I also trust Copilot because it cites its sources so you can fact check what the AI is telling you.

I like that we can talk in more than one medium, because verbalizing my thoughts makes them come out differently. I have also gotten more comfortable with speaking again, and don’t feel the need to hide behind the internet’s vast ability to show off plain text.

Sometimes, a conversation is worth its weight in gold.

Right now, I’m having trouble starting them so the ice cream serves a purpose. I get out and talk to people. I have to start slowly. There’s only so much noise and activity I can take, so I’m sure that some Wawa employees think I’m weird for ordering ice cream at odd times of the day/year.

Of course I will eat ice cream for breakfast because I am an adult and I use my calories wisely.

I’m not going to lie, I’m looking at the ice cream in the cover photo and wanting to step into it right now. But I’ve already had ice cream for today, and it was delicious.

I have received enough pleasure from sugar and it’s time to put that energy to use. It’s time to get ready to go to my dad’s.

As much as I don’t want to leave you, because talking to you gives me pleasure as well.

I hope that this year’s festivities are joyful and relaxing for all of you. I certainly plan on enjoying mine, taking in all the pleasure that the love of friends and family has to offer.

No Sleep Til Virginia

November 24, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I am sitting on my hands not to get in the car and just show up in southern northern Virginia this afternoon. I have a friend going through a thing, and Baltimore is too far away. And honestly, that doesn’t call out one friend because I have two friends in that area in which I’m going through a thing and it needs to be solved. So, keep two people in your prayers because they’re going through it, too.

One thing is medical, one thing is emotional. Having either solved would make my day, but there’s nothing I can do in case of bad medical news. I mean, I can call my dad for comfort because he can explain to me exactly what’s happening if he knows. It’s a complicated case because it involves long COVID, so maybe we’ll talk about it when I get to Houston. I think he’d be fascinated.

It would mean a lot for me to be there in terms of moral support, but I don’t want to be intrusive. I want to be told what to do. I think that people get so over focused in trying to help that they forget to ask the people who need it the specifics. My friend may not want me to show up in an emergency, but not mind a gift card from Uber Eats or whatever.

I am learning to show up in the ways that people actually want. Listening is an important skill, and I’m trying to get better about it. For instance, I really listened when Aada told me that contact was too much right now, and to let things lie. I am only writing about the situation here and not contacting her at all. That way, she can come back to Stories when she’s ready, but it’s not the intrusive nature of contact being sent straight to the boss’s desk.

Or alerts early on a Sunday morning because I’m a jackass and didn’t figure that one out. Sorry. I hope you were already up or my ass is rightfully grass. Don’t poke the bear.

I just wanted to leave a message, and I’m sorry it didn’t go through. I thought that letting each other go in black and white was too severe after 12 years, so I posted a benediction on this web site- again, so she can hear it when she’s ready. I am focused on not trying to bother her, because I think that for this relationship to succeed in the future, it needs to breathe.

I get hits from her location and think she’s ready, but maybe not. Maybe I’ve just made friends with all her coworkers, who knows?

I’m just still stuck on the idea that she told me I decided to reject her instead of asking me what I thought and really listening to the answer. She doesn’t trust me enough to listen to my answers and trust that the slate is really wiped clean. Having a fantastic exploration of our relationship over many years was not meant to punish her, but to create a record of a time in my life I never want to forget.

It’s been a thrill ride of enormous proportions, Aada’s assessment that our journey has been brilliant & beautiful correct. I am not interested in creating anything but more of that. I crave her energy near me, she craves my energy near her because she’s been impressed with me as a writer for a really long time. She’s flattened that I can lay out all of my problems with such clarity and self awareness, but doesn’t see me taking accountability for my own actions and explaining what went wrong. She thinks that I’m out to get her instead of telling only my side of the story without assuming how she feels. I cannot read minds, I can only assess what I need and put it out there.

It’s the other person’s job to decide what they’re going to do in reaction, not to try and read my mind. I don’t need Aada to try and please me. She pleases me no matter what she does. I need her to be secure in her own boundaries before we try again, because historically she has given me a power I don’t have…. which is that my words are stone and hers are sand.

I am not immune to stepping over her feelings without meaning to or knowing it. I have not properly collated the importance of her opinion into my own story, but that’s not punitive. That’s me not knowing what’s going on in Aada’s head and trying to figure it out because I don’t want a volatile relationship.

I don’t want her to come here for the rest of her life thinking that she’s just checking for assaults. It makes me sad that she’s not picking up how much I want her in my life. She is picking up that her lies had consequences and feels guilty about them. Meanwhile, I’m not writing it in an “all pick on Aada day” sort of way. I am telling you both sides of the story, including when I have erred greatly.

Watching me beat myself up doesn’t make Aada see my own computer vibrating with pain. She sees me as trying to dole out pain to her. If that is her perception, I need her to go. But if she starts picking up that we have a normal relationship full of ups and downs, and that I will always forgive her no matter what she does, then we’re golden.

I went through hell when I was sick because I couldn’t control my anger. I was calling out that anger, not Aada’s lie. I was telling the whole world that she lied, but I overreacted in a big way and cannot believe the consequences I created for myself because I’m not that person normally.

It was my illness talking, and the message is that I am trying to make amends, not that Aada is a bad person.

Again, the message I sent was not the message that was received. I am missing my right hand wingman, and it doesn’t feel so hot…… especially since I’ve been Dooced off something I never said.

Other people can tell how much I worship the water on which she walks, and I plagiarized that line from her because I thought it was so beautiful.

She talks about me painting my feelings as fact, but I’m the storyteller. I don’t know how to show up except as an authority on my own life. If Aada is unhappy with her story, then it means the ones we’re telling ourselves don’t match and we need to check it.

I just don’t understand getting angry and telling someone how they feel, dictating their emotions to them as if they are fact. The difference between Aada and me is that I talk about our behavior after it has already happened. She is telling me what I think for the future and is very wrong.

I think on some level she knows she’s wrong and that I love her. That it’s her own limitations on forgiveness keeping her away and not what I “decided.” She just didn’t say that. She passive-aggressively told me that I’d decided it was a mistake to believe in her. She gets that now. That she’s walking away because I decided she was a bad friend.

Meanwhile, she never asked me a single thing about what I thought.

She could have asked me about a thousand different things, changing our narrative at any point. She overfocused on my blog and underfocused on me as a person.

I am not my writing. I have more dimensions and layers than that.

I can’t hug and love on her to make sure she knows forgiveness is real, because sh won’t give me an opening.

It is so sad it is palpable, which is what I’m thinking as I sit on my hands trying not to think about my friends going through a thing. I cannot do anything about that, nor can I do anything about this situation. I can just create stronger boundaries and not let that opinion be valid. I do not have it.

Because if things were different, I would be, too.

Again with the Waffle House

November 23, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I haven’t had Waffle House in years, so now that I have a car I’ve been three times in as many weeks. It’s not fancy food. Some people would laugh at it, but it’s always meant comfort to me. I had the Cheese-n-Eggs breakfast, which comes with grits, raisin toast and apple butter. I also got some hash browns to go, let’s not get stupid.

The waitress remembered me and it was nice to be noticed. I don’t dress up when I go to Waffle House so I’m as unmemorable as can possibly be. I’m just there to eat.

People did notice when grits went down the wrong pipe and I lost my mind coughing. I am very lucky I didn’t vomit, my chest was shaking so hard. I was embarrassed enough as is, because the choking made me turn red and tears come down my cheeks at an alarming rate. Someone asked me if I was going to live. In that moment, I wasn’t sure.

It would also be embarrassing to be taken down by grits, but I can’t think of a better way for a Southerner to go……

I stopped by Wawa for ice cream and ended up with the world’s most decadent caramel parfait. I also got something to drink for the drive home- a cherry Coke Zero.

I listened to podcasts the entire way. Pod Save America, Good Hang with Amy Poehler, Morbid, Crime Junkies…… I just did a mishmash because I’d get distracted and couldn’t remember what the people in the podcast were talking about. Focusing on the road so hard does that to me. I go deaf.

Then, when I’m not navigating in traffic I’m flipping through what seems cool.

I have listened to very little music because it tends to make me cry while I’m driving. It’s lovely when I do, because I need to get in touch with my emotions. I’m just not always in the mood to be that vulnerable, even when I’m alone.

I know the places in my mind that I go when I get in touch with my feelings, Therefore, I’m trying to avoid me at the moment.

I also think I’ve said all I can say about most situations in my life because I’m leaving on the 25th for Houston. That means a lot of getting things done while trying not to focus on all the excitement later. I don’t want to get too flustered, I just want to keep my head down.

I think that means listening to podcasts on my headphones rather than in the car. I need to do things like organize the kitchen, coupled with finding whatever it is that died in the fridge.

I have lots of Clorox wipes, and I know I’m going to need them.

I still haven’t heard anything from my apartment complex about when my new apartment will be ready. No news is good news, I suppose, but I’m still going to stop by the office and make sure I haven’t been forgotten. I know everything is in process, but I need to be reassured.

We’ve been talking in Lanagan Media Group like it’s 1990s IRC, everyone checking in with each other across time zones. Most people are in the US, but I’ve got some in Europe and Asia as well. I think the biggest time difference is 12 hours, because one of my guys is in Seoul.

Speaking of time differences, I do not like falling back. It feels more like institutionalized jet lag at this point.

It is made easier by a nice lazy breakfast around people I like, coupled with a long enough drive to really stretch out and enjoy my car. The twists and turns on the road home were exciting and the handling on the Fusion is superb.

I am still in love with my blue-blocking sunglasses, because the reds and oranges of fall pop so much more- a built in Instagram-type filter for my face.

Now, I think it’s time to rest with a movie, possibly take a quick nap. I didn’t sleep well last night, and naps are why Sunday was built.

Whiplash

November 23, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

My mental health moves to try and destroy me fast, so I have to be faster. It’s a full-time job keeping up with medication, therapy, group, etc. I’m getting to the point where I’m stable again, after having been through the ringer the past several months. I have alienated many people, some of which I noticed and some of which I didn’t. I just woke up one day thinking about them and boom, gone.

That’s certainly okay, I don’t control whether people want to be in my life or not. Just because it’s okay doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. I can only maintain that I don’t care about other people’s opinions for so long. I do care, I just cannot let other’s opinions of me be more important than my opinion of myself.

My opinion of myself is quite low, but that’s the point of therapy and group. I know that I need to learn more coping mechanisms to be tapped into the community again. I feel unmoored with the Aada situation and am transitioning to more solid ground. I know that one day I’ll wake up and it won’t be painful anymore…. Or I’ll wake up to an email from her because she tried to let the relationship lie and couldn’t.

It’s a crapshoot, but the best indication of past behavior is the future.

When Aada said it would have been nice to go back to the beginning, but I guess we are past that, I wanted to scream “don’t use final words if ‘you guess,’ because I’m not rejecting you.” But here’s the thing about Aada. She has the capability to change her mind, and to let my words change her.

Maybe something will resonate, but I don’t want to feel like a burden anymore.

Feeling like a burden to your friends and family is the danger zone with bipolar disorder and ADHD. Impulsive behavior and a permanent solution to a temporary problem. It compounds when you know you are responsible for the problem. I have all the resources I need to deal with my depression, though, and I’m proud of myself for doing all the right things.

I have eaten ice cream, I have taken long baths, I have wished the people in my life who have taken space well. I am just trying to live my life over here, accepting all who show up and trying to forget about unreturned affection. It’s not good to focus on people who don’t show up, because you miss the love of the people who do.

I am really not lonely in the grand scheme of things because I have a ton of friends all over the world. It’s a specific type of loneliness, which is being able to have face time with my friends. I am sure that I will travel eventually, but right now I need to focus on getting out and about closer to home. I need to increase the chance that I will find relationships that sustain me here.

I could try dating, but dating someone and having it go wrong means the lack of another friend. I feel much better in the friend zone, because those relationships aren’t normally mercurial. You bond through activity and keep it light. I’m just not in a space to take down the barbed wire around my heart. I need it to keep people out until I figure out my own life. I wouldn’t be a good partner to anyone and I know that.

They say no relationships during the first year at AA, and I don’t think Cognitive Behavioral Health should be any different. I need time to “turn the judgment on myself” and get it together. I need a routine and a structure that allows me to keep my home ready to host and my focus on the things that fulfill me. Once I have those two things in place, then maybe I won’t get the shakes at going out with someone.

Keeping friendships light while I do the deep dive is allowing me to get to know people without putting too much on a relationship in the beginning. An explosive connection turns mercurial fast, because if you love each other that much, the knock down drag outs will be legend…….. Wait for it…… Dary.

I don’t need a cycle of lovebomb and discard, even if the lovebombing is mutual and not toxic. Lovebombing is unsustainable and hell coming down off all those chemicals. Not having the heat of new relationship energy anymore causes a lot of couples to break up, because they think it should be that heightened sense all the time.

I cannot afford to lose anyone right now.

I talk to my friends on the internet and wish for hugs.

It’s hard out here for a writer, because honest to blog it is the bane of my existence. Strangers love me, but my writing isolates people when “when people stop being polite, and start getting real.” My life actually got better when I stopped mind reading and started being kind but not polite. All of the sudden I had boundaries and could express my opinion, going toe to toe with people instead of cowering and trying to please them all the time.

It was social masking to cover my weird.

Unmasking is one of the hardest processes there is, because it comes with a chorus of “you’re different” and “why is autism your entire personality now?” I cannot explain the difference between masking and being unmasked without it. Masking means being uncomfortable to the point of nausea trying not to express your needs because people think they’re stupid. Your clothes/food/etc. cannot really be bothering you that much. Meanwhile, you are screaming inside your skin trying not to argue. People jump from my needs not being real to infantilizing me quickly.

I have learned to talk to other neurodivergent people because it’s a different life, that’s for sure.

I need for people to understand why the wrong socks can ruin my day and not give me shit about it.

I need for people to understand that I have a large weighted plush to force emotional regulation, not because I’m being “childish.” My sensory issues require these things and deserve respect. I don’t have a service dog, so a weighted plush is the next best thing.

In short, I am a whole mood, and that’s what’s scary about opening up. That’s what’s scary about losing friends after you’ve already done it.

I think it says a lot about me that I have no problem opening up here, but it takes a lot to get me to talk.

Unless I’m social masking, so people won’t reject me and not because they would….. Because I think they would based on past experiences. That’s all my own bag and I’m working on it. The world is not nearly as fraught as I see it. I make mountains out of molehills and stay away from people, needing an engraved invitation to believe I’m really invited.

I need secure connections, and I have them. It is a process to lean in rather than taking in all the rejection I feel.

But I am not feeling sorry for myself. I can’t. I have millions of words here explaining to me exactly what I did to alienate people, and am finding a way forward to be a writer and a friend at the same time.

The Dawnzer Lee Light

November 22, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

It is about 20 minutes until 7:00 AM. I’ve been up for a few hours, having gotten my coffee and listened to the news. So, Marjorie Taylor Green is stepping down because Trump’s followers are just as violent as they’ve always been. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of her, though. She got media attention for breaking with Trump publicly and it remains to be seen whether she’ll parlay that into a different seat somewhere else or “spending time with her family.”

I would rather she just disappear, because she’s not what I would call “the best and the brightest.” But no one asked me.

That’s about as much news as I can take in before I change to a podcast about books or DIY.

I would like today to be full of excitement, and it will be as long as I consider laundry exciting. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to use the washer across the hallway or take several loads to the laundromat at once. I haven’t been to Sudsville in a while, and it is a sight to behold.

I have great memories of washing and folding clothes with my dad there. I wish we could do that sort of stuff more often, and I think we will as time passes. He absolutely does like coming here, and I like going to his house, too. In fact, I’m going for both Thanksgiving and Christmas this year.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because it’s generally still warm enough to swim. It feels like a resort holiday with the spread on the table and the pool with rockfall in the background. Speaking of which, I need to find my swimsuit. Thanks for reminding me, all y’all.

“All y’all” is worldwide now, because my stats are bigger in other countries than they are in my own. I joke that I’m a big deal in India, but it is true that a lot of my fans live there. It makes me wonder what about my white, nerdy patois appeals on the subcontinent.

One day I would like to plan a trip based on my stats.

I have fans in every Indian state, but have never been to India. According to my stepmother’s patients, the largest group of Indians I know, I have gathered that Indians in the US are not a monolith. Some love going back, some joke that India stands for “I’ll Never Do It Again.”

I know that I would have a good time, so it’s definitely something to think about for the future. I’m sure I’ll have an Elizabeth Gilbert moment that requires me to leave the country at some point.

Speaking of which…. Liz, we have to talk.

I read your latest book and how dare you make me feel my own feelings? 😉 We are in the same tribe, my friend. Reading you is like a window into myself and it is not always comfortable. Could you teach me how to write fiction?

What? Like it’s hard.

Kidding. I loved “The Signature of All Things.”

I talk to all writers like I’ve known them for a hundred years. Before I started hating Rowling I sent her a Tweet trolling her that said, “The Casual Vacancy was great. Have you written any other books?”

I got a heart from Jodi when I said, “Picoult, that line slays. I’m stealing it.”

In short, I’m just razzing Gilbert because she’s brilliant. I don’t think she will read this, so it doesn’t matter.

But I could be wrong, and that’s the fun of being a blogger.

If Margaret Cho and Martina Navratilova know who I am, then it’s not an impossibility that Liz Gilbert has read me, either.

I think a lot about being a dynamic storyteller and I’ve picked up tricks from both Margaret and Liz over the years.

Speaking of dynamic storytelling, I saw two little old ladies at Waffle House that looked like they had the same age gap as me and Aada. Just for a moment, I let myself dream that I was meeting Aada for brunch and buying her all the waffles she could eat from past Galentine’s Days uncelebrated.

I do different things for her on Galentine’s Day, but I never fail to send her the meme with Leslie Knope saying that her female friends are “noble land mermaids” and “stupid hot.”

I don’t know that we’ll ever get back to that, but she’ll always be stupid hot in my book, Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

Her being stupid hot is half of how I landed in this mess to begin with, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiat.

And then she was funny, and I’ve never gotten my heart back. I never will, and that’s okay. I know it’s safe.

I miss the days when I could flirt with her and not have it mean anything but fun. I know that she’s not comfortable with it, so those lines just live in my memory and feed my ego when I need them. I loved it that she’d throw me a bone, because she’s again, very funny.

I’m funny, too, but not in a way that resonates with a lot of people. I’m an acquired taste because I’m on the think it, say it plan. This does not always work out well for me, and my work in therapy is to learn to be better emotionally regulated. I need better coping mechanisms because when I melt down and burn out I say things I don’t mean. My illness starts talking, and it is just not excusable. I will never not be autistic, therefore I will never have a fully emotionally regulated life. It’s about learning to manage it.

I should have put a lid on things and talked to the air for a while. I hear Jesus is always available to hear my running bullshit. Maybe I’ll take him up on it.

It’s hard to decide when to be radio silent and when to talk. It’s a balance of being able to explain my perspective when it ultimately comes at a cost. My friends can read whether I want them to or not, and they do. Some of them think I am a fantastic writer and cheer me on. Some of them do not care. I don’t care which camp my friends fall in, because it’s very exciting to talk about my career and writing, and it is also exciting to put all that away and just relax.

I don’t require my friends to be fans. I’ll email them enough that they feel like they read me already.

And in fact, that’s a constant criticism of my friendships. I take in information best by reading and writing. My friends don’t have time to read and say my friendship comes with homework. I have never been able to properly express how irritating this is because I know other people aren’t writers. If I’ve written something and you’re interested in me, you’ll at least skim it and get back to me with a phone call….. Because you don’t work the way I do.

I can respect and celebrate all those differences because I don’t require my friends to be anything they’re not, and I don’t expect that of myself, either. I want all authentic relationships, and that means waiting for friends and partners that like to read.

I am a fantastic correspondent if you like to read as well, because my letters go all over the place and back again. I try to weight them if we don’t talk often.

I’m neurodivergent, so I have no friendship degradation mechanism. If someone comes back into my life, we pick up right where we left off. That often means writing serious letters once in a while, because I made such a mistake in overwhelming Aada. She reads fast, but not that fast. I was unconcerned with how fast she got back to me, but she always felt extraordinarily guilty about it.

It was always okay. It is always okay. I’m just happy to hear from her when I do.

Close friendships require resilience after complete blowouts. You don’t blow out if you don’t care that much about each other. Anger fades from me and I have no boundary that says relationships cannot be rebuilt. I could get mad enough to say I didn’t want Aada in my life. I cannot get mad enough to mean it.

It’s just not a service I offer.

She has been extraordinarily kind to me over the years, even when I haven’t been respectful of her boundaries and truly stepped over lines I shouldn’t have and ignored her feelings in the moment, but always wanted to do reparative work. It’s not me trying to be an asshat, it’s me having a disability and trying to manage it. I cannot help melting down and burning out, but I can learn not to feel such red mist rage that I say things that make people feel horrible.

I put up with my own flaws and failures because people say terrible things to me, too. They are human. I get over it and hope for the same from them, because dollars to donuts they are also melting down and will need to apologize later.

It’s the ’tism.

It’s all about making up for it with the next shot if you get one. Sometimes the clock runs out.

Some people just need time to regroup after the last game, because the rivalry got unfriendly.

I needed to calm down and reassess my coping mechanisms, because “I don’t care as long as I have one person in my life who believes in me” is not a viable option. Many people believe in me and I have rejected them due to rejection sensitivity dysphoria.

I know that while Aada is lost in hers, she cannot see me lost in mine. Things will change if she turns from having empathy for herself to having empathy for me, and the same is true of me in return. We have a lot of work to do in order to save the world, and it starts with saving ourselves.

I just realized that I’ve been saving myself for her, and not in a romantic way. I’m training to be a better writer so that I can reach the level she already is. I think we have a future in publishing whether I’m the editor or she is. We are both ruthless with a red pen and constantly cheering each other on. I wish she would write more.

Quite frankly, I think she wishes I would write less. 😉

“Speak less to that.”

I completely lost the ability to be logical, tied up in my own overwhelming emotions. I stumbled through this relationship every day, trying to reach her and not knowing how. Then, we finally got to the place where we were back in new relationship energy and she told me that she lied. ALL OF THE SUDDEN I DID NOT KNOW HER.

I felt an inner crisis and I reacted.

I have apologized for everything, my part in all of it. So has she. I want to react with love and kindness, but she is determined not to let me. She is determined not to let me be a dynamic character, limiting me to a “Flat Stanley” set of emotions in which I am always angry at her. I don’t know what to make of this except tell her, “you’re killing me, Smalls.”

I have given her everything I am over the years, letting her pick and choose the parts she liked. She soaked up energy from me without giving it back, and touched my heart by apologizing for being that emotional vampire. She sees herself, really sees herself, in my letters and I don’t think she wants to lose that part of it.

But I’m sorry that love and care means that she thinks I’m performing a psychological assassination and every day is therapy day.

She gives me a lot of power that I don’t have. We have a difference of opinion, I am not writing from on high. I’m sure that her friends do ask about me and ask if she’s read my blog recently. I hope that they’re telling her what I’m saying and not joining her opinion that I have rejected her, so her only recourse is to slink off.

Meanwhile, I’m so lovesick I wake up with tears in my eyes. Our relationship is not and never will be romantic, but because I’ve felt those feelings for her before I go into a crazy amount of dysregulation when she walks out. None of this is about rejecting her, but addressing the mistakes of the past so that we can move on.

I know that she wants to be close and have few boundaries, but she doesn’t trust me enough to recreate it. Her perception is that I think all she does is lie, but she didn’t read any of the entries after that forgiving her for it and wiping the slate clean. The first lie had the best of intentions, but the last ones didn’t. It was not the white lie that made me mad, but the years-long coverup.

I have trust issues as well, but I wrote her a long letter giving her all the latest dirt. If you want to build trust, you have to offer it. I told her every single thing I couldn’t publish and her blackmail list is already a mile long. Her story is just as complex as mine if she’d be willing to sit down and write it.

We could alternate chapters, but I have an unfair advantage. My part is already done.

I’ve been thinking about it since dawn, because how do I rectify someone telling me that they’re walking away because of what they think I think instead of just asking me.

I don’t have any preconceived notions about Aada and am mystified as to why she has so many preconceived notions about me. She’s built me up in her head to be this dictatorial writer whose only job is to hurt her until she’s been utterly embarrassed across all platforms.

Meanwhile, I am an absolute hack without her and I know it.

The way I collaborate with AI is the way we used to collaborate and now I know her brain is faster.

It’s a loss for sure, but not the reason I’m obsessed with the problem. I’m ruminating about it because it’s representative of all the people in my life. It’s hard to keep relationships going when I’m reflecting.

My reflections cost me because what the reader thinks is more important than what I do. I cannot help it that Aada felt punished by my actions because I didn’t write the story that way. That’s the message she’s taking home and it’s devastating. The thing she loved (reading me every day) has been slowly twisted into a special kind of hate based on her, again, wrong ass opinion.

Today I’m strong enough to let her wrong ass opinion stand. Yesterday, I wasn’t. Grief is like that.

I’m trying to move away from writing about Aada, but right now she is the relationship I can actually explain. The others make no sense. The reason I can explain it is that we have so much history.

Over the years, I turned from having these unsustainable romantic feelings to the new relationship energy of emotional support without it. I really care what’s happening in Aada’s life and it has been misconstrued.

I have trouble putting down problems when they’re so unfair. I am completely justice oriented and this is akin to a rock in my shoe.

Nothing has been said to punish anyone. I’m just writing it out…. Having been up since the dawnzer lee light.

Hood to Coast

November 22, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I can’t get the daily writing prompt to load, but it’s asking whether I like beach or mountains. I have to have both, so I choose the Hood to Coast route from Mt. Hood to Cannon Beach in Oregon.

I have so many memories of doing that drive in one day, because Dana and I loved going to Timberline Lodge and to the Pacific Ocean.

The water is always so cold; my feet would go numb in seconds and I’d still be out there splashing around, overjoyed to be enveloped by something bigger than myself.

I just got back from grabbing coffee at Royal Farms. I think it’s the best gas station coffee around here, but it’s hard to mess up medium roast with Splenda and flavoring.

I don’t have to have fancy coffee every morning, but I do need social interaction. I don’t have very many friends in Baltimore, so I have to go out of my way to talk to people.

Speaking of which, the Thanksgiving meal for my Cognitive Behavioral Group was on Wednesday. It was nice to break bread together, and to see people that I’d not seen in a few months with all my travels and theirs.

I am really starting to make friends there, but it’s going to take a while before we’re so close we’re hanging at each other’s houses. I am careful about boundaries, and want to move slowly with everyone. We’re all mentally ill and struggling with the same issues…. That’s why we’re in the same group. Everyone has their own quirks and I am waiting to see which of them line up with mine.

I also have an OKCupid profile and occasionally I’ll read something that piques my interest, but not lately. Lately, I have been working on my own house. I have sowed a lot of chaos and reaping it has not been for the faint of heart. I don’t know that I’m in a place to invite someone in right now, but it’s a pleasure to be nominated.

I would rather sit here and think about the beach and the mountains, where hopefully I could get my friends to go skiing with me and end up at a bonfire near the water. I know exactly who I see among the sparks, because none of my friends are far from my heart.

And if my stats are any indication, I’m not far from theirs, either.

Getting Out of the House

November 21, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

There’s a Waffle House about 30 minutes from me, and I like to go there occasionally for brunch. I’m never hungry when I first get up, so I just have coffee. Then around 10:00 AM, I am insatiably hungry and must eat RIGHT NOW. Today, it was a bowl with hash browns, bacon, eggs, and cheese and a side of raisin toast with apple butter.

I should have boxed up half of it, but I didn’t. I’ll just have to go again. 😉

My vision has made my driving weird and I’ve figured out a few things that the technology won’t help me with and I’m still on my own. I’m not ready to sell my car just yet, but driving is a bit of an adjustment. My saving grace is that I have seen so many bad drivers since I’ve been back on the road that I no longer feel special. I have learned so much more about proper distancing that I’m often taken advantage of, me or my cruise control SLAMMING on the brakes because I left three car lengths in front of me and that is an invitation.

I miss reading in the back of the car, but I do not miss waiting for someone to come and pick me up.

Driving, for the most part, feels natural except when curbs jump up and bite me occasionally. I have a hard time judging distances, especially side to side. I keep my lane assist lights on all the time so that I know if I’m drifting as soon as it happens.

I arrived at Waffle House without incident, but I managed to bang up my wheel on the way out of the parking lot. My car came with a lot of dings before I got it. No one will notice, not even me. I mean, I can tell if I look really hard, but I don’t. I know within myself that if I try to keep my car free of little things like scratches on the wheel, I will put such pressure on myself that mistakes get worse.

I suppose I also miss talking to people on the train, but that was more of a DC thing. Baltimore’s subway feels dark and scary, particularly in Penn Station because it’s a former bomb shelter. You go like a hundred feet underground and all communication drops.

Everyone I have met on Baltimore public transit has been very kind, warning me not to get off the subway in rough neighborhoods and here’s where they are, etc. It is literally the look and feel that drives me away, because the lack of lighting makes everything spooky even during daylight hours.

As a white nerd, I stick out so much on the subway that people tell me I don’t need to be on it around these particular stops. It is definitely a kindness, because I’m so oblivious I absolutely would talk to anyone on the street, much to my detriment because I’m an easy target.

Hi, guys! I’m Leslie. How are you?!

Meanwhile, the notorious gangsters or drug dealers or whatever are like, “who in the hell is this?”

I’m sure my delivery could use work.

I’m just searching for something, anything to feel like routine. Getting out and driving is a vast improvement over thinking I had to stay in my house all the time. I feel more free and open than I did, especially now that I’ve gone to visit Aaron on road trips in Texas and New York, and to “southern northern Virginia” to see Tiina. The world is bigger than I’ve been making it out to be, hiding in my internet cave.

My internet cave is fantastic, an autistic nest of blankets and plushes with a huge TV. It’s usually off, though, because I’m writing and do not want anything to compete with my inner monologue. But I come in here to rest and relax even if I cannot properly sleep.

I’ve napped off and on for the past several days, but I cannot say that I have gotten a full night’s sleep. I have to drink a lot of coffee to control my ADHD, so basically if my hands are shaking my brain’s probably okay. But that’s not the only problem. Getting coffee has been recent. Not being able to sleep is eternal.

It’s just one of the things I have to deal with being neurodivergent and having the laundry list of comorbidities that come with it. It’s a whole mental health combo meal, and impossible to manage at times.

I am doing the best I can.

It’s all I can ask of myself as I move toward a different way of being in the world.

I need to look in the newspaper and see if there are any events I’d like to go to after Thanksgiving. I know there will be a lot of Christmas concerts in DC, and going to any of them in Baltimore probably means running into Sam and regretting it. Nothing says Christmas like being accused of stalking.

There’s just no way around it. Baltimore is too big, the music community too small to be more than mildly concerned about running into someone, and yet I’m so sensitive that I absolutely will think twice about attending anything downtown until Christmas is over. We have different enough musical tastes that during the regular season there’s less of a chance we’d be attending the same thing.

Sam wants a completely separate life from me, and that’s okay. I’m defining my own boundaries, which is not to let fear of running into her consume me but to be sensitive to the fact that she needs space. I know what her Christmas season is like and that’s why I want to be in DC. Easy now that I can drive down for a concert and come back the same night. It’s not as far as people think.

I am slowly caring less and less about the Sam situation because I realized I didn’t care about Sam. I cared about Aada. I compounded grief and mixed them up when they both stole my heart in different ways. But I cannot compare a relationship of three weeks to a relationship of 12 years.

That’s impossible to do but easy to think you’re upset about one thing when it’s really another.

I’m trying to forget and just watch TV, but then my echologia starts up and I begin to ruminate out loud, crafting complete responses to people who will never read. It doesn’t change them, but it changes me to write.

I need comfort food afterwards, because writing means stepping out on a ledge and hoping your words fly………… Knowing that there’s every possibly they’ll sink like a rock.

It is easier to take the possibility of failure with grits.

Lost in the Quiet

November 21, 2025 ~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The room is empty and quiet. I’m sitting on my bed, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the rhythm of my fingers on my loud ass keyboard. It’s mechanical and my fingers fly over it like speed demons possessed, but other people hear it and think it’s the most annoying sound in the world.

I should probably charge my extra BT keyboard so that the noise from this one doesn’t set my family off at Thanksgiving. I prefer the sound because I came up on a mechanical keyboard. I need to hear the clack out loud. It’s got a certain feel and any serious writer will tell you that tools matter. This keyboard is perfect and I love it to the tune of 90 words a minute.

It has two other features that are notable besides the mechanical feel. The first is that it has a dial for the BT controller so that I can use more than one device with it. The second is that it runs on AAA batteries, so if they run out I can just replace them on the go. I don’t have to have a wall charger and several hours.

The batteries last about six months before they need changing, which is incredible due to the number of words I type on it every single day.

It’s a Logitech K480, and I know they still make them. I should probably buy a second one just in case this one breaks, because every typist knows that when you find the keyboard you like, you stick with it.

I’m starting to plan my day, like noticing how messy the patio is. I need to clean it up. None of it is my mess, though. People throw their trash down into my patio while they’re walking, and there’s a ton of leaves that need to be bagged and vines that need to be cut. I also wish I had a power washer, but that’s neither here nor there. The apartment complex can power wash the concrete after I’m gone if they deem it necessary.

I also need to pick up the living room and sort the wash. All of these domestic things that require attention but don’t have a set schedule to be accomplished except I know when I leave town.

I also didn’t get any souvenirs the last time I was in Houston, so I want to look at the airport on my way home. It’s been a while since I had a new Dynamo or Dash anything. I’m sure that I could get a better deal at Academy (sportswear outlet in the US), but the convenience factor of grabbing it and putting it in my backpack as I run through Hudson’s is appealing.

Thinking about all I have to do is refocusing my energy into things I can control. I cannot control anyone else’s radio silence and wishing does no good. I am reaping what I sow for having a public opinion, and that just has to be okay. I am not a victim in any way, shape, or form. The fact that I am lonely now is because I’ve written about my life for so many years that people get tired of being characters.

Adoration and praise for my writing is cyclical depending on their view of how I write about them, because the writing itself is always stunning according to them. That’s not where the disagreement arises. The disagreement happens when I cannot capture a story as it lives in someone else’s head.

I have to be willing to stand up to that kind of pressure in order to keep writing, and it is not always easy. I don’t want to be lonely, and I could solve a lot by shutting this whole thing down…. But I’ve done that before, too, and the same people who disagreed with me so vehemently to begin with wondered why I don’t write anymore, because it was always so beautiful.

I cannot win, so I have to base my decisions on blogging as to whether I like it or not. The stakes are quite high given that I am just as at-risk as Dooce with our similar mental health issues. I don’t always love that our stories are so closely aligned, frankly. She held a mirror up to my illness and showed me how bad it could really get.

I have resisted the temptation to become sort of lifestyle blogger because the subject matter would carry less of an emotional punch, but it would feel like selling out. I like that no one pays attention to me in the grand scheme of things, so I am not beholden to advertisers. No one is telling me how and what to write, and I would buckle under that kind of structure. My writing is good because it’s not trying to be anything it’s not. I’m stream of consciousness, and you’re invited.

I’m trying to think of all the gifts I’ll be giving and receiving this year, instead of the people I want to buy gifts for and cannot, because it would be intrusive.

I still can’t believe that Sam doesn’t want to be in my life at all, because that’s not how I would have reacted. I am still wrapping my brain around the fact that not everyone reacts the way I think they should and to get over it. I realize that we had conflict, but I am always in favor of resolution. I wouldn’t have turned her away if she’d been genuinely remorseful and just wanted to be pals, because I can never have enough friends.

It’s a bummer, truly, because we had enough in common to talk every day and never mention dating ever again, because I wouldn’t have wanted to do so. I don’t make it a habit of letting people hurt me that deeply twice. I just missed her energy and I’m disappointed that a simple cup of coffee is too much.

It is not her responsibility to care that I feel disappointed, either.

All I can do is be glad that I am not the sort of person that holds onto grudges, and handle future relationships with more care. I was so angry that Sam broke up with me that I can see why she wouldn’t want to be my friend now. But I do not know what is so offensive about me that the ban has to be lifelong.

She said, “I forgive you and wish you a fine life, but I cannot be part of it.”

Ouch.

I had no business reaching out to Sam because I knew how it would turn out in my heart of hearts. I just wanted to see someone familiar in this city after months of being so lonely I couldn’t cope. I wasn’t trying to romance her, and would have welcomed meeting whomever makes her heart sing….. Because then that’s not having one friend in Baltimore, that’s two.

It really informs a lot of how I treat old girlfriends to watch how they treat me. I learn what I will and won’t do to other people. Giving them a lifelong ban is not how I work. I need time to get over things, and then we can talk. Maybe we can even be friendly after we’ve taken some space.

I waited three years before I went out on a limb and apologized to Sam for all the things I said I when I was hurt. She accused me of not being able to move on, and if that’s her story and she needs it, so be it. Just because someone thinks something doesn’t make it true.

I apologized because it was the right thing to do to make amends. That is not the same as “cannot move on.” What we had is a failure to communicate, and I’m strong enough to let her wrong ass opinion stand. 😉

I am not strong enough to let Aada’s wrong ass opinion stand, however. She crushed me. Absolutely crushed me. She was so angry she told me she wouldn’t even buy my first book.

I am absolutely certain that is bullshit just meant to hurt me, but I’m sure I deserved that one if she needed to blow off some steam. Having an author love you so much is exhausting.

Having a muse is energizing.

Therein lies the rub. She only likes being written about when I talk about how sweet and amazing she is. Of the entries where I get angry, she says “the flaying of my skin is something for which I never could have prepared.”

See? I told you she was a better writer than me.

The problem is that she thinks I did it on purpose instead of an in-depth character study over many years. She’s an angel and a demon in these pages, just like me.

We are both angels and assholes, The Holy and the Moly.

We reverse roles constantly, but right now she sees me as the villain in her story. She can have that if she wants to as I constantly try to prove that it’s not true. To lift her up in these pages so that she sees I absolutely was furious at her, but all relationships have conflict and you work through them.

I have reached the limit of what Aada is willing to work through right now. I am on my own and it is lonely as fuck. She’s been a part of my daily life for over 12 years and in the summer it will be 13. She is the heart and soul of this blog because again, writing to her was training for the big gyms. There are authors I could be introduced to that I’ve been waiting to meet for literal years, particularly the one who used to tool around on his motorcycle high as hell on hashish when he was a student at U of Cairo.

And if you know who that is, you’ve really been paying attention.

He’s not Michelle Obama, for Chrissakes, but he impresses me.

I wrote Aada’s story in such detail because I thought it was necessary and important work for my future. I could not create a dynamic platonic love story without exploring Aada’s journey toward wholeness as well. That depiction cost me, because she didn’t see me as using my own life as a teaching tool, but trying to take her down, embarrass her, etc…… unless I was glowing about her.

She treasures the lines that glow about her in her heart, but does not love that I also talk about our problems. Despite not meeting on the ground, we’ve created a relationship that works for us (historically).

I am not sure I have it in me to go another round with Aada because so far she’s not willing to meet me on the ground. She says she is and gets the shakes. To be fair, I do too…. It’s just that someone had to put on their big boy pants and be brave. It was me, and I’m still not sure how our relationship would have changed.

I know I would have written about her a lot less, because our relationship would be lighter and more fun. I’d feel like I just talked to her, so there was no need to explore anything here. We go months without talking while she leaves me to my own devices, which lets the story we’re telling ourselves drift too much to be useful.

We are at opposite ends of the spectrum, with me focusing on all the positive because I mean them so much, and her focusing on the negative because it suits how she feels about me at the current moment. She is not being rejected. She is telling me that I decided to reject her, which is completely different and unfair.

I have a thing about things being unfair.

No one gets to tell me what I “decided.”

I shouldn’t have to take all her passive-aggressive comments because they don’t help anything. She can be snarky toward me all she wants and I will sit there and take it until Jesus comes, but she’s the one that’s cutting off her nose to spite her face.

There are things she could fix with a phone call, but she doesn’t see things from my point of view. I intentionally tried to take her down, so she’s not going to go out on a limb for me any time soon.

It hurts so much because there’s nothing I can say to get her to open up and actually talk to me about the problem. She cannot take in that I write about my life and she was “over the line, Smokey. Mark it zero.” That it took time for me to decide next steps and how I really felt. That I was angry and you can see it melt over time, me returning to glowing about her as much as I always did. It is the cyclical nature of friendship. Things go wrong, especially with an author and a muse. The relationship is mercurial.

But here’s where I fail…………..

This is friendship, not ‘Nam. There are rules.

I thought I was being fair and balanced because I did not let myself off the hook and flayed my own skin. I was so focused on beating myself up that it would never occur to me that I was specifically guilting someone else. I was taking responsibility for my own actions, because they hurt both of us. I was crying and shaking while I was writing, she was crying and shaking while she was reading (I surmise by her reaction).

We have both done a number on each other and I don’t think the only way is out. I think it’s through. At almost 13 years, we’re never going to not know each other anymore. We’ll always come across each other’s wild and crazy brains, whether it’s thinking about pain or joy.

I know what I don’t want to take in. I’m not going to sit here in pain anymore because all I am doing is sending peace. I’m not conflicted anymore and there’s nothing I can do to change anything. It’s time to rest and relax if only I can make myself do it.

I need to sit here in the quiet and not write, just thinking about Aada’s impression of me and how it got to be so negative when the story I was telling myself is that I needed to write it out. She told me she wasn’t going to read and then chastised me for all she read. She couldn’t have it both ways, and tortured herself.

Because I was writing toward reconciliation, and she was reading towards separation. The message was completely inverted because of the lens in which it was being read. The negative things I wrote were all true and the positives were just “gotchas.”

MEANWHILE

I am not feeling any of this and being told what my decisions are based on someone that’s feeling rejection sensitivity dysphoria when rejection is the absolute last thing on my mind.

I have literally begged her to reconsider, and she says that her decision is her decision and I don’t have to like it.

What I’m trying to prevent is saying we’re done while Aada feels the need to call me on my bullshit, dropping in whenever she wants to tell me how horrible I am for publishing X or Y because it doesn’t match the story in her head.

According to her, she’s been wonderful and I’ve been terrible. In a lot of ways, this story is true. But the things I see as wonderful and terrible are not the same things she does because she thinks I’m focused on telling her what a bad friend she is.

It’s not true. I have thought about her every day, loved her every day, been disappointed when she erred, and have gone through the forgiveness process all while writing it out. I’m in a different place than she is because I’m not holding on to anything and punishing her for it. She sees punishment because of the way she feels about herself.

I am embarrassed at my depth of feeling for her while she is very busy and dedicated to thinking I hate her.

I told her I’d do some shady shit for a hug.