![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
My New Newsletter will be...
Mar. 10th, 2026 07:49 pmAn exercise in the Under-net. I think.
( First, some background... )
So a change has been necessary for a while.
( Here's the plan: )
NP has asked me to hold onto that check in case we need it next week, so I'm unlikely to move rapidly, but it's a joy to know it's out there, not going anywhere. I welcome feedback from anyone who has experience in these matters.
( First, some background... )
So a change has been necessary for a while.
( Here's the plan: )
NP has asked me to hold onto that check in case we need it next week, so I'm unlikely to move rapidly, but it's a joy to know it's out there, not going anywhere. I welcome feedback from anyone who has experience in these matters.
Memory Glitch
Dec. 16th, 2025 12:46 amToday we had a little power blip, so my computer (usually left on overnight) had to be turned on.
When I did, it sounded too quiet.
Where was the whir?
The screen stayed blank longer than usual (probably some background tests), but everything looked fine as soon as it loaded.
I stood vigil while it fully booted, turned it off, and turned it on again. No whir, no evidence of problems. I turned it off again until I was ready.
When I came back, I let it load and plugged in my external drive. Time to back up everything again, just to be safe. Took a few hours. But at the end, both devices seemed perfectly content.
I turned it off when I went out for a while. Turned it on once more, no problems, but still no whir. Opened the side panel and looked around. Not a lot of lights to indicate problems (this model is over a decade old), but definitely some dust. And three small fans, all running quietly. I looked around for extra drives (I've had it so long I start to forget specs), but everything was accounted for: one hard drive, three fans, one empty DVD-ROM, nothing else that would have made a lot of noise. I blew some canned air around and put things back, promising to keep an eye out.
It's occurred to me slowly over a few hours that some combination of helping Nesting Partner with her computer and the constant hum of A/C, air purifiers, and other computers around the house may have displaced me in time. As I thought about it more and more, I realized the "whir" I sought was probably from an earlier computer, probably my last desktop (purchased in 2001 -- I was so excited to keep MP3s for the first time!).
Sure, I'm a little behind on sleep and our fancy new Aranet says my whole house has too much CO2 concentration, but did I really just make up a memory from another era of my life?
It's not just that. I got a massage on Saturday, and was reminded of my regular LMT from caregiving days. I finally remembered her last name (a couple months ago I could not), but now whenever I try to picture her, her image starts to merge with that of my 8th grade English Teacher. Sure, they were probably about the same age when I knew them and roughly the same skin tone, hair, and build. But their personalities were night and day different, and I'm a little upset that I can't see her face. I wish we'd taken a picture together at some point, but I wish I could see the correct face.
Maybe this is something that happens when we age or maybe this is another tiny whisper of a future crescendo toward cognitive decline. As I've written about before, I have enough personal and academic knowledge of dementia to suspect that I'd be able to watch it in real time if it ever happens to me. Most people's brains start changing twenty years before symptoms become noticeable, but most people aren't as attuned to their own experiences and interiorities as I am and most who have been probably weren't tracking it closely to a specific illness.
I fancy myself a storyteller, and my recent urges toward writing are as much about recording what I can as they are about giving my brain a healthy balance of stimulation. I think I've had a unique vantage point on this empire of ours, and if our history were ever told the way we tell Roman history, the best and most important lives would be lost. But if these stories start blurring together a little too often or contradicting accounts of other people who were there, I want to be able to own that, too.
When I did, it sounded too quiet.
Where was the whir?
The screen stayed blank longer than usual (probably some background tests), but everything looked fine as soon as it loaded.
I stood vigil while it fully booted, turned it off, and turned it on again. No whir, no evidence of problems. I turned it off again until I was ready.
When I came back, I let it load and plugged in my external drive. Time to back up everything again, just to be safe. Took a few hours. But at the end, both devices seemed perfectly content.
I turned it off when I went out for a while. Turned it on once more, no problems, but still no whir. Opened the side panel and looked around. Not a lot of lights to indicate problems (this model is over a decade old), but definitely some dust. And three small fans, all running quietly. I looked around for extra drives (I've had it so long I start to forget specs), but everything was accounted for: one hard drive, three fans, one empty DVD-ROM, nothing else that would have made a lot of noise. I blew some canned air around and put things back, promising to keep an eye out.
It's occurred to me slowly over a few hours that some combination of helping Nesting Partner with her computer and the constant hum of A/C, air purifiers, and other computers around the house may have displaced me in time. As I thought about it more and more, I realized the "whir" I sought was probably from an earlier computer, probably my last desktop (purchased in 2001 -- I was so excited to keep MP3s for the first time!).
Sure, I'm a little behind on sleep and our fancy new Aranet says my whole house has too much CO2 concentration, but did I really just make up a memory from another era of my life?
It's not just that. I got a massage on Saturday, and was reminded of my regular LMT from caregiving days. I finally remembered her last name (a couple months ago I could not), but now whenever I try to picture her, her image starts to merge with that of my 8th grade English Teacher. Sure, they were probably about the same age when I knew them and roughly the same skin tone, hair, and build. But their personalities were night and day different, and I'm a little upset that I can't see her face. I wish we'd taken a picture together at some point, but I wish I could see the correct face.
Maybe this is something that happens when we age or maybe this is another tiny whisper of a future crescendo toward cognitive decline. As I've written about before, I have enough personal and academic knowledge of dementia to suspect that I'd be able to watch it in real time if it ever happens to me. Most people's brains start changing twenty years before symptoms become noticeable, but most people aren't as attuned to their own experiences and interiorities as I am and most who have been probably weren't tracking it closely to a specific illness.
I fancy myself a storyteller, and my recent urges toward writing are as much about recording what I can as they are about giving my brain a healthy balance of stimulation. I think I've had a unique vantage point on this empire of ours, and if our history were ever told the way we tell Roman history, the best and most important lives would be lost. But if these stories start blurring together a little too often or contradicting accounts of other people who were there, I want to be able to own that, too.
Today's story is sparked by my niece, who sheepishly confessed to me that she's still Facebook friends with my best friend from high school, who was affectionately once known as SuperChristianJockBoy but could now just as easily called PaternalisticEvangelicalCop now. Every once in a while, he'll DM someone in my my fam-o and wax philosophic about where our friendship went wrong, even though it's been nearly 9 years since I first cut off contact. He's been trying to solve it like a puzzle all this time, because he wasn't paying attention to the real story in the first place. Allow me to share that one with you now:
In high school, however shocked everyone was, SCJB and I were genuinely great friends. We liked to ask deep questions and read interesting works and listen to lively music. We showed up when our friends needed us, lent $20 back and forth for a while, and supported one another's strange lives without judgment because we connected to each other's humanity, even if not our values. We knew each other's families and could vent about their eccentricities, again without judgment. In college, we even worked and traveled together a couple of times and found ways to celebrate what we had in common. He balked at my going out of state, as much or more because he identified so heavily as a Texan and didn't understand how limited I felt here. We had thoughtful debates as our politics diverged further, often agreeing on the main points if not the actions that should be taken to correct them.
Once in a while, though, when I started to present evidence on something that mattered to me, he would shut it out and say, "Well, I don't know anything about that." At the time it felt harmless, but I've since learned a lot about tactics for dismantling debate (not least because my brother weaponizes liberally) and I don't exactly see it as a good-faith comment. It's not a statement that says, "I'm unfamiliar and I want to learn more." It's a statement that says, "I'm unfamiliar and that's your problem, not mine." The conversation was over and somehow my knowledge was disruptive.
I worked in D.C. He futzed around college for a couple of extra years, then ended up in a finance job he hated. He decided he wanted a job outdoors when one of his frat buddies got him psyched about becoming a fireman. Then when none of the local fire departments were hiring, they agreed to become cops instead. But the frat buddy never made the cut. I never took issue with it because I was still cop-neutral at the time: I knew they were capable of a lot of harm individually but believed they contributed societal good, too, and that a compassionate individual could accomplish good things from behind a badge. (I was young and naïve! It was the mid-00s!) He also took a lot of overtime work as a security guard. He also got married, and I was the best man.
One time he and one of his cop buddies joined me for karaoke and made a joke about how somebody spent her "Obama-bucks". Forget that my mom had been on welfare at some point when I was young, or that his mom probably was too. This slang was coded.
"There hasn't been major welfare reform since Clinton," I told him.
"Well I wouldn't know anything about that."
Well into caregiving, I would have still considered him my best friend, even though we didn't hang out or even check in as much; yet I had also applied the BF moniker to my writing and dating partner and to a friend from adolescence who showed me around the local BDSM scene before fucking off to California. It was caregiving, in fact, where the cracks began to show. I was having the hardest time of my life and I was hearing from him less than ever. When I did, it was usually a brief text exchange, of which up to a third of the exchange would invariably be, "Well, I know I need to come by and see yall some time. I'll bring [wife's name, because my grandfather liked her]." And then he just never did. I never asked him for help because I didn't know what or how to ask, especially of this guy, who still called me a "long-haired hippie" beyond the equivalent eight years that he'd known me with short hair. The old working class ribbing never let up, but I found I increasingly couldn't rib him in return. I found it tedious and unaffectionate.
The breaking point didn't come at my grandfather's funeral, as he has somehow convinced himself (he was the officiant at my request, though more as a favor to my grandfather than to SCJB), it came in two parts, one about half a year before the funeral and the other about half a year after. When his wife gave birth to their first child, I came out to draw the baby (as was my tradition at the time). It was my first time in their new home. He probably said something about visiting my grandfather in memory care, but I just ignored it. I told him I had some big news that I was excited about: Nesting Partner and Kiddo were going to move in soon, and I would have a family in the household again. Instead of reading the joy on my face or finding common ground (as we had done when we were young) he immediately balked at the idea: "A single mom? I dunno, man, that's pretty serious."
"Well, I've known her for over a decade and we've been together for over six years already. I know them well and this is what I want." Why did I feel like I had to defend myself?
"Well, good luck I guess." He didn't say, I wouldn't know anything about that, but he may as well have. The conversation was over and somehow my joy was disruptive. He walked off and I decided not to linger.
I should write another time about everything swirling in my brain during the time my grandfather lived in memory care. All I wanted to do was honor my grandfather, rest, save my relationships, distance myself from my family, and get on with my life. That already included SCJB after his comment, though it had already been clear our political differences hit differently. He spent some time under investigation for brutality one time and blamed his Black sergeant. He started grad school before I did because he wanted to become a detective (and eventually did). He got his ministry license but still never found a permanent church where he fit in. His ritual when he got home was to fix a Jack Daniels and put his wife on the ground in some sort of bodyslam while she laughed and screamed idle threats at his/their surname. They collected beagles. He finally stopped eying the door like a mob boss and reminding me that he could never have his back to it (he maintained these practices, he just became more subtle about it). We all went to a concert one time -- he and his wife, me and K the Ghost -- and he was in gym shorts, but since he wasn't allowed in city limits without his gun and badge within reach, he had to stash them in his wife's purse; I should have joked about him taking the purse to the bathroom, but it wouldn't have landed right. Things always sound different coming from me.
Anyway, I didn't hear from him much until my grandfather's funeral, when I invited him to officiate. It was a nice symmetry since he'd read a prayer at my grandmother's funeral and he had, long ago, been fairly close to them. It was my intention to cut off all contact there, but then he surprised me by showing up to my birthday gathering that weekend. I had the displeasure of seeing him meet the metamour from the BDSM scene who used to outsource his 101 to me so he could swoop in and date the people I prepared once they got the gist. But fine, whatever. I could start distancing myself soon enough.
When his child's 1st birthday came around, he invited me to a huge party and asked if I could unveil the drawing. I attended alone, and when we had a moment (which was hard -- there were a lot of kids and people I didn't know around) I was eager to tell him how well my household's first year had gone.
"So I know you had some concerns, but this year has been great."
"What do you mean?"
"About my partner moving in?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
That's when I was done. It was bad enough he never showed up when I needed him, even worse when he'd talked down to me about my relationship. But then to not even remember how important this was to me and how out of line he'd been? That was the last straw.
After I left the party, I just stopped answering. After two or three went without responses, he said he was just going to go ask my brother what was going on (my brother who I also wasn't speaking to at the time) and I relented.
"No need to get anybody else involved. Ask me anything."
I think his first question was something like, "What gives? How do you abandon a friendship after everything we've meant to each other." Whatever it was, I resented its premise and rambled as much in my reply.
I don't even think his second question was a question, but I tried to meet it in good faith and tell him that my priorities had shifted. "You're asking the wrong questions," I remember saying.
He didn't even ask, "What questions should I be asking?" He just pouted a bit more and gave up. Told me to have a nice life.
He pinged me once or twice after that, but nothing substantive and I didn't respond.
It was a time of great loss for me, but I had no grief over him by that time. I grieved him as I had many others through the lonely nights of caregiving, through the forgotten promises of showing up and doing better, of all the people who would say, "Let me know if there's anything you need," but then when I wrote on Facebook that what I needed was support and a reminder that I still existed, they never responded. I grieved the loves of my life who limped right up to the finish line with me, only to be gone when I turned back to thank them. I grieved people who had meant the world to me at various times of my life but who hadn't bothered to check on me during my first, truest tribulation. Whom I begged and pleaded to call, visit, distract me with their problems. Who had the gall to advance their lives while I was stuck in limbo and then tell me when I reemerged, "We just didn't know what to say!"
My anger toward SCJB has reduced and simmered down to a generic glaze: another patriarch who depended on someone for emotional labor and got -- what's that the GenXers say? -- all butthurt when it was taken away from him. That was the real indignity, I realized after some time apart. Since some time in college, maybe we were 20 or maybe we were 21, he hadn't shown up for me once. I showed up for him. I was there when he confessed to losing his virginity. I was there when half his wedding party bailed because he and his fiancée were going to move into their shared home two whole months before exchanging vows. I was there when his mom remarried and his mother-in-law died of cancer and his father offended his Black frat brother and he spent a summer with the Salvation Army and talked about how weird and creepy their whole military vibe was... But any time I shared something, he doubted, he debated, or he dismissed. When I looked over that long, long adult pattern, I realized that I wasn't even sure he noticed the emotional labor; he had been keeping me as a pet. I was his pet atheist (oh yeah, there was that time I send him a pages-long email about how my spirituality had evolved and I wasn't technically an atheist any more and he never responded -- I digress). I was his pet "liberal" "atheist", and I think the only reason he bothered to keep me around beyond a certain period of nostalgia or convenience was because he thought one day I would see the light -- religiously, politically, or both -- and he wanted to be there to gloat. Do I think he consciously believed this and wished for it? No, but I think it was the most affirming hope he had for our friendship. I was a smart guy, everyone knew, and if some day I took his side in some or another contention, then he'd get to feel smart, too!
It's all so crass. Like my fam-o, the journey I've taken isn't even on their map, can't even be plotted from their legend, and sounds somehow like a fantasy and the most boring thing ever to them. But I've been following my path and discovering things I never knew I needed -- we needed -- while they settled into scripts and ruts and scripts where they complain about the ruts and I've kept away from the Jack Daniels and I've kept from body-slamming my partners and I don't go harassing people who've made it clear they have nothing to say to me, no matter how badly I want to.
In high school, however shocked everyone was, SCJB and I were genuinely great friends. We liked to ask deep questions and read interesting works and listen to lively music. We showed up when our friends needed us, lent $20 back and forth for a while, and supported one another's strange lives without judgment because we connected to each other's humanity, even if not our values. We knew each other's families and could vent about their eccentricities, again without judgment. In college, we even worked and traveled together a couple of times and found ways to celebrate what we had in common. He balked at my going out of state, as much or more because he identified so heavily as a Texan and didn't understand how limited I felt here. We had thoughtful debates as our politics diverged further, often agreeing on the main points if not the actions that should be taken to correct them.
Once in a while, though, when I started to present evidence on something that mattered to me, he would shut it out and say, "Well, I don't know anything about that." At the time it felt harmless, but I've since learned a lot about tactics for dismantling debate (not least because my brother weaponizes liberally) and I don't exactly see it as a good-faith comment. It's not a statement that says, "I'm unfamiliar and I want to learn more." It's a statement that says, "I'm unfamiliar and that's your problem, not mine." The conversation was over and somehow my knowledge was disruptive.
I worked in D.C. He futzed around college for a couple of extra years, then ended up in a finance job he hated. He decided he wanted a job outdoors when one of his frat buddies got him psyched about becoming a fireman. Then when none of the local fire departments were hiring, they agreed to become cops instead. But the frat buddy never made the cut. I never took issue with it because I was still cop-neutral at the time: I knew they were capable of a lot of harm individually but believed they contributed societal good, too, and that a compassionate individual could accomplish good things from behind a badge. (I was young and naïve! It was the mid-00s!) He also took a lot of overtime work as a security guard. He also got married, and I was the best man.
One time he and one of his cop buddies joined me for karaoke and made a joke about how somebody spent her "Obama-bucks". Forget that my mom had been on welfare at some point when I was young, or that his mom probably was too. This slang was coded.
"There hasn't been major welfare reform since Clinton," I told him.
"Well I wouldn't know anything about that."
Well into caregiving, I would have still considered him my best friend, even though we didn't hang out or even check in as much; yet I had also applied the BF moniker to my writing and dating partner and to a friend from adolescence who showed me around the local BDSM scene before fucking off to California. It was caregiving, in fact, where the cracks began to show. I was having the hardest time of my life and I was hearing from him less than ever. When I did, it was usually a brief text exchange, of which up to a third of the exchange would invariably be, "Well, I know I need to come by and see yall some time. I'll bring [wife's name, because my grandfather liked her]." And then he just never did. I never asked him for help because I didn't know what or how to ask, especially of this guy, who still called me a "long-haired hippie" beyond the equivalent eight years that he'd known me with short hair. The old working class ribbing never let up, but I found I increasingly couldn't rib him in return. I found it tedious and unaffectionate.
The breaking point didn't come at my grandfather's funeral, as he has somehow convinced himself (he was the officiant at my request, though more as a favor to my grandfather than to SCJB), it came in two parts, one about half a year before the funeral and the other about half a year after. When his wife gave birth to their first child, I came out to draw the baby (as was my tradition at the time). It was my first time in their new home. He probably said something about visiting my grandfather in memory care, but I just ignored it. I told him I had some big news that I was excited about: Nesting Partner and Kiddo were going to move in soon, and I would have a family in the household again. Instead of reading the joy on my face or finding common ground (as we had done when we were young) he immediately balked at the idea: "A single mom? I dunno, man, that's pretty serious."
"Well, I've known her for over a decade and we've been together for over six years already. I know them well and this is what I want." Why did I feel like I had to defend myself?
"Well, good luck I guess." He didn't say, I wouldn't know anything about that, but he may as well have. The conversation was over and somehow my joy was disruptive. He walked off and I decided not to linger.
I should write another time about everything swirling in my brain during the time my grandfather lived in memory care. All I wanted to do was honor my grandfather, rest, save my relationships, distance myself from my family, and get on with my life. That already included SCJB after his comment, though it had already been clear our political differences hit differently. He spent some time under investigation for brutality one time and blamed his Black sergeant. He started grad school before I did because he wanted to become a detective (and eventually did). He got his ministry license but still never found a permanent church where he fit in. His ritual when he got home was to fix a Jack Daniels and put his wife on the ground in some sort of bodyslam while she laughed and screamed idle threats at his/their surname. They collected beagles. He finally stopped eying the door like a mob boss and reminding me that he could never have his back to it (he maintained these practices, he just became more subtle about it). We all went to a concert one time -- he and his wife, me and K the Ghost -- and he was in gym shorts, but since he wasn't allowed in city limits without his gun and badge within reach, he had to stash them in his wife's purse; I should have joked about him taking the purse to the bathroom, but it wouldn't have landed right. Things always sound different coming from me.
Anyway, I didn't hear from him much until my grandfather's funeral, when I invited him to officiate. It was a nice symmetry since he'd read a prayer at my grandmother's funeral and he had, long ago, been fairly close to them. It was my intention to cut off all contact there, but then he surprised me by showing up to my birthday gathering that weekend. I had the displeasure of seeing him meet the metamour from the BDSM scene who used to outsource his 101 to me so he could swoop in and date the people I prepared once they got the gist. But fine, whatever. I could start distancing myself soon enough.
When his child's 1st birthday came around, he invited me to a huge party and asked if I could unveil the drawing. I attended alone, and when we had a moment (which was hard -- there were a lot of kids and people I didn't know around) I was eager to tell him how well my household's first year had gone.
"So I know you had some concerns, but this year has been great."
"What do you mean?"
"About my partner moving in?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
That's when I was done. It was bad enough he never showed up when I needed him, even worse when he'd talked down to me about my relationship. But then to not even remember how important this was to me and how out of line he'd been? That was the last straw.
After I left the party, I just stopped answering. After two or three went without responses, he said he was just going to go ask my brother what was going on (my brother who I also wasn't speaking to at the time) and I relented.
"No need to get anybody else involved. Ask me anything."
I think his first question was something like, "What gives? How do you abandon a friendship after everything we've meant to each other." Whatever it was, I resented its premise and rambled as much in my reply.
I don't even think his second question was a question, but I tried to meet it in good faith and tell him that my priorities had shifted. "You're asking the wrong questions," I remember saying.
He didn't even ask, "What questions should I be asking?" He just pouted a bit more and gave up. Told me to have a nice life.
He pinged me once or twice after that, but nothing substantive and I didn't respond.
It was a time of great loss for me, but I had no grief over him by that time. I grieved him as I had many others through the lonely nights of caregiving, through the forgotten promises of showing up and doing better, of all the people who would say, "Let me know if there's anything you need," but then when I wrote on Facebook that what I needed was support and a reminder that I still existed, they never responded. I grieved the loves of my life who limped right up to the finish line with me, only to be gone when I turned back to thank them. I grieved people who had meant the world to me at various times of my life but who hadn't bothered to check on me during my first, truest tribulation. Whom I begged and pleaded to call, visit, distract me with their problems. Who had the gall to advance their lives while I was stuck in limbo and then tell me when I reemerged, "We just didn't know what to say!"
My anger toward SCJB has reduced and simmered down to a generic glaze: another patriarch who depended on someone for emotional labor and got -- what's that the GenXers say? -- all butthurt when it was taken away from him. That was the real indignity, I realized after some time apart. Since some time in college, maybe we were 20 or maybe we were 21, he hadn't shown up for me once. I showed up for him. I was there when he confessed to losing his virginity. I was there when half his wedding party bailed because he and his fiancée were going to move into their shared home two whole months before exchanging vows. I was there when his mom remarried and his mother-in-law died of cancer and his father offended his Black frat brother and he spent a summer with the Salvation Army and talked about how weird and creepy their whole military vibe was... But any time I shared something, he doubted, he debated, or he dismissed. When I looked over that long, long adult pattern, I realized that I wasn't even sure he noticed the emotional labor; he had been keeping me as a pet. I was his pet atheist (oh yeah, there was that time I send him a pages-long email about how my spirituality had evolved and I wasn't technically an atheist any more and he never responded -- I digress). I was his pet "liberal" "atheist", and I think the only reason he bothered to keep me around beyond a certain period of nostalgia or convenience was because he thought one day I would see the light -- religiously, politically, or both -- and he wanted to be there to gloat. Do I think he consciously believed this and wished for it? No, but I think it was the most affirming hope he had for our friendship. I was a smart guy, everyone knew, and if some day I took his side in some or another contention, then he'd get to feel smart, too!
It's all so crass. Like my fam-o, the journey I've taken isn't even on their map, can't even be plotted from their legend, and sounds somehow like a fantasy and the most boring thing ever to them. But I've been following my path and discovering things I never knew I needed -- we needed -- while they settled into scripts and ruts and scripts where they complain about the ruts and I've kept away from the Jack Daniels and I've kept from body-slamming my partners and I don't go harassing people who've made it clear they have nothing to say to me, no matter how badly I want to.
Harvest Pot-Luck Bask
Nov. 29th, 2025 11:35 pmIt was a resounding success. The food, the company, the sense of community. Some highlights:
Quite possibly the most beautiful moment I've ever shared with my household was watching my nesting partner and Kiddo simultaneously holding court in a room full of adults. Everyone was completely focused on one or the other of them, their similar speech cadences offered a strangely stable syncopation, and I just got to bask in the moment that I made happen. It's hard to convey just how rare and precious this moment was, but the short version is they're both autistic and very selective about opening up in group spaces. It was glorious and I get teary just thinking about it.
We went with an indigenous and regional vibe, since Kiddo is trying to build connections with her indigenous ancestry and we're a fairly decolonial bunch. Bison tacos, fry bread, esquites, and homemade tortilla soup were among the highlights.
Storytelling was also a highlight. I confessed to everyone my intentions of building a stronger sense of community between maskers in this area so they'd all have each other to lean on once we finally GTFO. I got brave and shared a little bit about my time magic.
Returning with my party-superstar vibes (and honestly, these are the most successful events I've ever hosted without major assists, so that's a whole other layer) reminded me of days before COVID, before grad school, mostly even before caregiving, when I could just show up at a party and, at peak, vacillate easily between observant wallflower and center of attention in cycles. But since I didn't need to hold court for more than one story at a time, I didn't try to create or hold onto it, it just flowed, and I think it did for everyone else as well. With all that relaxation (and a bit of weed, though I myself never partake), a strong undercurrent of flirtation also emerged, and it felt like being at a polyamorous party again. I really missed that openness (didn't I journal about it here a couple years ago???), and have been savoring the afterglow a little too much.
I don't know if anyone's really interested. I'm not sure any of us have the capacity to even just have fun without complications these days. But damn, it feels good to be attractive and attracted and I'm going to bask in that a bit too.
Quite possibly the most beautiful moment I've ever shared with my household was watching my nesting partner and Kiddo simultaneously holding court in a room full of adults. Everyone was completely focused on one or the other of them, their similar speech cadences offered a strangely stable syncopation, and I just got to bask in the moment that I made happen. It's hard to convey just how rare and precious this moment was, but the short version is they're both autistic and very selective about opening up in group spaces. It was glorious and I get teary just thinking about it.
We went with an indigenous and regional vibe, since Kiddo is trying to build connections with her indigenous ancestry and we're a fairly decolonial bunch. Bison tacos, fry bread, esquites, and homemade tortilla soup were among the highlights.
Storytelling was also a highlight. I confessed to everyone my intentions of building a stronger sense of community between maskers in this area so they'd all have each other to lean on once we finally GTFO. I got brave and shared a little bit about my time magic.
Returning with my party-superstar vibes (and honestly, these are the most successful events I've ever hosted without major assists, so that's a whole other layer) reminded me of days before COVID, before grad school, mostly even before caregiving, when I could just show up at a party and, at peak, vacillate easily between observant wallflower and center of attention in cycles. But since I didn't need to hold court for more than one story at a time, I didn't try to create or hold onto it, it just flowed, and I think it did for everyone else as well. With all that relaxation (and a bit of weed, though I myself never partake), a strong undercurrent of flirtation also emerged, and it felt like being at a polyamorous party again. I really missed that openness (didn't I journal about it here a couple years ago???), and have been savoring the afterglow a little too much.
I don't know if anyone's really interested. I'm not sure any of us have the capacity to even just have fun without complications these days. But damn, it feels good to be attractive and attracted and I'm going to bask in that a bit too.
It's been a weird day.
Nov. 13th, 2025 04:41 pmMajor personal updates:
1. Nesting Partner's dad is back in the hospital and the cancer caregiving is ramping up quickly.
1a. My trip to visit Activist Hottie in Oklahoma this weekend has been deferred.
2. I am now world-ranked #5 at one of the games I play on BoardGameArena.
1. Nesting Partner's dad is back in the hospital and the cancer caregiving is ramping up quickly.
1a. My trip to visit Activist Hottie in Oklahoma this weekend has been deferred.
2. I am now world-ranked #5 at one of the games I play on BoardGameArena.
My time magic is kicking up now, though my nesting partner had to point it out to me. Things are in motion...
- Besides fluctuating illness on the part of me
- ...and my nesting partner...
- we've just learned that we're going from full-time parents to 24/7 parents, as Kiddo's father is leaving the state in under six weeks.
- Nesting partner would also like us to refocus how we all spend time together before/during/after that transition
- ...and has asked me to refrain from unpaid projects for the rest of the year
- ...and dating for the same time period, though I think the odds were already pretty low there.
- Meanwhile, I have less than two weeks before my webhost contract expires. I'm not very keen to pay triple, so I'm likely going to buy a new domain
- ...and transfer everything over there
- ...which seems like a great time to get a new email address anyway
- ...and while I'm at it, de-Goggle everything I can?
- Oh yeah, and it wouldn't be a bad idea if I started aggressively de-cluttering, you know, just in case
- ...because it would be nice to move
- ...and/or get a passport
- ...before my driver's license expires early next year
- ...since there's a non-zero chance my name change will get revoked.
My long-distance dating partner (I still don't have a very good term for us... our dates were 99% walking until they moved out of state and we finally got to hook up in June)* coined this analogy. It's for when you need a relationship check-in that may be substantive or not, but it definitely requires some dedicated time and attention to find out.
As much as I still whinge about the 10-year partner who slow-ghosted me a few years back, she showed me a lot of insights and behaviors that improved my ability to have relationships at all, let alone nonmonogamous ones. I'm reminded this time of a night that I ended up making out with 2-3 people in one night and set up the check-in afterward to be devastating: "Hey. I'm sorry this is out of the blue, but something happened. We need to check in." Then when I told her, she didn't say, "This could've been an email!" but she did say I had oversold it quite a lot. And after that, I got better about meta-communicating (a term I coined, though it's intuitive and I hope it catches on, whether from me or not) when asking for a check-in. So that conversation would have looked more like, "Hey, I had a little fun last night! Nothing earth-shaking, but let me know when you want to check-in about it."
That really came in handy with my nesting relationship, because nesting partner has zero tolerance for unnecessary information and knows that I am notorious for crushing and squishing and (at least before the pandemic) playing around without big risks or commitments. She's demiromantic and finds a lot of processing tedious. "I only need to know if you're falling in love or changing barrier habits."
Even then, I sometimes blurt things out before she's ready (or when she's expecting a different kind of conversation), so I'm going to tell her about this analogy and see if she wants to use it in the future. "Hey, I have an update ready. Would you like to download now or schedule it for later?" Knowing her, she'd want to know how big the update is going to be -- are we talking resume use in 90 seconds or mandatory reboot after an hour? -- which is perfectly reasonable.
*DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince coined "creative dating associate" in their 1990 classic "A Dog Is a Dog" about the freedom to date around before settling down. Not exactly a nonmonogamy cornerstone, but at least a cornerstone of "Don't rush into monogamy."
What Happens to a Meltdown Deferred?
Jul. 30th, 2025 12:22 amRecent patterns had me thinking that if I could get a good nap, or at worst an overnight rest, I'd bounce back from a meltdown relatively quickly and may even be able to fend one off.
But after the food problem yesterday, I never quite made it back to feeling myself today. And when another, smaller food concern emerged today, I started whimpering. Then I was confronted with a phobia and literally screamed out loud. The whole house had to come help me deal with it.
Now I'm all worked up and I still haven't cried.
Is it still there, blurring my vision and sapping my energy? Or am I finally coming down from the summer hypomania about 2 weeks late?
Or does this week just really suck?
Draft Debrief
Jul. 10th, 2025 01:07 amAs someone who has done a lot of unpaid labor and a lot of virtual events, I appreciate the occasion of a good debrief. My trip to NYC was such a slog that I'm going to need to debrief on multiple fronts, so this is gonna be practice:
( Debrief V0.1 )
( Debrief V0.1 )
Overall, though, I can't help wondering if the era of the road trip is over. Every stage is way harder than it needs to be, and every place I stopped is one mobile outage away from wasting away.
I'm so glad I enjoyed it while I had the chance.
Togetherness Is for Celebration
Aug. 29th, 2024 11:20 pmI had some wins tonight. One silly, one actually really important to me, but I sort of accosted my disabled partner on her way to bed to tell her about them and was really hurt that she wouldn't pause to acknowledge or congratulate me.
I probably have a couple of friends I could pester this late, but that's not really what I need. My friends are always supportive, they're just not always around. My partner is supportive, she just isn't always... present (and it has nothing to do with me when she can't be). But I don't really have extended family any more and the same can be said for community, and I'm so eager to be someplace new and try again...
But I'm also aware that's a lot to put on new people. And a lot to put on myself. And still carries some assumption of stability that may not be within our control.
I've gotten really good at needing very little social support -- not in a way that minimizes myself, just more rooted, durable, and efficient. I wanted a moment to feel excited and not be thinking about how to leverage it into marketing myself.
But I guess it's time to move on and think about how to leverage it into marketing...
*****
As I was writing that last line, she came out and asked for a redo. We're okay. Living with chronic pain is like this sometimes. Learning to be judicious with how much I depend on her has made me a stronger, more sensitive person overall and I wouldn't give that up. She's there when it matters. I just miss having a larger intimate network.
I probably have a couple of friends I could pester this late, but that's not really what I need. My friends are always supportive, they're just not always around. My partner is supportive, she just isn't always... present (and it has nothing to do with me when she can't be). But I don't really have extended family any more and the same can be said for community, and I'm so eager to be someplace new and try again...
But I'm also aware that's a lot to put on new people. And a lot to put on myself. And still carries some assumption of stability that may not be within our control.
I've gotten really good at needing very little social support -- not in a way that minimizes myself, just more rooted, durable, and efficient. I wanted a moment to feel excited and not be thinking about how to leverage it into marketing myself.
But I guess it's time to move on and think about how to leverage it into marketing...
*****
As I was writing that last line, she came out and asked for a redo. We're okay. Living with chronic pain is like this sometimes. Learning to be judicious with how much I depend on her has made me a stronger, more sensitive person overall and I wouldn't give that up. She's there when it matters. I just miss having a larger intimate network.
Griswolding Is a Verb for a Reason
Apr. 16th, 2024 02:57 amFor the past few years, holidays and birthdays have undergone a transformation for me. It's hard to safely gather; when money's tight it's hard to save up the money to do something special; and when your relationship with time is changing it can be hard to find inspiration. Even before the pandemic, it was hard to match the holidays of my youth or the community feel of polycules past, but if you'd seen me then I was fucking miserable. How many Chrismases in a row did I sleep through after staying up until 4 trying to get everyone else's presents perfect? Not really out of joy, mind you, just out of a sense of obligation. I was trying to pour my affection out for a lot of people but I didn't have the organizational skills (or energy reserves) to do justice for most.
When my best friend emeritus and I talked last week, she confessed disappointment that I hadn't put much effort into her past couple of birthdays or holidays. But I'm slowly coming to terms with gift-giving not really being my thing right now. I'm not sure I've ever been as good at it as I thought, and these days I'm comfortable putting as little effort as I can justify (and with so much going on, it becomes a lot).
But I don't want to be solipsistic about it.
Today is going to be my nesting partner's birthday, but her father is in the hospital and our plans are waylaid. I'm not sure either of us has the initiative to dream up something bigger than a custard run.
But here's the thing: if we go on that custard run, we'll blast great music, we'll laugh and hold hands, and we'll feel so fucking loved by the little things that the custard won't matter. This is someone who has sewn her wild oats and experienced a wide range of affections and she draws comfort from acts of service now. It matters to her a lot more that I show up for her every day and there's no one I'd rather be stuck in an apocalypse with. I want to do more, but if I put a lot of time and energy into some big gesture or gift, what other quality time would I be sacrificing? What other responsibilities might I ignore or forget?
I can't explain all this to emeritus. She's learning to value herself (perhaps for the first time) and I honor that for her, but I also can't really tell her about all the heavy stuff going on in my life (and she never bothers to ask).
I kinda want to do a Facebook post for my partner's birthday, but I don't want it to detract from everything else we have going on (and there's no guarantee she'd even see it this month). I'm mostly going to focus on showing up.
When my best friend emeritus and I talked last week, she confessed disappointment that I hadn't put much effort into her past couple of birthdays or holidays. But I'm slowly coming to terms with gift-giving not really being my thing right now. I'm not sure I've ever been as good at it as I thought, and these days I'm comfortable putting as little effort as I can justify (and with so much going on, it becomes a lot).
But I don't want to be solipsistic about it.
Today is going to be my nesting partner's birthday, but her father is in the hospital and our plans are waylaid. I'm not sure either of us has the initiative to dream up something bigger than a custard run.
But here's the thing: if we go on that custard run, we'll blast great music, we'll laugh and hold hands, and we'll feel so fucking loved by the little things that the custard won't matter. This is someone who has sewn her wild oats and experienced a wide range of affections and she draws comfort from acts of service now. It matters to her a lot more that I show up for her every day and there's no one I'd rather be stuck in an apocalypse with. I want to do more, but if I put a lot of time and energy into some big gesture or gift, what other quality time would I be sacrificing? What other responsibilities might I ignore or forget?
I can't explain all this to emeritus. She's learning to value herself (perhaps for the first time) and I honor that for her, but I also can't really tell her about all the heavy stuff going on in my life (and she never bothers to ask).
I kinda want to do a Facebook post for my partner's birthday, but I don't want it to detract from everything else we have going on (and there's no guarantee she'd even see it this month). I'm mostly going to focus on showing up.
