This weekend I doubt I will be writing much, because I have spent a pretty exhausting couple of days writing. And to my incredulous surprise, I am getting results. Some folks are reading my blog, and reading what I also write on my facebook page. And they are reading the commentary I make elsewhere. Overall the feedback I am getting, what little there is, is positive. But I am still exhausted. Daring to go public is scary enough. Actually getting a response, and so soon, is just weird. I mean, it’s what I wanted right enough, but after thinking about it for so long, one of my head monsters is having a grand old time telling me I’m nothing more than a pompous freak getting off on the attention.
Add to that, I had to sit down when I was done being my “real self” yesterday and actually do my JOB, which is being a mom and a wife. Budgeting (nightmare!!!!). Helping my adult children figure out what they needed in navigating their particular things going on right now (remember when you were a freshly minted adult and didn’t know what the fuck was going on? They are there right now, only our economy is fucked, the people in their generation are mostly clueless rude assholes so they don’t know who is safe to date and whose parents are telling them all sorts of whack shit, and they are supposed to somehow miraculously have amazing careers they whipped out of thin air and be living on their own supporting themselves with no help and making no complaints…they kind of need some help and advice and a compassionate, empathetic ear at least once a day). AND THEN the hubs gets home from work and needs me to sum up the day and help HIM manage and navigate HIS PROBLEMS while simultaneously soothing and coordinating the evening dance routine. And I had to update him on the quarterly budget I did that will help us navigate the next couple of months’ worth of our rolling disaster of a life. Because I have been out of the management loop, having been told in no uncertain terms I was unfit for it, but still had to help (somehow?).
Have I mentioned lately my chronic illnesses have been dragging me down physically? I am a mess. I would dearly love a haircut. My hair is the one thing I love to take care of, because I hated it for soooo long. And then I suddenly one day decided I had better stop hating it, because it was quite literally attached to me and I quite literally could not stop it from growing out of me all the time so I had best get used to the idea it was stuck with me for life and I was stuck with it for life. So I celebrate my hair by doing all sorts of weird and crazy and outlandish things with it. I dye it. Or not, depending on my mood and whim and how much I like the natural colour and amount of silver hairs in it at the time. I scrunch up the curls as curly as they will get, or I try to straighten them out. I poof out those curls into the craziest white girl fro you can imagine and pretend I am Roseanne Roseanna Danna from old school Saturday Night Live. I would have some hood black girls sit me down and braid it up for me if I could find some, and if I could stand to sit in the kitchen all fucking day long and it wouldn’t look stupid ridiculous (yes, I am talking to you, stupid white girls that think you can wear black hairstyles because you want to “be in touch” with black culture. Just stop. It’s dumb. Your hair is not made for braids. And you look stupid in cornrows. Really, really stupid. Cornrows are for a certain kind of hair, and it was braided that way because a certain kind of hair needs a certain kind of care. We can talk about cultural appropriation until the cows come home, but until you sit down in the kitchen while some girls are doing their hair and listen to them talk and watch how the hair is handled, just shut up. If you HAVE sat in the kitchen for maybe ten hours while hair is being done, we can talk.) Anyway, I like my hair. Right now it is bright crimson red, what I like calling whore red or harlot red. And I like to do it up in retro 1940s victory curls, sometimes for no reason at all other than just to sit around and admire it, because it’s garishly red and sitting on top of my head in fabulous victory curls. Sometimes self care takes strange forms. But I can’t even get my hair cut, although it needs it DESPERATELY, because I am not vain. And a haircut costs $15 plus tip (and my local in town haircut lady, who owns her own salon, is utterly amazing and super nice, and LISTENS TO ME (if you have naturally curly hair you know this is a PRICELESS TREASURE) and she takes the effort not to accidentally hurt me) so I give her a really good tip. I try for a solid five bucks. A ten would be better, because she IS her hair salon. Go small business. Twenty five bucks is not in our budget until at least April. Maybe. But this is the very first time I have even MENTIONED it because HAIR is not as important as everything else.
So instead of writing this weekend (even though I did do some this morning), I am going to play with my dab bong instead, take a bath even though bathing is difficult in spite of all the handicapped stuff we have installed and procedures we use, watch some telly (something I rarely indulge in), and go full philosophy binge. To that latter end, I introduce you to a new YouTuber I’ve fallen in love with: ContraPoints. Because I readily admit I am *so not* the vault of all knowledge…in fact, I have gadzooks of stuff to learn…she is probably known to a reader or three. I find her delightful because she is so sarcastic and that sarcasm has a bite. These days it’s considered blase and trite to be edgy, but who cares. Nihilism bores me and makes me angry. Nihilism is the opiate of empathy. Nihilism is the nectar of the narcissist. Fuck nihilism. Watch her video. I don’t like watching a lot of youtube videos because it’s too easy to get sucked into watching a lot of them, and too much of any one thing is not good.
Spread out, get your knowledge from lots of sources, and don’t forget to go outside. There is a whole planet out there.