I am weird about words.

No kidding. I’m the only biggified blogger I know who has to have a Glossary.

And, unsurprisingly, most of my idiosyncracies are word-related.

Oh, just a tiny smattering of the many words that are physically painful for me to see or hear:

diphthong, caulk, childish, Whig, magenta.

Also: coagulate, dextrose, mercenary.

A word that make me giggle: Stopcock. So funny! I am six years old.

Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which [...]

The good stuff

Actually, I love napping.

So yeah, maybe it was kind of boring to go to bed at 8:30 and spend big chunks of the day in bed, but yay.

And as the week moved along, my strength came back, slowly but surely.

As it always does. Which I know. And forget.

(That sound you hear is me scribbling away in in the Book of Me.)

Horizon.

Deep blue sea.

Nothing to look at but all that blue.

This is what always restores my sanity. Getting my Piscean self across from wherever the water is.

All that water. Remembering. It’s good for me.

Straight into the Book of Me. Again.

The question last year was “What do I have capacity for? Can I squeeze something else in there?” …

This year it has evolved: “How can I get better at respecting my capacity so that I’m not constantly pushing at the edges?”

Capacity.

Just because I can hold my breath for a long time doesn’t mean that’s what I want to be doing right now. Or every day.

I don’t want to be at capacity. I want space and spaciousness.

Weird holiday energy.

It’s like the whole continent goes … off kilter, somehow.

And if you’re have big HSP (Highly Sensitive Person) issues like me**, it’s a lot of having to disentangle yourself from everyone else’s stuff.

** Personally, I prefer “delicate violet” or “sensitive goddamn flower” but what are you going to do.

Jew-ey tree-hugging vegetarian urban me spent an entire day in conservative, small town, evangelical America (what I believe is now known as “real America”) and … it was fine. It was fun.

And I’m pretty sure I didn’t accidentally blurt out anything related to potentially dangerous topics (climate change, queer culture, songs we used to sing at socialist summer camp, our dreamboat president), so phew.

Quote of the day (care of my gentleman friend’s seven year old nephew):

“Look at me! I’m kicking a rock!”

Destuckification

Working through the stucknesses that get in the way of you doing your thing (you know, the thing!).

Destuckifying is what you’re doing when you’re learning about triggers. Or talking to the fog. Or giving yourself permission to not have to practice “transparency”.

Sometimes it’s figuring out how not to feel like dirt. Maybe because you don’t want anyone to look at you. Or you accidentally gave your monster a cookie and it was, weirdly, the wrongest thing to do, even though lots of other monsters like cookies.

Item! Tactical Corsets!

I must have one.

“For too long, women have had to compromise practicality for beauty. Men got pants with cargo pockets and built-in knee pads, women got clothes whose only built-in feature was cuteness.

But why should men get all the high-speed low-drag tactical toys?”

The site is TacticalCorsets.com and I’m obsessed. Oh, yes. The Pirate Queen is in awe.

You can also watch a video here.

I honestly have no idea where I found this but I’m assuming it would have to be on Twitter. Because that’s what the twitters are for. Well, that and casually stalking people you’re obsessed with.*

* (Hi, Colleen, you fabulous Communicatrix you! I loooooooooooove you!)

It was kind of like being in a film by Emir Kusturica. Only louder and more piercing.

Even with my earplugs in, my fantasies about hurling tomatoes at them grew stronger and stronger, until the only thing stopping me from rushing them and pelting the band members with rotten vegetables was the total lack of available produce.

I wanted to run them over with a produce truck.

I wanted to grab the guy with the tin can by the collar and scream “THIS IS NOT MUSIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

We come unglued. Well, I do. Hi. And that’s exactly when I get tempted to become the shoe-thrower. When external situations — triggers — are setting off the hard.

Since I’ve been doing a ton of teaching, the past two months have had crazy amounts of travel.

San Francisco, Taos, last week North Carolina, and this week Berlin.

I’m really, really wanting either:

a. A flight without shrieking babies, loud talkers (with unbelievably boring and apparently endless stories), nasal flight attendants on distorted PA systems, people kicking me in the back …

OR

b. A flight where I manage to easily and steadily maintain my peace of mind, while keeping my hardcore “help I’m a Highly Sensitive Person” issues under control.

Or both.

So I guess this is the same ask as the first one. Harmony and ease. I am craving the qualities of harmony and ease.