I am glad to see the end of this week. I am happy that you and I have seen more of each other than usual. I was very happy to be on The Black Guy Who Tips. I have some cool new makeup. My hair is a silver white that I really, really like. I have semi-rimless glasses for the first time, and they have my first progressive lenses for the bifocals I will probably wear the rest of my days. I can see well, for the first time in a minute.
It was not all good. Shannon Larratt died. I am having some difficulty writing about him right now. A couple of folks were unhappy about choices I made. A few were loud and mean about it. The money situation is looking bleak. We have to mess with health coverage again - although I am hoping this will be one of the last times the family will get screwed over in this particular way thanks to the Affordable Care Act.
Whenever a friend leaves, it is painful. Unless you were not committed, when one prunes itself, it hurts. You bleed. I was reserved to just let it happen by the time it reached self-parody. Seriously, the engagement had reached a point at which I was accused of martyring myself for telling my own story. This was aside the fact that when you tell a story of a wrong done to you, you tell a story of a wrong done to you. I threw up my hands. What do you even do with that? The very act of expression on my part was delegitimized. Of course your decisions are correct in your own narrative: otherwise why would you have made them the way you did? The conflict had turned around and started eating itself.
I told you a tale of being triggered. I am still working on that, and I know I will be for quite some time. By being present, though, by experiencing it real and raw, rather than needing to suppress it or deny it - I feel okay.
I hope you feel okay, too.