Just Cyd.

I don't recall ever truly wanting it. Not really. It's just what was expected of me, an AFAB child born and raised Methodist in the 1970s midwest: get married and have babies. Careers were schoolteacher or nurse, if I dared to want a career, otherwise i'd be relegated to Temp Worker like my mom. but first and foremost I was supposed to be wife and mother.

It's sort of a shock that I didn't end up pregnant, the wildly ADD but also highly unobservant and oblivious child that I was. No, that's not quite right. Oh, I was (and still am) wildly ADD, and can be oblivious to things that others can spot from space, but it's not true that I didn't end up pregnant. I did - twice - in my early 20s. it's just that neither of them stuck. The first one was a true accident, a broken condom somewhere in the midst of that crazy wild night, him freaking out, but diving right back into the fray with what must've been an industrial size box of condoms, until it was time for me to sneak out and rush home lest either set of parents catch us. I was 20, he was 24, but we both lived at home. The second time was not an accident, but also not consensual. We'd just started dating, he dropped by my place on our days off, and despite my protests got what he came for. Sometimes it's easier to just shut up and take than to try to fight off someone who takes pleasure in being able to physically overpower you. I was 23, he was 34.

Both instances ended pretty much the same way: a few weeks of worry, then a few more of denial (hey, 7-8 months between cycles was normal at this point, so why worry?). Around week 7, the sickness would hit, that malaise I'd never encountered before (until I did the second time), followed quickly by the violent cramping and passing chunks the likes of which I'd never encountered (again, until the second time). I bled heavier and my abdomen seized harder than I thought possible, knocking me to the floor and making driving a scary prospect. I knew heavy bleeding and cramps, and this was well beyond that. Both times, I endured it alone, never telling a soul.

One thing I did want, or at least enjoyed, was babysitting, and the cash that came with it. by age 12 I was working the circuit of moms at our church, and was one of the more in-demand sitters. about $2/hr was the going rate, I believe, and I was pulling in some nice coin. ADD-me spent it as fast as I made it, because the cursory "you need to save money" didn't even register to my ADD-brain, and there was never any talk of planning for the future, or college (which never came up, until it did, my senior year, when it was suddenly An Issue), or any sort of financial information that might have benefitted me as I slid into my teen years. if there had been any sort of talk on the subject, it would have been a lecture in a language I could not comprehend. Imagine my surprise when my younger brother had the cash to buy a car at 15, long before I did.

I was a good babysitter because I enjoyed playing with the kids and their toys, I wasn't mean, and I loved babies. It was easy! Play with the kids, maybe watch a movie, feed them dinner without having to cook it (if they hadn't already been fed), then tuck everyone into bed and cruise the cable TV and maybe give a baby a bottle. Head home with cash in pocket, easy peasy. By high school, I figured I'd marry my boyfriend and we'd have half a dozen kids. Except we weren't exactly a great couple, and he wanted to go to college. And he did. There were a couple other guys, but never for very long. College snuck up on me and all of a sudden it was mandatory that I attend something I had no means to pay for, nor any preparation for. I honestly think the first conversation about college came up when my dad said that I was required to go, get a degree, and then I could do what I wanted to do. the only prior attempt to address the topic was when I declared a few years earlier that I wanted to attend Antioch in Yellow Springs, and was told in no certain terms that I would NOT be attending that "Damn Hippie School" by my mother.

Heading into my third year of floundering at community college, working multiple part time jobs, and registering for classes only to drop them the week classes started and lie about it to my parents, something needed to give. What I really needed was help, so much help. Mental, physical, financial - I was a wreck in every possible way. Instead, it was suggested that maybe I look into getting outta Dodge. I'd wanted to be a nanny right out of high school, but mom wouldn't allow it. One day, in early 1993, mom spread out newspapers on the kitchen counter to re-pot some plants, and there it was, like a beacon in the dark of my life: an ad for a nanny placement agency. We laughed at the coincidence, put the ad aside, and after the plants were done, I gave them a call.

I was matched with five families, interviewed with two or three, and the M family in New Jersey offered me a job. Three kids, two boys and a girl, 3, 6, and 8, with the middle child having Cerebral Palsy. We negotiated my start to fall mid-June so I could finish up the semester at school, then we packed me up and drove me to a suburb of Philadelphia. I still don't know how I pulled that off. Hot Mess doesn't even begin to describe me. but the kids loved me, the parents loved me, and I was as involved as I could be and did everything I could to be the best pseudo-parent there was. Reality hit about 3 months in when the parents left the country and I got sick. OK, they drove to Toronto for five days, but still, technically out of the country. And it hit me that I could not leave the house without dragging all three children with me. Like, NOT AT ALL. We lived behind a shopping center that had a drug store and a grocery store that we could walk to. Just need to pop out for tissues or something? well, kids, get your shoes on, because you're all coming with. That was a huge eye opener. Life altering, even. The youngest had just turned 4, so all three were potty trained and could dress and feed themselves, although I still needed to supervise bath time and cook the food (or at least supervise selections), so no diapers or bottles or round-the-clock hands-on care, but ... Yeah. I also only knew one of the neighbors, the childless couple next door. I hadn't yet really got into the circle of parents at pickup yet, so I had no one I could call on had I been truly sick (like when I got the flu that winter, and had another parent fetch the kids from school).

because through this, at the ripe old age of 21, I'm getting that noise that I need to provide my parents with grandchildren. Pretty sure it was just dad making that noise, but still. The nanny thing lasted 14 months, then I moved down to the shore and in with a cousin while I tried to figure out my place in the world on minimum wage, and seeing her muddle through single-parenthood, it was clearer than ever that even if desperately wanted a baby, I could not do it on my own. Childcare would eat up any paycheck I had, and as I had yet to meet a man worthy of partnering with (including that 11-years-older gem), everywhere I turned I was told my life would be over if I didn't get married and start having babies. So when my apartment that required 3/4 of my paycheck to afford it became too much, I moved myself in with that 11-years-older asshole and figured I'd make it work somehow. The tl;dr there is that I did not, in fact, make it work in the end, but escaped with my parents help while he was at work. Yes, the very same parents who took every opportunity available to remind me of my duty to provide them with grandchildren and how I'd be an old maid like my aunt if I didn't get busy, get married, and get pregnant, not only changed their tune a bit, they drove back to coastal NJ from Ohio on 12 hours notice to collect me.

You see, all the while I'm being hounded about marriage and babies, back home, my younger brother and his girlfriend were apparently picking up the slack. Christmas 1995, as they drove home from a surprise visit to me, my brother announced that his barely 18 yr old girlfriend was pregnant. Who's laughing now, eh? I don't think it ever occurred to them that my younger brother would be the one to give them grandchildren, at least not before I would! He'd dated a girl the summer I moved east who had a baby, and lived with them all for a while, so mom had the grandma bug from the months baby C lived there. Now, heading into summer of 1996, mom was suddenly too young to be a grandma at 49. she was having none of it! oh, sure, she went nuts getting yard sale clothing and toys for the baby boy and made sure the nursery in their apartment was all set to go, but she was NOT going to be called "grandma"! But then, mid-July 1996, D was born, and at the age of 49, mom became grandma, and at two weeks before his 23rd birthday, my brother became a father. We arrived home from my frantic escape from NJ at dusk the day of D's birth, having stopped several times a long the drive to check in on them. We appealed to the hospital, and they allowed us to stop in that night to meet the new baby. Baby D opened his eyes and turned his head when he heard grandma's voice as we entered the room, and that's all it took to convince her that being Grandma was going to be fine.

The flurry of excitement of me moving home and the new baby took all pressure off me to spawn, at least for a while. Babies become toddlers, and grandparents get greedy, and when the still-single daughter isn't' showing any signs of dating anyone, what are parents to do? The correct answer is MIND THEIR OWN DAMN BUSINESS along with MAYBE NOTICE THE STRUGGLES AND HELP HER GET THE HELP SHE NEEDS but no, they were back on the baby bullshit. my brother eventually married his son's mother, briefly, and then they split, and I regret not doing more to ensure D had a more stable life during those years before his dad got custody. The truth is, I was barely holding my own head above water, so I couldn't see how I could possibly scrape together the wherewithal to give D what he needed.

Then mom got sick, and died. At some point after that, I briefly thought that if I can't find someone to marry, maybe I could just adopt on my own? I must've been having a REALLY good day that day. I started to look into it, and realized the expense and scrutiny I'd have to go through, plus moving to a place with two bedrooms, and then one mild inconvenience later I had abandoned the whole thing without ever having done more than think "what if?" I did some babysitting in there, too, but it was more out of financial necessity than anything else. I much preferred the couple whose son went to bed early, and paid handsomely the later they stayed out and the more than drank. This was shortly before I was diagnosed with Sjogren's, when I was having all manner of physical health issues on top of the still-there-and-never-addressed-and-growing mental health issues. I eventually got a diagnosis, and was surprised to learn that congenital cardiac defects can occur in babies born to women with Sjogren's. Hrm, that's not cool. Oh, and pregnancy can exacerbate symptoms like nobody's business. Strike 2. Instead, I opted to improve my quality of life by buying a condo; first floor bathroom has been life-altering, as was losing my job not long after closing.

in the last 22 years, I have managed to get a job and stick it out (21 years officially this month!), acquire a handful more chronic illnesses, and not one but two cancer scares that resulted in a hysterectomy at 38 years, 7 months and 4 days. but who's counting?

in that same time, my brother remarried and two more kids, all boys; Dad married J2's mom less than a year after mom died; and D got married and they have three kids, also all boys. All told I have eight niblings (nieces and nephews) and three great-nephews. my brother and all three stepbrothers are married and have kids, leaving me, the sole daughter and middle child, unmarried and childless.

I'm lucky to finally be at an age where strangers can't just badger me about not having spawned. at 38, I could have potentially had time left, but now, I'm well into the years where it's no longer wise to speculate. I hope it's the same for dating. The current object of my obsession is about 8 years older than me, and while the physical health has been addressed (but not improved), the mental and financial ends are still a hot mess, and I don't wish that on anyone. I guess these things have a way of working themselves out after all?

Stage banter asked "what are the five stages of grief?" while introducing a new-to-me song. We shouted out "anger!" and "denial!" and "bargaining!" and made it to four when he suggested Buc-ees as the fifth stage of grief. we all laughed, at least some of us familiar enough with roadside haven to get the joke.


I was filming, my phone battery low, or I would have googled it for him. I think that was closest he got to ever saying his wife got sick and died, but i'l have to listen to it again to be sure. my phone completely dead about 5 songs from the end, I wasn't able to to fill in the blank as we grudgingly said goodbye. back at my hotel, he was online so I googled it and let him know:

ME:
We missed depression

Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance

Not that I ever follow directions

HIM
I knew there were more than four!

ME:
I guess when depression is the default setting, you kinda forget about it?

HIM:
yeah, kind of a 60-cycle hum going through the whole thing

I should've stopped there. I didn't. too wound up, too thrilled to be chatting, too high on the thrill of whatever this is

ME:
for nearly 25 years now one of the tags I use in my online journaling is EKRcanKMA - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross can kiss my ass.

i'm currently too manic to notice any depression. like a toddler with the zoomies at bedtime.

-----

sleeping away my day, it occurred to me that Buc-ees is a good substitute for Depression, as it offers all the things Depression robs from your life: clean bathrooms, an amazing selection of food and drinks and toys and impulse buys and light, such violently bright light. I'm told the Richmond KY store can been for miles at night by the glow of the lights, an oasis in the dark hills of rural Kentucky.

They're also overrun with tourists, and there's nothing tourists love more than swarming in on a tragedy, dispensing pleasantries and platitudes, and then scurrying back to the bus for the ride to the next stop.

Dreams of a similar sort speckled my slumber - running away, by bicycle not car, in familiar cities changed by perspective of mode of transportation. searching for help and not finding it. Eventually running into him, the tractor beam of i-still-don't-know-what pulling me into his orbit, into his arms, into his promise of a steady, solid something. A message, in my ear, via his lips directly or via voice mail, assures me "I'm OK. We're OK. It's all OK." The tone is one used with an inconsolable child, a distraught friend, someone on the brink, someone who prefers the alternate ending to Cocoon. I took the "we" to be us two, not any other obvious groupings (his band, his family, his community), because that's what fits my delusional waking narrative.

-----

At the end of the night, he told me didn't know I was there until several songs into the show. Aghast, I exclaimed "I was sitting right in front of you! How could possibly miss all this?!", gesturing to my heft, my girth.

They took a break a good hour into their set, Jess's request. I stood up to move my aching bones, and he found me, said hello, and then offered a hug in case he didn't get to do so later, but then promising he would see me. I assume(d) that I was the cause for these decisions. don't rock the boat, don't anger the highly unstable woman. He hugged me again at the end of the night, and with both, I felt more the warm fuzziness of his velvet blazer against my cheek than his arms around me, disconnected from my self. We held on tightly, but briefly. The promise of Saturday's show giving me hope that it's not a "goodbye forever" but just a "farewell for now."

up until I set foot in that decommissioned church, I was a Very Hot Mess, on the very far end of the Scoville scale, crying multiple times over songs and scenarios my brain would conjure up and the brainweasels would run off with, leaving me bereft behind the wheel and nowhere to pull off. Once in the door, though, I had A Purpose - feed everyone! - and the music either melted away my worries, or threw me deep in denial and held me under for two-plus hours. I fully expected to cry at least one song more if they made the set list (not knowing the set list and show was fully Australian Rules music - "the rules are THERE ARE NO RULES!"). driving back to my hotel with a phone that was just being resurrected, but not willing to provide direction, I did mostly fine, as it was just two turns and a long dark road back to the interstate, and I roughly knew how far and which exit. back in the hotel room, well, scroll up to see what happened.

If envy is green, and sadness is blue, and anger is red, what is despair? Lonliness? Jealous rage that you have no business harboring but you do anyway because on the scale of Elsa to Javert, you make him looks like a well-adjusted member of society.

What color is the emptiness of holding onto things that you hope will be, maybe, someday, despite all evidence to the contrary? I've spent 2023 living my best life, but there's still a chasm inside me.

"Will that be enough
when you get what you want
Will that be enough
Will you be alright
If you let me go"

Darren Jessee asks in his song Will That Be Enough (Central Bridge 2023, Bar/None Records)

But what if you don't know what you want? You head towards something, and you start getting close, and realize "nope, not this. Not now."? Then what? I'm awash in a sea of dishwater grey and dull beige, not enough bold enough to be the puke brown you get when you mix all the colors together. So much is missing, there's no color to stand out.

I'm dragging my feet on some things, barging ahead in other things, putting my eggs in the wrong baskets and hoping like hell I can somehow limp through another month of dodging overdue bills and avoiding rage-quitting my job while somehow finding a new therapist & psychiatrist and then convincing them that the meds are maybe not working so well after all because who in their right, adequately-medicated mind would be suffering the brain weasels and dark thoughts that never.go.away.

Lack of ticket info has me reluctant to make he trek to Carrboro for Darren's Jan 19th show, and lack of funds pretty much cements it. But there are two events in April i will be attending, and I wonder if this time will be the time I just don't come back?

I've already covered my snacks, but sometimes you need "real" food, or at least something warm and filling. Yes, you can make this on the stove, but I figured out how to do this in the microwave while working, so I can have a fairly low-spoon struggle meal during the workday. I'll also do it when not working, and use the cooking and waiting time to make myself do things besides sit on the couch. Did I mention struggle?

Noodle Pouches

what you need:
Noodle pouch or box of choice
ingredients for microwave directions (mine calls for water/butter/milk)
microwave safe container large enough
optional add-ins of cooked meat or veggies

what you need to do:
First and foremost, make sure you're using a microwave safe GLASS/PYREX dish that's large enough. Your gladware isn't going to survive this. Mine is a 7c Pyrex bowl and it's plenty big

I also use my 1.5qt pyrex casserole dish with little handles which is a nice bonus. The 4c pyrex measuring cup is NOT going to be big enough. Trust me.

open your pouch and dump it into the bowl. rather than the milk and water, I add 2.25c water, and a scoop (2 tbsp) dry milk powder. add the 1tbsp butter, dicing it up if it's cold. give everything a good mix, trying to break up the clumps of powder, and then nuke it for 7 minutes. If everything is clean and accessible, I can do this in just a couple minutes and get back to my desk to work.

My microwave says its 900 watts, but tends to over-cook things. It's also got the handy feature that it'll beep every minute once it's done until you open the door. ADHD WIN!!!

Let it go a couple minutes, then go back and stir it well, making sure nothing is stuck to the bottom. This is where I add frozen cooked ground beef* to bulk this up. A generous handful, maybe 3/4 cup? be sure to stir that in well so it's broken up and coated in the liquid. Nuke for another 7 minutes. Again, let it sit for a bit before rescuing it and trying to eat it. the glass will be HOT, as will the contents. If your container doesn't have handles, some sort of grippy hot pads would be super-useful here. The sauce will be super-runny until it's had time to cool and thicken. As a bonus, you could probably shave 3 minutes off the total cook time and give it 10 minutes to sit at the end, and the noodles would still be done. For once, dwelling on something works to our advantage!!

full disclosure: I have not tried this with broccoli added, but have two bags in my freezer intending to.

The days I have this for lunch with ground beef in it (and again, full disclosure: i'll eat the whole thing), I almost never want or need dinner. I'm working towards making this two meals, but i'm not there yet.

*about 7lb of ground beef will fit in your typical 8qt oval slow cooker. Chuck that stuff in there, cook on high for 1-1.5 hours, stirring, chopping and draining frequently, until it's all browned and cooked through. Drain what you can, then spread the cooked meat into two 13x9ish containers lined with plenty of papers towels to finish draining, cover and chill overnight. load into quart-size freezer bags in whatever size quantity works for you. 2c loosely packed/scooped is what I use for recipes calling for about a pound of uncooked ground beef. Taco night just got that much easier

Eating habits of the WFH ADHDer with a 6am start and 30 minutes for lunch!

Grab and go, no prep needed
- fruit or fruit & cream cups (OK, these require a spoon)
- applesauce pouches
- individual bags of chips/pretzels
- mini candy bars (mostly peppermint patties)

oh, you need real food? fine.
- protein shakes (with caffeine!)
- greek yogurt cups
- peanut butter

cronchy snacks that take a second to assemble
- baby carrots
- pretzels
- apple slices

big winners
- any of the three above with a glob of peanut butter
- any form of pretzels with pb and a sprinkle of chocolate chips
- yogurt cup (usually vanilla) with a fruit cup (peaches), and/or granola.

lunch break
- Knorr noodle side dish pouch, microwaved.
- the buy-1, get-1-for-$0.29 double cheeseburgers from McDonalds via the app
- leftovers

As I have learned from ADHD Nutritionist and ADHD Dietitian, a LOT of my food issues are connected to ADHD and other brain-stimulation type stuff. If I'm bored or not mentally engaged, i want to eat ALL the things. Eating even just a few pretzel crisps can turn that around, as can doing a brisk-for-me lap around my downstairs. being super-into something is a good way to forget to eat (or pee or sleep, but these two are harder to ignore). The "being "good" all day" only to be starving and binge at night that regularly occurred while working in office was fueled by then-undiagnosed ADHD a toxic work environment. Working from home, where I can snack as I need to, and I don't have dozens of eyes watching and commenting, is so much better.

I'm off work today, and can't figure out why I have a piercing headache and am hangry. Well, for starters, I didn't take my meds last night OR this morning. second, it's been at least 8 hours since I've had anything to eat, and I've had minimal to drink since I went back to sleep from 9-1. oops. time to put this into practice.