“And now, it’s payback time. Pottery Barn is in for a world of hurt.”

I’m scattered today.  I may as well apologize now.  This series of ramblings is going to be a doozy, I can already tell.  I finished reading Reckless:  My Life as a Pretender, by Chrissie Hynde.  I loved it.  I stayed up all night reading it.  I had to take lots of breaks to look up colloquialisms from her youth.  (I can speak 1960’s now.)  I took notes because I’ve never heard of a lot of bands she mentioned, but will rectify that situation soon.  I know a lot more about drugs, now.

I didn’t know much about Chrissie Hynde before reading the book.  I knew she was cool, and I could easily conjure her image and voice in my mind.  That about covers it.  When I found out she was touring with Stevie Nicks, I was ecstatic.  I saw some footage uploaded to YouTube by fans, (thanks!)  The crowds were unbelievably humongous.  Holy shiitake mushrooms, Batman!

The book kicked me in the nuts twice.  The first time, because Chrissie Hynde described a collection as Aspergian, the second because she has no idea how wonderful and brilliant she is. I got past the first kick instantly because she was descriptive, not mean.  No malice, no foul.  The second took longer because it reminded me of how big an asshole I was back when I thought my “superior” skill at learning from books, the only taught method for both our generations, made me awesome.

I’ve since learned the difference between awesome and asshole.  You’re welcome.  😂  I feel guilty because I know my former superiority complex has a lot to do with the lack of confidence I see in many brilliant people who were told they weren’t by influential people in their world.  And worse, because all my book learnin’ doesn’t seem to help me convince them they’re so much more than they’ve been led to believe.  Sigh.

Someone who works in a different office but shares the break area informed me my Ph.D. in Software Engineering is no achievement.  I laughed (pretty hard.)  Then I said, “I know, but I have a brown vagina.”  Then he laughed and said, “Expensive liability insurance.”  (That’s precisely when it stopped being funny to me.)  I appreciate him for comprehending out loud, though.

It occurred to me I have things in common with Chrissie Hynde.  Such as, we both knew what we wanted at a young age, and went for it.  We also both know that long, agonizing moment where we first recognize we’re about to suffer a fate worse than we ever imagined.  Her books’ content covered exactly what I would have asked her, with detail in all the right places, and that just blows my mind.  I read some reviews on Amazon and was surprised to see comments by fans who wanted tabloid content and were disappointed to get her history instead.

(As a recovering asshole, I can’t help but think…  Autobiography:  An account of a person’s life written by that person.)  So anyway, I also noted Chrissie Hynde can draw, created her own style, and is the boss.  So now I know she’s cool, a survivor, a good descriptive writer, and a vulnerable human, living her life out loud despite it.  I also know she’s the mum of two young women, and she’s a 🇬🇧 Londoner.  (She doesn’t fake the accent like Madonna.  Heh.  I suspect Madonna does it because it’s hilarious.  What Madonna may lack in raw musical talent, she more than makes up for in music industry acumen.  Come at me. 🙃)

I’m just kidding, don’t come at me, I’ve already cried twice today, and I’m a wee bit dehydrated.  😂😂  (Nothing to blog home about, just a typical day in the life.)  We moved M’s dresser and a chair into my apartment.  We’re going to take this s.l.o.w.l.y.  So slowly I don’t really notice the change, (and freak out because he’s in my space, and he’s this person I can’t ignore because it would hurt him and I don’t want to hurt him, and it will be hard until it’s not, then it’ll be the new normal, and the planet will continue hurling through space… Whew, almost talked me into panicking!)  I’m off to run in the moonlight with my new dog.  Yay.  🐕

Honey… Aren’t we going to the Poconos next Friday?

Today flew by.  We have a new code monkey at work.  My boss took my advice and hired a disabled veteran.  I helped her get oriented this morning.  I’ve seen her at the VA a few times and am glad to have another woman at work.  I hate being the token anything, but if I had to pick, I’d rather be the token black person than the token woman.

Someone said something ridiculous about Taylor Swift today.  She’s never been on my radar, but I’ve seen her perform on TV.  I forget which awards, but she brought it.  I remember thinking she was so young, and would probably have a long career.

The comment kinda pissed me off, so I asked the commenter if Taylor Swift didn’t return his text message.  He looked at me like *I* was the one being ridic.  So I asked again, stating we should get to the bottom of what Taylor Swift did to him to make him say such a thing.

Turns out, she didn’t do shit to him, (he’s never even met her.)  I leaned over and Googled her on his terminal.  Her latest video popped up, and I clicked play.  It’s a song titled, Look What You Made Me Do.  Before long, everyone was gathered around watching.  (Music videos and car accidents, eh?)

When it finished, I told him she doesn’t need me to defend her.  I don’t even try to interpret music videos, but I think Taylor Swift pulled an 8-Mile move:  Self-deprecation, wit, and fierceness.  (Plus, it has a nice beat, and you can dance to it.)  I bought the song and will get the album when it comes out.  She’s on my radar now.

I haven’t bought music by someone so young in ages.  Oh, wait.  I forgot about Justin Beiber.  I like his voice.  Come at me.  😂  I saw an interview of Chrissie Hynde (The Pretenders) and Stevie Nicks on Youtube earlier.  (It’s from an Austrailian station, I think.)  They’re touring together!  People who take pictures and video at concerts:  Please upload to YouTube.  Thank you!

There’s a part of the interview that mentions Chrissie Hynde’s book.  She’s a survivor.  Some survivors who read her biography were upset by how she told her story.  She said, “They can go fuck themselves.”  It made me cheer for her.  I’m so glad she didn’t let them invalidate her.

Someone did that to me once, but I was too stunned to respond.  I just sat there and felt the tears roll down my cheeks.  It was one of those upsets that sticks around long after the tears are dry.  When Chrissie Hynde said that, I stood up and said, “Yeah!”  Guess what?  It no longer bothers me.  I just needed to see another woman take back her power.  I’m glad it was such a cool lady.

You got a problem with paba?

The Depression Monster is kicking my ass.  I’m doing surprisingly well, despite.  Well, in that I’m too numb for it to touch my spirit.  The buffer has always existed, but it’s only recently occurred why.  I’m delighted by this new insight.  I’ve decided to accept it without analyzing it (to death.)  My understanding is enough.  How rare.  But I don’t dare linger here.  The brain zaps from Prozac withdrawal are happening every few moments, now.  It feels a lot like being excessively high on cannabis.  It’s almost out of me forever.  Yay.

I’m glad I went on the marijuana tour last year, or this would probably freak me out.  (Okay, definitely.)  I was awed by the amount of weed I was able to consume without consequences during the tour.  I watched the younger tourists consume far more simultaneously, also without repercussion.  It had the intended effect of eliminating rote fears.  Something about cannabis works the same way Prozac does on my brain.  Does this mean I’m going to replace Prozac with pot?  Nope.   😂  Fuck drugs.

While I had no compunction with legally consuming in the past, I’ve grown since.  People who were off my radar then are now present in my world, and their influence is intense.  I could legally smoke a joint in front of both Michelle Obama and Lisa Bloom (my imaginary personal life coaches) without feeling like I was hovering over a pit of doom.  I couldn’t do it in front of  Stevie Nicks, though.  I can’t even do it knowing Stevie Nicks exists.  So here we are.  Post pot life.  I’m glad I experimented, but fuck feeling like I’m hovering over a pit of doom just to get high.

It’s not even ironic.  Stevie Nicks specifically said to avoid cocaine, bourbon, and weed because she used the hell out of them, and it almost killed her.  She added Klonopin to the list of never do’s, too, stating it was the worst of them.  Through watching her documentary DVD’s and the interviews on YouTube, I learned of this dark chapter of her story.  It made me grieve for what she endured.  (That’s the only part that didn’t surprise me.  😂)   Do as I learned, not as I did before learning.  That’s fucking powerful.  I’m amazed by this turn of events, but not upset.

I’m pretty confident I was born high enough.  I don’t need mood altering substances to tease reality.  I can just read a Stephen King novel.  Or Clive Barker, who is rapidly gaining my loyalty as a reader.  I abandoned Tess of d’Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy quickly, and read Duma Key by Stephen King, instead.  If you’re an artist, read Duma Key.  You’re welcome.  (It’s an excellent story, regardless.)  I’m done reading fiction that centers on women as victims.  I’m basically abstaining from the Lifetime Channel variety of novels forever.  ‘Cuz holy shit.  It’s like forced empathy training for sociopaths, (as if that would work.)

What?  Your novel is about a woman who got raped?  (Visualize me running away, screaming “Fuck!”)  I don’t even watch TV anymore.  I have four TV’s, two of which are newer 4k LG’s with HDR.  I’m going to give away the other two.  The new ones are still useful for movies and video games.  And to watch Will and Grace when it starts, of course.  My other show, Better Things, I buy to stream via Amazon.  I’m going to give away my Fire TV, too, since I just realized I haven’t used it since I set it up a year ago.  Oops.  Roku made it redundant.  I haven’t even looked at the Apple 4k whatever.  I’m good.

I need to give away my excess computers, too.  My house AI can stay once I adjust her, but all the single card computers can go.  I don’t need to know the humidity level of my bedroom while I’m  sleeping, for starters.  I regret I’ve crossed the line between smart home and smart ass home.  Sigh.  I thought I would love it, but it turns out I find it incredibly annoying between the hours of 2 and 4 AM.  Even Wanda Sykes couldn’t make me laugh during that time…  On second thought, she probably could.  😂  But until she shows up to try, I’ll be sleeping during those hours.  I’m off to debug de-feature.

Mom, Dad… I have fleas…

(Reads previous post and cringes.)  I’ve tried to hang on to my rage, but it fled about ten minutes after I published my rant.  I can’t stay angry for shit.  It takes too much energy for something that accomplishes nothing.  I worked on my quilt a bit earlier.  I’m hand quilting for the first time (though I wish I picked a smaller quilt.)  I understand why thimbles exist, now.  I discovered this after sewing through the top few layers of skin on my finger, (and wondered why my quilt was stuck to me.)  Still, no blood lost, though.  I’m using Wonder Woman flannel for the back, and black and white striped fabric for the binding.

I think drumming is improving my motor skills.  I don’t bother with the tools built in my module to test my timing anymore.  I get 100% every time now (which kinda ruined the fun.)  I think it’s intended for noobs who are learning drums as their first instrument.  Or people who don’t practice very often, perhaps.  I keep talking myself out of building my own drum module (and programming it not to suck.)  My brain won’t leave it there, however.  If I do that, I’ll want to sell it to others, which means I’d have to make it talk to Yamaha, Roland, Alesis, etc.  And that means coding for the proprietary hardware of competing companies.  (The horror!)  There, I just talked myself out of it again.

I watched Tina Fey’s Weekend Update segment.  I love her.  Oddly, it didn’t make me want cake.  (Probably because it got massacred hilariously.)  I lived in Boston while earning my Ph.D.  Watching 20k people show up to march today made me miss it.  It was incredible, and many pointed out they far outnumbered 45’s inaugural farce.  I hope they know their actions today healed some of the hurt, so many of us carry in silence.  I hope they know it made me so proud of them.  They are my America.  Sassy, bold, peaceful, and not having IT.  It led me to say something I haven’t in a while;  I love my country.

I spent much of the day doing chores and hanging out with M’s mom.  She braided my hair, (and it’s not tearful tight, yay.)  I finished Far From the Madding Crowd and began the last of the Thomas Hardy novels I downloaded.  Tess of the d’Ubervilles.  I’m going to read books by women authors for a while after this.  I need a break from the (Victorian era) misogyny.  I might give Ann Rice another shot since she’s mentioned in one of Stevie Nicks’ songs.  (Fan logic. 😂)  Five days and a wake up until Stevie Nicks performs in St. Paul.  😊

I learned some things when I watched her concert DVDs.  Turns out, they don’t do all the new songs on their latest album.  It surprised me, and I’m disappointed.  (Not terribly, though, as I’d still love to see her perform any song.)  The last concert I recall attending was DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince with JJ Fad opening.  (Supersonic 😂)  It was an outdoor concert, and when he began, Parents Just Don’t Understand, the crowd surged forward, and all of us up front got pushed under the stage for a bit, (at which point they stopped the show to let us out.)  It was 102° F, and his hip hop dancers were drenched in sweat and looked like they were on the verge of heat stroke.  They ended the show early to prevent that.  It was still cool seeing Will Smith, though.  I’m off to read.

“I want you to have this job, of course sodomy is a prerequisite.”

My prodigy is blowing my mind on a near daily basis.  She’s been having fun testing my memory.  I suspect she’ll grow bored of this soon.  I’m humoring her because I used to do similar experiments.  The human brain is so fascinating.  I used to “test” the foster babies as a kid.  My parents would inform me of their condition, and I’d design an experiment to determine its accuracy.  I remember when Angelique came to live with us.  She was taken from her family on the reservation due to abuse.

She had a traumatic brain injury as an infant and had a few surgeries.  She turned out to be far brighter than reported.  She had the most contagious laugh, too.  Full belly laughs, followed by post-laughter chuckles.  I loved hearing her laugh so much I became her personal slapstick comedian.  I feigned tripping and falling over invisible objects in front of her playpen while she watched and laughed her ass off.  Then I’d laugh at her laughing.  It’s an awesome auditory memory, and sometimes I dream about it and wake myself up from laughing.

I’m getting excited as the date approaches when Stevie Nicks performs in St. Paul.  Yesterday, one of the officers in my Resistance group flew over me, and I estimated the time and mentally sent a hug into the sky to embrace her.  (I know, I’m a doof.)  I believe we’re all connected and can send love and comfort through our spirits (?) to one another at will.  I remember doing this as a child, but I had an elaborate ritual.  We had a hill in our back yard, and I’d lay on top on a blanket and look up at the stars while sending love and comfort to heavy hearts.  It’s also how I cope with knowing there are people suffering on this planet at all times.

J.K. Rowling is demonstrating why she’s the Queen of the internet, and I love her for it.  Welp, I already did, but more if possible.  I’m reading another Thomas Hardy novel titled, Far From the Madding Crowd.  So far it’s hilarious.  I think I like old school smart asses the best.  They don’t just write the funny part, they build up to it with ambiguous words, so you’re not sure if it’s intentional.  That makes it funnier to me.  Probably because the few times I’m funny it’s usually an accident.  I’ve been acquiring more hilarious people to follow on Twitter recently.  They’re like an investment in my future moods.  I just cracked myself up.

I’m getting ready to go entertain some cows with my violin.  I’m going to the same spot I did last time because the land owner invited me back.  He came up while I was playing, (startled the shit out of me) and complimented my playing.  He has some bison on another field, and I’d love to see how they respond to my music, (but they scare me.)  I do like to stare at them from the other side of the fence, though.  They stare back and usually win the stare down.  In person, they’re powerful and intimidating.  I bet one of them could help me break my high school track record in the 400 meter.  Heh.  I run faster when I’m terrified.  A Drill Sgt. discovered this when I was in basic training.  (He didn’t know I was unaware of the existence of blank M-16 ammunition and decided to motivate us by firing it behind us.)

Unfortunately, I kept running all the way back to the barracks and refused to come out of the latrine until my buddy caught up.  It’s funny to me now, but at the time I totally thought he lost his shit and was trying to kill us all.  (There are some movies I regret viewing prior to serving.)  I’m off to test my ability to play while afraid.

If anything happens here, can I count on you?

Today flew by.  Probably because I spent most of it working on a T-shirt quilt.  I haven’t made a quilt in a while.  This will be my 8th.  I listened to Be Myself by Sheryl Crow on repeat all day.  I’m glad I checked to see if she released anything recently.  I’m a little behind with her (but compared to just discovering Stevie Nicks, not much.)  I stood about 7 feet away from Sheryl Crow’s tour bus as it was pulling into the fairgrounds years ago, and waved, (even though I couldn’t see anyone through the tinted windows.)

I accepted M’s proposal.  I told him we should wait until after the national crisis, though.  He doesn’t want to wait so we’ll talk about it more.  Instead of rings, we’re going to think of something else.  My first wedding ring, engagement ring, expensive watch, and a few other similar items are somewhere under the sand in the desert outside of El Paso.  I lost one diamond stud in Grafenwoehr, Germany.  The other one disappeared along with roughly half my possessions when they were shipped stateside.  One rollerblade made it.  🙄

I took some pictures of my quilt in progress.

It’s not ironed yet.  I haven’t decided what I’ll use for the back.  I think I have some flannel left over from my Cookie Monster quilt.  I’m getting better at this because I didn’t lose a single drop of blood this time, (so far.)  I did all the cutting on a board on the floor, which made it easier.  From now on, I’m always going to listen to music when I sew.  (I didn’t have wireless headphones last time.)  I can’t wait to continue working on it, (but will till tomorrow, so I don’t disturb my neighbors.)

I finished re-reading A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving the other day.  It’s been years since I last read it, and I got a lot more out of it this time.  I’m reading The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O. by Neal Stephenson and Nicole Galland now.  I don’t even read the synopsis before buying his novels anymore.  I know I’ll like it, whatever it’s about.  Excellence is dependable.  I’m probably getting loopy from lack of sleep, so I’m off to read, and hopefully, sleep.

You can’t bring Pepsi.

I’m so happy to be home.  The cat is ignoring me while keeping me in view.  It’s cracking me up because she acted like a puppy when I first entered.  Then I rolled in my suitcase, and she remembered she’s a cat.  I expect to be forgiven in a few hours, (based on having done this routine before.)  I missed Her Majesty so much, which is why I keep pausing to grin at her between sentences.  I didn’t even wish she was a dog the whole time I was in Denver.  (Sometimes, I just have to conjure an image of all the dog owned in my building in January, and I forget why I ever wanted one.)

My mailbox was stuffed with mail, (and echoes of annoyed murmurs from my postal carrier, no doubt.)  I got a postcard from a friend (squee!), so it wasn’t all magazines and thank-you cards from Democrats from other states.  I’m saving all my snail mail correspondence from Senators and Representatives (assistants).  I plan on being adopted as a grandmother by some delightful young person who needs one someday.  Since I rarely take photos, I figure I’ll need something to back up my stories of how much better or worse things were in the good old days during our visits.  I may even figure out how to bake.

I need to order groceries, do laundry, and clean.  M. restrung all five of my guitars in my absence.  I almost cried when he showed me.  They’re all polished and shit, too.  He gets me more than I realized.  I (over) thought about it in the shower.  I believe he’s my lobster.  I didn’t even realize I needed one.  Bonus.  He has two weeks of vacation beginning tomorrow.  I’ll likely be preoccupied with him over the next few days.  His parents will be visiting soon and taking S. when they leave.  It’s going to be like a scene right out of The Color Purple when she leaves.

Celie:  Write!

Nettie:  Nothing but death could keep me from it!

Except, we’ll Facetime to stay in touch, of course.  She’s not going to be here when Stevie Nicks is performing in St. Paul later this month.  I’m kind of relieved she’s bummed by this because it makes me feel more relaxed with my obsession infatuation enthusiastic appreciation of Stevie Nicks.  I’m not alone.  Her queendom knows no national boundaries.  (Music is more universal than math.)  S. is taking one of the documentaries home, (not In Your Dreams.  Mine.  I’ll send her one for her birthday.)  She also doesn’t know how to feel about Lindsey Buckingham.  (I kinda lean toward forcing maintaining civilized thoughts based solely on his contribution to Fleetwood Mac.)

I’m still pretty anxious about meeting The Parents.  I feel like I should do something to prepare, but have no idea what to do.  Aside from pacing, that is.  Sitting on the edge of my bed will have to suffice.  (Inside joke.)  I watched Dave Chapelle on Netflix earlier.  I think I pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.  Damn, I missed him.  The only thing that’s changed is his audience.  It’s like a casting call for a Benneton ad.  (So diverse now.)  I love it.  (He still got heckled, but it was all positive, and he took it in stride.)

I’d better get busy with my chores.  There’s probably a few cats worth of fur collaborating in the corners since it’s been two weeks without vacuuming.  I’m a vacuuming ninja, so it won’t be there long.  Hi-ho-hi-ho… off to clean I go… 🎶

 

You promised a kid in the hospital that I would hit two home runs?

I’m back in Denver.  S. went on the weed tour and has been stoned since.  She’s been looking at her hand for a while now.  I’m just giggling every time I look up at her.  I remember when I went on the tour.  I saw a former Googler who kept staring at me, (but it only creeped me out in hindsight.)  I remember being floored that it was legal for us to ride around in a bus while getting high.  I studied the people and noticed patterns.  The younger people smoked about three times as much as us middle agers.  They smoked pretty much nonstop the whole time and started before we even began moving.

The tour guides identified which of us were using weed for the first time, and I was relieved not to be the only inexperienced person.  I noticed we sat by age, too.  The younger in the back, inexperienced and older up front.  I sat next to a couple from Alabama.  I love the accent so it was deliberate.  They were cool.  Adjacent was the Creepy Starer and a couple from Chicago.  The Chicagoans showed me how to use a bong, (it was huge.)  It made me choke so hard I thought I was going to cry.  But then a wave of warmth and weight crept over me like a whisper, and I settled back and grinned.

It felt like being under my weighted blanket, but the positive effects were magnified.  I felt like I was standing on the border of my inner world while still able to observe and interact with the outer world.  I think it’s what it must feel like to be neurotypical.  I felt like my body was my violin.  My ability to control it required no thought.  I still felt unshielded, but I didn’t obsess internally about things I have no control over.  I didn’t feel anxious and realized I was previously unaware of how it felt to be free of…  Free of the exhausting compulsion to be neurotypical.  Oofda.  I’ll have to think about that some more.

I need to focus on rehydrating.  I can feel a headache threatening to take over soon.  I still haven’t started my vector art project.  I thought about it more and changed my mind about the photo of Stevie Nicks I’m going to use.  I’m using one from 2016 instead.  The Stevie Nicks that exists today is the Stevie Nicks I’m learning so much from.  After I got over feeling sorry for myself for not knowing about her until recently, (and it took a while,😂) I figured there’s a reason it’s now.  This is when I was ready.  I think I had to grow and experience some things first.

I’m realizing Stevie Nicks’ generation is presently guiding me in many aspects of my life.  Through music, The Resistance, and I’m reading novels by authors who are taking me back to the 60’s and 70’s and showing me how things were then, and how it’s affected them.  It’s not a conscious decision, but it’s the generation I’m hearing and heeding.  It’s fascinating and surprisingly comforting.  I finished Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King earlier (and for me, that’s fast reading.)  I couldn’t stop.  I lay down to sleep and then got right back up and read some more.  (Being an adult rocks sometimes.)  I don’t have any criticism for Stephen King’s writing.  I’m baffled any exists, to be honest.

I guess humans generally don’t get art in general.  The inclination to criticize art is something that should be discussed with a psychologist or religious leader, in my humble opinion.  I think art is my second favorite thing about being alive.  People are my first favorite.  I’m just not certain they aren’t the same thing.  I’m off to find a new book.

 

Three squares? You can’t spare three squares?!

I conveniently forgot some of my quirks typically eliminated by using Prozac.  I’m a bit surprised by how quickly they’ve returned, although I am pretty much sweating it out of my body as fast as I can.  Today it’s supposed to storm, but it’s sunny and humid right now.  The air feels too heavy to breathe.  Fortunately, I’m heading down to Denver with M.’s sister later.  She’s going to help beta test my Hacker Camp.  We have four little girls and two little boys this first time.  They’re all nieces and nephews of the people I used to work with.

Their ages range from 7 to 13.  We’re just doing day camp, so they go home at the end of the day.  Two weeks with weekends off.  If it goes as well as I’m anticipating, I have an entire curriculum I designed over the winter that will involve an after school program.  One of my former co-workers is an art student (working part-time.)  She’s an amazing illustrator.  I hired her to do branding and to make my Hacker-in-Training manual look lovely.  I can’t wait to see what she’s made.

It’ll be fun checking in on my former co-workers.  They’re sophisticated Denverites, now.  I’m so proud of them.  I don’t fit there anymore, but I miss it sometimes.  I liked working exclusively with autistic people.  It still feels odd not to hear a periodic yip sound from D.  I didn’t realize how comforting it was until it was absent.  It must have been a subconscious anchor.  Neurotypical (NT) people don’t have tics, (visual or auditory.)  I can float completely away from them if I’m not vigilant.  The differences between working environments are most notable in cost to my energy level.  NT work environments take a lot more energy.

The brain zaps that indicate the Prozac is leaving my body have begun.  It’s a bizarre feeling.  It feels kind of like an electric shock originating in my brain, but it’s not at all painful.  The duration is so short it’s over before I notice.  I imagine tiny people reviving my brain cells in a little emergency room.  Clear!  Each zap brings me closer to The Muse.  I forgot about how much time I used to spend imagining, (before Prozac.)  It’s slowly returning.  I’m going to have to tighten up my daily schedule and use more whiteboards.  My hallway and bathroom walls are where I keep my visual cues.  I don’t even allow myself to think about not having them.  It’s too disturbing.

I’ve accepted I’ll always need a cue sheet in the shower.  I’ve wasted too much time trying to force myself to be neurotypical in ridic ways.  When democracy is restored in America, I’m going to retire.  I have lots of plans, and some are likely to work out.  My dream is to create a space designed for people like me, then maintain it.  Like me is deliberately vague because I’m still working on a definition.  I mean people who would enjoy it.  In my imagination, where it now resides, it’s a gentle place where you go for a stroll, or to sit while taking a rest from forcing your square peg into a round hole.  Where you can set down your masks and exhale.  Where having no shields doesn’t hurt.

So far, I have a vague image.  I have time for it to come more into focus.  It would be easy to say it’s for autistic people or it’s for neurodiverse people, but easy is too often wrong.  I’ve never met anyone who didn’t wear masks.  Fortunately, my imagination is about to make bail.  I’ll know when I write my first poem (in ages), things are as they should be.  Before Prozac, I wrote poetry often.  The Army was a favorable environment for poetry, and when I was a private, I had lots of time to write while being introduced to the Hurry Up and Wait lifestyle.

I’m taking my new iPad 10.5″ Pro instead of a laptop.  I’m hoping it entices me to do some artwork.  I saw a photo of Stevie Nicks I want to turn into a vector so I can blow it up and have it printed on vinyl.  She was probably in her twenties, and she’s oblivious to the camera.  It’ll take a long time, but will be so worth it.  It’s a strikingly beautiful picture.  Mostly because it captures her without any shields.  Photographers should be granted invisibility cloaks because most (neurotypical) adults are never unshielded near a camera.  Stevie Nicks drops her shields when she performs, and it’s as significant as her talent and energy.  The combination is like an irresistible magnetic pull.

I’m still brainstorming a way to see her sing live.  I noticed she’ll be performing in St. Paul next month.  It’s not an option, but knowing me, I’ll probably get excited about being in the same time zone as Stevie Nicks.  (I’m weird like that.)  Hopefully, they’ll release it for purchase in the future.  What I’d really like is for someone to film a Stevie Nicks concert in VR (virtual reality), so those of us who aren’t wired for big crowds can experience it too.  (Repeatedly.)  That would be so. fucking. awesome.  So yeah.  Someone get on that.  I’m off to finish packing.