Fuck-a-doodle-doo.

Wheeeeeere is it?

Given that so much is out of my control, it may be important when trauma memories come up to validate my pain but then also spend time remembering when people helped me, even in small individual ways, including myself. When what I chose to do or say was just right. When I had amazing adventures and didn’t question if life is worth it, and fear receded.

Means ‘gift.’

The best part about being wrong is learning new things, as long as being wrong isn’t infected with shame and mockery bacteria from nearby humans. Fortunately those involved were very gentle and hygienic when it comes to not carrying and spreading shame bacterium and viral ‘teasing’ (colloquial name for a strain of the bullying/abuse virus family). A round of steroids and fresh deodorant for my horses, innkeeper!

Trying to catch thoughts before daylight burns them off. Ignore noisy doggy snurfling in background.

And this cheeseball stands alone, staring at the sky, searching for the magical yellow flying machine. I made it through another mangy breakdown day somehow. Max Greenfield and John Glover helped. And the Cessna Contessa.

Imagination, prove true.

At this point it’s just practicing talking aloud and getting through the hours.

How do I make it easier? When so much is not in my control?