Tag: writing

  • november 12, 1998

    Today is a trauma anniversary from 1998.

    November 12, 1998 was a beautiful day today, just like today, November 12, 2025. It was cooler that morning though, as I recall. 

    I took the photo above, of the railroad tracks, in that morning sunlight on November 12, 1998. 

    And I wrote the following on October 30, 2025, in correspondence with the perpetrator from that day, edited for my own protection: 

    “This will seem out of the blue for you. It is not for me.

    There will be no absolution, no forgiveness. I never actually responded directly to your statements last December imploring me multiple times desperately to “not be mad at you for the things you did.” I simply wanted to see if I was strong enough to face you last December. And then I did the thing I always do in the aftermath: I retreated into myself, doubting myself, deferring to you all these months after. 

    The truth is, it is my literal cross to bear that my beloved alma mater continues to “honor” someone who never probably should have graduated from its halls 25 years ago. 

    It has been my weakness, my own fragile mental illness so very well-documented at this point, that has led me to, time and again, try to befriend you.

    Your character is irredeemable, apparently. Not one thing has changed in 27 years.

    There weren’t mixed signals, as you said, on Monday the 20th. The truth is, you can’t read me anymore because I’m stronger than you. The trauma bond is broken, thank God.

    Goodbye,_____.”

    Today is that person’s birthday. He committed a trauma so vile that I won’t write it here. 

    And I withdrew with hardship due to my psychosis less than a month later, and managed to get that withdrawal the week of finals. 

    And my psychiatrist of the time who documented all then, was astounded to hear the complete story when I went back to him in 2022, about how it all played out. He said then that so much more made sense about that time, to hear what I had to say. 

    And last December that same perpetrator, when I wanted to see if I could face him, committed an equally vile trauma, I believe on purpose.

    In both cases, Jared says he is an opportunist.

    And on October 20, 2025, that person made professional missteps that really kind of shocked me, except that I knew even in the moment that he was making a severely miscalculated power play. 

    And that day, too, unprompted, he went on and on about how his program at our school was the most stressful time of his life. As if it was some sort of excuse for his behavior back in the day. 

    I wrote the following on Facebook earlier in the day today, with links to a song from Elton John’s “Love Songs” album and the “Sleepless in Seattle” soundtrack. These were the soundtracks that he played over and over in 1999 and 2000, repeat ad nauseum, as a grooming tactic. 

    “A couple of odes to my 19 year old self who could not defend herself, and also that 19-23 year old self who tried time and again to walk away, and finally did at age 23. These songs do not mean to me what the lyrics would indicate. 

    The first time I wrote this draft I ended the above paragraph with “Maybe someday I will talk about it.”

    Suffice it to say for now that groomers are very smart, and choose their soundtracks very, very very carefully, and repetitively. I cannot listen to these songs (or the soundtracks they are on) for the rest of my life without ever thinking about one specific person.”

    And today November 12, 2025, has been a beautiful day. I got to see my very nice orthopedic PA about my scoliosis, and I got to drive through my very favorite parts of Atlanta, that city I love.

    And it occurred to me, that finally Atlanta is, for me, not the scene of sadness and trauma and despair.

    Atlanta is my city, not his; Atlanta has meant what it means to my family for generations, not his. Atlanta– my very own alma mater– is mine, not his. It is my family that began a relationship with characters from that alma mater probably the decade he was born.

    That man has no claim to anything he can’t buy. He knows nothing of love, of loyalty, of kindness, of simply doing the right thing.

    I’m ready to talk about it.

  • laundry day is probably going to be four days long

    The title says it all.

    On Sunday evening, October 19, I threw in a load of laundry. I knew I’d be busy on dedicated laundry day, Monday the 20th, so I was trying to get ahead so my whole routine wouldn’t be blown to smithereens.

    I was fooling myself. Not because the premise of the idea wasn’t good, but because Monday the 20th threw me into a whirlwind of emotions I can only tangentially talk about at the moment. Mostly self-destructive despair and self-loathing.

    I think I actually did a load of laundry on the 20th, or I actually switched the laundry, early that morning.

    And, maybe three loads of laundry have gotten done since then. Maybe four.

    Monday is still laundry day. But, I am starting laundry day today, on Saturday, so that maybe laundry day will be done by Tuesday or early Wednesday– we have that much laundry. If I finish it on Monday, all the better but I am not holding my breath.

    Dana K. White from A Slob Comes Clean was the first person who I listened to about laundry day. My aunt said years ago she tried to tell me once it would be easier to just have a laundry day when the boys were little, but I have no memory of that.

    But, Dana says that a first laundry day, in no way, is likely to be only one day if you have an actual family you are doing laundry for.

    And in my experience, she’s 100% right.

    So, here I am, it’s 12:46 PM on Saturday November 8, 2025, and I am started Monday’s the 10th’s laundry day at 11:30 this morning.

    Because I was doing pretty good before the 20th. And I feel pretty good this morning, aside from feeling like my routine is gone to crap.

    And, this afternoon, there is a maternity session and it is exclusively a Cinelux lens maternity session. I am taking along the Minolta lens just in case I need it, but I don’t anticipate needing it. A former bride approached me about maternity photos several months ago, about the time I was shutting down the business and sold the bulk of my lenses, and I turned them down. But I reached out later and showed her some of the photos with the lenses and told her it wouldn’t be a typical session but that I was willing to do it for free if I could use these lenses and use them for my portfolio, and she agreed. So here we are, and it is a beautiful day with perfect weather, and I get to have a Cinelux session.

    The idea was that if the photos turned out, I might decide to take on limited Cinelux sessions in the future.

    I already used this lens once in a session, a few years ago now. I just chickened out and got complacent with my autofocus lenses.

    I forgot to slow down and enjoy photography.

    And, for the occasion, I downloaded again the UnScripted app, my posing Bible I used for so very long. I am very excited about the poses I found.

    Eight years in, I no longer feel any shame whatsoever in the fact that coming up with natural poses on my own is no, in fact, natural for me.

    But, I found the UnScripted app when it was first barely out of beta, brand new, years ago and it has served me very well. I paid for a lifetime membership around 2020 in fact, when it was dirt cheap– definitely not what it is now. It was probably 1/5 of what it is now — at $499– or else I wouldn’t have paid for it at all.

    Looking back on this week: there were nerves about the potential health scare. There was leftover fallout from meeting with someone I shouldn’t have on October 20. There was fallout from having told that person exactly what I think of them in writing since apparently I am incapable of doing so to their face though at least I can, indeed, face them. But, also: the time change hit me really, really hard, really, really suddenly.

    I do not do well with limited daylight hours. Which is why I use a light therapy lamp to begin with.

  • the plastic project

    ***This post contains an affiliate link.***

    The plastic-on-the-windows project is done. At least done enough, for now.

    Not really to my satisfaction really, but there’s nothing to be done about it.

    Liam’s windows still have shades on them (with sheers over the top just for my own edification really) because his window is the only one really on ground level. 

    To put plastic on Liam’s windows would mean I would have to cover the shades (the plastic goes on the window frame), which means Liam wouldn’t be able to peek behind them to see who was in the driveway, or if there was a weird noise outside. 

    Liam prefers to keep relying on his space heater when it gets really cold. 

    And Oliver just straight up doesn’t want plastic on his windows.

    And the dining room windows are complicated because the sheers are held on by a tension rod between the tops of the frames. So I couldn’t go to the top of the frame with the plastic.

    Porter’s room is a maybe later. But his room is in the middle of house and it’s typically the hottest room in the house anyway naturally. 

    And the kitchen is also a maybe, though that room doesn’t really get cold. 

    And so: the plastic is on the double doors in the living room, and the windows in our bedroom.

    Our bedroom is the coldest room in the house. Our room is above the almost-walk-in crawlspace/basement and I’ve been thinking about going to get some more roll insulation to put in the ceiling of the crawlspace/basement, between the joists. It’s a thought, though I haven’t talked to Jared about it yet.

    At the very least, the styrofoam tubing I shoved in the wider, disjointed gaps at the base of both double doors in the living room, along with the plastic sweeeps we put to block the air last winter, will help, in addition to the plastic on the window portions of the double doors. That was the biggest insulation worry, since I removed the heavy blackout drapes. 

    The goal really wasn’t to bring our energy bills down from what they already are. The goal was to prevent them from skyrocketing despite the very necessary aesthetic changes made to the windows in the house, for my mental health. 

    If anybody is interested in the plastic I bought, you can find it here. 

    It was the cheapest plastics solution I could find, though admittedly I dealt with an awful lot of waste. But the tape, despite the reviews, seem decent enough. And the hair dryer trick (waving the hair dryer briefly over the edges covering the tape) really does shrink wrap the plastic to the frame .

    And one thing I really was not prepared for was the mishaps: The first window I did, I didn’t know that I should keep the hair dryer to the edges by the tape, and I melted two holes that had to be patched. And the patching, while functional, takes away from the aesthetic. I really need to redo that window.

    Similarly, I hadn’t counted on the dogs seeing cats through the sheers outside and going berzerk. Trixie punched a hole in the bottom of the plastic in one of the doors in the living room, that had to be patched.

    At any rate, I am calling the project a success.

    You can read more about me here. 

  • the parking validation

    So I draft this from a small Winship Emory Midtown waiting room. I have my coffee from home, my phone, a white robe that has no tie at the waist like it should, and a bag with my tops inside. Jared is waiting in the main lobby. The diagnostic mammogram is done. 

    But at the end… The tech told me she was going to give me validation for my parking.

    I do not know what that meant…. but it does not bode good things.

    I have delivered two children at Emory Midtown — I have probably been here over 50 times in the last 18 years — and they never validated my parking before. 

    I know the ultrasound was an optional follow-up and the tech made out like I’d be having the ultrasound but then she backtracked and said it was pending the doctor looking at the images…

    And now, wistfully, I wait.

    ————————

    And the tech came back for me. We repeated the images, for “spot checks,” on the concerning side.

    I am pretty sure I know what is coming.

    ————————

    I sit and wait. At least six people have come and gone back and left. I texted with Jared a little, telling him I was sure I have breast cancer. Jared says to wait and see what the doctor says. 

    I waited over a month for this diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. I panicked when the date was so far out and scheduled one at Tanner for October 15, but I ended up having a late-scheduled tele-health appointment with my endocrinologist on the 15th and had to cancel the Tanner appointment. 

    It meant waiting, but honestly if I have to deal with medical complications I am grateful to be dealing with Emory, not Tanner.

    ————————

    The wait on the ultrasound table for the radiologist, after the tech did the ultrasound, was the longest ever.

    Turns out, I am fine. No breast cancer, no problems under my arm at all. They were very thorough. The radiologist herself came in to explain the mammogram was clear, the ultrasound was clear. 

    I probably have a fungal rash (I have been telling Jared since my appointment last week that it is probably ringworm) like the dermatologist thought it might be. The spot is fading with the creams she gave me. I didn’t tell them that this morning though. 

    I still have zero idea why they validated my parking, though. Or why they repeated the mammogram on the concerning spots. At all. Oh well.