Tuesday, June 26, 2018

The Mysterious Universe

I try to be a good person. I try to align my actions with who I am and what I believe. When I fail, I try to get back on track, forgive myself, and focus on the person I want to be. I keep my faith that everything happens for a reason and, in the grand scheme of things, everything is exactly as its meant to be. I believe wholeheartedly in karma. I reap what I sew and the universe gives me the message I'm supposed to get about how to right IT, whatever IT was. When I've been in bad situations, when it felt like everything was just falling to pieces, when it seemed everything was destructing, when it reached a fever pitch that was intolerable, I always knew what was wrong. Deep down underneath all the facades and lies and denials to myself and others, I knew what change needed to come. I knew what path I was supposed to be taking. I knew what I had to do. Whether I wanted to do it or felt strong enough to do it or not, I knew what IT was. I knew how to right the ship. I knew what the universe wanted me to do. And I did it.

But right now, I'm being signaled and I don't know why. There are things happening that are beyond my control. There are things going wrong that are nonsensical and unusual. Things that are small when they happen alone, but are collectively massive. They are a message. I'm supposed to learn something. Something is supposed to change. Something needs to be done. I know this. I know it as well as I know how to breathe and walk and smile and cry. I recognize that the universe talking to me. It always has. It always will. I recognize these feelings of stress, pain, anger and desperation. I recognize the symptoms of my world out of whack. For the first time in my life, I don't know what I have to do. I have no idea what IT is. I can't figure it out. I don't understand.

My life is not in shambles. Things aren't wrong. I'm not pretending to be a champion swimmer while I try not to drown as I've done so many times before. There's no secret horror happening behind closed doors. I'm not faking it. My life is peaceful. Calm. Happy. Good. It's right. In almost every way, I'm in a better place than I've ever been in my life.  I've stumbled around in this safe cocoon of peace and normalcy and somehow managed to find forgiveness and healing. I've found a sort of strength I've never had before. The strength to stop being so strong. A strength to rest. A strength to ask for help. A strength to trust. A strength to believe that I am fundamentally ok now. And I am, fundamentally, ok. Nothing is wrong.

But the universe is throwing its message out there. It started in a low whisper. I heard it then but thought it was just hypervigilance. I was imagining a message where there was none. The message coincided perfectly with a change cycle that has been consistent throughout my adult life. Every few years, I finally stop ignoring the message from the universe and make the major change I know I am supposed to make. I thought I was just restless, but I have gained enough wisdom to know I can't ignore even a whisper from the universe. And I didn't.

I took a long road trip. I spent almost a month with no one but myself, all day, every day. I went places I'd never been. I got out of my comfort zone. I ate alone. I drove alone. I slept alone. I relied on no one but me. I sat. I walked. I listened. I thoroughly explored what the universe might be whispering to me and came up with nothing. And then, I came home. I came back knowing with certainty that I was ok. I came back grateful that I didn't need a change. I came back with a certainty that I'd only felt one other time in my life, my time in Mexico. I came back from that trip and let myself be immersed in the peace I felt. I forgave myself for all the mistakes I've made. I forgave myself for the fumbling about I'd done in my life. I forgave everyone else as well. Everyone. People I didn't believe I'd ever be capable of handing my forgiveness.  I decided that was what the universe wanted from me. It wanted me to know that I was truly ok. It wanted me to forgive.

But it didn't stop. The whispering became a low rumble. The low rumble became louder, then louder still, until it became a scream. And I don't understand. I don't know what the message is. There's no denial. There's nothing I've missed. There's no bigger picture problem that I'm avoiding by focusing on little things. There's no false facade I'm maintaining to hide the deeper problem. There's nothing. Everything is good. There is nothing wrong. So why isn't everything working like it should? Why are things crumbling like they do when a change is necessary for survival? What is happening? And WHY?

In my world, there's no such thing as a "run of bad luck." There's no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. My path is exactly as it should be and always has been. Every decision I've made, good or bad, had a purpose and a reason. I was to learn something. I was to make an impact here or there. I was to become everything I am. I will continue to become more with every experience. This is how it works. This is what I call "the universe" because I have no other word or phrase for it. Most people I know call it "God."

So, what am I to learn? What am I to change? I've explored every option. I went and talked to the ocean. I've meditated. I've even gotten good and drunk to let any pretenses or denials I might have had fall sloppily to the ground. Nothing. I am digging deep. And it's only made me surer that everything is as it is supposed to be. More positive that I am ok. But the universe keeps screaming louder and louder. It keeps throwing things in the way and refuses to stop.

I don't understand. I cannot understand. What does it want?

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Living With It: A Series. Preface

It's been a while since I posted anything publicly here, on my personal blog. I've been writing for money so much that I just haven't haven't had the leftover time or energy to discharge my subconscious out onto the paper. I guess it has taken its toll the last few weeks. Either that or I'm just feeling isolated, sad, angry, lonely, so on and so forth like anyone else with the particular disease I have.

I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. It has been aptly targeted lately to be relabeled as Rheumatoid Disease by those afflicted by it. I think this is mostly due to the sheer amount of times that we have to hear "Oh. My grandmother has arthritis too." or "I have arthritis in my elbow. I know how you feel." RA is not that arthritis. It's not really arthritis at all. Yes, it affects your joints. No, it's not just "wear and tear" on those joints. No, a knee replacement won't fix it. No, your grandma's arthritis is not this. RA is an autoimmune disease. That essentially means our bodies are confused and our immune systems attack our healthy tissue, mostly in the joints, but also in many many other parts of our bodies, including our organs. It's an extremely painful disease. It's an extremely exhausting disease. It's an incurable, unpredictable, frustrating, every day, all the time disease.

It's also an "invisible disease." What does that mean? It means that if you saw me walking down the street on most days, you'd have no idea I had any disease at all. It means that some of my friends don't know I have a disease. It means that sometimes my family forgets I have a disease. It means that I am too afraid to ask for a handicap sticker for my car because I'd feel ridiculous using it when no one can see my disability. It means that people sometimes expect too much from me. It means that sometimes I'm ashamed to tell people that I am, in fact, disabled, because I don't LOOK disabled. But, I am. And I never forget. It affects almost every moment of my life. That's why I'm writing today.

It's been a hard few weeks. I've cried a lot. I've cried no less than 5 times today. Today is blurred in with yesterday because I was in too much pain to sleep last night. I had a nap this evening. It's 1:30am and I'm not sleeping again. Partly because of pain, but mostly because of the emotional toll the last few weeks have taken. Given all the events and emotions going on, this has turned into more of a series cut into more than one post. You don't really have to read them in order, but they probably make more sense that way. I'll add the links below, in order.

BBQs and Campfires
Unpublished (S, the sea, and tears)
The ocean.

Living With It: BBQs and Campfires


BBQs and Campfires


Three weeks ago, my partner invited some friends from work to come out and spend time on our property. It's first real use of the property this summer and nothing was set up. We generally have a full set up of tables, chairs, camping gear, supplies, tubes and floats for the river, three tents and a full range of fishing gear set up out there for use throughout the year. We'd taken it down when Hurricane Harvey was bearing down because of the risk of flooding. It was time to put it all back together again and make it ready for use again. Sounds easy enough. I enlisted two sons' to help and started the process of pulling out all the gear and loading it up to head out and set up. Seven hours, three carloads, and a lot of effort later, I was exhausted, in a lot of pain, and frustrated.

I'd had a lot of help. The boys had done a lot of the heavy lifting. I hadn't even had to do it all myself. It was basic stuff. Put up tents. Set up tables. Inflate tubes and rafts. Put sheets on cots and lay down sleeping bags. Unpack fishing gear. Simple things I'd done 100 times in my life. Yet, I was exhausted. I was in a lot of pain. And so came the frustration. By the time I was done setting up, my partner showed up and some people who were staying the night. The rest were supposed to come the next day. I just wanted to crawl into someplace and sleep, but now it was time to entertain. To help. To accommodate. To be a normal person who wasn't broken.

We finally went to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. I didn't emerge from the tent until sometime around 11am the next morning. By then, other people had arrived. It usually takes me at least an hour to function on any level outside of coffee and newborn deer wobbling to the bathroom after I wake up. But, alas, entertain, help, accommodate. Be normal, not broken. The day was long and fun for everyone. I spent the day playing the good host. I picked up trash. I helped with and then cleaned up after the BBQ portions of the day. I helped people locate this or that to use in the river or for fishing. It was all pretty normal stuff. Normal stuff people do all the time in the summer. Everyone started heading home at some reasonable dark hour.

We intended to stay another night in the tent at the property. I intended to put everything in its proper place to store for the week the next morning before we left. By the time everyone left, I just begged to go home. I wasn't ok. I wasn't normal. I was beyond exhausted. I was in severe pain. Frustrated was a road marker I'd left far in the rearview and I'd progressed on to survival mode. We went home.

The next day, I could barely walk. It took two and a half hours to be able to function on any normal level that morning. Nevertheless, the normal things still had to be done. I still had to go back and do the things I needed to. I made it there around 5:00pm, finally. I did the things. Exhaustion was now debilitation. Pain was now excruciating. Frustration was now some cross between an internal rage and a familiar hopelessness. But I did the things and went home.

For the next 5 days, I could barely function. Walking across the room took all the effort I had. When I walked, it felt like every tiny, insignificant, forgotten about bone in my feet were fractured, but I had to walk on them anyway. I dropped everything because my hands were so swollen and so painful that I couldn't keep a grip on even a fork or my tiny Keurig coffee. I felt like I could sleep for a year if only the pain wasn't so bothersome. But, I still had to live. I still had to Mom. I still had to cook and clean up and do laundry and pee and speak to my family and feed the pets. I still had to let the dog in and out of the house. All the normal things that people do every day. Speaking. Walking. Peeing. Making coffee. Eating with a fork. And it was HARD. All of it. Every second of it. For the next 5 days.

On day one of those five days, I was informed that everything that was done over the previous weekend was to be done over the next weekend, only with five times as many guests to host, accommodate, help, entertain. For the next five days, while I was surviving and dropping forks and making excruciating 30-foot trips to the bathroom, I knew that it was all to be done over again on Day Six.. times five. I couldn't hold a fork, but I had six days before it was all to be done again, and compounded. The next weekend came, as did the preparation and the guests and accommodating and the entertaining. To my guy's credit, he did more of his share and some of mine because he knew the shape I was still in, but nonetheless, I acted mostly normal and did the things.

There was a young woman there, the wife of one of my guy's coworkers. They'd brought their adorable dog. At some point, she began telling a story about how her dog never barks, except at disabled people. She was drunk and the story was elaborated on and retold in the way that drunk people elaborate and retell. During the course of the drunken, continually repeated tale, she defined "disabled people" as people in wheelchairs. She then categorized people in wheelchairs as "retarded" people. She and some others made some crude jokes here and there along those lines. She then began some drunken version of identifying people who "might not be telling her everything" by who her dog was paying particular attention to. She put a lot of focus on the older people who were in attendance. Because, of course, being in a wheelchair and physically disabled is just for old people.

This went on for at least an hour and was referenced back several times.  The entire time, I sat directly across the campfire chair circle from her. I sat silently. I attempted to be free of any facial expression, though I doubt I was terribly successful. Saying something simply wasn't worth it to me. Standing up and punching her directly in the face would have been, albeit satisfying, far too painful on my hand and would have required far too much explanation on my part. I didn't have the energy. So, I sat there directly across a campfire from a woman who had no idea that she was eight feet away from a disabled person that she was relentlessly ridiculing and belittling, and I stayed calm and silent. Invisible diseases have their challenges.

I stumbled sometime later. Everyone assumed I was very, very drunk. I let them assume. I was, in fact, falling asleep in my chair. I did, in fact, stumble like a newborn baby deer. I was, in fact, dropping things and being very clumsy. No one there knew that had been happing all week and happened all the time. I had drunk three beer and on store pre-mixed margarita in about 8 hours. I just let everyone think it and didn't protest, even to my guy, who made the same assumption. I may have even agreed that that was the entire issue. Woo. Too many drinks.  I capitalized on it by "passing out" around 6pm. I really just went to my car and went to sleep. It was heavenly. No one thought anything of it. That was more acceptable, I suppose, than me just needing to go to sleep because I'm broken and have a disease that isn't readily apparent. So be it. Other than awakening to drive home and immediately returning to bed, I slept right on through until the next midday, something I rarely do anymore.

The next day, I couldn't walk almost at all. That was now a week and a half ago. I am still pretty broken. This is the toll of fun. At least the next weekend wasn't another get together, although I did go to the river and lay in it for a couple of hours and sit in the stands at a rodeo this past weekend. It wasn't too much. It didn't require too much effort. It all hurt in the normalish way things do on bad days. I still had to cook dinner and clean and do laundry and pee. I am still dropping things and stumbling on fractured tiny foot bones. I'm not sure when it'll die down a bit. Hopefully soon, but it's gone on for months before. It could again.

Friday, February 2, 2018

The Nunes Memo Is Out. Here's What It Says

The Nunes Memo Is Out. Here's What It Says

Updated on February 2, 2018

The following is a summary of what the 4-page memo presented by Republican Devin Nunes to the House Intelligence Committee. The memo has been controversial in that Nunes presented it to be declassified and released to the public. The House voted to release the memo on a partisan basis, where the Republicans voted to release and the Democrats voted to not release. At the time of the vote, the Committee voted not to release a rebuttal memo by Democrats and not to allow the DOJ and FBI to make statements prior to the vote for the release of the memo. The FBI and DOJ both issued statements objecting to the release of the memo and stated that it contained falsehoods and omitted information. The FBI and DOJ also raised concerns regarding disclosure of classified information. The memo was sent to Trump to determine if the memo should be declassified. Trump had 5 days to review that memo and make the determination. He determined on February 1 that the memo would be released. It was released this morning (February 2.) The release of the memo has sparked controversy between Democrats and Republicans as well as between the DOJ, FBI, and the Trump administration.
Of Note: The memo was written and released on a partisan basis with support from Republicans and with heavy opposition from Democrats. The Democrats 10 page counter-memo has not yet been released.


Summary

Purpose: To update Members on significant facts related to the Committee’s investigation into the DOJ and FBI and their use of FISA. The memo states the findings “raise concerns with the legitimacy and legality of certain DOJ and FBI interactions with the FISC and represent a breakdown of legal processes related to the FISA Process.
Investigation Update: On October 21, 2016, The DOJ and FBI sought and obtained a FISA warrant authorizing electronic surveillance on Carter Page. Page is a United States Citizen who served as a volunteer for the Trump campaign. The application was approved by the Director or Deputy Director of the FBI, Attorney General (AG), Deputy AG (DAG, or Senate-confirmed Assistant AG for the NSA. The FBI obtained one initial FISA warrant for Carter Page and then three renewals of this warrant. The renewals are required every 90 days for a US citizen and each renewal must renew probably cause. Comey signed three of the applications for the FBI. McCabe signed one. Yates and Rosenstein both signed at least one of the applications. The memo asserts that relevant and material information was omitted from the applications for the FISA warrants.
1. The Steele “dossier” was used in the applications and was an essential part.
  • a. The “dossier” was compiled on behalf of the DNC and the Clinton campaign and Steele received over $160,000 from the DNC (Democratic National Committee) and Clinton Campaign to obtain derogatory information on Trump’s ties to Russia.
  • b. Steele was a long time FBI source.
  • c. The applications do not disclose that the “dossier” was funded by the DNC/Clinton campaign.
  • d. The initial warrant says he was working for a named US person but doesn’t name the firm that was representing the DNC.
  • e. The FBI authorized separate payments to Steele for the information in the “dossier”
2. The FISA application cited an article by Michael Isikoff from Yahoo News on September 23, 2016 that focuses on a trip to Moscow by Page in July of 2016.
  • a. The memo claims that the article was based on information leaked by Steele himself and therefore cannot corroborate the information in the dossier.
  • b. The application incorrectly states that Steele did not provide information directly to Yahoo News.
  • c. Steele has since admitted that he met with Yahoo News and several other outlets in September of 2016 where the matter was discussed.
  • d. Steele was suspended and ultimately terminated as a source by the FBI for unauthorized disclosures to the media of his relationship with the FBI in an article on October 30.
  • e. The memo asserts that she should have been terminated in September for this disclosures to Yahoo News prior to the application for the FISA warrant on Page on September 30, but Steele lied to the FBI regarding his disclosures to media in September.
  • f. The memo asserts that Steele’s disclosure to the media demonstrated that Steele was not a reliable source for the FBI because he didn’t maintain confidentiality.
3. Steele maintained contact with the DOJ before and after he was terminated as a source via (now former) Associate DAG Bruce Ohr. Shortly after the election, the FBI began interviewing Ohr and documenting his communications with Steele.
  • a. In September of 2016, Steele told Ohr that he had feelings against Trump and stated he “was desperate that Donald Trump not get elected and was passionate about him not being the President.” This showed Steele had a bias recorded by Ohr but this bias is not mentioned in the FISA application.
  • b. During the same time, Ohr’s wife was employed by Steele’s company to assist in the cultivation of opposition research on Trump. Ohr later provided his wife’s research to the FBI. This research was from the same company as Steele that was paid by the DNC and Clinton campaign.
  • c. The relationship between Ohr, Steele and Fusion GPS (Steele and Ohr’s wife’s company) wasn’t mentioned in the FISA warrant.
4. Assistant Director of counterintelligence for the FBI, Bill Priestap stated that corroboration on the Steele “dossier” was in its infancy when the initial FISA application was submitted. An independent unit later made a reported that the FBI only “minimally” corroborated Steele’s reporting.
  • a. In early January 2017, Comey briefed Trump on a summary of the Steele dossier. He later gave testimony in July 2017 that said the “dossier” was “salacious and unverified” at that time.
  • b. The FISA warrant relied on the Steele’s past record of credible reporting and ignored his “anti-Trump financial and ideological motivations.”
  • c. McCabe testified in December 2017 that no surveillance warrant would have been sought without the Steele “dossier” information
5. The Page FISA application also mentions information regarding follow Trump campaign advisor, Papadopoulos.
  • a. The memo asserts there is no evidence of any corroboration or conspiracy between Page and Papadopoulos.
  • b. The information on Papadopoulos triggered an FBI counterintelligence investigation in July of 2016 by Pete Strzok.
  • c. Strzok is the officer who was reassigned due to the discovery of improper text messages with his mistress, FBI attorney Lisa Page.
  • d. Both Strzok and Page demonstrated a personal bias against Donald Trump in their discovered personal text messages.
  • e. The text message reveal extensive discussions of the investigation, orchestrating leaks to the media, and include a meeting with Deputy Director McCabe to discuss and “insurance” policy against Trump’s election.


Source
This article contains no opinion or analysis. The purpose of this article is to summarize the contents of the Republican Devin Nunes's memo to the House Intelligence Committee.The full text of the memo in PDF form can be read here:

Friday, November 3, 2017

Cracked

I am covered in skin. And no one gets to come in. Its an awkward truth. One I lost somewhere and then regained again and then again. This has been a comfortable place. A cacoon. Somewhere safe to hide. No expectations. No requirements beyond my capabilities. I have just been. And that was good. That was necessary.
But have I felt? Have I experienced? What have I been doing? Just wrapping up in this spindley blanket of caterpillar spat safety? Am I to stay here? It's warm. And safe. And easy. But can I fly again? Is it worth it? Do my wings still spread? Do I still flutter and glide and land gracefully?
The cacoon is breaking open. What colors will I be this time? It is not ashes I rise from here. I did not burn to the ground and come up again with fierce, fiery might. It is a slow rebirth. A timid one. An unsure one.
What colors will I be? Bright? Black and White? Shades of gray? Will I be caught up in another net? Captured and contained? Or can I just fly? Flutter. Glide. Land gracefully.
The cacoon is cracking. The time is coming. Reborn again.

Monday, October 30, 2017

When I die

I don't expect to die any time soon but when I do someday, I have a few requests:
1. Donate any possible part of me for organ donation, science, whatever. I'd prefer to be useful.
2.  If there is some cost effective way by then, press parts of me into 3 jewels and give one each to my sons so I can be forever with them.
3. If those are not an option... do not embalm me! If I end up embalmed,  I swear on all the soul I have left that Im coming back to haunt whoever made that decision! Ill figure out a way! DO NOT preserve my body in an unnatural state after I have left it and moved on! Just dont!
*exception made if I'm donated to science. I get it. It'll be necessary to do something like that in that case. It's cool as long as I'm being useful. After I'm done being useful proceed to the other options.
4. Return me to the Earth. My absolute preference is to be buried in an unsealed box (or no box at all) so that my body can do what all bodies are meant to do and become food and fuel for nature. Yeah. Yeah.  You don't want to think of me all gross and getting eaten by worms and whatnot. Listen, I'm not going to be there anymore. I'll have moved on. My body will be food. As it should be. Don't think too much about it. Just remember I want to feed the flowers. Those flowers and grass and trees will be part me. And that is beautiful. And as it should be.
5. Ok. So it's possible there are laws against that sort of thing. It's also possible that I was donated to science and/or all split up into worthy recipients of awesome parts of me. MAYBE I am all embalmed and hacked on and used up from being useful. No worries! Burn me! If you bury me now that I'm all preserved, I'm not natural food anymore. So Burn me!  Cremate me and return me to Earth. Preferably half on a mountain and half in the sea. Just as long as I'm returning to the Earth, I won't be too picky. The yard is fine if that's all you can manage. No urns or trashbags or god forbid a tomb! Earth! Sea! Fish food! Yes please.
6. Erect a memorial if you must but don't lay me down next to 1000 others in a sea of Grey markers that all look the same. Give me a memorial that says "THIS IS SHANO! She was unique." Make it small or big or whatever but make it unique. *Sparkles preferred.* And I've never been grey. Who would describe me as grey?? No one hopefully! I'm deep black or colorful blue or black and white checkered or vibrant red or neon pink! I'm not grey.  Don't make my forever memorial grey either!
7. Regardless of how anyone might feel about this statement, I am not a Christian. I am Buddhist. Please don't have a pastor/priest do my funeral service and quote bible verses and generally droll on about how I'm tromping up the Stairway to Heaven. I'm not. I've moved on. I'm already starting my next life and my soul is probably in or on its way to another living creature just beginning. Instead, please gather and laugh and celebrate this life I had and wish me luck in the next one. Maybe you'll cry and ok. I mean, I understand. But laugh more. That's an order! I want to be remembered with a smile and an eye roll and a laugh and stories that make me live on forever. Do Not remember me with somber tears and silly talk of my new castle in the sky. I don't even want to live in a castle!  Remember me for my shiny moments and make guesses on where and in what form I've moved on to! (Hopefully I'll be reborn in Fiji. Fingers crossed!)

PS. If you happen to hate my guts and we are arch nemeses and all that life sort of stuff: I demand that you dance at or near my funeral. Show up and do it.  It's only right. And I would totally do it to you! You know I would.

Sunday, June 4, 2017

How to Life when You Don't Want To

It's 7:30am. My alarm has been going off for an hour. It stops giving me the option to put it off at 7:30 and puts a big red X on the screen to remind my sleepy brain that I can't procrastinate any longer. I have to get up and Life. Except, I know how to get around that mean little X. So, I punch the X in its big fat red face and I set a stop watch for 10 minutes. I just can't do it yet. I've been awake for the last hour laying here in my oasis I created for myself.

I don't want to Life today. Life feels too oppressive today. I want to stay here wrapped in my 5 pillow 2 blankets head to toe cocoon and hide from all that big, mean, scary stuff out THERE. In another year, another version of my life, I could have. I would have. I'd have stayed wrapped up in this safe hiding place until I had the courage to go out THERE. 

But it is not another year. I have to come out. I have to life. Probation is waiting for that fax from me to send a client to jail and probably save their life in the process. CPS is waiting for that progress report to take to court and give to the judge to help decide the fate of a family. Five people are on my schedule today to rely on ME to help them with Life-ing. How can I do that today? How can I help someone else Life if I can't even listen to that big red X and unwrap myself from this warm womb of safety? I don't know. I guess I just will. I have to.

I'll tell them about that time I didn't want to come out from under the covers because I was afraid and exhausted and Life-ing seemed like  just too much. I'll tell them I got up. I made coffee. I'll tell them that it seemed impossible to me to even consider using a hairbrush or a curling iron or putting my legs into my pants. I'll tell them that I took some deep breaths and I pulled out all of my courage and energy and stood up.

I'll tell them that sometimes Life-ing occurs one minute at a time, one small decision at a time. One courageous moment at a time. I'll tell them that Life can be a big, mean, scary place where people and feelings and words and memories and guilt and shame and regret are flying like bullets at you and seem to be trying to keep you from surviving. But you can't hide forever because then you'll miss the sound of the birds chirping and the smell of morning on the grass and the way your dog follows you around the house and your kitten jumps on your lap. 

You'll miss the chance to tell someone else about that time you didn't want to come out and Life but did it anyway. And how it all turned out okay.
So, here goes. I'm coming out now and shedding my safe, warm cocoon. I'm making coffee and turning on my curling iron and putting my legs into my my pants. 10 minutes late. And it will all turn out okay. At least for the next courageous minute.

The Mysterious Universe

I try to be a good person. I try to align my actions with who I am and what I believe. When I fail, I try to get back on track, forgive myse...