Things and stuff.

Just putting something here so the RIP posts for Elka & Milton aren’t the top-most post.

As for them? I miss them and there’s no way to make a big enough statement to encompass the big feelings. I have a memorial wall, photos everywhere. I still cry nearly every day over them. I also feel at peace; I had a lot of time with them. I gave them a good life – not great, because of the abuse I, myself endured – but a good life.

As for me? I’m doing amazing. I’m at my lowest adult weight ever, only in the “overweight” range, and on track to hit my goal weight by September. I intermittent fast nearly every day, cook giant meals of low calories thanks to volume eating, and walk 2-5 miles every day. I set up a stand for my yoga trapeze/trx/wodfit rubber bands and went from being able to do only 4 assisted pull-ups (blue band, not even on the strong, black band) and this morning I did eight assisted pull-ups! That’s in less than a week.

I see K 1-2x/week and may explore opening up my social circle now that the pandemic seems to be…. more manageable? Thanks, summer.

In EMDR now 2x/week dealing with the many years of trauma inflicted by my exes. Learning a lot about myself, how I got there, why I stayed, and how to heal and keep myself safe now.

Anyway, no one I know reads this anymore since I quit writing. Blogging made way for social media. Are small, personal blogs even a thing anymore? Who the hell knows. But here I am, randomly and rarely writing here.


Teenager. Green, gold. MUDs, EQ, and love.

And back, Red. White. Blue.

Blue? Me too. For some time.

Then school. A long, hard trawl. Success.

A new start, 3000 miles away. Precipitated changed. Planned.

Care. A new apartment, new friends, a beautiful town.

In love with this new place. Home.

102 houses. Super Bowl Sunday.

THE house.

A month later. My house.

Walk, touch, look. My house. Mine.

Independent, alone,


Comfort, love. Renovations. Make it mine.

CrossFit, health. 80lbs lost.

Love. The romantic kind.

10 years of isolation, unprepared.

Red flag.

Red flag.


Unprepared. Naive.

My home, my success, my power.


Love. With a fiction. Manipulated into believing fiction was truth.

Red flags. Everywhere.

That day, the names, the kitchens doors slamming.

Lost. Dazed. Confused.

Hands, shoulders, shook.

Water, was in the cup, now…


Years later.

Home. Mine. Changed.

Coerced into making it look and feel no longer MINE.

A move, fleeing. More fleeing. Mania of psych meds, unnoticed, or encouraged?

2 years, too much to think.

Suburbia gone. Country here.

Still mine but not mine.

Who am I?

A ghost.


Another new start. Back.


A home. Beautiful home.

Mine and,

Not me.



Now. Missing.

What was mine. What was me.

My comfort, my home, my life, my independence.

What I worked for.

Discarded in the wake of evil.

Now, here. Be here now.

Sleeping in the brightness.

Awake in the dark.

Always cold.




Desolation, isolation, loss of hope.

Never mind happiness, but what about contentment?



For the planned life I lived.


For the plans I made and discarded.



Will happiness come?

I am,



Who am I?