This scares me. I have spoken about fear many times, of course. Now most days I feel in a catch-22, or perhaps better described as a butter battle with myself. Desperately running on a no-escape-unwanted-paint-peeling-creaky-squeaky hamster wheel with the only foreseeable ending being total collapse as the issues ramp up on top of each other, threatening overthrow in turn.

I know I have said it before, but y’all I probably need a good therapist or perhaps a specialized tool for the harnessing of some as-yet untapped reserve to push myself through this stuff and stop this madness before I allow it to continue any further than it already has into the next generation with sweet SonHerisme.

A kind friend sent some suggestions to me yesterday from her pool of therapist peers. Now to take the leap, commit the $$$ and do it.

None of my “tripple-sling jiggers,” are working properly anymore and were never healthy to be using anyway. When I try to one up them with utterly sputters or boomeroo bombs, I can feel myself deteriorating instead of winning the internal battles. I am the Zooks and the Yooks. I am the one running “into the wall like a nice little (wo)man.” I am tired. I am worried about passing this shit on as it has been clumpedy dumped onto me.

Oh no! But Dr Seuss has been banned by the crazy liberal elites who are stealing my childhood classics away along with opening borders allowing unfettered amounts of criminal immigrants into my plastic suburban neighborhood in Ohio as they steal all of my tax dollars to take free food and traffic drugs and our white babes into slavery while they take away my guns and make my chest inflate with glorious indignant anger over my bizarre-o proud shame for my traitor symbol confederate flag on my truck/lawn/underpants/cap and you won’t even let me drop my kids off at free public school 5-days-a-week without following fake COVID protocols so that I can get my “me-time,” which I deserve, back!

*sigh*

As you can see, I have some of the angers overflowing with the sarcasms.

Stupid Butter Battles everywhere.

The only thing I can do is address my own butter battles and maybe deliver a meal to a new momma or drop off chocolate powers for our local school staff. And vote. And if you are unfamiliar with the Butter Battle Book, I have introduced it to you and you can request a copy from your local library(if you are in a privileged circumstance to do so).

If I can ever safely get off of the hamster wheel, I think I’ll head to Roxaboxen (they have TWO ice cream shops there!). Or if Sarah Stewart’s The Library is next to an ocean, I guess I’ll head there (maybe Roxaboxen is next door with neighbors Miss Rumphius and Mr. Fox procuring sustenance, and an open air community theater/pavilion hosting concerts/plays? Meet me on the bench at the end of my boardwalk path on the beach. I’ll bring the tea and you bring the TEA. 4pmish).

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps my scary thing from yesterday – I finally began sending out “thank-you’s” to people I admire or would like to thank. Mostly anonymously, but still full of the vulnerables and the scary.

pps still writing and counting the gratitudes to help as well

ppss Starfire!

a poem