Fire Dancers

(or listen here)

I took SonHerisme to our little outdoor stage by the creek behind the downtown library a few weekends ago. He happily ate an enchilada (meant to be a quesadilla, but the woman couldn’t understand me over the phone through my mask with the loud background of humans and music), some little chocolates from my handbag, and a shared piece of pizza with a buddy. I ate my vegetarian pumpkin bolognese (sans spinach! haha!) on tumeric rice before I left home because I never ever know how my body is going to react to life. We sat with a few hundred other community members and tourists to watch the Fire Dancers perform by the creek. One of the performers is a well-known substitute teacher in our local private schools, who is also famous for her hula-hooping. Small towns, whatcha gonna do? They all have their amazingly fun, diverse, quirky little art communities, and I love ours. Everyone kind of kept their distance for the most part from each other, and we were outside. A very few amount of people wore their masks. SonHerisme and I wore our masks when everyone was sat watching the show.

This was a teensy moment in our teensy lives which filled me with an instant glow of warmth for the everything of everything in knowing that the everything is also the nothing.

While we were sitting there: births happened, deaths happened, bombing happened, drinks happened, torture happened, parties happened, sex happened, travel happened, cooking happened, eating happened, dancing happened… all of the things of the global humans were happening at the same time we were focused on the fire dancer at the creek with our masks on with friends and community – and ultimately none of it matters to anyone who is not in those specific moments. Occasionally even then it barely registers with those in the experience, after the experience. Being liberal, conservative, gay, tall, queer, short, beautiful, ugly, able-bodied, trans, employed, homeless, talented, clever, ultimately means nothing in these life moments. Had perfect grades? Perfect attendance? Top sales? Highest bonus? None of that means anything other than you had some privilege combined with support and a lot of luck – which may or may not pan out as contentment/success/health or some other measure of whatever you were achieving. All of these narratives are basically a crapshoot towards something. Towards life as it is.

I may be repeating myself with the entire de-Nihilism thoughts.

Also, I continue to not know if I am making sense.

Here’s the thing: ParentsHerisme’s plan for what will happen to them as their health declines is that I should decide how to handle it. FatherHerisme is struggling with another infection combined with cognitive decline. MotherHerisme continues with her ulceration struggles, with support from the ultimate coven at Georgetown (MGUH much?). ParentsHerisme’s plan for their finances, estate settlement upon death etc is that I should decide how to handle it. People of the Internets… I am daunted, and most likely in need of a Fleabag priest with a pocketful of absolutions x3000 for the confidences. And by that I mean the lack thereof.

I am imagining what our country, our communities, our homes, our families will look like over the next 20 years as these boomers become ill and transition out of this existence. By then I will most certainly be the olden lady doing all of the yogas in the woods with my trusty dog companion and *fingers crossed* that in-ground heated saltwater swimming pool next to the cabana with composting toilet, outdoor shower, and barrel sauna… *dreams away into another cup of tea*

In reality, I see a heinous boomer legacy of disregard for humanity whose consequences will be brutally felt by GenX/Millenials as GenZ+ mature and discover just how disgustingly slimey the general white patriarchal boomer footprint has been on this country and the world.

Harsh? Yes indeed. Do I love ParentsHerisme anyway? Yes I do. They were systematically fed and brainwashed throughout their lives. By the time the structures were falling in a manner which effected them, they have been in too much shock to see truths through the gaslighting. And, frankly, the guilt is too much for them to bear. So they retreat into their privileged safety of fear-based moral superiority. FatherHerisme will no longer watch his once beloved programs on earth sciences because in his words (prior to recent cognitive decline), “they’re just trying to make me feel awful for existing and I don’t agree with that.”

*sigh*

Ironically, any mistakes made by the rest of us have an expectation that once we know better (which we should’ve known in the first place), we should do better (of course, after being shamed and blamed). Which makes me think that on the occasion when I can no longer hold my tongue with MotherHerisme, I imagine that I too must be diving into the shame and blame as my anger surfaces over things like Trumpcultianism and all of the ramifications of that horrific debacle, climate, education, economics, health care, etc…

Recent firey Examples:
1. Your generation and younger are so angry and resentful all of the time because you are the first generations to expect to get things without working for them
2. I cannot go to the doctor I want to go to because my insurance changed because of Obama-care
3. Why do I have to pay so much for my bills when people on welfare get brand new iphones to stand on the street corner and use
4. With Obama-care no one over the age of 75 is allowed to get treatment anymore - they aren't worth it and are put on a death list to just die
5. Your father isn't even listening to me on Facetime, so why should I bother to call him anymore
6. These women just want to be famous otherwise why would they come out of the woodwork years and years later, out of nowhere, and just start accusing these hard working family men of rape
7. I have earned everything I have. I have worked hard for it all and now everyone just wants to take it away and give it to people who don't even try
etc etc etc  

Multiple times each day I can hold myself back, not engage the crazy ingrained gaslit brainwashing, and keep my focus on the core love of it all. Other times, not so much. Like the fire dancers twirling all of the fires about, always balancing the fires, trying their best to look competent, courageous, interesting, skirting spiritual at times, and fun… mostly never getting burned, but that takes a helluvahlotta damn sweaty twisty bendy practice.

Love, Ms. Herisme (internal fire dancer) xoxo

Abortion is health care. You don’t want people to have access to this health care? Stop male reproductive organs from ejaculating sperm inside of female reproductive organs. Forced vasectomy much? Provide top quality equitable access female reproductive organ health care, including abortion as needed, based on the person’s decisions about their health with their health care provider. Universal health care much? And now you know how I feel about the shitty state of the current SCOTUS Ridiculosis dangerous disgusting news.

And on that note, I hope that you all are doing as well as you can be out there. I believe in you!

Butter Battle

(image origin credited once identified)
(or listen here)

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