vulnerability

And now

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(my pic and a creative person’s lyrics)
(or listen here)

Today is one of those days.

MotherHerisme awakened vociferously anger sobbing at us for about an hour because she was too cold.

I did the doing of the things.

SonHerisme is full of the puberties.

An email arrived from the parenting coordinator‘s office. It is lengthy with many questions and tasks for me to follow-up on … again.

This kind of thing sucks the life out of me. I mean, all of it except for SonHerisme, which is to be expected.

MotherHerisme is a bottomless pit of needs without regard for anything outside of those needs.

MrexH is a bottomless pit of needs without regard for anything outside of those needs.

Today is a day of beauty and sunshine and more seed starting.

Today is also a day of shit that I do not want.

Today is a day that I wish I had something a little extra supportive to help me through this hard stuff, but I do not.

I know that all of this is temporary and will pass and my ego attachment to whatever, is feeding the pain I feel. But, y’all, I am tired.

I am tired of the managing.

I am tired of the figuring outing.

I am tired of the fight every single damn day.

I am tired of efforting.

This is an uncomfortable reckoning with my reality which is what it is.

5 hours until I can reasonably go to bed. 5 more hours. I’ll get to doing the things again for 5 more hours.

Was it Susan Sontag who said, “seduce myself with hope” ? That’s what I do when I sleep, I suppose then it comes back to kick my ass in the day. I want to stop this.

I hope that you are having a better day than this. If you are not, I hope that you have some extra support to tap into. If not, then I hope that you have 5 hours or less until you can reasonably go to bed too. If not, then know I am here sending you a zillion hugs of solidarity because this crap sucks all the stupid dumb dumb head stupid.

Even my heart sounds like it is s-l-o-w-l-y thump kathump kathumping through resistant sludge against its own will.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps do not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever fuck or get pregnant by a gaslighting asshole EVER EVER EVER or, make sure you have a shit ton of healthy support you can draw upon if you do.

also, do everything you can to push yourself and figure out who you are before 25/30ish no matter how ridiculous, terrifying or embarrassing, just do it all. Don’t be a me. It is very hard and I one million out of 10 do NOT recommend it. Do not correct my maths please and thank you. Waffles

One more thing – I am so whatever I am that instead of chai, I have been drinking lavender chamomile tea all afternoon. Tea fail too *sigh*

Listen here on Anchor by Spotify

UR for Me

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my pic, clever person’s words
(or listen here)

It is time. It is time for me to have the uncomfortable reckoning with myself.

Which makes me think it is beyond the time for our uncomfortable reckoning with ourselves and the tempering of the expectation that we are better than we actually are. Not that we believe we are necessarily better, but the expectation that we are (should be) better than.

I think we (I) got culturally stuck on the philosophy that only by recognizing the light, the ideal, will we achieve greatness and enlightenment – not unlike a religious cult. Then we (I) defined light/enlightenment/achievement in ways that (I) very few of us could even grab a sliver of, and attached that achievement, or lack of, to morality. I think we forgot that humans gotta human. The dark is there no matter what. Refusing to recognize it and call it what it is, does not make it disappear to be replaced by frolicking unicorn kitties in a midtown 3 bedroom/3 bath parkview apartment with weekend beach getaway cottage because we believed hard enough in the powers of sunshine gratitude and manifested the syrupy goodness with the correct yoga instructor at the best studio with the correct color scheme.

The culture of happy is killing us.

The culture of racism is killing us.

The culture of this iteration of capitalism is killing us.

The culture of nationalism is killing us.

The culture of not allowing the darkness to be conscious is killing us.

My level of overtly cultivated happiness is used as a barometer for my worthiness to hope.

My level of tolerance for racism is used to justify others’ systemic unworthiness.

My level of mindless participation in this iteration of capitalism is used as endorsement of others’ exclusivity to basic human needs.

My level of blind acceptance of nationalism is used as a weapon against humanity.

Some things are just crap. They happen(ed) or exist(ed) and they are are awful and dark because that is what they are. By not fully recognizing that they too are a part of who we are as individuals and collectively, I think I (we) have been exacerbating and feeding the dark to my (our) own detriment as if it is a mirror of morality and worthiness.

Maybe instead of therapy or a grief doula, I am looking for an accountability reckoning guide. Also, it is a million times easier to talk about theories of “we” rather than “I.” Uncomfortable reckoning indeed. Or just further ptsd wanting to find any way to take responsibility for unpleasantness so that I can give myself the illusion of being able to control it.

Fuck it – who knows? Anywho… turn off the gaslight and light up that dark shit ’cause I gots to gets my truths on, son! Waffles!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps – I’m popping these over to Spotify if you want to look for me there too

Butter Battle

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(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

Pete and Repeat

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https://ncadv.org/

Pete and Repeat were in a domestic violence relationship. Pete was murdered. Who was left?

UPDATE: I was thankfully wrong. They WERE found and are SAFE!!! This is truly a miracle.

A mother and her sweet toddler boy are missing in our community. There’s no word just yet on what’s happened, but I think we all know what we fervently pray is not true, is most likely true. A year to the date of another mother and toddler boy in our community who unfortunately suffered the ultimate fate of being in a domestic violence relationship. They were murdered.

Psychotically entitled men feeling desperate = murder of sweet mommies and babes.

I just do not know what else to say.

Mask up. Check on your family. Check on your neighbors.

Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

Mental Health Hotline 1.800.622.HELP (4357)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

we are lucky

my heart soul stomach hurts and I pray from the depths of the universe that I am too sensitive and wrong about this situation

Check Marked

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(unknown origin, will credit once identified)

You guys – I watched a movie.

non-Marvel? CHECK

non-Star Wars? CHECK

non-kiddo friendly? CHECK

fiction? CHECK MATE

As you know, this is huge for me. Then, as I was brag-texting about my accomplishment to an Inveterate Optimist, I got sick to my stomach – twice. So, maybe not that huge of an accomplishment. F it – yeah it is. #checkyourselfbeforeyouwreckyourself

I tried to watch this same movie at some point last Spring and made it about 2 minutes in before I recognized one of the actors who does not sit well with me, although admittedly I am not very familiar with his work. I am sure he is lovely and fine and his family and friends love him very much. I knew of him from a documentary kind of show I watched a few episodes of at the beginning of COVID quarantine. I had to stop watching that because I would just absolutely break down and cry – sob ugly cry. At the time I figured it was because they were having so much fun in the show going around to the places, learning the things, drinking the things and maybe I was jealous or grief feeling how much I have missed enjoying things in my life. They were having fun (yes, I KNOW it is produced, directed, contrived etc even in a “real life experience” kind of show), and I… I was… I am not.

Anywho, I decided to open the rusty ol’ Netflix app on my phone when I couldn’t sleep (something was growling outside – it’s a thing as I live in the woods which are occasionally spooky), and the movie was still sitting there asking to be resumed. I restarted it and I watched it. It was short, maybe 90 minutes or so, very quirky, no emphasis on falling in love, and it has Toni Collette (I do know of her)! Even though I did cry at points, ultimately I felt such a sense of relief that I made it through the movie.

Then the afterwards arrived and, well, I need to find therapy y’all.

The innate worthiness factor and my parenting with SonHerisme are super concerning for me. He’s still in virtual school until next school year when it looks like most of us will have had vaccines. Ill MotherHerisme and I are all he has to engage with most days. Oh, and MotherHerisme’s two un-socialized little minature schnauzer dogs. SonHerisme is lonely and he deserves so much more. He is such a great kid.

Post spinach lunch (again, I know – its like a drug), seed sewing (not a euphemism – actual plant seeds needing tended), a bit of laundry and driveway power walk, I am going to at least look up some therapist contacts. I don’t think I’ll return to the woman I was seeing pre-COVID. She’s too lovely, compassionate and kind. I think I need someone a bit more detached, or rather someone I feel more detached from.

Sort of like watching any show. If I feel any kind of anything other than it’s silly and entertaining, I just cannot watch the program. At all. My brain and body just do not handle any feeling above numb very well, unless I feel some control over the situation or it is so very deep into the sillyzone. I would like to not be like this anymore. Disassociation is my superpower which is super exhausting me and super impacting my ability to help SonHerisme grow (and not in a positive way).

However, I would really like to go down to the NGA DC because it is a great comfort to be surrounded by impactful artwork which I can internally interpret and walk away from at any time without feeling any obligation or need for explanation. I don’t think the buildings are open atm – maybe by reservation (?).

*dream break* I like to walk around the sculptures first – Romulus and Remus, African Allegory, the lady with the veil, the little politicians’ busts, Paul Revere, Little Dancer – you know, the usual. Then say my, “how-de-do’s!” to George on my way upstairs to see sweet Ginerva, count the Ruben’s lions, Napoleon, the boating party, the ice skater guy and girl in the white dress (whom I believe come to life for a secret after-hours affair then spend all day staring at each other across the galleries – it could be true). The Civil War memorial, which is noble and sad at the same time. The central fountain with its seasonal arrangements… The steps up from the mall where you can pretend to be Kung Fu Panda pulling your dim-sum cart up the mountain for the festival (sweet SonHerisme memories). Then back down to the basement for coffee and a lot of “no, we are not buying that”‘s at the gift shop, before heading over to the East building to see Bellow’s boxers, Calder, Rothko, Mondrian, Pollock and the sitting Buddha outside with the fantastic giant blue rooster. Return to the basement for a treat and then a short walk through the sculpture garden, avoiding the Natural History Museum because by then it is too crowded, before heading home.

I hardly ever go through the first floor gift shop, only the basement one and I don’t know why. The lady’s room is much nicer on the first floor. Hmmm… maybe a pivot for next visit. That’s sad, dreaming about clean lady’s rooms in museums. That’s where we are on the COVID mental health scale atm, I suppose.

Onwards to check mark off the things needing the doing.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps meet me post-COVID at the NGA DC for a cuppa and we can walk, walk, walk, not talk, together. Not too long on the verso of Ginerva because I will cry because da Vinci is almost too much. Also, there’s a sparkly walking sidewalk in the basement! sys

pps Birthmarked is the movie and now that I’ve thought about the experience for a day or so, I think I am okay with it – yay!

Poet Tree

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(image origin unknown – will credit when identified)
or listen here

Welcome to the first full day of Spring and World Poetry day!

I do not know very much about poetry, but I do read it/listen to it on occasion. There is a podcast I use to help quiet my brain and body when they become too resistant to relaxation (a flowery version of anxiety, perhaps? Fuck it – it’s anxiety). I love this one particular podcast so very much because there aren’t any introductions, salutations, explanations, goodbyes, gongs, bells, monk chants, piano, raindrops etc, it is purely some guy reading poems – one poem per post. Sometimes they are very short 20 second reads, sometimes 3-4 minute reads. Because his voice is so sing-songy full of inflection with his Scottish accent, his voice and the chosen works are enough to make the listening inviting. He reads everything from Rumi to Blake to Whitman to Oliver to Sassoon to whomever. There is no bio on the applepodcast page, and I’m not sure what’s on his soundcloud page. It’s glorious – just a voice and poems. No other expectations. Perfect for me. Oh shoot! What podcast? Looking it up now – Poetry Plain and Simple by Brendan Ghazavi-Gill. Dang it. Now we know his name which takes up space. I’ll forget it in an hour. Blessed sieve brain.

Okay. I probably read or listen to some poetry every day. You probably do as well. And yes, I am going to count the Screaming Sonnets Sessions with SonHerisme as reading poetry. Screaming Sonnets Sessions (SSS – but you don’t say each letter, just ssssss like a snake) consist of taking our pocket Shakespeare sonnets outside, choosing one at random, and full-on anger screaming it into the woods like crazy. SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER’S DAY!!!!? THOU ART MORE LOVELY AND TEMPERATE…!!!! Sonnet 18, I believe. Anyway, I encourage you to try it because it is funsies. Be sure to have some hot tea ready because it does scratch the throat a bit. Also, I told SonHerisme that giant fluffy roasted marshmallows also soothe a sore throat, so if you see him, just go with me on this. Please and thank you. I like the vegan marshmallows because they have so much more flavor and a more densely luxurious texture. SonHerisme prefers the super duper ridiculous giant only-in-America marshmallows. You can get a great sparkly woodsy flavor on the outside of your marshmallow if you throw sage into your fire. Sage sparkles up like magic!

Back in the times of engagement and working outside of the home, I used to create a poet-tree every year with branches for kids to hang their favorite poems on, or pluck one off to read and share. The tree was most often made of found sticks stuck into clay in a vase – basic, easy to replenish and using already on-hand resources (as we do in these environments – if you know, you know. If you don’t know, please venmo generously to a local school/library/childcare center asap).

A favorite Lewis Carroll poem often recited (with gestures!) to children, including my own, at anytime:

How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail

And pour the waters

Of the Nile

On every golden scale

How cheerfully he seems to grin

How neatly spread his claws

And welcomes little fishies in

With gently smiling jaws

A favorite by Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Happy World Poetry Day!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps I recently began following Harry Baker, poet. He is clever and has a wonderful maths poem. Google him – you’re welcome!

Not Knot

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Who’s there?

Me

Me who?

That’s right!

Do you remember that Shel Silverstein poem about the Mehoo?

The Mehoo and Exactlywatt by Shel Silverstein

I know that the image is difficult to read. If you click on the link you’ll see some of his work. If I add an audio to this blog, I’ll read it for you. Anywho, I like the door image and I like the poem. I do not know Mr Silverstein and he is dead so I will never know him, other than what I imagine him to be through his work. He must have been funny and enjoyed loose clothing so that he could belly laugh a lot, n’est-ce pas? If you have read anything about him which does not match this description, kindly keep it to yourself and permit me to have this image of him, please and thank you and bless you and may the force be with you, this is the way.

The barn-ish door is also lovely. I would very much like to be worthy of having a barn door. I’m not. However, every week at riding lessons I have an opportunity to open the big real-life barn door to the indoor arena as the riders walk their sweet horses up to the indoor ring. It is gigantically huge, heavy, metal, and sometimes stuck in squishy squashy mud. I find it a personal win when I can open and close the door on my own. It’s the little things. Truly. This and my imagination are all I have. Well, that is a lie – SonHerisme is here too xo and I do have some irl friends (it’s true!).

I also have my hair. A lot of hair. It’s fine, but there is a lot of it and it is primarily unruly with tangles. I gave up on it years ago and now mostly tie it in knots on top of my head. It’s so weirdly straight/curly/wavy/red/brown/blonde/now some white/gray that I do not need any hair-ties or pins. I wind the hair around and around and tie it onto itself giving the appearance of intention, which is instead more laissez faire- ish function. Rare hair trims outside of me diy youtubing it, because I cannot be bothered with fixing it just so, using product/tools, or even brushing it. Unfortunately it is also quite tangley and I am tender-headed, so I try to brush it out at least every-other day, but it is a time and arm/shoulder/neck muscles commitment. I’m afraid to like it too much because then it will surely fall out or change texture or color in a way that makes me hate it. It’s my trauma showing again – ta daaa!

Why share?

1. I am trying to write regularly (again)

2. I am trying to break the spell of anytime I like something about myself it tends to implode

3. I need to be doing something creative

4. Perhaps you will feel less crazy and alone when you read my posts (and maybe giggle)

There’s always one friend in the friendgroup who appears nice enough, but slightly (or mostly?) odd. Then you find out their backstory and its all out cuckoo crazy cats to the point of unbelievable. Every time you see them there is always some new unlocked level of crazy swirling around them, and it is isn’t ever the OMG THAT is crazy AWESOME, crazy – it’s the holy shitballs wtf is she doing to attract all of that crap, crazy? (psst…. it’s me… boo!)

Once upon a pre-covid time, I was at a friend’s dinner party (very casual, very relaxed, very much a regular part of our friendgroup routine, very much always included piles of kids happily running around with sticks and mud and giggles – *sigh* I miss pre-covid and my sweet babe) – I was at a friend’s house with a merry mix of people I knew, people I sort-of knew, and people I did not know. Some of the adults gathered in the kitchen to enjoy adult beverages and conversation, when one of the women began talking about her brother re-entering online dating. As she was describing the “crazy women” he was meeting online, it hit me that I was the ONLY single person at this dinner party and my personal situation was even wackier than the women she was describing. I was/am the crazy. That shit that was sobering. I left the room and wandered with the kids outside for a bit (flashlight headbands in the woods y’all – it was glorious!), then did the koyc hug round and left.

Things that have changed since that dinner party

  1. My baby SonHerisme is now a giant
  2. MrexH is not within driving distance of us
  3. I am noticeably older (white curls peeking, lady fronts drooping, yo)
  4. COVID shut the everythings
  5. My personal boundaries are more firm
  6. I am mostly a Mehoo Pooh with frequent Eeyore rising and knots of hair on my head

How are you?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

koyc = Kiss On Your Cheek (shamelessly lifted from an old entanglement)

ps. Like you, I continue to be horrified at the way we allow racism, white supremacy, and white male rage to go unchecked. Please check in with your neighbors. Fighting racism and violence is the responsibility of us all – especially those of us who ride the coattails of our whiteness. Please reach out, check in on your neighbors, and draw firm boundaries with racist behaviors. We are not okay without accountability.

The EV Race

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Why are we in such a rush to judgement over every little thing but when BIG HUGE GIANT in-your-face-obviously-inhumane things occur, we’re all, “meh, it’s probably not THAT bad and we shouldn’t rush judgement?!!?!?!?!!!!”

We have a lethal issue in our country (beyond COVID deniers) – a serious case of Enabling Violence. Violence against people of different races, different beliefs, different gender identities, different partner connections, different abilities, children, the elderly etc

It is as if we are in a scramble race to see who can get control by demonstrating their supreme power over another group through enacting violence against them – emotionally, physically, lethally.

How are we not at a point in our existence as humans on this round beautiful bountiful earth where we can recognize that others are okay to be others, whether by nature or nurture? The only exception is dangerous illegal behavior towards others. Who gets to decide what that is? We do, and we should be doing much better at identifying what that is and how to cope with the inevitable outliers who wish and do harm to others. We have got to stop dehumanizing others. We have to demand that this stop.

Failure to recognize what is happening when white men kill versus anyone else, especially non-white people existing in the path of a racist, misogynist, abusive, mentally ill white man, is unconscionable. It is so nonsensical that people of privilege find it utterly unbelievable even in the face of indisputable facts.

I just do not get it.

I cannot wrap my mind around how anyone cannot see that the white racist man went on a racist killing spree murdering Asian women. He was able to dehumanize them on multiple levels to such a point that he took their very right to exist under his control, sending a clear message to any Asian/Woman/Immigrant/Sex Worker/Working Class Person that their existence is within his right to control. Dehumanization, abuse at its absolute worse. This is domestic terrorism.

I cannot wrap my mind around Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Philando Castile, Sandra Bland and on and on and on hate crime upon domestic terrorism upon hate crime… What is it that we are not seeing?

That we are enablers of violence. That we are enablers of racist institutions. That we are enablers of racists. That we are racist.

Why can’t we see this? Are we hurting our tender privileged feelings because we are good hardworking people? WTFingH We are all good hardworking people, just some of us do not have to worry about racism, and many of us do. That is the only difference. If you are not worried about racism, then you are enabling racism (unless you are a very young child who has not yet been trained in the ways of the racist and the racist enablers. In which case, why are you reading this? Baby prodigy, I suppose. Well, congratulations, baby prodigy, you are clever and a racist enabler).

Every time we agree to use a $20 bill, we are enabling racism. Every time we question the racist experience truths of our non-white neighbors, we are enabling racism. Every time we allow UncleSoandSo talk about “those Black Cheecane-o (that’s how he says it) women have it made because they get all the scholarships, promotions, and welfare money with their babies, basically stealing my hard earned money. If you want to succeed in this country you have to be a Black Cheecane-o woman and you can write your own ticket. Some of them even have the lesbian ticket to lean on.” I’m serious. wtf

Every time we allow racist behavior in our homes, in our community, in our courts, in our government, we are contributing to greasing the cogs of racism. We are ALL doing it. We are all responsible. But the white people, us, we are the most responsible for not calling it out even in ourselves.

I spoke about one experience of my own ingrained racism in a hospital.

Here is another share of how I know I am a racist and must be a vigilant and active anti-racist even inside of myself. When I was married to MrexH (which came with it’s other issues, of course), we traveled a bit here and there to see family. MrexH has Hispanic heritage. I thought it was hilarious when I would show up places, like job interviews, and people were expecting me to speak Spanish and to have some Hispanic look about me – which I absolutely do not (red blonde hair, green eyes, white and freckled, English/Scottish/Swedish heritage). It was a big joke to me. While I am embarrassed that I do not speak Spanish, it’s more vanity than necessity (which is a privilege). When MrexH and I would go into an airport, I would linger behind to see if he would get profiled as he claimed he would. It happened every time unless I walked up to him when I saw security approaching and held his hand as if my whiteness legitimized his existence. Apparently to the security people it did legitimize him. This is hard to admit, but if MrexH was being an ass, I would pop into another line, leaving him to deal with security on his own. They pulled him.

I never spoke about this with MrexH, and he is an unwell person, so I am unsure about his perception of events. I do know mine, though, because I purposefully contrived them. I knew institutionalized racism was happening and I played it to give myself and SonHerisme a break, albeit a tiny one in the occasional airport or other tourism site, from MrexH. I am ashamed for using racism to my advantage. I did it. I knew exactly what I was doing and I did it anyway. Like the beautiful insecure woman who changes her behavior to be more deferential when she’s with a misogynist she needs something from and hopes to just get it and get out of there before anything scary happens – I pulled out, or put away, my badge of whiteness legitimizing MrexH’s existence in those spaces at those times.

So there. There’s my racism share.

I have done better since then. Going through the legal system, civil and criminal, taught me a lot about facing my own racism too – but not for sharing today. I am raising an anti-racist anti-dehumanizing son. I am doing the best I can today. I do think that if you do not understand racism and dehumanization are serious crisis concerns in this country, then you are at best an enabler of those things, and most likely a racist yourself. It’s a hard realization, but it is the truth I know for myself.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Anti-Racist booklists/resources because I am forever a librarian

G D WildCat Kelly Search

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I’ll record this post if you’d like – just lmk 🙂

Once upon a time, I wrote a bit about grief guide suggestions. It is short (no audio) and you may read it here if you’re interested.

I really do need a grief doula. I believe myself to be ready. Ready to wade trudge sludge through and get these feelings their appropriate recognition and out so that I can move forward and better support SonHerisme. Currently, I am failing hard at this. Being forced to be home this past year has allowed depressing weighty acknowledgement of how much I have allowed things which do not serve me well into the central existence of my life. I am existing. I am not living. I most certainly am not thriving. All of this has exhausted not only me, but also what is remaining of my dwindling community of support.

This is why animals, nature, and children appeal to me so very much. They all provide comfort, creative encouragement and reciprocal acceptance, reverence and support with few demanding expectations. SonHerisme is growing into his teenager times, so this is changing for his loves and needs. However, it seems like he does need more of me again, much like toddler times. Push mommy away, but need her even more and immediately for exact things mommy doesn’t know about and has to decipher with verbal guessing games or communication methods other than words.

My point is that I want to process my grief in a more productive way. No, wait. My point is that I want to laugh and giggle and live life. Wait. My point is that I am restless and will be working on finding some other path to walk. Hopefully this is not fleeting springtime shenanigans which come to nothing other than more shame and heartbreak as I continue to do nothing but scramble through each day.

I like skipping rocks. I am terrible at it, but I like the idea of it, so I do it and I am okay with not doing it well. I like to walk to the waters. I like the smells of the water areas (except low river in the unbearably dry hot summer – nah, I’ll go even at stinky time). I like the drinking of the beverages I brought with us to enjoy by the water areas. Maybe my path with be something like that. The only thing missing are more giggles because this down time also allows the alone pain to be fully felt.

I know that I am supposed to be present and filled up to ecstasy with the overwhelm of the natural universe and stuff. This is … difficult … when you are also filled with awareness at how short our existence is in this iteration as we know it, and the most coveted experiences of this lifetime are mostly out of our hands. It doesn’t matter how clever, kind, hardworking you are – some things are just never going to be for this consciousness. It is hard to accept and be okay when the messages being sent out are telling us that IF ONLY we love ourselves more/love others more/appreciate the sunrise correctly/find and follow our passion/manifest well/meditate the right way and long enough *sigh.* I’m not convinced of any of that. I think all of those things can be helpful for coping with the reality that some of us will never have some of the basics of what we truly desire. We just will not. I think I’ll just be sad about that anyway.

I do not have the lovely intangibles I would like in this life and it looks more and more certain that I never will. I do not think it is because I don’t look up at the stars and appreciate them enough (I do) or the sunrise (I do) or take nature walks and smell the spring coming or the snowstorm approaching (I do) or weep at divine music or exquisite works of art (I do). I just think it is. Some things are shitty and that’s that. No amount of changing myself or my perception of cloaking it in loveliness is going to change the shittiness of whatever it is which stays outside of my grasp.

So I need reconciliation support, I suppose. A grief doula who is okay with things being shitty and can guide me into being okay with it as well, rather than fighting against it all of the time as if anything I do or do not do, makes a fuck all bit of difference (it doesn’t except to get me through the day). I need to do this to help SonHerisme. He needs me to show him how to do this in case all of the lovely intangibles stay out of his reach too.

Doula up, cowboys – let’s dump the stuff that’s holding us back and hit this path English saddle style with WildCat Kelly (maybe he is a grief doula too).

I am tired. Grief doula, where are you?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. I wrote about this before, in 2016 – weirdo

REsume

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment

I forgot I contributed to this! Adding it to my CV/resume. Carry on

Another share – I had a weird day on Saturday. A while ago, perhaps a year ago, I ended a 37 yearish friendship because I needed space from old patterns (as I deal with my own messes and reconcile who I am in this life). This friend contacted my father this past week. Then my old friend’s father reached out to my father to appeal to me to “reach out” and let “my oldest dearest friend back in and not just block him out.”

Maybe I am an asshole – I don’t know.

Here is what I do know: I have known him since I was young. He is a very old pattern. I do not really understand him, He FOR SURE does not understand me. About a year ago, he sent a text to me with a picture of a letter I sent to him when I was probably 19 years old. It was… awkward. It felt… not good. My immediate thoughts were that he does not know me, he is not a friend to me and I need out of this pattern or I am going to suffocate. I blocked him on all platforms and deleted him from my phone. Honestly, I did not think he would notice. I thought in a few years I might run into him or his wife at something whenever I get back to my hometown and then be like, “oh, haha, I am such a dummy I seem to have disconnected somehow from people including you! How the heck are you?” You know, post COVID and in theory have my own shit figured out. But, it sounds like he has been trying to reach me.

Again – old patterns resurfaced. My father says, “do the thing.” I say, “yes, daddy,” and do the thing (mostly).

I sent this text: “I spoke with my father. Thank you for being kind to him. I’m working through some things and have not been receiving messages/calls so I did not know you were trying to reach me. Hope you and your family are well.”

His response: “Thanks for reaching back to me. I miss you. Hope you are going to be ok. Love you gunk, always.”

And that is that. I checked in with my college roommate whom I’ve known almost as long as I have known disconnected friend, and she has permissed me to officially let this go and be and so I shall do my very best.

Life is weird. If I am a jerk, then I suppose I am. It is too hard for me to hold space for this, so I thank you for holding it with me. Also, no worries – not in a million years will he be reading this lol

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps Final share – I am going to eat spinach for lunch to give my heart strength and protection today, which is also MrexH’s birthday. I’m fine – I’m sure I’m fine (infinity repeats while spinning on yoga ball chair listening to this)