Wibbly Wobbly

So goofy looking, it is cute. That seems to be the theme among all of my favorite animals.

< That makes me happy. The giraffe-y face of melty happiness. He is yet another wonderful thing I got from Kathleen.

This week my blogs have been exceedingly uninspired or rants. They haven’t been up to what I normally write. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’ve had plenty going on. I am just not sure how much goes here.

I’ve always said that I try to be open and honest here. I still believe in that principle, but sometimes I have to decide what is for here and what isn’t. Oddly enough the woman who will talk about PMS and pubic hair does have boundaries of what I consider private. I’m trying to figure them out.

If a thing is just about me, I have few qualms about sharing them. I am willing to accept any consequences of my decision to believe in openness. I’ve lived with decision for a year now. The things going on in my life involve other people right now, and I try desperately to not encroach on the privacy of those I love.

Plus, things are jumbly in my mind. I alternate between these moments of great forward motion, clarity, and understanding and these times of jumbliness in my own mind. (I made up all of those variations of the word jumble. I know they aren’t real. Whatcha gunna do about it?) I need to sort through the bits and put them were they go. The good news is that the pieces have changed very little since the last time I put them into order. I also know what I need to be doing to get things back into order. It is the same things I always need to do.

I spend a lot of time feeling like a dumbass because I do have to look at the bits in my life and figure out where they go. It always seems normal folks don’t have to do that. They know what is up in their worlds and what to do next. I used to feel like there was something wrong with me because I didn’t have that certainty. I’m beginning to see that most people have moments of “what the fuck am I doing?!?,” but we don’t notice because we are so wrapped up in our own moments. I don’t think I am really all that abnormal; I just don’t cover it as well.

I took on this mantle of total weirdo a long time ago. I thought for the longest time that I was drastically different from others. Even after a year of exploring how I am not different from other people, I have a hard time understanding that I am pretty normal. I was just absent the day we learned we weren’t supposed to acknowledge how weird we felt. I also grasped on to the idea of strangeness like an armor or a flag. If I wasn’t going to feel like I fit in, then I was going to revel in my differences. I took it on as an identity, and it became like a cataract blinding me to my likeness to other people.

I don’t know. Like I said, I’m a jumbly mess with lots of thoughts.