Titles are tiring, even autobiographical ones.
I’m someone who’s quick with a joke or to light up a smoke. I’m funny, or so I’ve been told. Dry as a desert, but droll. I have a quick wit. It’s a family trait. Too bad it doesn’t come with a kinder heart. We’re wordsmiths, and I rarely struggle with my riposte. Except when it comes to titles. When it comes to naming my … Continue reading Titles are tiring, even autobiographical ones.
Important lessons get repeated
The best and worst thing about recovery is the learning. There’s so much of it. I decided shortly before arriving that my last in-patient treatment was going to be the last. It was do-or-die time, not hyperbole considering both the status of my eating disorder and my recent suicide attempt. Attempts screw you up beyond the issues that got you there in the first place. … Continue reading Important lessons get repeated
Get it done. Or don’t. It’s really your call.
I put things off. I put things off and I do it with malice aforethought. I put things off because of my anxiety. Or my PTSD. Or my humanity – I’m never sure about attribution. I get overwhelmed by requirements and obligations external and self-imposed. And when I get overwhelmed, things don’t go well for me. Anxiety rises, panic threatens, and negative coping skills shake … Continue reading Get it done. Or don’t. It’s really your call.
I wish I spoke code.
I was in high school when computer classes were rolled into the curriculum. I even took one, an entry-level grade eight offering that taught you how to make the computer say “Hi, my name is Michelle.” If you felt like mixing it up, you could even make it repeat the message into infinity and beyond. We’ll pretend I did it the first time on purpose. … Continue reading I wish I spoke code.
From Famine to Feast. 