Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

Keep trying to get blood from a stone. While exhausted, burnt out, and overwhelmed. While you have lost all objectivity or vision or sense of what is good and what sucks.  What part of autistic meltdown and burnout isn't clear? This thing is seeping into all aspects of life, slowly choking. I can't seem to write anything else; it's killing my creativity. Who am I if not a writer? Please let this end. 

This is round four of, 'Hey, am I really done? Please let it be so. I have actually literally nothing left in me. I have worked on this and am now bled dry. UGH!

I am completely unsure of my writing ability anymore. I used to do; I think, an okay job editing my work and figuring out what was good/what to keep and what wasn't. Now, I'm writing lost. I can't tell anything apart, good or bad, I'm absolutely lost. I have a whole early 2000s novel series I want to work on, and I've managed to spend about five minutes on it all summer. I can't believe how devastating writing can be. 

I fail to see how any of this new bullshit is my problem. I'm tired of this absolutely offensive and absurdly nightmarish bush-league nonsense. How is any of this STILL on me when I've done nothing but wait- for months at a time, done everything and more I've been told to do, and always in a timely fashion. I am tired of swallowing my rage and pride when I'd love to back out. This is a fucking joke, and I'm done settling for bargain basement fuckery. What a load crap. I cannot see how this is worth it. 

"I'm an optimistic realist. I kind of expect the worst but prepare for the best." -Trixie Mattel

My best friend and I went to see Bruce Springsteen for the first time 18 years ago today. We were at the Harbor Yard in Bridgeport, CT. Bruce played 27 songs, 5 of which were in the encore. It was a unique, unforgettable experience. It was just Bruce, no E Street, but it didn't matter; he was that good. My friend and I still reference this concert all the time. There's nothing like your first time seeing Bruce, he exudes a jolly yet approachable confidence, and you feel like he's singing solely to you, not thousands. I can't wait to see him for a third time this summer. 

The NFL turns 103 this year. We get seventeen contests, and that means every single game really counts. Eighteen weeks of gridiron chess matches with a boring bye week to get to the playoffs. A round of do-or-die games for weeks, bringing us to the Superbowl. An epic day to hang out with friends, family, and food. " Football is the only sport that can grab your attention for every waking moment, no matter what." Cheers to a fun season.  Works quoted and consulted: Bleacher Report

" Heaven is a place on earth with you"           -Trixie Mattel 

Baldwinville When I was six or so, a bat flew into my room at night. My parents didn't believe me and told me to go back to bed. I awoke in the early morning to their screams when the bat flew into their room.  Leominster When I was about twenty-six, I was in the basement of my house when a massive brown bat flew by my face. I screamed, flew up the stairs, and called animal control, who said, "Yeah, good luck with that. Bats are protected; we can't do anything; bye." Sudbury  When I was thirty-six and nannying, I went to grab the iPad off the living room coffee table for the child, when about a foot away was a small brown bat, sleeping on the hearth. I can now only assume that this is my life and my curse is attracting bats. 

Writing prompt from Writers Group. I can't pick just one. Going to the theater is one of my all-time favorite things. I've been fortunate enough to see a lot of shows. Some of my favorite experiences are as follows; Rent - Boston Amazing performance. I had only seen the movie. I cried a lot, especially about Angel. I met Anthony Rapp after the show. He was genuine and friendly.  The Book of Mormon - Boston Crying I was laughing so hard. A spectacular show. An absolute triumph and once-in-a-lifetime kind of story/production. Completely fabulous and incredibly clever.  Little Women - Concord  Probably my happiest theater experience ever. Seeing my favorite book performed in the hometown of one of my favorite authors with my favorite person. Bliss.  All The Way - NYC A genuinely moving show. It takes place throughout LBJ's presidency and right at the heart of the civil rights movement—a gorgeous performance by all actors. I met Bryan Cranston before the show, and he was very c

My friends came from storybooks  And were the crayons in my yellow box They were the characters on TV And the imagined companions in my head I had my aunt, sometimes, when I could visit But it was a long five years  Before I had people my age

The best ice cream in the world with the two best people makes for a perfect afternoon. Mini rainstorms and cats and dogs round out a lovely summer day. 

I've always taught the kids I nanny/babysit that differences are okay. That prejudice is never okay. That racism is vile. But nowadays, I feel like I have to actively, at all times, be hyper-aware that they're getting the messages. Don't get me wrong- I'm not complaining, and I think these values should be taught at all times, regardless of what's happening. But I'm scared sometimes that I'm coming off, well, scared. I don't want kids to be colorblind like I was taught, and I want them to know that we can celebrate difference as a good thing.  The seven-year-old I nanny is particularly intelligent and has asked about racism, among other things. We go there, we answer the tough questions about history, and I am desperate to make sure that this child, and all the others, never become intolerant bigots.  "You know that ALL skin colors are beautiful, right!?" I practically scream. "Yes," they answer, in a tone that suggests, 'Duh, why

I panicked. My hands were sweating and shaking. I felt like I was going to throw up. I was instantly convinced Mrs. Edwards would deem me too stupid to move up to second grade. I tried not to cry as I stared down in terror at my grey paper.  I snapped to attention when Mrs. Edwards said to put our pencils down. She explained that we'd now go over the worksheets. My panic grew. I looked up from my desk, hoping I wouldn't throw up. "Haha, these were all tricks. Draw a line? It didn't have to stay in the maze; you could just draw a line from the girl to the orange!" Most of the class laughed while I was trapped in a neurodivergent hell. Never in a million years would I have thought it was acceptable just to draw a line anywhere on the paper. We were taught to be so rigid and rule-abiding; how was this okay? We couldn't even walk down the hall unless we were in a perfectly straight, quiet line and usually had to have our hands folded in front of us. What gave this

Mrs. Edwards came to our class and introduced herself. She said she was one of eleven kids, and she liked logic puzzles. Then, she handed us worksheets to complete.  There was a maze underneath a picture. The instructions said to draw a line from the girl to the orange. Okay, a maze, easy. I started my quest but couldn't get anywhere.  I must have attempted that fucking maze fifteen times and nearly rubbed a hole in the paper from erasing. No matter what I did, I couldn't get through the maze. To be continued...