After three months I finally poked the What Are You Doing Here mental health bubble of our house guest, and man that erupted into a yelling fight I haven't done much of since my brother was a serious drunk. Unless you count the recent Kurt screaming break up. Maybe there is a future for me in screaming my needs and calling people crazy to their faces.
It was not my best work and my shrink said sometimes we yell at people when we are angry at things that aren't working in our OWN lives and man I really wanted to fire her that day.
But the fight ended up being good because at the end of it, there was crying, and there was understanding, even though I was wiped out emotionally for two days afterwards, like Eleven on Stranger Things when she gets a single bloody nose after intensely navigating things in the Upside Down.
Now at my house I can just stop being angry at this person all day, it was really dragging me down. I'm happier to have him understand that when you trash Barry for 4 years and then come to live here like nothing happened, it is a little weird and people don't like you. So we got it ALLLL out in the open, and hopefully now he will take care of his mental health, he will appreciate the family he hasn't deserved for 4 years, but he will endeavor, perhaps, to deserve us. Everyone deserves a chance to fuck up and be redeemed.
For now I will focus on teaching my riding lessons to my two paying riders who are some really sweet tatted up girls who hand me $150 dollars every tuesday for doing the ride I would normally do anyway. I take the money for the amount of personality I have to expend. That part is really hard. I don't really know how to teach riding, I only know how to enjoy riding. But I fake it okay. They don't notice.
They like to rescue fallen birds and lost cats. They're only 24 years old. I looked at the bird they were pointing to on the ground on our ride that may have hit its head and needed help and I just didn't understand. I can only take care of the horses under us. Birds are supposed to work out their own shit on their own.
I'm also trying to write this stupid Subculture book or whatever it is, it doesn't feel like a book but I'm 8 pages in and maybe it's a script. Maybe the problem is I'm not a writer. But I fake it. No one notices. Chris said to write the thing you're scared of so I'm going to keep going I can always throw it away or it can end up in my garage and it will eventually be thrown away. Might as well write the bitch. I only ever write to understand something. Or entertain myself.
I do have so much finished writing that needs to be out in the world maybe earning me some cash. I'd also like to hear and see it. Hear other people saying it. I have to find those people and venues. I'm still home taking care of my mom so I have time to figure it out. I am not crazy to network to make things happen but maybe if I network with writers I admire. Or reach out to the ones I think are mavericks, who speak to me. Maybe they can give me pointers about my leaping off place.
In the meantime I am leaping off right from here. I'm not holding anything back. In some cases, I'm screaming it all.
I decided or something decided in me and is dragging me along, that I'd really like it to be the time where I let go of all the things I'm carrying that I don't need anymore. I'm tired of carrying them. It's not you. It's me. I need more room for happiness, and ice cream.
Okay going to put my mom to bed.
