Fighting For Lives

Same fight, different day

 

 Have been working on trying to separate out so many types of feelings so I know what actions to take. It has seemed like everything contained a contradiction...I suppose most things do.

It's my first Mother's Day without Mom. I am not the biggest fan of Hallmark holidays but honoring your mother is deeply ingrained and I can't send a card or write the long letters I used to do for awhile, reminding Mom and myself of all the so many things she did for me to keep me encouraged and alive for all these years. She supported my art and my life even when it worried her and I'm trying not to keep remembering the crunchy interactions and focus on the lovely ones. There were plenty. I'm so lucky I had my Mom for 73 years. 

One of the things that scared her was my political activism and it didn't quite fit into my own motherhood. It was hard for my son to be taken to protests he didn't fully understand and my anxiety about them made him anxious, and vulnerable. I stopped going to protests when he was small and gradually recognized that I had a lot of anxiety about them myself. I always cry, which in itself is not a problem, but in the streets is not a place for people who need safety. I'd do well to have an affinity group and I guess online I feel safer, so I can still express my politics, just not so much in person. I get uplifted, but also have to do a lot of silent retreating around them, especially after.

We're being besieged at the Market by the Wellsprings Church from Roseburg, which is sending a cadre of sign holders and proselytizers every other week, ruining our event for several hours and driving away both our customers and our own members who just can't handle the chaos and disruption. Neither the members or the organization can handle the expenses and losses we're experiencing. We're not exactly getting support from the EPD or the city. It's confusing, since some of the chaos is coming from our own members and supporters who want to loudly counter-protest. This week it was over the top. 

I guess there were a couple of assaults and arrests, and now with the mounted cameras on the 8th and Oak corner and so many people recording, there is some evidence. We as an organization are just getting back on our feet from the losses of the pandemic and our internal issues of the last few years, and we do not have the resources for legal actions. Yet we will be pursuing them, as well as trying to reason with the police and the city to find ways to support us. We rent the Park Blocks, and all of us pay quite a bit for our weekly payday...but these extra costs are egregious and it costs the Church nothing to send these disruptors and they seem fully unaware of our rights. They also seem not to care. 

It's domination games, the part of society I hate the most. I am not a good competitor. I avoid confrontation...I want reasonable, logical problem-solving. But these disruptors don't respond to logic or reason. Their goals are not our goals. Some of us are engaging with them to see if they can at least respect our rights to livelihood, and I kind of think individual to individual can be effective, but not really in the face of religious zealotry. 

Currently we are asking the city and EPD to at least enforce their ordinances. Next steps get harder. We're writing policies about things like active-shooter plans...what is next? How passionate are people going to get about imposing their will on others? It's horrifying to imagine, since we all know how violent people are getting in their righteousness. No one is feeling safe.

At the same time, the struggles over the FSP are still complex and being sorted. The structure of "professionalism" demands from us that we pay for permits, care about creating public safety, provide amenities like porta-potties, and purchase insurance, pay for security, and all of that in order to support our members. Our members pay all of those costs from our sales. This has been true since 1970 when we first began using public space for our commerce. We were required to create and maintain structure and follow all of the business rules to operate in our city. So it's hard to accept paying for all of the people who use that fourth block. I can accept sharing with poor people and helping them work their way out of poverty, but that's not all that's happening over there. I want some solution that drives out the ones selling who are merely taking advantage of the unregulated activities. 

So I support enforcing the DAZ requirements, although they are tough. Some can't hack it and it seems oppressive, and I expect the city and EPD are also hearing from those people as an unrelated but linked problem. If, perhaps, the Free Speech Plaza was actually functioning as that, the signs and proselytizing could happen there, though they'd likely still want to be on our corners obstructing our traffic. But at least it would be an option, which it currently isn't. Eugene and Lane County lost a place for opinions to be aired. So it feels to us as Market members that this is yet another burden we must pay for as opportunists take advantage of what we have built. 

It has been so much work to build, maintain, and protect our community gathering and event and opportunity to thrive as small businesses and handcrafters for over 5 decades. I know...I have been here doing it since 1976. I have played many roles and taken a break or two but my support has been a big part of why we still exist and are solvent. It has often been way too hard. I've spent many hours puzzling like this on what we should or shouldn't do to keep holding it up. This is not the worst place we have been in, but this one is knotty. If we can't get the city to support us against this hate campaign, we will decline. Customers are flighty. All of the expense and effort the city has gone to in creating the pavilion and supporting the farmers can also be wasted if people won't come down to shop or attend the many events being held there. 

I'm not resentful of the support the farmers have gotten. I was there on the inside as we tried to improve both markets and the three blocks we use, and I get why it worked out the way it did. I want the farmers to thrive too. I also want people to be able to work their way out of poverty until they can afford to join Market, which is just a small level up from selling for free at FSP, for those who handcraft. It's not easy or all that cheap now, but it's still a wonderful value for the money. I have built my life there. 

I have empathy for people who are closed out by disability, lack of basic necessities, and need for greater support. My generation is seeing that ourselves as we get too old and beat up to do the 12-hour day on my feet that a Saturday is for me. I'm approaching that limit myself. I don't have as much empathy for dominators and opportunists. 

So I'm gradually coming around to the hard realization that I must join the fighting against these dominators who would take away my bodily autonomy, and are currently compromising my ability to do my work. I must figure out what tactics I can use and how much I can do to make this stop and return the Market to a more peaceful type of creative chaos, a more positive and enjoyable one. I have to dedicate myself to this as I have to ending racism, the white supremacy culture, and the domination structure that is only getting more oppressive every day around us. I don't have a right to comfort. I can't use my avoidance tactics on this one. It's in my face. 

And...Saturday Market opens again for the 54th time

Getting through it better now...told a few people yesterday at Market so I can feel less vulnerable holding a secret that doesn't need to be held. Everybody knows what it is to lose a Mom, or will at some point anyway. 

It was cold but as always not as wet or windy as predicted. Market was half-empty though. I wish people would learn not to believe TV weather broadcasters. Their agenda is always...surprise...to get you to stay home and watch TV. We got a little coverage, and a little from the day, but apparently Opening Day of the Saturday Market is more of a regular fixture than a happening that needs community support. Not true, of course, and we did get community support, just not as much as an Opening Day deserved. The Slug Queens did not slack! There were like ten of them.

I stayed warm enough with my rechargeable handwarmer from Light Harvest Solar where my son works, and of course the multiple coats and layers I did not forget. I actually didn't forget anything except to actually get in shape, and my knees and legs and bad foot were not thrilled, but I managed and there were the usual lovely and heart-warming moments to sustain me.

And the good food, and easy access to farmers, although they are nearly always sold out by the time I get over there. It helps if you know what you want and where to get it so you can do the dash across the street and quick purchases. I don't have time for waiting in lines so if I can't go early I have to see what's left around two. And when the weather is iffy I can't leave the booth, plus when it is good I can't leave the booth. 

I worked out a more compact footprint finally which worked okay but I'll be glad to switch out the popup for umbrellas next week if the 70 degree sunny day materializes. If it does we will be busy! 

I'll have to get back into work mode. I did print a couple of days last week, and was in shape for that, but my workdays were short and lifting minimal. I'm glad I lost that contract, finally, instead of still being mad about it. I'm mad about other things, but it does no good to be mad, time to put more effort into humorous takes on it all while I transition out of caring about orgs that don't care about me.

Market still does care a lot about me, but my role is moving more into the "elder who carries the legacy forward" in some ways and that is something I was trying to get to a few years ago, until rudely interrupted by a complex crisis that is kind of over. Not fully. Hardly anyone was masking, including me, so we can expect to see more Covid transmission and I got more free tests so I can test every week. I have a feeling I would not notice symptoms since I got a 5th shot and don't really notice my health issues a lot of times. I did avail myself of one of our excellent plant people, Ryan of Boto Boho who is really great in so many ways. I realized my anxiety did not need to go unaddressed just because I didn't want to involve doctors and pharmaceuticals. I got two kinds of nervous system support tinctures so I can see which one I like when...one is for more instant relief and one is more for stabilization. I'm bad at self-care but this is pretty easy so I hope it works for me. I am sure they work, it's just that I forget to take things like that...even vitamins, which I know help my moods quite a bit when I remember to take them.

Today is a rest day and I will watch some episodes of 1883 which is a guilty pleasure as the prequel to Yellowstone, which I don't know why I like...it's predictable and unrealistic but I have that romantic fantasy going still from my Colorado days. I know it is silly and colonialist and even racist at core (singling out people of color and loving them more than white people is just a perverted type of racism, that doesn't help real systemic racism, and involves some ridiculous romantic fantasy that is just objectivism. I'm not fooling myself about that but still trying to get over it.)

Lots of heart connections as is usual at Market. Didn't have to go off and weep but it isn't easy seeing people age over decades and then stop appearing, whether by retirement or incapacity to do the hard day of work. It looms. I haven't had knee problems before. I need to walk more, but not on sidewalks. I need to do more preservation of what capacity I do have. Taking vitamins and reducing anxiety ties into that of course...my body is a system. Systemic damage to myself is just self hatred made into excuses.

Time off, then. Gotta dry some things out. Sure glad this weather we are having today is not what we got yesterday. Once again we got lucky. So glad for that.

The annals of loss

 Mom's obituary, mostly written by my brother, John.

https://www.dohertyfh.com/obituary/Rita-McWhorter?fbclid=IwAR2zoIafxo1i28Fr2KEjFfbXJzi_kojpHnQV_sK06HNCv8bueTGfwk9p-_8

We all added input and corrections over the last weekend, a meaningful but difficult process for all of us. I had thought I was doing well, but I knew there was more to come. Yesterday as I made myself do my volunteer tasks I had committed to, I dissolved into a space of absolutely hating everyone and everything in my life. I wanted to immediately quit every single thing. Of course I knew not to, and put myself under a blanky, but even food sounded terrible and I just hoped it would pass before I went through with all the quitting. It was the most negative space I can remember being in, in my whole life. 

I feel marginally better today but not much. It's not fun being this vulnerable. Of course at the very same time the Oregonian article came out, all about me, in my living room, which I also was hating and being unable to fix. The article is wonderful of course, and there is a video coming soon, too. 

But the colors of the world have changed. I remember this from losing my Dad over fifty years ago. The world is different, but only to me, and it doesn't really matter to anyone but me. Nothing anyone can do or say will really make me feel much better about it. I need my mommy.

And she has gone. I'm glad she left behind so much love and approval of me for me to hold onto. I would not be me without her endless support and understanding. I had the best Mom.

How Life Goes

 

My house is filled with flowers and a lot of it is daphne, so it smells wonderful. Since I only have six readers most of the time, I'll just tell you. My Mom died on Wednesday. She had been in hospice for about a week...that was a bigger shock moment, when I knew the time had come. She was 97, so the feelings are of course also mixed with relief, that her pain and confusion are over and she gets to rest.

I am experiencing some of the many forms of grief, along with guilt that I'm not more sad and stopped in my tracks. I wasn't able to see her in person since just before the pandemic hit...I was there just as we were realizing we were in for something new. I remember kissing her and thinking later that I shouldn't have. I spent a few days with her and have a few regrets of course, but have cautioned myself about kicking myself for things that aren't fixable. It wasn't possible to go at the end to hold her hand but I said goodbye in a phone call and she smiled. I told her I would think about her with every bird and flower I saw and that is as it has always been. We loved beauty.

We had a close relationship within limits and shared a lot of love and so many years. I know I am lucky to have had a good, supportive Mom and she gets a lot of the credit for me being who I am. She had an even temperament and lived through a lot of hard things. I depended on her well into adulthood and she was there for me. It took me awhile to figure out that she was not that interested in my long stories but she never stopped me until it came time to remind me that I always met my deadlines or always figured out the right thing to do, or some similar Mom homily. She was good at parenting, overall. At some point we all decided that we would no longer hold her accountable for the past, in retrospect, something we should probably have done sooner.

Sharing the news is not fun and of course I appreciate the flowers and condolences but I don't want the attention. I just want to grieve alone as it develops for me. Doing it at the same time as the Jell-O Art Show is the best and the worst. At practice I forget about her and laugh and sing, which she would be fine with I expect. The rest of the time I think about her constantly. I carry her photo from room to room. I made her the most elegant bouquet and while I was arranging it I remembered that she had never liked the way I arranged flowers, which is a mostly casual haphazard method that pleases me visually. She would sometimes rearrange my arrangements when I brought in flowers from her gardens. I think she even studied flower arranging at some point in her constant self-education. Most of how she lived was much more formal than I am willing to be, but it wasn't that big of a deal to us. Sometimes I would take her hand-me-down clothes and on rare occasions I would wear things she had bought for me, but mostly our styles were not similar, though we looked somewhat alike. I got her wonderful hair with its cowlicks and widow's peak hairline, and of course her brown eyes and some of her other features, in a mix with my Dad's big nose and teeth. Everything that made me initially was part her and part him and all that growing up in the fifties with three sisters, and eventually a brother, added up to. 

Most of what sticks in my memory are the times we did clash over our assumptions and cultural positions and my siblings have been kind as I repeated what are probably often-told tales that I just think I have not told before. Not saying I am developing dementia but it has been pretty common in my mom's family, so it could happen for me. I'm sure I will be in denial and will hide it for as long as I can get away with that. I hope it does not happen that way for me. It's sad, but it also allows you to say goodbye in stages and accept loss over years, which is not the worst. She always knew me, except a few times on our weekly phone calls which eventually I stopped when they were more confusing than comforting to her. She also couldn't hear well so that further isolated us. But the zooms every two weeks with my siblings and her were wonderful since we could just see and sometimes hear her and keep up with her just a bit. It was invaluable in keeping us together so we could make it through this transition and retain some feeling of family, which will be hard without our central figure.

I remember when my Grandma Hytrek died and it seemed like the reunions would not continue, but they did, and the younger generations continued to add to our numbers and bring forward the memories. Editing her book was one of the best things I ever did and I'm so glad we got that done. At the end of it, she had mostly lost her writing ability, so it got hard, but we finished it up. I remember telling her that she had to write the part thanking me, as I didn't feel right doing it. She couldn't really put sentences together in a satisfying way by then, so I ended up having to write it anyway, but only I can tell I suppose. I didn't need the credit much, just an acknowledgement, which I have gotten over and over as we share the book. 

It's fine for the Jell-O show to be juxtaposed with this. There was no question of quitting it, though it has been hard to keep up with some of my other commitments. I don't want to have to talk about it at the show, but I am sure I will. I don't want to tear up. It wouldn't be the first time I cried at a Jell-O Art Show though. 

Here's a photo of her when Aunt Lud turned 100. Mom was 90, the sixth child of ten, and Jack was 80. He's the youngest, and now the only one left.

Rainy Days and Mondays

 That was a song I hated when it came out, but it did make an apt title. Not a cheerful day out there, but at least I don't have to go anywhere. I might resort to music, which I rarely do, but musicians have something I need, I admit. I have to practice all the songs for the Jell-O show, but that's all silly.

 Tom Prasada-Rao I found this on a Facebook friend's post, a friend I made during the pandemic, working on Fair in the Clouds. We know each other in the Facebook way, in the bits and pieces we post, and she posts lovely intimate reflections about loss, which is my current area of study. I expect to be studying it for some time, maybe going for a PhD. There is no way around enrolling in this course.

I go to class with this every day in a new way. Every evening it's different, every morning lying in bed thinking about plans and my lists of tasks and my ambitious plans. Every day another facet of loss appears, shiny at first, then tarnishing as it becomes the same old Loss. I want to revisit the meme world and read a lot of webcomix as that seems to be the place the deepest exploration of this is being done, in the flip bits and pieces that hide how deep the river runs. I need to challenge my intellect and ran out of good books to read, though I have stacks of books. I think the internet is the deep hole I need to fall into as often as possible. And I have always found truth more approachable in comix, which is why I have a big collection of undergrounds from the 70s and 80s. Probably part of Jell-O for me, too, since within jokes and joy there is always something universal we need a soft landing within. So we laugh.

Anticipatory grief is something we are all experiencing, as we watch our planet scream at us to make big changes we hardly have any power to do, and as we feel the push of fascism and racism that just won't get into that grave we've been trying to dig. We're horrified at our fellow citizens, our family members, our Facebook friends, and even our real friends. We're not even sure about ourselves. Self hatred and depression are twins that live in the murder shed out back.

Some things feel so obvious I want to scream every day. Don't buy plastic! Don't you know what vinyl is? Don't you see the connection between sickness and all of those consumer products you are putting into your body and home? The dissonance is so fucking loud that we buy some gelato  that is made from dairy in a plastic container that we (I mean I here) think we need. I'm grateful to Jell-O as I have to keep a super clean diet for the next week and a half or I will be unable to sing. I can indulge in none of the things that cause my respiratory distress. Of course that means I don't have a lot of comfort foods except I did remember fried egg sandwiches, which is something my Mom would make me anytime I flew in late at night or needed something. There are a couple of vegan butters now that are very tasty and I can still eat bread. And eggs. Not the time to be a real vegan. My Mom made me pork chops a lot too. And canned peaches, home canned. I might have one jar of those.

It's raining hard and that's okay, I've given up any more pruning now that all of the trees are budding out and I'm hoping it helps the big maple in the neighbor's yard recover from last summer's drought and do that pink flush it does before it turns bright lime green with new growth. If that tree dies my horizon will leave me bereft as my view from my kitchen window is pivotal to my well-being. It's one of the oldest trees in the neighborhood and for sure no matter what next summer I will make certain it gets watered. Even if I have to buy a new long plastic hose and climb over two fences myself. Nobody on my block gets to be selfish enough to not notice the neglect of that tree just because it is in the middle of the block in the yard of what has become a rental that will remain empty as it is too expensive. Most likely too-expensive rentals get filled with people who go to work all the time and use their backyards for drinking on the weekends to forget work, but we'll see. You never know when your contradictory choices will get worse or easier. Last hose I got I found free down the block and somehow carried/dragged home. It might even be long enough to snake under two fences and leave there since no one will probably notice it either. 

Contradictory choices are a lifestyle so I just cruise from one to another. What is the least-awful choice I can make here? That is an everyday question, and I'm sure not just for me. Since sometimes waiting to choose eliminates some of them, I can get left with more awful ones. I changed a dental appointment that was next week but now it lands on the day before my birthday...but that is not soon so I don't care. Birthdays take care of themselves and I ignore them more and more. Since I quit alcohol and can't eat whipped cream, some of the birthday activities are not as fun now...and it is a Friday, so there won't be any going out on the town, even if I wanted to. I will probably just enjoy my clean teeth on the deck with a book, since by then I will surely have found something I want to read. 

Birthdays are just a march toward more loss, anyway. I might be a little panicky about death these days. I have so much to do, so much important work. I have so many interests, so many curiosities, and I waste so much time. I keep putting off the self-maintenance things I need to do (the dentist being the least of them) and finding excuses for that, even though I know the satisfying feel of doing something virtuous and good for me. Don't I want to live long enough to do all of this work, and learning? 

Well, yes, but...what I want isn't really the most important thing operating, is it? I want a healthy world and a rise in people being unselfish and good to each other. I want the mean people to die off and not the lovely ones. I want the pork chop without the dead pig and the factory farm.

I want to get some tasks done today so I had better attempt that. Next time. 

Jell-O Art Therapy

 Instead of doing the dishes I made some cathartic Jell-O Art, so now I do feel done with it all.

Some business is not funny

 I've been interested in my process of dealing with a pretty big disappointment. It's a business issue, so I'm not going to go into detail about it, just about my emotions around it. I know, just business, no emotions needed, or appropriate, by the business rules.

That's not reality, though, is it? Anyway, for me, it's about change and loss, and I've gone through waves. I haven't talked about it really...told three people but not in detail. Only a couple of people know the whole story and probably that won't come out. Again I am reflecting that justice doesn't really get an airing in most human situations. We kind of expect some kind of trial sometimes, or a judge who will rule on how the deal went down, but it isn't that way. Maybe the court of community opinion will make some rulings, but they will be based on whom the storyteller is. 

Our loyalties will be part of the story, and those are things we make up to fit our needs and our view of our actions. Some of it is romanticized. What prompted me to write was a video of Pre-Fair 2022 that brought up a lot of feelings. I didn't participate in 2022, in person, but I did perform most of the tasks and volunteer things I've done every year for awhile...a decade for most tasks, and forty-some years for some. Because a lot had continued for me, a lot of the emotions rode along, despite the many sore points from things that had transpired over the pandemic.

There's no judge, but I can easily project judgement and that's part of why I want a trial...to plead my case. But when I dig down into it, I don't know if I could win that case...some of my arguments are specious and some of my actions were glossed over by my romanticism. I get attached to meaning in actions, meaning that I invent to enrich the service. There are tons of layers of this in our community...we all reach to our organizations and our activities within them for lots of what makes our lives feel purposeful. Those things have been eroding...and I've been in denial about the parts I was holding onto. Erosion usually does result in a landslide, despite lengthy efforts to mitigate it and prop things up for one more go. Gravity is real.

I want to tell people how much I give, or gave. One year I did someone's work for them and gave them the money...it was a lot of money. They needed it, and it was the right thing to do. One year, two years really, I donated a shit-ton of design work and knocked myself out to create financial leverage with my efforts. I was a part of keeping all of the dreams alive during the pandemic. I spent a lot of time trying to lead in ways that supported expanding our views of the ways we support and use our organization and basically keeping things going while the world got sick and many people died. It helped keep terror at bay to know that our orgs would survive and were bigger than any of us. I did it all joyfully and while being inspired by some amazing and inspirational people, many of whom gave way more than I did.

I gave a room of my shop over to storing a giant pile of things for what turned out to be two solid years. I worked around it and kept it safe. I didn't send a storage bill. I actually did and am doing that storage for another organization, too...in a different way. That pile is going on a lot more years...four now, but again, it is by choice and at some point I will reclaim my space. Not a big deal, but I find myself trying to list all of the ways I gave, to balance the ways I failed.

I'm trying to stave off the final emotions of guilt and shame which I fear will be the lasting ones, which will leave a tarnished, sour veneer over my decades of participation. I made a couple of mistakes. As a recovering Catholic I always think I should have to pay for those things. Forgiving myself is a far greater challenge than forgiving other people for their transgressions. Isn't there a commandment about that? Too bad I have no belief in God to sooth me through this. There's no reward in heaven coming for any of this, though I do have some lasting part of me that wants to prevent me from taking any revenge or trying to pin blame, adding any sins to the mix. People all do what they think they have to, for lots of reasons that have nothing to do with my emotions. I don't even expect people to know about my emotions, much less support me over them. That work is mine to do.

In some of my volunteering, I put up with bullying and kept working. I always prioritized quality work and speedy delivery and overworked quite often to be dependable, and I am proud of that part of it...I know what excellence is when it comes to my work. Some of what motivated that was loyalty, though...not wanting to disappoint key people whom I admire, wanting to help make their overwork less, or anyway not on my account. I know a lot of people who prioritized the orgs over themselves and most of us are feeling the same type of deep disappointment at this point. We've lost something intangible and we don't expect to recover it. We're questioning our ability to continue to give. Some have decided, and walked away.

If there were a trial we would sit in the gallery and nod and grimace as the stories were related about the many unfair things that have happened. We'd gasp and pound our sticks on the floor when lies were told. Some of the lasting stories are going to be based on lies, and there's nothing to be done about that. I always believe that truth will come out, but not all of it will. 

There are ways to rationalize most everything and I've done a bit of that. I'd testify that yes, I knew the consequences but went out on a limb for the greater good...but of course that doesn't justify my mistakes. I had plans to fix those mistakes, but I was naive, and loyalty was one of the things I was counting on. Loyalty doesn't actually go very far in the business world. The value of it, though great, comes with some strings, like situational ethics, and it's ephemeral and held in the imagination. What I saw as loyalty can be twisted to seem self-serving or appear as collusion. Lots of people are out there twisting things. Who knows if we would get a fair judge in this trial who would see who was lying and who was telling the truth. We don't have one, though I do think a lot of people I know can see truth and falsehood fairly clearly. 

I do regret that I held back useful perspectives in ways that enlarged the eventual damage, because I felt like I had to. I spent many hours on my deck writing in my journal trying to figure out how much I should say and why, knowing I was being used and not knowing how to get out from under that. There were things I didn't know that would have influenced me and things I set aside that I shouldn't have, in retrospect, but I am just terrible at predicting the future and my imagined one was much more just and positive than the one that developed. I'm far too trusting and easy to manipulate, and it has taken me many months to add things up to find a different set of sums. I've uncovered some details that are kind of scary...but it doesn't help to bring them to light at this point. The deals are done.

During this week of observation I've thought about a couple of solutions just to see how they felt, and have come to realize that there is nothing to do but let go and move on. I want to try to rise to my best self and not throw blame and not feed any drama. It wouldn't help with the already-determined outcomes and it would make us all feel worse and lose more. I want to summon my graceful self and release the wish for a judge and jury to vindicate me. Maybe that's weak. I admire stories about people who fought despite being in a losing position and won...but this situation isn't quite that clear. And I don't have that kind of time and energy, or skills and resources.

I'm not going to be stubborn and see what I can salvage. I have plenty left without that one thing, which had a lot of value to me, but which I can easily replace with other, more valuable activities and options. Ultimately work is something people can take advantage of me for, and I sometimes feel that way about it, if I don't have a lot of control over it. I've grown used to having control of my work, and I feel better when I do. I have no shortage of ways to fill my time. I've been worrying about the end of my life...there are many things I must do and just as many things I'd like to do, and the shortage of time is much of the reason I don't get to them. So I can see this as the gift of my time back. 

I'm going to shed the emotions, and try hard not to land in the shame place. I can fight for myself that way...to imagine that if there were a judge, I would win the case. What I have given is more than any ways I have taken, or benefited. Feeling shame is one of the big ways my upbringing and subsequent braveries settled in, that does not serve me. That fight is worth fighting. No one can shame me without my consent. And it gives me power to take hold of my inner workings and work it all out.

I can take back more, and I might. It's inevitable that I will at some point, and though I will let some people down who have depended on me, maybe it's just someone else's turn to give. If my gifts are seen as tarnished, I can just take them off the table. Pearls before swine kinds of things...I don't want to do that out of my hurt though. So I'll wait until I am not so tender. 

I'll wait until I can hide my feelings and make it "just business." Because that is the way it works in the business world, not that it is somewhere nice to live. It's not, but you can depend on it if you are willing to accept the strength of power and lies and manipulation and cold clear injustice prevailing. 

I've got to land somewhere in there that doesn't hurt anyone else, and at some point, doesn't hurt me. It's just my turn.

It all gives a lot of depth to what I'm simultaneously trying to create...the funny bizness of Jell-O bizness. I like irony and emotional depth though. Channeling all of this into an art piece will feel SO DAMN GOOD!