Fleshing Out Thoughts in Skirting the Edge of Sanity

I finally fell asleep for a few hours. I woke up feeling every nerve in my body registering pain. No reason for it. I took some ibuprofen to try to help in case it was inflammation. It went away after a few minutes. I made us tacos for dinner. From a kit. It is a good meal. I add more to mine than the kids will add to theirs, but at least they ate it. For the longest time, they didn’t eat anything I made. They have eaten everything I’ve made lately. That makes me feel better about their nutrient intake. The other side of their family doesn’t like food that much. There is some digestive stuff I worry about with them. Only one has the Crohn’s disease, but they all seem to be weird about food. I can list the things I don’t like more easily than the things I do like. For them, it’s the opposite. I guess they’re lucky they won’t ever use food for comfort or control issues as I do. Still, I worry.

The *feeling is back. The sense of closeness to someone not here is back. It is in the unconventional moments, when people are most confused, that I believe the most. I understand the Doctor Who thing would have been infuriating, and I know that it would be a thorn in my side. Yet, the different second word still makes me wonder, sometimes. I always go back to what I asked for and where I asked for it to be, and the immediate addition and change in order when I doubt. If it weren’t for that, I might chalk all of it up to coincidence. But because of that direct answer to my suggestion, I cannot shake the feeling that the second word was only changed because it is linked too heavily with something that isn’t ours.

I want to defend myself, though. I think about doing bad things a lot. Then I think about not being a bad person. I don’t work toward harming anyone or anything else without an extremely concrete reason. Food requires harm of something else that is living. I made peace with that. People who are doing more damage than they are helping need to be stopped, and I see no reason not to fight them. I’ve made peace with that. I haven’t decided if focusing like a laser on the two main figures that are ruining everything I love about life is a good thing. Perhaps it will only lead to worse. It isn’t up to me to make that kind of choice. Or is it? I’d like to be thought of as a white hat, not a black hat. Striking the balance in me to do harm against my enemies and my desire to be a higher-plane hero, instead, isn’t easy.

I don’t think of myself as a bad guy. But no one ever does.

Will I at least have done more good than bad (as Supernatural always makes clear is the delineating line in whether to honor someone who has passed on?)

I think I’ve become good. I used to think of myself as bad. Evil. Born somehow marked with the beast. It informed all my decisions. Until I got over that, I really had a clear thought that I was cursed.

I wouldn’t put toddlers in fucking cages, though. I wouldn’t pull an infant off a mother’s breast and starve it of its food and detain the mother. So no, I don’t think I’m bad. It’s just words put together to acknowledge a plan that didn’t work but changed so that it would be useful and more unique.

Well, there’s a week to go to the two big events. And then a few days later, I start my 46th trip around the sun on this planet. And then a couple weeks later, I’ll get a break from workplace drama and this region.

It’s nearly time to sleep again.