Since Tuesday I’ve been doing my best to get by.  It’s not going so well.

Even as the communities that I’m supposed to be “part of” come together to work on activism, I feel more and more isolated and alone.  I want to be together and engaging in my communities, but the prospect of having to go out into places where I already feel excluded (which is pretty much everywhere) is daunting and anxiety-inducing at best.

I’m not sure how to make that first step toward interaction.


Thursday night began another grief cycle for me.  My grandmother called me to let me know she intends to sell the family beach cabin.  The place that they built by hand in the ’60s.  It’s definitely not a “house” – it’s a “cabin” in the minimalist sense of the word.  It’s a single large room, with a 90% enclosed bathroom, no shower… but it’s walking distance from one of the best beaches in Oregon.  It’s a place that I spent a good part of my childhood. The beach has been a safe place for me since the very first time I went.  My first visit was February 3rd, 1978 – I was less than six months old.  There is a “guest book” at the cabin that everyone signs each time they visit.  It documents the history of the place from the time it was built.  It has so many memories for me – some of them incredible, some of them bitter or painful, but all of them meaningful. Half of my grandfather’s ashes are spread under the deck.

She doesn’t want to deal with the county taxes or the water bills anymore.  In theory, I can.  Since then I’ve been trying to decide if it’s in my, or anyone else’s, best interests to try and convince her to sell it to me.  Trying to decide if that’s another responsibility I can afford to add to my endless list.


If Facebook is still trying to tell people that my site is “malicious” I’m going to snap.