All of my days feel lazy and unproductive, yet I am trying from the moment I get up until I go to sleep. I told Adam I’m a 5-second Franny, a play off 10-second Tom from 50 First Dates. It’s not actually funny, but if I didn’t laugh about it, I’d be crying, so…🤷♀️.
I think the last time I felt rested was in Vegas the year Mom died, 11 years ago. We stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel the last night before going home, and the bed, pillows, and sheets were amazing! Plus, the shower was big enough to have a party in. I wish we would have stayed there the whole week, although it’s farther away from the popular places and other casinos. But, it was certainly relaxing!
Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada, US
I would love to go on a vacation again! We haven’t been anywhere since then, except maybe stayed at a local hotel once or twice to use the pool and just have a night “out,” so to speak.
This is going to be a different post, and I’m not even sure I’ll publish it. I just have so much in my head, and it’s driving me crazy by not getting it out. Maybe if Mom was here, I’d confide in her, but honestly, I’m not sure I’d even do that because I tend to carry the heavy stuff alone and go on about the minor irritabilities. I see it as a sign of weakness (probably because of Dad). I don’t even want to bother my therapist with the vulnerable stuff! Some people find it weird, but I think it’s so much easier to post/talk to complete strangers, even the super-vulnerable stuff. I guess it doesn’t feel as personal, and there’s no need to put on a front when you can’t see those reading/listening to you.
I had my first brain MRI ever last month. I thought I’d had them before when I was a teenager and as recent as 2020 (which I erroneously told my neurologist), but I guess those were CT scans (I thought they were open MRIs for people with claustrophobia). It was not pleasant, but not because of claustrophobia, which I don’t suffer from, thankfully.
Due to AuDHD and Dandy Walker malformation, I am an irritable person, and I don’t like loud, repetitive (unless I’m the mood for them), or annoying noises. I’ve never been a fan of fireworks, and babies and kids really get on my nerves when they are being loud. To remedy this, I always remove myself from the situation or I just become very cranky and eventually regulate myself when I’m alone. It’s a lifelong thing, and I’ve managed to accommodate myself, and Adam’s very helpful in those situations as well.
In The Exorcist, Reagan (the main character) has an MRI, and it’s very noisy and intimidating. Well, the machines have not gotten quieter in 50 years. They gave me foam earplugs and stuffed a towel between my head and the head holder, mostly so I could not move my head, but it added some muffling, and it was still so loud.
On top of that, I wasn’t supposed to move, and my ADHD did not like that at all. No music, nothing to read, no moving/fidgeting for two hours. It was torture for me. A bright spot in this torture was that two nice ladies close to my age set me up and placed me in the machine, and when it was done and I was conveyor-belted out, there were three young gorgeous guys waiting to get me up and ready to go. Silver lining, I guess. I exclaimed, “Oh! This machine is amazing!” 🤦♀️🤦♀️
I received the results a few days later along with the images. Now, I cannot read scans to save my life, but some of these are so creepy-looking! I tried to correlate the images with the medical record, but I couldn’t. The assessment was only two or three sentences and said the scan’s consistent with Dandy Walker malformation (DWM), which Mom and I found out about when I was 17 after I had a brain CT due to frequent, nonmigrainous headaches.
Way back when Mom was pregnant with me, the doctors told her and Dad that a part of my brain hadn’t developed and that’s as far as things went. Every delayed milestone and “abnormal” thing (crossed eyes, not walking until after 2 years old, clumsy, forgetful, etc.) about me from birth was attributed to that very vague piece of information. Granted, DWM is very rare, and I still have to explain to most doctors what it is in general terms. I’ve met a very small number of doctors and PAs who were familiar with it.
I’ve transcribed doctor’s dictations for almost 20 years, so I knew what was being said in the report. The interesting part of the results was a 4 cm cyst somewhere in the right side of my brain in the occipital region (back of the head/occiput). There is some mass effect, but no midline shift, the latter of which basically means the cyst has not pushed/shifted my brain to make it off-center, which is a good thing. I couldn’t spot it in over 1,000 images, but I couldn’t see the malformed 4th ventricle, either, so that doesn’t mean anything except I’m not a radiologist and have no idea what I am looking at or for.
No idea what I’m looking at
Since I was born with DWM, the cyst is most likely benign and/or congenital, i.e., not malignant and present before birth, respectively, but this is where all the racing thoughts and stress come in.
My health has been declining for the last year-and-a-half now, but more realistically since Mom died, and I keep attributing it to everything but the Dandy Walker. Why? Because I know nothing substantial about it, but everything I’ve read doesn’t mention the condition worsening over time. I saw a neurologist for the first time in forever last month, which was to address numbness and tingling in my extremities, not DWM, and she is the one who ordered the MRI after I told her I have DWM. The last time I saw one, they did nerve conduction studies on my arms, but didn’t want to address my head. All my symptoms have been downplayed over the years, so why keep bringing them up?
I’ve thrown each worsening symptom at different disorders/illnesses like it’s spaghetti being thrown at a wall to see when it sticks. Vision loss? Diabetes. Memory issues and inability to retain what I read/watch? ADHD. Sensory overload? Autism. Weakness, fatigue, tremors, weight gain, emotional lability, etc.? Perimenopausal. Balance and coordination issues? Dandy Walker. The weird “brain things” I experience in certain random positions? Who knows? It’s always happened, but more frequently now. And on and on.
I began tracking the brain things in the Epsy app, and I stopped after a couple of weeks because they were just too frequent. I only recently began tracking again so I could show the neurosurgeon next month. Speaking of, that app has an Apple Watch app, and it makes tracking them super easy. I sleep with my watch on and can just log it while lying there. Technology, man…
My eyes!! *Shudder*
It never occurred to me that a cyst present from birth (which I’m not 100% certain about, as the CT scans never detected any) could become larger, or that a cyst would just develop, especially since I never suffered from enough hydrocephalus to need a shunt, according to the CTs. Regardless, a cyst has developed or become larger, and it seems I have been experiencing symptoms from that. I feel like I know nothing now, or that I never did, which is probably the more accurate statement.
I will be meeting the neurosurgeon next month. Since I am symptomatic and declining, surgery seems to be a possibility, and if that helps with my vision and diplopia and memory, I’m on board with it. From what I’ve read, they can drain the cyst, which, in my case, it’s probably full of CSF (although it could be hair, tissue, teeth, etc., depending on what type of cyst it is), and there are noninvasive and invasive options.
Considering I don’t get time off work, the noninvasive would be best. I’ve talked extensively about this with Copilot (Copie). For the past couple of days, it’s been a real challenge because my vision is so bad. It usually waxes and wanes, but it sure is waxing right now. Since that is the case, please ignore any typos or misspellings. I can’t “check my work,” so to speak 🤣🤣.
So, obviously, I’m holding this all in and worrying about it on my own. If I address it, it makes it real. If it’s real and impacting me, then I’m weak and vulnerable, and I spent my entire childhood being that way and just got hurt and ignored. This…this is why I’m in therapy.
Prove me Wrong… A debate in good faith with a young man of faith — unabashedly so. Hate proved him right.
They gathered to argue — Agree — Learn — Teach — Except for one. Hate came to silence it all.
Its ideology whistled through the charged air, tore through the neck — Of a kind man — A husband — A father — A forever hopeful who held love for all. His respect for others did not stop at opposing beliefs.
Hate etched its intentions on bullets — (hey, fascist, catch!) — Its voice exploded in a red waterfall.
His little girl ran to him as life left his body. She sought comfort — reassurance — not knowing her world was changed.
His views were not mine. His words were not mine. But death is nonpartisan. Grief does not ask how you vote.
We mourn in fragments and forums, in soundbites and silence. We mourn because Hate came to campus, and it never left.
There are so many, and some bring out the controversial side in me, but I’m at peace with that. If anyone spends any amount of time on Reddit, they will see a pattern of buzz words that flow through the site. Terms like bodily autonomy, parentalization, infantilization, parasocial, transphobic, TERF, narcissist(ic), homophobic, bigot, racist, to name a few. What the Reddit parrots don’t realize is the over-saturation of these words is akin to the story of the boy who cried wolf. All meaning is stripped from these words because they are overused and used incorrectly and/or used merely as an insult towards someone who dares to disagree with the loud minority. Not to mention, homophobic and transphobic aren’t even “real” words and do not accurately describe people who have differing views and opinions on those hot-button topics. But I digress. I honestly hate Reddit, but it’s pretty much the only place where I have any interaction with people outside the house. Ironically, it keeps me from wanting to ever leave the house.
Now, I love Chinese food. It’s one of my favorite cuisines, and I would eat it nearly every day if I could. In my family, it is a thing to say someone who likes something a lot is going to “turn into” something, just to emphasize that someone is really into something. Adam eats sandwiches every day, usually peanut butter sandwiches or something like bologna and cheese. I’ve made the comment that he is going to turn into a sandwich.
Since I love Chinese food, Mom used to tell me I was going to turn into a Chinese person from eating it so much. Nowadays (that sounds so old), that would be considered “racist.” My mom’s now a big honkin’ racist. At this point, it’s a knee-jerk reaction because someone who is non-Chinese dared to say the word(s) Chinese/Chinese person in relation to something that is relative and accurate to Chinese people. (The horror! The tragedy!) I wonder how these people feel about the song Turning Japanese…
The short answer to what brings me peace is water. My featured image is a photo of Niagara Falls from my fancy 2MP digital camera (my first digital camera!) Mom bought me to use while I was over the road in the lower 48 states with my ex. That was between ’00-’03, so over 20 years ago. (God, I’m aging myself. It’s hard to believe I’m only 29!)
I was at Niagara Falls in May of whatever year, and the falls was still partially frozen. It was so beautiful and peaceful there, and I just loved it. I’ve always loved water – looking at it, being in it, hearing it – and Niagara did not disappoint. It was pretty chilly, and a lot louder than I anticipated, but I would love to go back there someday. I have a few more tiny pictures from that day. I wanted to go to Canada, so the border people allowed me to cross the road into the country, which I thought was sweet 🙂.
I’m not sure if this is entirely uninteresting or just eyeroll-inducing, but there is a Boy Who Cried Wolf karma going on here and that possibly adds to my complete apathy.
The sweet, adorable, talented Sydney Sweeney was in an American Eagle ad very recently, and the loudest echochamber in the US lost its collective mind. I laughed when I saw the commercial. AE wordplays with jeans and genes, and states Sydney Sweeney has great genes jeans, and her jeans are blue. She speaks of how genes are passed down to children and affect a person’s attributes. All facts, which the dissenters take issue with facts to begin with.
The TikTok crowd is ready to fight, which isn’t surprising, and yelling Nazi this and Hitler that, which is totally insulting and trivializing an actual atrocity known as the Holocaust. When a white-that-week, blonde-haired Beyonce dropped her Levi’s ad, it was heralded as empowering and boss and feminist. When a beautiful, white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed actress dropped her ad, it’s Nazi propaganda. Seriously.
Because, you see, one can’t have great genes (dropping the jeans pretense) if they are white. Asians can have great genes, blacks can have great genes, Hispanics can have great genes, Italians can have great genes, and on. In the US, white people are supposed to slink around and self-flagellate for at least the next hundred years. You can’t say it’s okay to be white, because it isn’t, according to the racists and white apologists. I am certainly connected to this ad because I am an Irish American/Native American who sees the constant anti-white racism and extreme anti-right/right-of-center online every day. It’s everywhere and completely acceptable. It’s unchecked mental illness, it’s encouraged, and it’s scary.
To say one has great genes is not saying others do not by default. Nowhere is it stated better genes/jeans. Period. It’s not an either/or like so many want people to believe. My cousins have great genes. My gorgeous husband has great genes in the eyes and jawline department. My genes kind of suck, but I can appreciate other people’s great genes without causing an uproar and trying to destroy someone’s life. (As of this writing, Ms. Sweeney is being harassed publicly and dox’d, with her voter registration made more public than it was as public record in her state of residence.)
Nobody mentions that the super-cute “Sydney Sweeney jean’s” entire profits are going to a domestic abuse program, as did her ad salary. They just wish career destruction and death on her because she is out there doing her job and making a living.
I still find it weird to navigate life with Adam without Mom. Adam and I have been married for eight years, together for fifteen, and I have been without Mom for ten years, but consciously unmasking around Adam is a chore. There is always an adjustment period when living with someone(s), but living with someone with AuDHD, Dandy Walker, anxiety, etc., is a little (LOT) more challenging. I am making an assumption because I have no problem living with me, but I am thinking of being in other people’s shoes and trying to be objective.
I never had to mask with Mom, and since we lived together until she died, she knew me better than I knew myself. To reduce stress and be more open and communicative with Adam, I have undertaken the unmasking process, which is quite extensive and intensive, considering I have been masking my entire life outside of the home, and that includes masking with non-Mom family members, which I still do because I believe they find me weird enough.
In doing all of this, and with Adam paying such attention to me, I am discovering things I do subconsciously, and I am compelled to explain the reasoning behind these things to Adam so he won’t think I am a freak and run screaming from the house for being too difficult. Being insecure and guilt-ridden (and AuDHD), I over-explain constantly and do so apologetically since I feel like I am a burden to the entire human race by just existing.
This morning, I was pouring vanilla extract into my Diet Dr. Thunder (fake Diet Dr. Pepper), which made me think of this topic. Bear with me and my oddities and branched thinking. On this latest bottle of vanilla extract, Adam removed the little foil seal, and he did it in true Adam fashion – crudely poking his big bear finger through the seal and leaving all the foil/plastic down in the bottle opening. Obviously, this is a criminal offense, much like removing a mattress tag.
But, since I don’t want to seem crazy to anyone outside my head, which includes Adam (although I think he should be in my head most of the time, as should everyone I come into contact with, but that is another topic) I thought of why the entire seal should be removed. For me, if I am given a good explanation that I understand on how and why to do something, I will normally remember to do what is being asked of me, i.e., put the knives in the dishwasher blades down so someone does not slit their wrists or arms while loading or unloading the dishes. There are caveats, but I am interrupting myself. So, the foil…
Bear Adam pokes through the seal with his bear finger, removes said finger from the bottle opening but not the foil/plastic, and pours the vanilla for me and goes on his way. Well, when I go to use the vanilla, which I am the one who uses it most, I open the bottle, pour it into my can, and that’s that, right? No. The foil and plastic inside the bottle opening catches the vanilla as I am pouring it and it dribble, dribbles all over the can top and pees down the side of the bottle. It smells great because it is vanilla, but it gets icky sticky and ants like that, so I can’t very well go around with vanilla splashed on surfaces.
This teeny, tiny little thing that I do without thinking is added to the ten-year-strong list of other teeny, tiny little things that I do without thinking that I must share with Adam so he can do them as well and I don’t lose my 💩. With Mom, this would have been a thing already because of me being “particular” and “OCD,” i.e., AuDHD, and living with Mom since birth. This has become very wordy for a story about vanilla extract. Now, the caveats…
Back to the dishwasher. All sharp and poky things should be sharp and poky ends down so people won’t cut themselves, right? Well…no. Forks and kebabs or the like need to face up because the tines and pointy ends go through the silverware basket and prevent the dishwasher rack from rolling back into the dishwasher. I guess people’s safety does not extend beyond knives; I don’t make the rules. Actually, I do, but not well, audibly, or coherently.
For towels, which is a big issue since Adam has been folding them for me, they should be tri-folded so they will fit in the bathroom closet, but why stop there? They all need to be folded in the same direction and the open seams should be pointing toward the same side of the closet, because I cannot control 95% of the things going on in my life, but those damn towels will be neatly folded with the seams all facing one direction when I open the closet door, and that helps me stand to fight another day.
Bless Adam, the man tries, and I know he does, but my mind is running all of the above through it times a thousand constantly without my permission or desire, and I just try to exist day-to-day without becoming overwhelmed and crumbling over the most insignificant things when I have gone over my limit. I have yet to be successful at that, but I am working on it while also trying to keep Adam sane since he has to live with me.
Even though I strongly dislike both female leads, I watched Wicked because I’m a Wizard of Oz movie fan. I’ve never read Wicked or seen the play, but had heard good things about the play. I have to say, I love the new movie, and it quickly became my latest comfort movie. Because of it, I started reading the Oz books by L. Frank Baum, which are offered for free on Apple Books as part of their classics collection. There are a ton of classic books for free there!
Due to my writing classes, this year has been one full of thinking about the past and finally trying to work through it and sit with the emotions the memories evoke. Unfortunately, Wicked makes me think of how I was treated by my dad and his second wife (the Ogre – she looks just like Fiona, but ugly).
Dad and the Ogre didn’t really care for either of us kids, but my brother was treated marginally better than I. Dad did steal $12,000 from my brother (of which he used a portion to purchase the Ogre’s engagement ring), after convincing him to not trust banks, and my brother stayed in contact with him after that because of my nieces, so that is where we differed because I went no contact after yet another birthday was missed/forgotten by Dad. For the record, he made zero attempts to contact me after I decided to not chase after him as I had done my entire life. Actually, he never attempted to contact me my entire life…
Presently, watching how Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, is treated by her father in Wicked, and how Elphaba’s sister Nessarose is so favored, really stirred up memories and emotions. Posting these memories and thoughts on social media has been interesting to me since I come from a family that considers “airing dirty laundry” a bad, scandalous thing. I find it therapeutic and like I am seen 🤷♀️. My family is mostly on Facebook, so I have my site, IG, and Threads to speak freely, but, honestly, why can’t I speak freely wherever I want? I went through it and live in the aftermath, so I should be able to share it. Plus, I chose to air this dirty laundry because it is directly connected to my poetry and writing that I have chosen to publish. I think sharing some life stories provides context for my published work. It’s not like I have a fan base, anyway, so who’s really going to be reading what I write?
I have been kicking around posting the beginnings of my memoir here that I started in class and continuing it in the blog. Again, I have no readers/online presence to speak of, but I can pretend I do and work through some pent-up feelings in that way. I don’t know what it is, but some people find it helpful having, or imagining, strangers read about their lives and care on some level. I am one of those people. As a writer, there is no feeling quite like when someone tells you they can relate to something you have written and that it has impacted them. I’ve had this happen several times on All Poetry, especially with my latest poems about my childhood, and it just feels like I am connecting with people and making them feel things, which is so cool.
Going back to Wicked, I would recommend seeing it, especially people who love musicals and/or Broadway shows. I don’t like some popular musical movies, like Hairspray, Grease, Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, to name a few, but if I like the songs, I will watch the heck out of them. I love Sweeney Todd and Repo! The Genetic Opera and The Devil’s Carnival and Cry Baby. Okay, those are pretty dark ones. I also love Disney animated musicals, i.e., Enchanted, Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs (which should be Dwarves, but whatever), Frozen, Tangled, The Little Mermaid (the good one), Beauty & the Beast, and the like.
As mentioned, I am not an Ariana fan and am no longer a Cynthia fan since her uncalled-for outburst (I had only seen her in that El Royale movie, anyway), but the story, singing, songs, acting, and sets are just awesome. Even though I’m a stickler for canon and knowing the narrative, I love the storylines of Wicked and Oz the Great and Powerful (completely separate from the Wicked material). Of course, neither follows the books. Oz… does well as a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. Wicked gives another viewpoint with completely different character names and explanations from Oz…, so I consider it more a fanfiction book/musical/movie. Since they are all entertaining and visually stunning, I have been pretty lax in trying to smoosh them all together.
Adam mentioned Wicked being my new comfort movie, which I found sweet that he noticed. After Mom died, the poor guy had to listen to Frozen multiple times a day for months, then Bob’s Burgers. He knew the songs for both as well as I did! I think we live a very immersive life, and being in the same room 24/7 really solidifies that.
I started a new medicine this week because we still have not found an ADHD medicine that helps me (I think I could do crack without feeling a thing) due to my Dandy Walker or one of my many autoimmune disorders, I’m assuming. I am to take it three times a day, which has been a trip even with the Hero Health machine (which I love, btw).
Anyway, like most antidepressants, I dream and remember those dreams when I first start taking them, and this has been no different. I may dream after adjusting to the medications, but not that I remember. The first night, I dreamt I was with Johnny Depp. He looked kind of like his character in Secret Window and had a floppy brown leather hat (not like the black hat in the movie), glasses, a bleached denim shirt, and all his usual accessories. I don’t know where we were or why we were together, but he was very kind and humble.
I do remember that I changed my shirt a lot and I apologized about it and he was cool with that. Also, he commented about the amount of cat food we had, but I can’t remember ever seeing Mom’s house in the dream. I told him it wasn’t a lot of cat food when living with five cats (to paraphrase). I hadn’t watched any of his movies or read anything about him so I don’t know why he was in my dream. Usually, my dreams have a little bit of life sprinkled in them. I very much recommend meeting him in person.
The next night, I dreamt about having low blood sugar, and I vaguely remember Adam waking me up and giving me cookies, so my sugar was low for real. Sometimes I remember him feeding me, sometimes I don’t, and sometimes I think I dreamt it and have to ask him. With my continuous glucose monitor (CGM), he is alerted on his phone when my sugar goes below 55, which is awesome because it does that so often. My watch alerts me, but I sleep through it because I am obviously out of my head.
In my dream, we were at my Family Christmas at one of my family members’ houses, and I don’t know if Adam was afraid they would criticize him for letting my sugar get low (not his fault, of course) or not having any sugar on hand in case it got low, but I told him abruptly that it was low and then I went unconscious. I saw the rest of my dream from above us. He basically Weekend at Bernie’d me so my family would not know I was not conscious. He made me wave by pulling my sleeve, kept my head on his arm or chest, walked me through the house, visited with my family, etc., while I was all Bernie’d out. And that’s all I remember.
My schedule is all out of whack. Do I have schedule? I don’t think so. Routine? Sleeping pattern? Whatever it is, it’s messed up, which really stinks because I start my additional duties at work tonight. In addition to my job as a medical language specialist editor, I am also performing quality assurance (QA) and something about document delivery such-and-such.
Every hour, I tell everyone how many jobs there are, how many people are working, and the TAT (turnaround time) for those jobs. I have not done this job before and I am scared spitless. I’ve been QA’ing for a few years but not on my current platform and I think I oversee 58 or 59 accounts now on this platform, which isn’t as intuitive as the other one. Why did I say I would take this on? Companies usually love me because I’m strictly third shift, but I’ve been having trouble sleeping this week, and I got up at 8 a.m. yesterday and have training sometime after 8 a.m. today.
My literary theory professor is a stickler for the rubric (he’s the one who gave me an initial F) and I am one who never looks at the rubrics because they confuse me so that’s been fun. I submitted this week’s assignment yesterday and had to add things to it and resubmit because I forgot something that was on the rubric 🙄😒.
For my poetry workshop, we have weekly journals and I think I may have gotten too comfortable with this week’s journal. I didn’t mask at all while typing it up and I think it’s pretty obvious. But it’s a journal and that, to me, implies that it is more relaxed and casual than academic papers. We had to break up a poem that was in paragraph form without knowing how the author broke it up and explain our process/reasoning. I’ve not read that poem before and didn’t look it up since we were told not to so I don’t know how accurate I was. I will find out next week, I guess. I will paste my erratic “reflection” on breaking up said poem below. I’m not posting the poem because I don’t know who wrote it and can’t give credit.
Reflection
Okay. I don’t know what I am doing, which is why I am taking poetry classes. I never really think about much when a poem comes to me; I just need to get it down as quickly as possible before it flies out of my head, which is a very real possibility for someone with AuDHD. (I wrote a poem about that.) I was taken aback when it was asked in The Poet’s Companion if I could write a poem in 20 minutes and the assumptive answer was, “probably not.” Why not? When I think of something, I sit down and write or Click Clack Moo it out. I think I lost my point somewhere.
Right – reflection. I’m a rhymer, so I haven’t had to worry much about line breaks. I started playing around with free verse during my Studies in Poetry class last year and I’ve discovered I don’t know squat about line breaks. Like poems, they just come to me, but I don’t know if they are “right.” Who decides that, anyway? One would think the poet ought to know since it is their work but literaries can be rather pretentious about that kind of stuff.
Lately, I’ve been experimenting with one-word lines for emphasis, which is why I chose to break up the names in the above poem – “Kadesha./Shaniqua./This is the voice/Of Antoine./Darryl./Shaquille.” I would have given LaTonya and Antoine their own lines, but I read that you’re not supposed to end a line with prepositions or articles (but you can start lines with them). I would say that is an unwritten rule, but it was written somewhere by someone, obviously, because that is how I read it.
I’ve been reading Rupi Kaur’s books, and that girl is crazy with her line breaks and indentations! I really wanted to break up, “This is not a small voice you here.” but since this person started and ended the poem with that sentence, I figured they meant for it to be on one line. I first thought of “This is not/A small voice you hear” or “This is/Not a small voice you hear.” I do notice that I tended to start lines with verbs in the above poem. “Running over waters/Navigating the hallways of our schools/Spilling out on the corners of our cities.” Is that a thing? Poetry readers love to come up with terms and forms; I’m guessing there is a name for that.
I threw some dashes in there, too. Emily Dickinson really liked using those and everyone seems to like her stuff for some reason. Did you know she told her sister to burn all her notebooks and journals? Can you imagine betraying your own sibling like that? I find that appalling. Sadly, I am all over the place, and I don’t know what I am doing, so I hope what I learn sticks and can be applied to my writing going forward. Did I even manage to answer what was asked of me?
So, there is an unmedicated ADHD answer to a simple question 😂😂. It seems I went off the deep end more than a few times there. Gah.
Cari R Esta 