so... the verdict is in. i discussed my plans with my parents and they gently reminded me (to use a simple analogy and not their exact words) that using a dixie cup to empty the water content of the titanic after it's already hit the iceberg is not the answer... that i've got to let the ship go down and rebuild my life from that damn piece of wood that could've fit Leo on it too.

i know they're right, and i've been researching chapter 7 and trying to look at it as a way out instead of a huge stain on my life. it's been a horrible few years (well, 16 for me, mentally) and i'm choosing to focus on this as a solution to a problem instead of a failure. yeah, i screwed up, i got in over my head... but this is a way i can make it out and actually start saving for my future instead of debt swallowing any possibilities for me other than the debt itself.

dad said, "i wish you would've listened to me a year ago when i suggested this." to which i replied, "I wish i had been diagnosed ten years ago. i wouldn't even be in debt if i had been. but i can't do that. all i have is now." and he nodded and we just kept researching.

i thought more about it, though, and i don't think i'd change anything. i can't play the what if game because there are too many factors at this point. and i wouldn't want to be missing a single person or part of myself that i have right now. in times where my brain tries to get stuck on what ifs, i just tell it that somewhere in a parallel universe the version of me that made that decision vs. the decision i made in this one is dealing with the consequences of that choice (good or bad) -- and i try to move on.

i do, ultimately, love my life and who i am, despite the massive looming debt and all of the things about my circumstances that others may look down upon as less than... i'm proud of myself, i have people who love me because of (not in spite of) who i am, and everyone else can honestly fuck off.

EDIT: i finished this post right at 11:11 which is funny because my wish is just for me to have some financial peace for once.

i also realized, in the process of researching, that i own 1 share of stock in Marathon Oil which is worth less than $20... but i had completely forgotten i owned any at all and when i signed up back in March 2020 (at the encouragement of my brother), it definitely wasn't worth the $19.71 or whatever it was when i just checked tonight...

in other news, dad got diagnosed with adhd on thursday and started his meds (adderall XR, the one my insurance company rejected which is how i got to vyvanse, lol) -- he said it made such a huge difference and it's only the first day. i'm happy for him because i know how that feels. i feel like a better version of myself and i'm so, so thankful.

abbi goes next week (i think i already wrote about that??) -- our next goal is to convince mom she needs to get assessed. i'm honestly pretty sure all five of us have it... and i'm already seeing the signs in everly, too. i mentioned something to ben a month or so ago but i am not certified in psych therefore i can only make observations, not diagnoses.

anyway. cheers to a new year and new starts and catching up on all the good brain energy i've missed out on for the last two decades (or more). ready for all the good shit coming my way... and fuck i'll learn from the rest.

peace out.

"shame derives its power from being unspeakable." - Brene Brown

i started listening to podcasts today. i'm learning about financial responsibility and wellness and changing your mindset about money.

i don't want to claim bankruptcy. i want to dig myself out of this pit. i don't want to give up.

the last few years have been too much to cover in a xanga post.

i'll just say this. i'm really tired.

but i've grown, so much. and i'm entering this new unknown territory of my life where i'm receiving new titles and i'm honestly looking forward to whatever may be.

today Rex had his first indicator light because my tire pressure was low... it was stressful and i nearly got frostbite in my fingertips putting air in my tires tonight, but i did it.

our biweekly meeting was two hours today and bob had to say something about it. we covered a lot of ground though and i told him he was welcome to sit in next time. (he probably thought i had already discussed it with jeremy but i hadn't.)

tuesdays are totally different this season at LDC. i get to see kate but not abbi. which is fine, because i'm there with abbi all monday night and it's nice. it's weird going so long between seeing her though -- i wasn't there this past saturday and neither was she so we went an entire week without seeing each other.

sunday i cleaned out my kitchen cabinets while binge watching (listening to) many episodes of queer eye that i'd never seen. my ADHD drugs have legitimately changed my life and i wish i'd had them a decade ago along with my diagnosis. (which i received on november 30th.) today, dad got his. he has to get an EKG because his bp was high, but jaime said he is 100% without a doubt ADHD. mom thanked me for getting assessed because if i hadnt, and if i hadnt spoken so openly about the improvement in my daily life thanks to the vyvanse and KNOWING where my weird comes from, he probably wouldnt have gotten assessed. i'm really proud of him. and abbi goes next week! i honestly think all five of us are neurodivergent... but i guess time will tell if the other two go and get their labels.

we took down the christmas stuff in the HKB showroom today and rearranged some of the display racks. workin' on getting a delta corner going, and we meet with heather on the 25th about changing out the discontinued lighting. i am so so excited for us to keep making improvements. the more we sell this year the better off we all will be!

i'm really wiped out but i want to write more often so i'm gonna try -- just for my sake. i know no one reads this anymore which is kind of comforting.

love you, interwebs.

Sometimes I see my grandmother’s face when I look in the mirror and frown.

But then I remember the family headcanon that my great-grandmother was a witch who poisoned her abusive husband, and I remember how to smile, because honestly she probably didn’t have much of an upper lip either.

say something.

I was born into a space that could never hold me,
though it tries.

I see the world in shapes and colors,
fingerpaint smudges by the hands of a God who heals.

He sees all of my broken pieces;
where I see shards of glass designed to wound,
He remembers how they fit together.

One day I'll be brave enough to ask Him
how He manages to love
someone as ridiculous as I am.

Today, I'll just say 'thanks',
because that's all I can do.

I miss this little blog.

I remember the days where I'd fill it with all of my nonsense, every day, sometimes several times a day, just because there was so much to write down. Before Myspace, before Facebook, before Twitter. I had my little blog and my fantastic friends and it didn't matter that I'd only met a handful of them in person... they were my friends. We prayed for each other and shared in each other's failures and triumphs. Laughter and angst. Growing pains.

Lately I've found myself reading lots of books. Not necessarily the kind of classic literature that would've made my honors Lit professor proud - but honestly, that was a lifetime ago. Now I like to read for the mere pleasure of words flowing into my head and heart. I love words. I don't know why, I didn't make the world - and I certainly didn't make me. God stuck this particular love in my heart and soul and it's never really gone anywhere. I've just been sort of complacent and lazy about expressing this love of words.

I'll have you know, dear nonexistent reader, that I finished NaNoWriMo successfully for a second time this past November. It was just as thrilling as the first time - moreso, in fact, since I had failed miserably in November 2011. My heart wasn't in it.

This year, the one we're only barely a month into - two thousand thirteen - is going to be a great one. I'm not sure why. Nothing particularly stupendous or out of the ordinary has occurred thus far. I just feel it in my bones. Life is good, and not because it's perfect. I just trust God. I'm ready for what He's got coming. I guess I haven't felt ready in a while. But I still feel so blessed.

I mean, come on. I had a white Christmas last month. It doesn't get much more gorgeous than that.

xx

Hey y'all! 

I'm actually using WordPress these days... (poor neglected Xanga...)

I figured if you'd like to keep up with some of my thoughts there, I'd share that opportunity.

http://danieloquent.wordpress.com/

Click & follow away!

xx D

All night I wrestle with the stubborn strength of insomnia. I sweat and my heart sounds like the 500 Hemi in Xavier’s Charger. I push my twisted brown bangs away from my damp forehead and glance over at the big, electric-green numbers on my digital alarm clock, which read 3:33AM. Story of my life. I only need to be up in three hours, no big deal. Sometimes I wonder why God can’t pick a time to urge me to talk to Him that’s a bit closer to sensible waking hours.

My stomach is in tangled bowline knots, like the ones Dad taught me how to tie, after I got kicked out of Girl Scouts – apparently, reading your troop leader’s mind is considered “cheating”.

I throw my heavy covers off and tumble-dump my weary body onto my average-sized feet.  I glance absently at my toenails, although they’re obscured by the darkness, I know that my right big toe is missing a chunk of dark blue nail polish. I flick on my lamp and stare without seeing the city skyline on the black shade. I decide that I should probably just surrender, knowing I’m just going to keep flailing around on my bed. I gather clothes that I pray match and are weather-appropriate, and head into my attached bathroom. (My grandfathers on both sides spoiled us with two master suites, and I am grateful every day for my own bathroom.) I turn on the lights and the hot water and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Ooh. So attractive, I think as I pull down one of my eyelids. I step into the steam of blazing liquid and hiss, taming the temperature a little with a reflexive flick of my wrist on the faucet knob.

The sick feeling in my guts is not quite physical, and I know what it is, though it’s never been quite this forceful before. I roll my head from shoulder to shoulder and sigh.

“What is it, God? Who is it?” I ask, a bit irritable. I feel guilty for my agitation, but God knows who He’s dealing with. “Please, just tell me, so I can try and sleep!”

Nothing. No answer.

But the sense of urgency doesn’t leave me alone.

“It’s probably someone I know, right? Someone I’m connected to, who I’ve bonded with… is it Sophie? Is she still worried about being accepted to art school?”

Still nothing.

I feel nervous sweat mix with the hot water on my neck.

This feels much more urgent and desolate than art school.

“Whatever and whoever it is, step in and do what you need to do, just tell me… just…”

I lose my train of thought as the nausea spikes into unbearable pain. I am doubled over, and a horrifying moan reaches my ears through the sound of blood rushing from my head.

It’s only when my mom bursts in that I realize the moan is coming from my mouth.

Two hours later, over a cup of coffee and fried egg sandwiches, my mom’s eyes flit to my face again – they’re ice gray-blue, she’s definitely concerned.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks for the thirteenth time.

“I promise I am. The pain is completely gone. All I feel is relief that it’s over.” I take a bite of my breakfast, which is half-eaten already and settling just fine.

“I should’ve made you something healthier. I’m a bad mom,” she whines.

“What would a good mom have made for me?” I appease her.

“I don’t know. Some fresh fruit… or Cream of Wheat. Oatmeal, maybe?”

I make a disgusted face. “No thanks. I despise lumpy breakfast foods like that, and you know this. A good mom is one who makes their My Little Outsider a really good egg sandwich. It hit the spot, I’m telling you.”

Mom sighs and clutches her coffee mug to her chest. Her eyes have settled to a more muted slate-blue.

“I love you dearly, Savannah Elise Browning.”

“I love you too, Georgia Lynn Browning,” I tell her, smiling.

We both drink the last of our coffee in silence as comfortable as the collar of your favorite t-shirt and Mom puts the mugs in the dishwasher.

“You sure you don’t just wanna play hooky today? It’s Friday,” Mom grins. “We could make it a three-day weekend. Hot chocolate and Gilmore Girls and carving pumpkins… the weather man is calling for a freak snow storm, even. It would be wonderful.”

“Sorry, Mom, but even freaks like me have to worry about conventional things like classes and actually making it to graduation. It may only be October, but my grades count all year long.”

Mom rolls her eyes, which are now a tranquil gray-green. “Why do you always have to be responsible, Sav? It’s so boring. You’re seventeen – live a little.”

“Wow, Ma, you’d think this conversation would be reversed.” I laugh.

“Except you’d have to say, ‘you’re forty – live a little’,” Mom corrects me matter-of-factly.

“True,” I shrug. “You act seventeen most days, though.”

Mom sticks her tongue out at me. “And you act like you’re forty, so we’re even.”

i sing this song from the depth of my guts.
and this dream rears its ugly head again.

the singing dream.

American Idol, as cliche as it is, makes my chest ache.
i'm afraid of failure. and i'm afraid of success.

i'm just afraid.