-Mobile continuation from Xanga blog PinkyGuerrero, this blog is PinkyGuerrero, ongoing continuation at blogs Pinky & Janika & Basically Clueless & PinkFeldspar, in that order.
-Most of the graphics and vids click to sources.
-Personal blog for Janika Banks.
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Sunday, January 15, 2017

you can tell I'm being extra serious because there aren't any pictures

@bonenado keeps getting contacted about beagles people in other states think we have for sale. Beagle puppies around here generally start at $450 and ship all over, so whoever messed that up, that's a pretty serious typo. I did a quick search and actually found the site, asking price for this particular pup was a little less, but there it was plain as plain, our phone number for contact. I sent off an email asking them to please fix that since we're getting calls about their dogs... And then I did a quick search that included the town name listed, bing, I'd be able to roll into town, knock on their door, and ask for a finder's fee every time they sell a dog because we redirected for them. noobs

Had a proper meltdown yesterday. I go months in between, so it was a big deal. I've been trained from childhood NOT to cry, NOT to make stuff about me, NOT to be a big baby, so it really does take a lot for me to go there, but once I do, it's just a rough day. I'm glad @bonenado was home, poor guy. Afterwards, I made some executive decisions based on the triggers that crescendoed me into the nether regions, and today I'm installing padded walls all over my facebook, and may soon go on an extinction hunt on twitter if a couple people don't stop. I'm finding myself associated with a certain mindset that assumes I enjoy grossness for it's own sake, and after the kind of tag jolt I got on twitter yesterday right on top my meltdown, I nearly threw up. It was that difficult for me to see. Whatever kind of joke that was, I didn't get it, and it was disgusting and revolting for someone to pull that not knowing me better. It came out of the blue, I still don't understand why it even happened, and I don't care. All I know is that's going to stop. I don't care if someone's been my friend for years on social media and is even an avid Lexx fan, if I'm continually sharing and blogging about neurodiversity and handling depression, that was just ignorant and completely dismissed me as a person, and I can't help wondering if part of that is because I've become so associated with the grosser side of entertainment via link sharing that someone assumed I'd automatically find it funny.

I would love to reassure people that I'm ok. It would be so easy to just say it's all cool and I'll be fine. But that's how people die, isn't it? That's how suicide happens. I said once that I don't want to do something that I really don't want to do but can't tell what's happening because things don't feel real. (One example is keeping a deck door locked with the shades drawn while @bonenado was out of town for a week in case I might do something stupid out there, like just flip over the railing onto the river rocks without a clue I was even doing it.) I'm currently going between several doctors about meds that are affecting my head and whether or not to start new ones or increase dosages, and these meds all have the side effect of disconnecting me from reality. While some people think it's awesome to get wasted, I have proven to be a poor decision maker on meds, and have found myself turning down the wrong way onto one way highway ramps, and even being driven home by highway patrol. I have been choosing to live with outrageous pain levels so I can remain cognitively competent and functional, which is very tongue in check given my cognitive disability ruling.

Writers generally research what goes into their books. I'm actually living mine, and it will be including disturbing things I'm working on with my psychologist. It's one thing to write or say this and that happened, it's another thing to live with the PTSD and disassociating and delayed response from having lived it, and THEN trying to talk about it and write it well. So many considerations are being taken for my parents' feelings and their own justifiable histories, so this is very intense work. And it. is. work. It's especially a lot of work being so careful with social medias and public blogging while I'm actually writing and proofreading and discussing the mundane technicalities with others, and often doing all these things while running dialogues on the side with family and friends or helping others take care of real life problems and setbacks.

So, and I'm sure very few actual people who follow me will even read this, please don't take it personally if I'm not interacting with you somewhere. I've been trying to keep up with several fairly big groups of people, and although I'd love to tit for tat, I really cannot.

Also, I keep falling for the talking to new people thing, and I've really gotta stop that, as well. I can't be doing the #actuallyautistic dance with a whole new group self discovering now. I've been out about my autism for a decade now, I've seen all the crap, and frankly, I'm kinda burned out just talking about autism. Those of you still writing ten thousand word blog posts every night describing every little facet of being *you*, brava, but I've got way more stuff going on, and when I talk about becoming an integrated Pinky, it's about my journey being past the self discovery part and seeing a much bigger picture now. Anyone can write a book about being autistic. Existential Aspie is about so much more than that...