Wednesday, May 7, 2025

Lately, I've been struggling with memories and what is real and what is not. When I doubt if something happened to me personally, the only reality check I have is my sister because we're close in age and we often will ask each other (when it comes to our childhood and some parts of school) "did this really happen?"

But my sister and I have always pretty much lead completely different lives as we have gotten older so we share less things and memories and so I often don't have that reality check.

Because of a recurring and hurtful dream I had again the other night some things have been "reactivated" in my mind and memory and I have no one to ask about it.

Obviously Google can't be used to access our personal memories from the past, but it can be to access what was going on in the world at the time I'm wondering about. 

So I checked the weather on one occasion for May of 1988 and then accessed the songs that would have been on the radio and both matched my memories of that time period*

Unfortunately, the more I let my memory open up and allowed myself to think about that period in my life the floodgates, as they say, opened and I experienced a level of embarrassment pretty much unparalleled in any other time in my life.

I find that the more you realize just how wrong you were about something, how wrong you were about wronging someone, the harder it is to forgive yourself, even if you very young at the time.




*In May 1988, some of the top songs on the Billboard Hot 100 included "Anything For You" by Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine, "One More Try" by George Michael, "Shattered Dreams" by Johnny Hates Jazz, and "Always On My Mind" by the Pet Shop BoysOther notable hits included "Need You Tonight" by INXS, "Heaven is a Place On Earth" by Belinda Carlisle, and "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley. 
Here's a more detailed look at some of the top songs and their charting performance in May 1988:
  • One More Try - George MichaelThis song reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 during the week ending May 31, 1988. 
  • Anything For You - Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound MachineThis song was also high on the charts, likely in the top ten during May 1988. 
  • Shattered Dreams - Johnny Hates JazzAnother popular track that was likely in the top ten. 
  • Always On My Mind - Pet Shop BoysThis song was also in the top ten during May. 
  • Need You Tonight - INXSThis song was a major hit, and likely climbed the charts in May. 
  • Heaven is a Place On Earth - Belinda CarlisleAnother popular song that was likely in the top ten. 
  • Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick AstleyThis song became a major hit later in the year, but it's possible it was already gaining traction in May. 

 

This episode really, really got to me.❤️‍🩹🥹 I want to write more about it soon, specifically about one of the lead characters and the depth of the despair that can come with not being able to lead the life that is authentic to you.

Tuesday, May 6, 2025

 

After much inner debate and wrangling, I recently "destroyed" my journals from 2012-2022. I call them my "what was I thinking?" years, but really they do make me cringe a lot and I am ashamed of how emotional I was during that time.

Apparently, according to my mom, I am not very emotional these days, but I don't buy that. I just keep things better hidden now.

I also found my dream journals (covering 2006 to 2016) but I decided to keep those. They are not only more interesting than my real life ones, they are much better written and less cringey and less full of "woe is me" crap.

Crazy as this may sound I think my dreams (as bad as they can be) have helped me work out some things in my day-to-day life and though not all of them are "exorcised" (so many ghosts still linger) I am a lot better off inside my heart than I used to be (minus my general anxiety).

I don't think I'm going to regret throwing out my real life journals. I reread a lot of them and they are just so, so, so awful. I am not saying I'm a good person (I honestly don't know nowadays) but I know that I'm a better person than I used to be.

At least I think so.

Now, if I can just throw out my equally cringey 500 page plus novel. I am not sure why I am so attached it. "Awful" doesn't even begin to do it justice.

Wednesday, April 16, 2025

Just a quite side note:

I asked AI: why does music from our youth stay with us? And this is what it said:


Music from our youth often sticks with us due to the strong emotional and social connections formed during those formative years. These connections are particularly potent in the late teenage and early adult years, when memories are more deeply etched in our brains. This, coupled with the "reminiscence bump" – a tendency to recall memories from ages 10-30 – and the impact of early childhood amnesia, explains why music from that period is so memorable. [1, 2]

Here's a more detailed look: [1, 2]
  • Reminiscence Bump: Our brains tend to have a heightened ability to recall memories from our teenage and early adult years, a phenomenon known as the reminiscence bump. [1, 2]
  • Childhood Amnesia: While we might forget experiences from our earliest years, the reminiscence bump suggests that memory consolidation improves as we age, leading to better recall of memories from adolescence and beyond. [1]
  • Emotional and Social Associations: Music during these formative years often becomes intertwined with significant emotional experiences and social connections, making it particularly powerful and memorable. [2, 3]
  • Brain-Music Bond: Research suggests that the music we listen to as teenagers binds to our brains differently than music we hear later in life, creating a stronger, more enduring connection. [4, 5]
  • Neural Nostalgia: This refers to the tendency of our brains to strongly associate music with specific periods and emotions, leading to powerful feelings of nostalgia when hearing those songs again. [4, 5]

Generative AI is experimental.


Dear Eric: I am a lesbian in my late 60s. Recently I had a dream of a woman I knew back in the ‘70s. I was very taken by her; even though I knew I was gay and confused, I married my boyfriend anyway. But she and I and other friends went on coffee breaks for a couple of years, and she always sat across from me. Sometimes I caught her staring at me and her face would turn red.

Back then I was afraid to approach and ask a woman on a date, as many of us were. Now back to 2025, I am single, and I figure I would look her up and say hi. I saw by multiple websites and media sites that she was not married and never was. What were the chances of that since she was so pretty back then?

So, I phoned her home, and no one picked up, and I left a message. I tried to message her on Facebook, and, to my surprise, I could not message her because she blocked me. That was so strange. What did I do?

So, I drove to where she lived and when she came out of her house, I called out to her. She said she did not know me and I could tell she was lying because she was getting nervous. So, I just dropped the whole thing. I didn’t want to scare her and make her think I was a lunatic.

This really bothers me because I asked a friend of hers about the situation and the friend ghosted me too. What is going on? Cannot get any answers. What is your take on this?




This column scared the bell out of me when I read it a few weeks ago. People in the comments section online really went to town on the letter writer, responding rather harshly. They weren't necessarily wrong with what they said, but their attitude and approach were less than kind.

I admit my first reaction to seeing the above column was that it had to either be a joke or there was something seriously wrong with the advisee. 

Then I thought back to my own situation and I realized that the only thing that separated me from this woman was action...I did not nor have ever acted on my feelings, thoughts or dreams for my former crush, but I get the letter writer far far more than I would like.

Despite finding what LW1 wrote alarming, I feel very much for her. 

I too have had dreams about someone I knew decades ago and I am also a lesbian, but, in my own case, I knew oh too well that the person I had feelings for in high school (in the 1980s) most definitely did not notice me in any real way. 

We were classmates and she was always polite with me, but I made friendship overtures that clearly weren’t welcome and I should have realized it right away, instead of reaching out multiple times before finally seeing the light. 

At the time I was 17 and over the years I’ve told myself I didn’t know any better back then, but I still feel shame when I realize I didn’t read social cues better. Nowadays, someone would have to hit me over the head for me to realize they want to be my friend.

A few years ago I saw my former classmate at the local grocery store and I froze, then turned and moved very fast the other way. I just knew and know in my heart she would not want to have anything to do with me today and I’m grateful that I always have ignored any urges to contact her.

The LW should know she’s not alone in her feelings with what happened. But it truly is (despite how hard it can be) best to move on. I know it’s easier said than done, but it really is the only thing you can do. 

“Whatever happened to so and so?” is something that can plague our thoughts and feelings and it’s a theme popular in pop culture, but what can plague us even more is when end up doing something we deeply regret. 

I will never forget the look of dismay on the face of the person I liked back in high school and I would never want to do that to anyone ever again. My intentions, I honestly believe, were pure at the time, but It doesn’t change what happened or what I did.

It is with relief (I think that's the right word) that I have finally come to realize that my dreams and pondering of "whatever happened to?" are not related to the incredibly painful unrequited feelings I experienced in high school. 

I have absolutely no interest in bumping into or becoming friends with someone from high school...except for the music, the 80s were not a particularly good time in my life and I hate looking back, even when I do.

There is something else entirely different going on with my particular dream situation. Normally I scoff at dream symbolism because the same thing can represent different things to different people, but in this case, I wonder. I just need to figure out what and then I think the dreams will disappear for good.


Tuesday, April 15, 2025

 

Can't wait to have more time with Murder By Cheesecake. I have begun reading it and, so far, the experience is like watching an episode of Golden Girls :)




Monday, April 14, 2025


There’s something uniquely unsettling about a house in decay. Peeling wallpaper, blackened mold creeping up the walls, floors sticky with unseen grime. It's not just a setting in horror films; it’s a character in its own right. Filth and neglect in horror tap into something primal within us, a revulsion that goes beyond mere disgust and into the realm of existential dread.  

A decaying home is often a metaphor for abandonment—not just by its inhabitants, but by society, by order, by hope itself. Think of the infamous Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), where the Sawyer family’s derelict house, caked in blood and grime, becomes a nightmare of rural isolation and madness. The filth isn’t just set dressing; it’s a visual manifestation of their moral rot.  

In many horror films, a decaying environment mirrors the psychological state of its inhabitants. Repulsion (1965) shows Carol’s apartment deteriorating alongside her sanity, with food rotting in the sink and walls cracking under unseen pressure. The house doesn’t just *contain* her madness, it *becomes* it.  

The Babadook (2014) uses the slow decay of Amelia’s home to reflect her unraveling mental state. Piles of unwashed dishes, dust thickening in the corner; these aren’t just signs of neglect, but of a woman drowning in grief.  

Filth in horror often suggests something *hiding*—something we can’t quite see but know is there. In Hellraiser (1987), the rotting, blood-stained walls of the Cotton house are gateways to another dimension of suffering. The grime isn’t just dirt; it’s residue from something far worse.  

Even in more modern films like Relic (2020), the mold spreading through the elderly mother’s home is both a literal and supernatural infestation. The house doesn’t just decay, it *consumes*.  

At its core, the horror of filth and decay speaks to our fear of entropy—the slow, inevitable collapse of order. A clean home is control; a filthy one is chaos. It reminds us that no matter how much we scrub, how much we repair, time and neglect will always win in the end.  

And perhaps that’s the most terrifying thing of all.  



Within my emotions, I've been all over the place lately so it's only fitting that I reacted so intensely to things I watched and read while on staycation last week:



below: "Sorry, Right Number" from  Tales From the Darkside and "San Juniper" from Black Mirror


I can't even begin to find the words to reflect my viewing experience with the episode of Black Mirror called "San Juniper." It wasn't just that I needed tissues afterward or that the 80s soundtrack*hit me hard. It was so much more than that: it felt like my lived experience, but one-sided, non-reciprocal, unrequited.

It might not seem like the two shows share much in common (they don't) but later on after I had watched "Sorry, Right Number" and "San Juniper" and had time to think, it struck me that both anthology show episodes dealt with grief of some kind.

Later the same day that I had watched "San Juniper" I had a dream about my own life that related a lot to it and I woke up incredibly sad. 

I opened up a random horror novel to read (horror always makes me feel better) and waited for the dream fading to begin.





*Aside from smells, no other thing (good or bad) takes me back like music does. I can smile thinking back or dissolve into tears at a traffic stop. This playlist has a lot of those moments.


Tuesday, March 25, 2025

 


The poetry collection Monsters in the Closet came out last week and I just purchased it. This gets to me so, so, so much:

Dedication For every queer soul who has ever been called unnatural, unholy, or monstrous— for those who have been told their love is a sin, their desire a curse, their very existence something to be hidden in the dark. This is for you. For the ones who have whispered their truths into the night, who have carved their names into history with trembling hands, who have refused to be erased. You are not a mistake. You are not a villain in someone else’s fable.


You are not the thing to be feared in the shadows. You are the storm, the fire, the myth that will never die. You are beauty wrapped in defiance, love woven from survival. And if they call us monsters—then let us be monstrous. Together, we reclaim our darkness. Together, we shine.

Friday, March 21, 2025

 



Oh my gosh, is this one sick puppy of a book! It goes from being amusing and relatable to being a tale of twisted revenge that reveals more about Ruby than the people who hurt her. Fast-moving and full of oomph and strong dialogue, this novel nevertheless ended up leaving a bad taste in my mouth. 😳🤦‍♀️ May you never cross a Ruby in your own life!

What does it mean? I ask myself a lot lately. Am I returning to feeling a lot of self-hating, internalized homophobia because of Trump and his ilk or is this how I always am, even when I do not know I am.

Two years ago and some change, I discovered I had the superpower to not get crushes on people anymore and I’ve been using that to push through all sorts of things. 

Of course it helped a lot that after years of pining (and inappropriately at that!) I learned that the person I secretly liked for years was the exact embodiment of everything I don't believe in.

Her anti-gayness didn't bother so much as her not owning it and blaming a decision she made on someone else, who is a big supporter of lqbtq+ rights. 

Anyway, at the risk of going into another full-blown, near nonsensical rant like I did earlier this week on here, I just want to quickly post about two things: an amazing book search app called Eurobuch and a book that is really helping me see how others see queer people: From Disgust to Humanity




More later if I can pin my thoughts down...

Monday, March 17, 2025

 

It was the not knowing that tore at Jean. Less the thought of what could have been, more wondering how Jo had fared in her new life. Jean would have given nearly anything to know for certain that she was all right.


Having recently finished the novel A Sweet Sting of Salt, I am still feeling it terribly. I appreciate it so much for its beautiful storytelling and achingly relatable characters and surprisingly happy ending, but I cringe at some of the memories it brings up in me with my personal life.

Like two of the characters in the earlier parts of the novel, a friend and I were torn apart after I came out to my parents in 1991. I told my parents about myself because I was in a bad way at the time and couldn't deal with it all by myself anymore. 

I knew better, knew that my parents (though nowhere near as far right as they are now) would not accept me and they didn't. Instead my father shut down even more than normal and my mom flew into a rage so intense it terrified me. They told me I had to leave or go to Christian "ex-gay therapy" (though it was called "homosexuals anonymous" at the time).

Telling them I would go (not knowing just yet how bad the 'therapy' would be) I went to my summer job the next day, upset but functioning. 

When I returned home the next day, my mom had gone through all my drawers and stuff in my room and found letters my friend and I had been exchanging all summer. She had them in her hand as she spoke on the phone to someone.

That someone was my friend's father and my mom was outing his daughter to him. I couldn't believe my ears, that she was doing that to someone she didn't know at all, possibly ruining a life in one nightmare moment of anger and self-righteousness.

Not that it would matter to my parents or anyone on their side, but the letters didn't have any kind of "hanky panky" in them or "devil's work" or whatever other words one might use. Instead, those letters served as support systems and bonding over all sorts of things, not just the isolation and sadness of living in a world that didn't accept people "that way."

To this day, I do not know whatever happened to my friend and my parents still do not accept me. I ended up going to "homosexuals anonymous," but it was so, so, so very bad I went home one day and told my parents I couldn't do it anymore. They gave me an ultimatum: go back or leave the house for good.

I couldn't go back but I also had nowhere to go so I told my parents I would change on my own, that I was "mistaken," "confused," and would join the local church youth group. The same church my mom had marched me into and demanded the pastor tell me I was going straight to Hell. (He told my mom he personally agreed with her that was where I would go, but that he didn't think that might be the best approach, a far kinder tone in his voice than either of the two leaders of the HA group had).

I started trying to date "normally" for the next five years after that, but I was still miserable and still having very dark thoughts of how nice non-existence sounded. I was fortunate that I made a nice friend through my feeble attempts at dating and he and I hung out together through a good part of the 90s.

Because I "changed my mind" in my parents' eyes and lived according to the way they wanted me to, I still had a place to live. In my late 20s I finally moved out and could breathe more freely, but I never forgot the horror and guilt of how I hadn't thrown the letters away and that my mom found them and called my friend's parents. I should have done better.

I've really, really digressed from the book I wanted to talk about, so I'll just say this before I leave for now. Whether it's the 1832 in the novel or the 1991 I tried to come out in or the 2025 that is the horror show that is now Trump...being gay and the struggles and sadness and isolation that come with are still all too real.

Some people still react poorly (or worse) and those they inflict damage on still suffer.

“Josephine Keddy?” Jean flinched. It wasn’t fair of her mentor to bring up Jo, and it wasn’t like that. Not at all, and it never could be. She and Jo had been the closest of friends, joined at the hip, telling each other all their secrets. Friends first, and then more than friends, right up until the awful Sunday at church when Jean found she couldn’t get close enough to exchange a single word with Jo anymore without some member of her family appearing to hurry her away, a solid living barrier sprung up between them. Mrs. Keddy had slandered nineteen-year-old Jean to anyone who’d listen, that she wasn’t to be trusted around their daughters, a filthy sinner and a bad influence…and in what seemed like no time at all, Jo had been married.


This probably sounds very disjointed and not readable, but I find that I get just as much flustered with my writing as I do with my verbal words when I am upset over something.

Wednesday, March 12, 2025


I saw some gaslighting and transphobia today that really bothered me so I asked AI what it thought of the true Christian attitude towards respecting people‘s pronouns and this is what came up:

(If even something as auto-generated and heartless as AI understands this why can’t human beings?)

Here's why respecting pronouns is seen as a Christian act:

  • Love and Compassion:
    Using someone's preferred pronouns is a simple yet powerful way to show respect and affirm their identity, which is a core Christian value of loving your neighbor. 
  • Empathy and Understanding:
    It demonstrates empathy and a willingness to understand and connect with others, even when they hold different views or identities. 
  • Avoiding Harm:
    Misgendering someone can be hurtful and damaging, and respecting pronouns helps create a safe and inclusive environment for everyone. 
  • Biblical Principles:
    Some Christians interpret biblical passages, such as 1 Corinthians 9:22 ("I have become all things to all people, so that by all possible means I might save some"), as encouraging Christians to be open and accommodating to others, even if they disagree with them. 
  • "Pronoun Hospitality":
    Some Christians, like Preston Sprinkle, advocate for "pronoun hospitality," suggesting that using someone's preferred pronouns is a way to show respect and keep the door open for relationship and spiritual conversation. 
  • Not a Compromise of Beliefs:
    Respecting pronouns does not necessarily mean agreeing with someone's identity or lifestyle, but rather acknowledging and honoring their self-expression. 
  • Creating a Welcoming Environment:
    By respecting pronouns, Christians can create a more welcoming and inclusive environment for people of all identities, which is in line with the Christian call to love and serve others. 








Tuesday, March 11, 2025

 


One of the very hardest things for me as an adult is making new friends. Though it's nowhere near as painful nor as difficult or challenging as when I was a child or teen, it's still something that leaves me uncertain and so extremely nervous I overcompensate by talking too much.

Years ago, when I would babysit for supplemental income in my early 40s, I took care of a little boy who would greet other children on the playground by yelling, "Hi, everybody! My name is John, wanna play with me?" It was endearing and adorable and the kids responded well.

But doing that as adult would go an entirely different, most likely not good, way.

Well, this morning I opened my email and I had the nicest message from someone I met through a work event last Thursday. She wrote how much she enjoyed our talking and how she thought my cat was cute and to please text her if I had any questions about our event or if I just wanted to chat about our pets.

I felt like I was back in school, only this time with more favorable results. For me, making friends at this age is both welcome and scary and I am so grateful that my trying harder to meet people didn't have someone running for the hills.




Wednesday, March 5, 2025

 

Caught by surprise hearing "Let Your Love Flow" earlier today, it was all I could do not to break down crying, both for personal reasons and because of how things feel in the world right now.

Released in 1976, "Let Your Flow" is one of at least half a dozen songs I first remember having an emotional impact on me as a six year old. And that year is probably the first year that I have any memories of from my childhood. I remember my family and I were traveling to Gatlinburg, Tennessee in the summertime and ever since then I always feel a strong connection to the single.

More generally, today it hit me hard because of the lyrics:

There's a reason for the sun-shining skyAnd there's a reason why I'm feeling so highMust be the seasonWhen that love light shines all around us
So let that feeling grab you deep insideAnd send you reeling where your love can't hideAnd then go stealingThrough the moonlit nights with your lover
Just let your love flow like a mountain streamAnd let your love grow with the smallest of dreamsAnd let your love show and you'll know what I meanIt's the seasonLet your love fly like a bird on a wingAnd let your love bind you to all living thingsAnd let your love shine and you'll know what I meanThat's the reason
There's a reason for the warm sweet nightsAnd there's a reason for the candlelightsMust be the seasonWhen those love rights shine all around us
So let that wonder take you into spaceAnd lay you under its loving embraceJust feel the thunderAs it warms your face, you can't hold back
Just let your love flow like a mountain streamAnd let your love grow with the smallest of dreamsAnd let your love show and you'll know what I meanIt's the seasonLet your love fly like a bird on a wingAnd let your love bind you to all living thingsAnd let your love shine and you'll know what I meanThat's the reason
Just let your love flow like a mountain streamAnd let your love grow with the smallest of dreamsAnd let your love show and you'll know what I meanIt's the seasonLet your love fly like a bird on a wingAnd let your love bind you to all living thingsAnd let your love shine and you'll know what I meanThat's the reason
Just let your love flow like a mountain streamAnd let your love grow with the smallest of dream


Tuesday, March 4, 2025

I've been thinking about what I wrote yesterday and also about how I realize bullying can't be blamed for where I am in my life. I'd say that most of the time I never even think about my childhood, except in my dream life. Sometimes, because I have lived in the same town since birth, I even bump into some of the people I knew in school and I remain unscathed.

Just because I'm a statistic (over 50 and never married and single) that matches the adult aftermath of childhood bullying doesn't mean I'm excused for how my life turned out or that it even serves as an explanation.

There are so many reasons: I never met anyone who felt the same about me, I never really experienced an active dating life and (most important to me) I never had the courage or defiance within me to break through my family's expectations that I literally live the straight (pun intended, or is it no pun intended?) and narrow life.

We are all responsible for our own actions, at least to a huge extent, in many situations. I could have tried harder with my looks, eaten less food, been less selfish.

I also know that deep down I didn't want to end up alone and where I am in my life now. I am unbelievably aware, as a childless cat lady and celibate lesbian, that I chose the path still frowned on by much of society. I'm not saying I chose to be gay (I firmly believe no one does) but that I chose what to do about it, if that makes sense.

Most days I am fine with my childless cat lady status (no matter what Mr. Vance says about women like me). But on the days I am not fine and I hear the unhappiness in my mother's voice because I never married (a man, obviously) or I see unwelcome pity in long ago friends I bump into at the grocery store I can't think of a good defense. I see what they see, a woman who is so unappealing and out of sync with the rest of the world, she is faking almost all of her daily actions outside the home.

Where I work is a family-centered place so I am around "normal society" every single day I'm on the job. Women with multiple children (especially when all are under the age of five) come in and I practically hyperventilate at all the responsibility and work that must come with that. I don't see the joy that I know is there, that I refuse to see because it will force me to recognize my colossal failures as a woman and daughter. I convince myself they are faking at their lives just like I am, but, truly, I know I'm only kidding myself.

I think back to when a boy in one of my classes back in high school told me he saw a future cat lady in me and that I should just go ahead and accept it. For years I was able to laugh at that, then lovingly embrace it when a cat actually did come into my life (a cat I love more than I ever could have imagined, by the way).

But now I wonder if I were a more deserving person, more acquainted with the right ways of living and the looks and personality I need, if I couldn't have been a cat lady and a person with both humans and feline as family.