Even the weirder ones

I’ve been shaking hands with a weird sort of peace lately. It’s warm and foreign and strange and comforting - I’m afraid to completely nestle down into it. We are entering a damn recession as his henious rapistness kills our country.

Survival is a little like karate. Do I have a black belt? Probably not, but I’m getting there. Leveling up.

I’ve survived enough to know that while survival can be inherently random, I seem to keep choosing to keep myself in the game. For whatever reason. Curiosity. Defiance. Or maybe because of the picture of the girl I once was who sits next to a hastily carved pumpkin looking utterly marveled by something - who knows what? I owe it to her, dammit. I owe it to all of the Caitlins, even the weirder ones.

Surviving for other people isn’t the best plan in the long term. I’m convinced. I just end up resenting those people.

My grandparents aren’t doing well which has resulted in my mother’s stress levels shooting absurdly high - to the point where she is physically ill. So we have that in common now. That and the slope of our noses and shy demeanor.

I’m so tired now. More real news later. A hint about the news: MEOW.