For newer borrowers who might not know the story the title is referencing – when I was being potty trained as a baby, my parents would go all out song and dance when I succeed. One of my fondest memories is coming down the hall and seeing a twinkie with 3 candles, ready to be split 3 ways like a birthday cake. All because I was learning to poo in the right place. Twinkies have become a silly sort of “atagirl”, for doing or accomplishing something difficult (to me).
These audio logs are only loosely related, but as I approach the 1 year anniversary of this blog, It’s nice to reflect on and be grateful for the things that have demonstrably improved.
First is a response I had to one of Laura’s more difficult days at work. She is an elementary school teacher, and I think all my pent up vicarious anger activated peak Robyn Monologue mode. (You can tell im really in the pissed off trenches when I do that guttural growl lol). Laura’s message to me was very raw, but I wanted the story to be told in her voice, so her’s is a post hoc retelling.
In this next log, I explain explicitly that I can see the level up, so I’ll let past Robyn take the mic.
Laura with a devastating and hilarious read
Ironic that I said I was chill – especially here where hypomania flavor is coming through quite strong
The final one is a bit of a downer, so let me include something light first. My dad sent me this video by animation vet and educator Pomeroy, and I felt the Hermione urge to “um acktually” him. I see this as a level up in the sense that, I busted this out with no script or plan and I think it kinda works. Not that it’s polished, but its functional. That can be a sign of greater mastery in 2d art as well. Being able to finish what use to take out 10 hours in 2, with similar results.
There’s a final full circle sort of thing, sitting at this super charger, returning from seeing drew and eddy at the dynasty typewriter in LA. I am having a rough go of it, emotionally. But, I can see the neurochemestry now. I think because I get fentynal levels of euphoric in cases like yesterday, for the sake of equilibrium I’m always going to have a crash. The mattress to catch me is knowing that all the terrors that suddenly make life feel impossible, just have temporary steriods. What I need to problem solve is calming the physical mind – hydration and salt, protein, movement, meditation, etc. Whatever nightmare narrative is playing in the Behind the Eyes theater is not a documentary. It’s not a weather forecast. It is fear performing a shadow puppet horror story.
And yet, and yet, it’s easy to neglect those things on a trip. I did, once again, have a bit of a crash out. It’s contained, and productive rather than destructive I think. At least in the sense that it was thoughts that were festering in shame jail unnecessarily. TW for suicide. It does have a somewhat positive ending.
“dawn’s just a heartbeat away…
“hope’s just a sunrise away…”
…above is the official end of this post, but here is my drunken musing about the psych damage of shortform content creation, rather than just consumption —
>>robyns_ramblings 