February 24 - Saturday

Today I took my children to the museum district, and it was nice. They still tried to run into streets without looking for cars, but I managed to take it in stride this time. It was a beautiful day (humid, slightly rainy, but with a cool breeze) and there were green plants everywhere. For the most part, my children are pretty well-behaved. I know this from comparing them to other children I see in public. Plus, my kids are smart. They make interesting conversation and say uniquely witty things, like this:

"Why did he do that?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you know? Why aren't you smart?"
"Because I don't have my magic."
"You should eat some food and then you'll have your magic back."
"I know."

Friday night I learned a new card game called "Presidents and Assholes." It was a fun game. I won about seven times out of ten. It was the best card game I ever played, actually. Plus, all the people playing the game with me were funny and cool.

WARNING: Please don't write to me and tell me that I'm having affairs with people who play cards, or that I love people who play cards more than I love my own children, or that my family is trashier than your family, or that I'm a bitch. I don't want to hear that shit anymore. If it bothers you that I'm enjoying my life, please keep it to yourself. My purpose for existing isn't to be miserable for you.
I'm not going to stop writing this site. I'm not going to censor myself to please you. I'm not going to sit at home and count the minutes until you decide that it's okay for me to go outside and have friends and have a real life. I'm not going to let other people control me anymore.
If it only makes you happy to see me unhappy, leave me the fuck alone. Get a hobby or something. Find your own friends, write your own words, make your own life.

At the museum, we watched a butterfly emerge from its crysalis. Is that the word -- crysalis? It came out crumpled and wet, moving slowly and carefully. While it hung there, taking a moment to catch its breath, other butterflies stretched their wings in the light and prepared to make their big moves. One twitched several times. As we human parents and children watched, it coasted from its perch and stretched its wings wide. They were bright and beautiful. "That's the first time that butterfly ever flew -- the first time in its life," I whispered to my son.

My eyes misted up as I thought of the way the butterfly's flight would make a fitting, cornily sentimental, not at all subtle metaphor to post in my online journal. "This is priceless!" I thought. "No wonder butterflies are such hackeneyed cliches!"

It really was pretty cool, though. I really did almost kind of cry.

I dreamed that I lived with a man who wouldn't let me leave the room. I washed the dishes. There was a cookie sheet with a map glued onto it. Annoyed, I pulled off the map to wash the metal underneath. There was another map of the world imbedded in the metal, though. I was relieved to find that I wouldn't have to try to scrub it away. No one would be mad at me, because the world was supposed to be there.

I woke up. I went back to sleep.

I dreamed that the man in the house wouldn't let me leave the room. My friend had given me a dancing shoe. I had to eat it fried for my dinner. "At least I get to eat it," I thought. "It's dirty, and I'd rather dance in it, but at least I get to eat it." I took a bite of the shoe. I wasn't hungry anymore.

I woke up. "What a fucking stupid dream," I said.

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