January hasn’t gone all that swimmingly so far, and seeing how there are only a few days left I think it’s safe to say that it’s not going to redeem itself. But onward we go. I’m trying another month of bullet journaling, and I’ll just see where it takes me. It’s time for February Plan with Me 2021.
Today’s Bullet Journal video includes a voiceover. So if you’d rather listen to my thoughts than read them, this might be right up your alley. I talk briefly about some not-so-fun things like the Capitol coup, and the scary MRI report I got a couple weeks ago, but I also just talk about bullet journaling in general. Oh, and Izzy’s back to being Izzy if you’re in the mood for a little cat therapy.
If you’re a bullet journaler too and have shared your Plan with Me spreads for February 2021, link me in the comments! I love seeing how other people organize their journals and what art and stickers and etcetera they use to make them more aesthetic.
Materials Used
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Archer and Olive A5 dot grid 160 gsm notebook
Archer and Olive Acrylograph pen – silver
Washi tape
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Micron pens in various sizes: https://amzn.to/2JDO3ku
On Monday night, I had my twentieth brain MRI. It was just another routine scan to see if there were any changes in the malignant tumor on my brain stem, but the outpatient hospital visit was more distressing than usual. There was a Nazi in the waiting room with me.
And I mean aside from the pandemic protocols that didn’t allow Dan to come inside with me.
After checking in at the radiology desk, I scooted down the hallway gripping my walker and found my way to the secondary waiting room. I was hoping the room would be empty like it was back in July, but there was one other person in the room. A man, probably in his early- to mid- twenties. He was listening to someone on speakerphone.
I chose the farthest seat from him in the waiting room. We were both masked, but given the choice to be exceedingly cautious or increase anyone’s risk by one tenth of one hundredth of one thousandth of a percent, I took a few extra shaky steps.
I turned my head toward the waiting room TV and tried to focus on the “Chopped” contestants and their basket of squab, poblanos, and a some weird-ass fish made of chocolate when I realized that the man wasn’t talking to someone on his phone, he was listening to a podcast or watching a video or something without headphones. I was mildly irritated.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this here before, but I can’t single out a line of audio when two things are competing at the same time. Whether it’s a result of the tumor, a side-effect of radiation or of chemo, or just the result of being under persistent stress for years, it’s impossible for me to do. I could kind of feel the words being spoken, though. The rhythm and tone of what was coming out of the man’s phone gave me very cishet, militant Baptist vibes.
I pretended to look past him while checking for a mask, wondering if I’d seen a mask when I walked in or if I’d just assumed he was wearing a mask.
He did have a mask on. Good.
I turned back toward the TV, and in the brief silence between commercials, I distinctly overheard the words “they want you to be ashamed of your whiteness” then a little later something like “don’t be ashamed of your whiteness.” Then later, as the speaker was wrapping up, he thanked everyone for listening and said “I love you. We love you.” He said he and Pastor Todd or Pastor Jeff or something were praying for them or something.
It was nauseating. I checked to make sure I still had a vomit bag in my tote.
My waiting room companion was a white supremacist. And he was brainwashing himself. Having endured my share of emotional abuse, I know most all the greatest hits from “he must really like you, because you’re not that hot” to “they don’t accept you, only I accept you.”
What I’m saying is, if there’s a way to not be highly sensitized to this kind of manipulation in everyday life, even when not directed at me, I don’t know what it is.
I stared up at the TV and forced myself to smile behind my mask. Tamping down some emotions I’d rather not have alone in a room with a fucking white supremacist.
Folks, if you ever had an internal dialogue that goes something like, “He’s dangerous, but I’m white. If he goes postal, I might be OK”… congratulations! You’ve been terrorized, not directly by a white supremacist, but by the mere existence of white supremacy. And being able to calm yourself with the color of your skin is a sick type of privilege.
I have no additional facts to tell you about the waiting room nazi, just my gut feeling based on some subtle (maybe even imagined) cues from the guy. I think he was uncomfortable with the insurrection—the barbaric murder—and unequipped to deal with his discomfort. Instead of owning up and confronting his choices, he sought comfort. He went looking for someone to tell him he was right, because it was easier than taking responsibility.
Why? He doesn’t want the job. Why doesn’t he just tell the world “I didn’t want to be responsible for all you suckers and losers anyway,” and walk away.
I wonder how many in my extended family are white supremacists. I know who the proud ones are. I wonder who the quiet ones are.
They were proudly wearing shirts glorifying Auschwitz, saying 6 million (Jews lost during the Holocaust) was not enough.
I just keep staring out the window. I haven’t seen my neighbors come out of their house. It’s winter and there’s a pandemic. But it feels creepier than that now.
They don’t hold any regard for elderly and disabled life either. No life at all, actually. They will try to kill anyone who is different. Anyone who’s frame of mind doesn’t reflect their own. But their frame of mind, their view of the world, is unstable. It changes instantaneously from moment to moment.
They tried to assassinate the Vice President and the Speaker of the House.
People, actual members of Congress, are trying to persuade us to do nothing. Tweeting that the rest of us shouldn’t stoke the fires. I keep starting to say, “I can’t believe they are” but I stop myself. I CAN believe. I just can’t find words.
Why is justice always so much slower then injustice. Why hasn’t Pence invoked the 25th? He was a mark. There was a plot to kill him.
Why is an impeachment vote forthcoming and not already behind us? “As early as next week.”
What the fuck is early about next week?
I keep trying to unsee the Capitol officer being crushed by bodies. Screaming out in pain.
Then another video, “He’s got a gun!” There’s just an arm. He fires into the mob.
Another video. Did that cop just move the barricade for them?
Another video, the cop is taking selfies with them. My god. My fucking god.
There were cops in the crowd. In on the plot. Carrying out the plan. They traveled to D.C.
We begged for them to defund the police. We begged. We begged them to see.
He smiles and waves for the camera while walking away with the lectern. Like it’s an innocent game of capture the flag and his coach is going to take him out for ice cream at Dairy Queen even though they lost the first game.
They’re chanting in unison. “Hang Mike Pence”
“Hang Mike Pence”
“Hang Mike Pence”
They patted me on the head four years ago. “Silly little girl. It won’t be that bad.”
Welcome to 2021, everyone! It’s 32 degrees Fahrenheit and pouring sleet in Urbana, Illinois this fine New Year’s morning. The dog has already thrown up on the carpet, and I feel like there is a hole in my forehead above my left eye that’s exposed to the wintery cold. It’s an icepick headache kind of morning.
A New Year of Bullet Journaling
But I will not be daunted! I have plans for this New Year, and I will do my best to set them in motion today. Starting with the list I created for myself for the day in my new Bullet Journal.
I have made a couple of videos already about my new bullet journal on my YouTube channel (Archer and Olive Subscription Box Unboxing and January 2021 Bullet Journal Setup) but just in case you haven’t seen them, here’s the gist: I’m chronically ill and bullet journaling partly to get more done with less confusion but mostly to show myself what I can accomplish with a tumor in my head.
(By the way, I really love my Archer and Olive stuff, and I was given a referral code. If you use my link as a new customer, you get 15% off of your first purchase.)
A New Year of Coloring
For the next 365 days, it is my plan to color a GPI (general pain index) diagram every morning. I’ll be using AutoDesk Sketchbook (it’s free to download and a great program if you can’t afford Photoshop or Illustrator) so that I can just open a new file every morning, assess my pain, color in the general pain index accordingly, and tuck that information away for future reference.
Maybe I’ll learn something new about what makes me pain worse or better. Maybe I’ll be able to help my doctors understand me better. And maybe I’ll just get into the habit of being mindful of my body first thing in the morning and learn to take better care of it. Who knows what the end result will be, but I’m eager to find out.
Here’s my first day of GPI coloring. I just grabbed a diagram I found on the internet like the ones they hand out at the doctor’s office and saved it as a .tiff file. The color range I’ve chosen is snagged from thermodynamic images I found online as well. The difference is that instead of them representing temperatures like red equals hot, blue equals cold, red equals the worst pain (8-10 on the pain scale) and blue equals the least pain (1-3 on the pain scale.) Purple is zero, meaning no pain.
I made this diagram about two hours ago when I first woke up, and it is already outdated. Chronic pain is such a dynamic thing. When I first woke up severe pain covered about 20 percent of my body. Now we’re closer to 80%. To the point my hands are getting numb and there’s a dark red strip of red across my lower back now—about where the blue and green section meet on the posterior image above.
Dear God. Dan just took this picture of the gas grill on the patio that we regretfully forgot to cover at the end of grill season. I am going to be nursing a lot of aches today, and so I cut this blog post short. More later. Happy New Year, guys.
