Calming

The psychopations of cleaning yet another toxic family build up seems to be calming. Please keep it literal and physical on the "toxic." I amnae out to judge or minimize the family or individual mental illnesses. I speak of the physical toxins which can be found in any hoard pile and/or accumulated neglect. You can measure and count these toxins, complete with scientific names, if you so desire. Ditto for the havoc they can create inside of physical bodies and ecosystems. Inside my own skin, I treat the strictly personal psychopations attached like a strictly personal psych symptom. I donae much admire the Toxic Psychology fad. May it be nothing more than transient pop psychology, gauranteed to change with the next fashion trend.

Hubs, GS and I enjoyed a wonderful weekend together here at the farm. Girl howdy, that child loves this farm. Gooder than a video arcade in his book. Despite the parental drama of Mama's entry into a psych hospital in the midst of his first week, GS verily glowed while he told us of his first week adventures in kindergarten. We deliberately skirted the parental dramas. At 5 years old, he isnae anywhere near ready to discuss the middle-aged psychopations of his parental units. At present, we let it be his choice to talk about ^it^ when he is ready. Ears open, mout shut on our end. Prayers in progress. . .

I am thrilled enough to be monitoring my hyper responses over the developments between Hubs and I. My personal herstory shows a distinct tendency to work positive developments to full and destructive psychosis. I consider that quirk to be one of the mechanisms within my strictly personal self-sabotage herstory. Easy does it. A seed grows better if I amnae continually pulling at its roots. The development is that Hubs and I are learning how to discuss the hard topics without letting them spoil the party. The shared progress we are making progress is in letting a hard fact be a hard fact without letting ^it^ spiral into the domestic tit for tat which has been my least favorite thread in our strictly personal domestic weave. The tit for tat threads spin freely from both branches of our family tree with lots of lesser threads spinning in from the 20th century divorce culture. Yea, I know that the divorce culture has evolved since the 20th century, but we were already geezers at the turn of the 21st century. We arensr very interested in the latest greatest these days. We're okay letting the current middle-agers sort those yaddah blahs. We were confused enough already before the 21st century confusions arrived.

The dealings with the insurance company of the man who rear-ended Boy Toy are settled and in the closing phase. He has been declared a total loss. I expect that drama to close this week. Boy Toy's morgue is closer to the Urban Homestead than the farm where I currently sit. ES has volunteered to make the drive to the storage facility to clean out the last of my personal items before he is hauled to his next resting place tomorrow. RIP, my noble gelding. May the family politics which made you an unloved boy toy pass with you.

Tiggy still smells like a lived in storage unit, but I now feel safe to get mechanical bids. I have spent too much time around mechanics to trust the work I can expect while the mechanics feel a need to get extra immunization shots before they open the door of the vehicle. At present, I donae believe he needs much more than a new windshield, a new front bumper, tires and a front-end alignment to be ready for the legal pieces of responsible vehicle ownership. It is strictly personal progress that I can make that list without psychopating on the edge of a rage response. GS's response to seeing Tiggy clean was? ? ? colorful. Ears open, mouth shut. More prayers in progress.