Still Scrambled

The chaos of where I fit in, if I fit in, or if I should even try to fit in here in the midst of middle aged children, etc., etc., continues swirling wildly with the mainstream bashing of Toxic/Narcissitic Mothers, etc. Attempts to sort ^it^ keep squeezing through my fingers like stigmatized media sludge. ^It^ hits my confused senses as trying to be 8 stereotypes at once. A positive and a negative stereotype for each middle-aged child pulling on my proverbial apron strings.

The talks with Hubs have been gratifying, despite the lack of resolution to the family/retirement confusions. Far more important than finding answers and plans, we are finding ways to feel safe to talk about the chaos of ^its^ which have no blueprints in the cultural traditions we were raised with. I don't have enough clarity to sort ^it^ here, but Hubs and I are learning how to discuss ^it^ in a creative, compassionate banter.

There was talk of my heading back to the river region on Monday, but a refrigerator crisis and details at the ranch property are making it seem more sensible to put that off until later in the week. The ranch is on one of the many routes back to the river region, so it feels sensible to tend those details on my way back. Not planning. . . Just praying. . .