Still Alivia.

 Oh.  

Fuck.

It's not that I've forgotten what this feels like, this blank backlit overwhelming sense of "...but what if what I write is shit? And people then think I'm shit?" Actually, it's that I remember this feeling quite vividly. But I've decided those thoughts can fuck right off, and I'm going to teach them a lesson by writing anyway.

....

After years (SO MANY YEARS) of not doing this...how do I even start? A recap would take ages (it's been fucking ages). And not at all enjoyable for me to write or for anyone to read, honestly. So I'll just work in some need-to-knows and otherwise, we'll just...begin. Okay?

Okay.

I am 34. I know this because I just did the math. I am engaged to The Best Person. His name is Bobby. We will be married on paper soon, thanks to our country's abismal healthcare "system." We will still have a wedding one day, just not today. Or tomorrow. 

Our son, our first human child, is just over a year old. I believe the way seasoned parents say this is "15 months." He is sunshine. He thinks almost everything is hilarious. He did not sleep in his first 10 months of life for longer than 2 hours at a time, and very frequently considered a daily 30-minute nap to be adequate. My brain was never really anything to brag about before, but now I feel like I...don't have one? Lack of sleep will really beat you up. And down. Thankfully, he is perfect. His name is Sullivan.

I think my name is still Alivia.

....

It's difficult to make yourself write in the best of times, so blogging faded into the background and then into nothingness quite quickly when, years ago, I moved back to Maine from Masaachusettes and was dating someone who was fiercely private. I am an introvert and have social anxiety to go along with my regular anxiety, and I really leaned into the idea of closing myself off. I then started teaching at a public institution and the fear of my students finding my personal, unedited writings really supported the "If you want to write, grow up and be professional and if you really want to write, write in a journal, not a public blog" thought process (I'm sure those that wanted to found any and of all my shit, anyway).

I don't work there anymore, and I'm trying to mute the whispers of inadequacy coming from my own head that public writing invites. I remember the feeling of release writing gave me, years ago, and I think that would be a nice thing to have back.

...

If I just imagine that somehow, each minute I spend writing is magically taking years off of certain SCOTUS members' lives, I think I can carry on without much thought to whether my writing is shit or not. Not sorry. They can fuck right off.