Jet Pack – WTF?

So, it looks like we have to use a whole separate application in order to get the numbers and figures of our website.

WHY.

Jetpack is a website builder. Why the fuck do I need to get my data from them?

What I’m understanding is my data goes in this path:

WordPress > JetPack > Word > WordPress.

This is not how things used to be.

I don’t know about you kids. I’m 39.

Gen Z, Gen Alpha; gather around the fire. Let me tell you about the before times.

Websites that were FREE were paid for by ADS that were shown on your website. YOU were not the commodity, the hits on your site were.

Suddenly we’re at the point that we, as humans, are the commodity. What do we do, how do we react. What WHAT WHAT WHAT.

I’m over it.

I’m going to talk about things no one gives a fuck about in this blog. I certainly do not expect anyone else to care.

That being said, we can do better.

Our routes for creative writing can do better.

I am going to give WordPress my money FOR A YEAR. I want a domain and I want to have unlimited access.

However, if shit gets weird I’ll just burn my whole digital neighbordhood down.

xoxo A ❤

Mother

How do I talk about my Mother.

How do I talk about how much I miss her.

I can’t smell her on my clothes anymore.

I can’t remember the last time she hugged me outside of her hospital bed.

I have so many of her clothes, because even though I was a solid foot taller than her, our waists were the same size.

I miss my Mother telling me I was right.

I miss my Mother telling me my opinion, no matter how loud or abrasive, WAS RIGHT.

I have always supported the “under dogs” and my Mother always supported me supporting them.

I miss my Mother telling me I was crazy, but the best kind.

I miss my Mother telling me how I “danced to the beat of my own drum”

I miss my Mother loving me, for me.

It’s hard to describe my Mother. She was a confusing person, but so am I.

Story time; At one point in my life my ex-SIL (sister in law) called my mom and told her I was doing speed. Was I doing speed? Yes. Did I admit to it at that time? No. However, my Mother straight up asked me about it and I was honest, “Yes, Mom, I’m doing XYZ drug.”

You know what she said? Ok. I love you.

I miss my Mothers acceptance of who I am and who I was. Do I still do speed? Fuck no. I’m tired.

I’m so tired.

I’m so depressed.

I take cetalapram every day.

I take trazadone to sleep.

This really doesn’t take care of me or my problem.

I wish I could hug my 5’4″ mother. She held me. I don’t feel held anymore. I miss her smell.

I miss her laughing at my bullshit, but also supporting me.

What do I do without her? How do I proceed?

Current Affairs

Ok. Well.. It’s been a minute. Or actually more than a minute.

I’ve figured out how to connect my Das Keyboard (It’s blank I’ll have you know) into my latest tablet.

My latest tablet was a gift from my husband, Michael, because I love to read.

However, I cannot read paper books anymore because at 34 I was diagnosed with macular degeneration. that’s fun. My eyes are pretty but they don’t work ..

So.

I have a lot to catch you up on. You = readers.

Do I even still have readers anymore?

My mother died last August.

My rescue dog, that I’ve had for 6 years, is currently 15 (thank you Embark!) and has bladder cancer. I just found out two days ago her cancer has metastasized.

My Father (and I through my twenties) live(d) on a farm in Santa Cruz. The owner of that farm was like a grandfather to me and an older brother to my father. He died yesterday.

I realize I’m struggling but I realize what I’m missing the most is my writing.

I have little moments of beauty where I think of a wonderful way to explain what I’m seeing or what I’m feeling and I have no way to express it.

So. what’s going to happen in my life?

Well I’m a federal employee and I’m scared. I’ve received many notifications (I see more on reddit than I get through email) and they freak me out.

I’m worried for my father because well shit is scary for him.

But what I really downloaded WordPress app for was to talk about my grief.

More incoming.