TikTok’s making me lose my mind

 First of all, this lady trying to advocate for or against something at a school board meeting. I laughed so hard I almost peed in my pants. Had to share that one with a few friends. The comments are gold. “This is my coworker who makes $140K a year” lol yuppp.  

Secondly, the dance trend where a person spends about 40-50 seconds dancing to silence and then letting the TikTok algorithm pick the song. Somehow, this guy got a Christmas song, These two appear to be doing completely different genres at first, but the algorithm still nails it. And This lady just got done so dirty lololol. 

I need the laughs though. I have a serious case of burnout. 

A Few Things

 I really want to someday write my book, The Child Advocate. The Elyse Meyers drama, briefly and accurately described here is turning me off to the idea. Omg poor Elyse Meyers. I “somewhat” knew the “rule” that authors shouldn’t interact with reader reviews. I think that’s why I anticipate controversy before I write my shit. I think of an area of the story that might stir, and I anticipate what the consensus will be and then try to incorporate my acknowledgement of the consensus in my writing. Is that an unspoken no-no, too?  Jesus. 

Besides The Child Advocate, I do have a few more book ideas. In one of them, I base it on my first boyfriend and I running away and never looking back when we were 18, because 18 year olds can do that. We just didn’t know we could at the time. I’ve mentioned it before that we wanted 7 kids. I think I would still incorporate seven kids into the story. In the story, I’d have a boy first, then a girl, then boy/girl twins, then adoption of a sibling group of three. And he wouldn’t die at 46, of course. The possibilities are endless, and so would be the potential conflicts. 

My next book idea stems from the fascination I have with missing people being found alive. This one might not be as realistic. In real life, I always daydreamed about publishing articles and posts that compel missing people to save themselves. It’s complicated. Realistically, once a missing person has been missing for some time, no one really is going to save them except for themselves. By then, of course, they will have been severely abused, brainwashed, traumatized, and have assumed false identities. My main character would be a freelance journalist who publishes pieces in order to convince someone in that situation to remember who they are and come forward. The main character of this hypothetical third book would be commissioned by the FBI to write publications in locations where they have reason to believe some missing people are living. This third book idea might be a little more unrealistic, as I have no idea what it’s like to be a freelance journalist or an FBI agent. My cousin Kathy was an FBI agent. Too bad she’s passed away. She could have been my consultant. Back in 2013, when 3 women were found together in Cleveland, Kathy was very tight lipped about it, only having said, “There are more.”  (Meaning, there must be so many more missing people written off as dead who aren’t.) 

More of my writing career ideas have to do with positive parenting, but I’m even afraid of the backlash from that. Positive parenting is the thing that would have the most effect on humanity several generations and centuries after I’m gone, but it’s not without its critics. 

I tried to get into a television show called The Tudors, about Henry VIII and his string of wives. However- the actor that plays Henry is soooo hot. Wasn’t the real Henry fat and ugly?  He’s always portrayed as such. The actor that plays him is VERY good looking, and I had to turn it off saying to myself, “I can’t have the hots for Henry VIII.”  

Lazy Cashier

 At the store we did inventory at yesterday, I helped Kevin scan some of the items behind the register, so I was able to hear some interactions between the cashier and customers. This was also a truck stop, so most of them were truckers. This place had another register by the main entrance, but this particular register was by the diesel pumps. One trucker asked if they had Altoid mints. She immediately said, “No.” I thought that was weird. All those places have Altoid mints. Then another trucker asked for cool ranch Doritos. She immediately said, “No.”  In my mind, I’m like WHAT.  I looked up from what I was doing and conspicuously strained my head to look over at the frito lay area. I didn’t see any right away, but once I was done helping Kevin, I looked for both Altoid and cool ranch Doritos, and they were both easily findable. 

When I was in my teens and worked at a store, it was an absolute ABOMINATION to tell a customer “no” or “I don’t know”. The rule is, you find out. You look, you ask. This bitch wasn’t even trying. 

A couple hours later, I was counting on the aisles near the cooler doors and a man asked me if the store had the 99 cent cans of Arizona tea in 12 packs. They didn’t have it at that store- I would have noticed it if they did. My daughter loves Arizona tea, so if the 99 cent cans came in 12 packs for a total of even less than 99 cents, I would have always noticed. I gave a much more detailed answer and expended much more emotional labor into my response to this man than the cashier. I had also mentioned that I didn’t actually work for the store, so I overheard him asking that woman at the diesel register. Then I heard him say, “Oh No Sè? No Comprende?”  I rolled my eyes. That lady knew how to speak English, she just didn’t want to be bothered answering questions. That was my irritation of the day. She was not a young person, either, she had gray strands of hair and was around the same age as me. I would expect such behavior from a teenager, even though I was expected to move mountains for people when I was a teen myself. 

Little Visitor

 

Yesterday while doing inventory in Victoria, Texas, a little toddler girl just ran up to me and announced, “Hi, Danielle!”  Except with her just learning to talk, she pronounced my name “Don-Elle”. I was startled. I didn’t know who she was. How on earth did she know my name? She was barefoot and didn’t have adults around. I looked up and around for her parents and immediately saw a man and a woman walking towards her. I smiled and they started talking. I also asked how old she was, and they said 20 month old. (In other words, she’s turning two in four months).  I didn’t tell them she mysteriously knew my name. I mostly believe in reincarnation, and immediately thought to myself, well who are you the reincarnation of?  

Her parents had accents, and I asked where they were from. They said New Zealand. I said, What brings you to Texas?  They said touring the USA in an RV.  I told them she was cute, and to have fun and safe travels. 

Then I got to thinking, being 20 months old makes her born in March of 2024. The last elderly person I worked with as a home caregiver actually died in March of 2024. Coincidence?  Like I said, I only “mostly” believe in reincarnation, but that’s because it can’t be proven. It’s what makes the most sense to me. 

My mother doesn’t believe in it but still insisted it was a “divine visitor”. She has a story she tells often of walking with me in an umbrella stroller along the beach in Tijuana when I was about two years old. An elderly unkempt man walked past us from the opposite direction, reached his hand out to me in the stroller and exclaimed, “Danielitaaaa!” Then walked behind my mom, but when she looked over her shoulder he was gone. My mom said my father was walking about 10-12 feet away closer to the shore and she called out to him, “How did he know her name?”  My dad just shrugged. My mom always thought it was a divine visitor as well. Just wondering if this ever happened to anyone else. 

My kid helped the archaeology club dig a hole. She said they were going to then use the hole for a fire pit to cook food. 

We are on our way home from Victoria, Texas where we did inventory of several truck stop/gift shops. I am exhausted. The motel we checked into last night had a booger on the wall of the bath/shower. Kevin said he didn’t see it, but he took a shower and I took a bath. They also didn’t clean out the fridge from the last guest. I wondered if it was the same person that ordered that food that blew snot in the shower. 

I’m ready for my only day off, tomorrow. 

 

Fun Inventory

 Well, not that much fun. Because, on my payday trip to Walmart I purchased Pilates bands for arm workouts. It came with an exercise guide, and three bands- easy, medium and hard. I gave my daughter the hard one, because she does Pilates regularly. However, only 25 morning reps and 25 evening reps with the easy band threw my back out in one single strip down the left of my back. I do so well with leg, core, and aerobic exercises, but arm workouts kill my back. And even though I’m 47, I still don’t have bingo wings- I could work my arms to a good level if I could just get over the pain afterwards. 

The store chain we’re doing inventory at this week is very fun. I don’t let on to Kevin how much I love this chain, because he calls them “Buccees wannabes”. I mean in a way they are. They sell great gift items. I just received about $220 from the Merchandiser app from the toilet paper and paper towels aisles pictures. I plan on walking out today with some Christmas presents for Anna. They had weighted stuffed animals. She has a couple of weighted stuffed animals, but could probably use one more. She uses my weighted blanket for anxiety, as I personally have a love/hate relationship with it. It does help when you’re trying to fall asleep, but then when you wake up out of a deep sleep to turn over, it almost feels like you’re stuck. 

We are working very long days which makes up for the fact that we didn’t work much last week (which is why I had time to do stuff for the merchandiser app).  I’ve completely fallen off the creativity bandwagon for both writing and sewing. Maybe during thanksgiving I can get back on that. 

I feel extremely accomplished for “getting” a therapist to tell me I have PTSD. Not sure why this feels so satisfying. I do wonder what it would say if my mom was somehow involved in the therapy. If I was a minor or a very young adult, and she was the one paying for the sessions, I’m not sure the therapist would give me a diagnosis that is as respected as PTSD. I do have two cousins with BPD, or “borderline personality disorder” which actually sounds insulting to me. I believe that I was spared from a BPD diagnosis in the past 5-10 years or so, because I made it clear that while being with a man was what I preferred, that I could still be happy with myself single. One of my cousins who got a BPD diagnosis years ago pretty much always made sure she was with a man. Recently, she went to another provider who dropped the BPD diagnosis and diagnosed her on the autism spectrum. She has an autistic grandchild now. So it checks out with the genetics. With my current therapist, I also made it abundantly clear that even though I m happily married, I would still be happy single if I suddenly become single again. I think maybe “always needing a partner” contributes to that. I have another cousin who I know has a diagnosis of bipolar, but whenever she’s manic, she’s extremely productive. She’s an artist and fashion designer as well as working a main job, and she’s created entire lines in her manic phases that have sold very well. I also told my therapist that I read Holy Disruptor and how it helped. 

Feeling Like Theo Huxtable

 Well I had therapy this afternoon, and beforehand, I looked on my billing document. I was surprised to see two diagnoses. The first was GAD, or generalized anxiety disorder. That was a given. The next one was chronic PTSD. I had heard before that I had “complex” PTSD, but when I asked for a clarification, she explained that complex PTSD isn’t an official diagnosis in the DSM 5.  I asked, if it becomes an official diagnosis in the DSM 6, will I get the diagnosis?  She said yes, barring any weird wording that only restricts it to a certain age group or . She then said, she doesn’t know what they’ll do with the DSM 6.  I thought to myself (but didn’t say this out loud) that as long as they don’t rewrite autism to make it look like Trump cured it, I’m good. 

Having PTSD in writing for me feels so validating that I feel like Theo Huxtable When he announced to his parents that he had dyslexia and they burst out cheering. Who would have thought that someone whose parents stayed married could still have their traumatic experiences so validated like that?  

Anyway, time for another work busy spurt.