Yesterday was so fucking gorgeous, y'all. Beyond gorgeous. I wanted to play outside all day long, but we had to deep clean our stinky house and do all kinds of annoying shopping (fucking walmart) in preparation for the imminent arrival of Jeff's folks. We did take it slow in the morning, though. I walked with the dogs and read my book out by Mr. Brown's cabin (saw his new baby granddaughter. She's two weeks old. As Amy, mother to the new daughter said, she's fresh. Her name is Anna Lee. I like them babies.) and then came back home to find Jeffrey Dean throwing huge amounts of rank vegetables on the compost pile. He'd been to the grocery store and the produce man was throwing it all out so, of course, Jeff asked him if he could have it. My dumpster diving pal. I made us french toast topped with vanilla yogurt and blueberries and maple syrup and it was deeeelicious. That's my specialty, y'all. That and salad. And by specialty, I mean, those are the only things I can make.

Jeff's aunt Martha died yesterday. His mom was hoping to see her before she died (they knew it was coming and everybody was praying for her to go quickly) but she didn't make it. I think that was the hardest time for Jeff yesterday, when she died and he knew his mom was driving down, no way to contact her, and her filled with hope and worry, wishing to reach her before it was too late.

Abrupt subject change alert.

Jeff and I talked yesterday about my social anxiety (uck, that sounds horrible--but how else can I describe it?) and I think I finally explained it right. I think he's thought that I lack social confidence--thus I am shy, scared of new people, etc. But I really don't think that's it. I got truckloads of confidence. It's more that I know social situations and being around folks, especially folks who don't know me and who I don't know, costs me. It's not like doing it more boosts my confidence--doing it more, costs me more. So the more I force myself to be social or talk to folks I don't know, the more time I have to spend recovering. I will never be comfortable in these situations--I'm really just not wired for it. And thank god. Thank god for my weird parts and your weird parts and how different we all are. I never want anybody to be more like me--I want you to be more like you, that's what I say. Same goes over here--I want to be the most me I can be. And if that means I come off a little eccentric, a little agoraphobic, a little reclusive, a little taciturn, a little unfriendly, then all right. It's who I am, who I always was since I was a wee babe in my mother's arms. For me, life is all about trying to figure this shit out, trying to figure out how to be the best me, meaning, the most me, I can. I see my brother Dan, who is exactly like me in this way except for he's tried his whole life to be otherwise, to be social and extraverted and my god, how it's cost him. He shakes when he has to speak, the anxiety is so bad. The one truth that I figured out when I was a kid and that I've held onto is that nobody else but me (and the holy universe) knows me and knows how to treat me and knows what happens inside me and so no matter what other folks say or the looks they give, it hasn't got anything to do with me, because they don't know. I know. And I like what I know and I like who I am and I'm glad for it. That's what I mean when I say, ain't nobody can hurt me except me because I hold that power and I choose who to give it to. I don't give to anybody, not anymore, not ever again. I don't see myself reflected in anyone, don't believe what anyone says about me, good or bad. Not even Jeff. Or rather, I believe in his perspective, and believe in what he says, what that says about him and the goodness of him, all of which is separate from me. Like when he says something about me, that's a reflection of him (and he's got a pretty reflection). But still, around strange folks, I am not at my best. Too much interference, no time for reflection, only time for deflection. It's exhausting and without proper recovery time (which is always double the time spend in the company of others), depressing.

That was a whole shitload of psychobabbly hoooha. Lord. I better go--my seedlings await.