Here

I'm here. I'm still fixing everything that is "wrong" with me. That seems to be my proxy. Self-proxy, but proxy nonetheless. You like that. My definition of what I do to myself. It's Just a Job. It is. Why sweat the small stuff? Because all the small stuff is driving me insane. And to drink. I pot flowers, rearrange the house. Drink wine. Fix pinto beans. Stare at Champ. Tiger threaten to run off with the circus, and LBD just wanting to come inside. Oh, and eat sweet feed. Run around after the new calf and try to take pictures of him, and the other cows look at me like I have the plague unless they think I have apple core in my hands. Then, only then, do they seem vested. Maybe what Im doing aint so right like I like to believe. Have I turned in martyr? No, 2 people in my life would not allow it. They would turn all Mike Myers on me. The Austin Powers Mike Myers, not the homicidal maniac. But he could. Oh he could. I feel like making a bunch of pretty cakes and eating them or sending them to people. I feel like exercising a bunch at my house and not being discouraged when Im out of breath. That means Im doing it right. I am wearing the right shoes, and stepping out into a open area of what ifs, and what to dos. Its okay. B and I dont know what our next step is, we are just trying to embrace that there are next steps. I dont know if I can care if everyone is on board, because at this point I just need B to be on board. He matters, because I matter to him.