hope of an dubious parentage

I had a horrible day today. There were several medical problems and one horrible medical procedure. My chronically pained body seemed to throw itself a house party inside of me, without asking my permission. I learned about a few things at work that sucked giant donkey balls and may or may not be improvable.


Yes. These are donkey balls. I’d so much rather have these donkey balls:


But I digress…

The end result was that by the time I got home, I was completely exhausted, in a ton of pain, and feeling completely done with pretty much everything. Into this mess of misery enters Lora. I had this moment of “I cannot deal with her fucking shit tonight, if shit happens” and then we started talking.

It was a meandering talk. It was one of the only talks that I’ve had with her were I felt like I was talking with a person, a real, intelligent, able-to-read verbal cues and give and take person. I actually addressed with her one long-term issues I have with her and her histrionics about sickness. She’s been on a kick about how she definitely had a particular (extremely serious) sickness earlier this year. I have had said sickness. I was ultimately tested to prove it. The after effects of said sickness are long-term, severe, and often unfixable. There is frequently some improvement in the first two years after the sickness, but most people never get anywhere close to the person they used to be.

I was one of the “lucky” ones. I am probably at 60-80% of where I used to be. I have permanent brain damage from the sickness, but it doesn’t inhibit my ability to function as a whole person.

This conversation did not suck. She was very supportive. She apologized for repeatedly playing up that she’d had it, when she had no idea if she did or not. She didn’t appear to get defensive or angry or shitty (and I did counter that yes, she absolutely could have maybe, maybe had a mild version of the sickness. But comparing her experience to mine is like comparing two people who were bitten by a venomous snake, but one made a full recovery and the other had permanent damage from the venom. Overall, her response was comfortingly normal.

Likewise, we have several other conversations where the best I can said is that I was a lot straighter with her than usual. Less of those frequently-female uttered softenings of an opinion like “I think?” or “but I dunno really know, hahahah” or “sorry (2:55)”. Gentle, but unsoftened truth.

Which may sound to you like an oxymoron, but to me it is one of the most valuable and rewarding tightrope to walk.

As far as I can tell, all those conversations went really well. They felt genuine. Like I was fully being me and Lora was fully being her.

This meandering little talk tonight gave me hope.

Dangerous hope. Hope that things can truly get better, that better is a train that takes us to the town of Loving Delight instead of stopping permanently at Upper Shitsville, which is better than the emotionally poverty-stricken shanty town in Lower Shitsville where we’re currently residing. Which is at least better than the refugee camp in Completely Fucked Township that we resided in a few months ago.

The other things (and my regular poly postings) I hope to continue writing soon. I’m so exhausted now. But I have hope.

Not hope because of Lora. Or, even if I do have hope of dubious parentage with Lora, I also think that I may well have some other hopes of genuine promise. I may get to write about those this weekend. We’ll see.



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polyamorist, cat-lover, hopeless optimist when I'm not being a firm realist.

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