Well, it's been a morning. Once again I have waited until I've calmed down to write (I still haven't written about that whole other, yknow, culturally significant thing, and it's not for lack of desire) and it upsets me because I want to remember the intense emotion, but maybe in this case it's better that way.

It's been a rough week mentally, probably pre-menstrual, but every day has been a challenge. Wake up between 5-6 with a big nap during the day. Except for Wednesday night - I didn't sleep until noon yesterday. Slept until 7 but managed to sleep restlessly starting at midnight.

Outside of sleep... at the start of the week, mornings were okay but eventually I soured. It's been a fortune wheel since.

This morning, back at 5, I was sort of pleased that it was morning and not midday, but it wasn't more than a few steps before I felt the low fog. "Okay," I said. "Maybe I'll get a walk in this morning. Make the coffee even though your stomach already hurts."

I decided to pull hair out of my face to really be awake. It was overdue and bothering me, so I turned on my computer to open this diarybox, to talk more about hair and aging, and hopefully the other stuff. "Don't look at the internet," I said, because fb has been, like always, a whole thing, and I didn't want to introduce that so early. But I opened gmail because there's one friend I say hi to when I'm up that early and also I give in to compulsive behavior.

I don't usually open the nyt digest email, but a friend and I were talking yesterday about babies and climate change, and that was one of the topics. So I read the digest and already the sips of coffee were not sitting well.

Email's open, might as well clear the other tabs of junk. Weird to get a Warren Ellis newsletter on a Friday. I don't read them often but I'm pretty sure they come on Sundays. Scan. Statement. "Okay. Okay." Regarding things said about me. "Fuck." Coersion, never intended, apologize. Begin immediate crying. Google. "Grooming women for decades." Cry more. Not out of shock, the pieces fit so easily after little more than scanning.

Check ig first since that's where I follow people these days. Nothing there, so look at the article, the first set of tweets. "Fuck." The second set of tweets was from one of the women I looked for on ig - found the other's tweets - artists I have admired for 15 years, women I discovered because he amplified them.

Cue a very fun morning-long total breakdown!

ugh now it's been hours since I started writing this and I'm tired of it
I only ever had a brief email exchange with him, but the man had an inadvertently profound effect on my life (a range between moving to Minnesota and a giant fuckin' tattoo on my arm), I found these artist women at the cost of his behavior (and have made friends out of a community adjacent one of them), this all has a pretty fucking direct correlation to a painful relationship, and I was immediately dropped back into thoughts of a bunch of past relationships and experiences that I examined from more recent examination and determined to be this bullshit. How long I looked for approval from these men. How I'm still grossly fascinated by the thoughts of someone.. local.. who is openly transparent about his predilection for young, specifically tailored women. I almost couldn't talk to my boyfriend this morning due to my generalized rage.

Point being, my stomach has been in knots and my torso locked for about six hours. They're finally starting to relax now. I stopped crying awhile ago, but I'm sure if I look at updated tweets it will start again. I want to leave my house but there's nowhere to go. I want to go sit with a lady friend, but they're both busy and one of them has her own shit going on, and.. well, that's a different thing. And anyway, Dan's going to need the car for a moment this evening and I'm sure as hell not taking the bus anywhere.

Fuuuck. Tear down the systems. But, fuuuck. let my jaw go loose.