It is Done

Yours truly is now the proud recipient of a Master of Library and Information Studies degree. Many thanks to Minerva, the patroness of my University. I made offerings at Her statue on our campus for the last couple of semesters, and She really came through! I also have to thank Saraswati Devi for being my rock and my everything, even when I was distracted.

I guess I need to go find a job now, huh?

Good Help is Hard to Find

I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for most of my life, for various reasons. I’m autistic, with the common comorbid conditions of anxiety, OCD, and ADHD. I saw a number of psychologists and social workers before being referred at the tender age of about 8, to the doctor I still see now. His office is over an hour and a half away from where I live. Good help is hard to find.

When my head cracked open, I asked him about it. He looked over his glasses (as he is wont to do) and asked me a couple of vague questions, before simply shrugging at me and telling me that what I was experiencing was “within the range of normal.” You see, he told me, “mystical experiences are part of the human condition.” He told me that he’d had such experiences himself.

Of course, this was the same doctor who would excitedly ask for a reading when he saw my Tarot cards. Good help is hard to find, but it’s worth searching for.

Quercus Montana

There is a tree on the corner of the yard at my family home. It’s an oak tree of the species¬†Quercus montana. The Chestnut Oak is uncommon here, as we are at the edge of its normal range.

This particular oak tree is very grand, at least in my eyes. The trunk is short and stout, but the canopy sprawls upward and outward, embracing the roof of my childhood home. In the summer, the leaves seem to make the very air itself green.

I don’t know how old this tree is, or how long it’s been in my parents’ yard, but I know that it is a very special tree. It has weathered countless ice storms and thunderstorms, and bolts of lightning which would have taken down lesser trees.

Not OK

I keep telling myself that it will all be OK. In fact, it’s a phrase that’s repeating in my head as a mantra.¬†It’s going to be OK. But I know that’s a lie I’m telling myself, and it’s a very self-serving one. Things are not OK. They have never been OK.

The US is the same as it’s always been. It’s just all out in the open now.

I’m white and affluent. Those privileges count for a great deal, especially in the rural South where I live. My family is locally prominent (actually this is the reason my blog is anonymous). There’s so much that I’ve never had to deal with, and so much I’m probably not going to have to deal with, compared to my friends.

I’m perfectly safe where I am, but I don’t feel that I can in good conscience remain “where I am” for the next few years. My friends are not safe, and I’m scared shitless for them. It’s not OK.