In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of ritual and self-reflection.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

Not entirely sure how it got to be Friday. Was it not just Friday five minutes ago? Was I not just complaining about how fast last week went?

Oh right. It’s been seven entire days since then. Filled with impossibly hard and good things.

So let’s have at it.

The hard stuff

Travel. I don’t like it.

Having to take a shuttle four hours prior to the flight.

Being pulled out of line to have my ponytail holder inspected (it was seriously just a run-of-the-mill hairband thingy).

Being squooshed into a horrible tiny seat, and feeling stiff and constricted.

I say UGH to all of it.

Plus recovering from all of it. Not to mention the derby hangover.

Oh, lots and lots of stuff from then…

I discovered giant reserves of old pain this week after several different incidents each triggered my PTSD in a big way.

So I spent most of the week just hiding and quietly processing.

And the spiral of spiraling.

That’s the thing about being in a place of deep vulnerability. I begin to disregard the safeguards that are working.

So despite everything in the Book of Me, not to mention all of my wonderful Absolutely Absolutelies, I pretty much managed to break all my own guidelines this week.

Like reading about the nightmare of Penn State when I know that reading most forms of non-soccer or roller-derby related news is not good for me.

Double-especially if it’s news about terrible things happening to people who can’t defend themselves.

Or reading comments on someone’s blog when I already know that the only place online where the comments are consistently and dependably kind, loving and supportive is HERE.

Or checking up on a thing that I knew I would hate, and then hating it. Surprise!

And anger. Anger and grief.

The gentleman and other friends spent a lot of time this week patiently explaining to Angry Me why you apparently can’t call the cops on a parent who is tickling their kid and won’t stop.

Even if the kid is struggling and screaming and begging for them to stop.

If they were hitting the child, you might be able to do something about it.

But a four year old who is learning that there’s no such thing as a safe word? That STOP doesn’t mean anything. And PLEASE doesn’t mean anything. Now that child’s experience of the world is forever changed.

(And yes, this is MY STUFF. And it is from then. And part of me is still so very furious.)

Anyway, apparently there is no means to stop something like this when it is happening right next to you.

You can’t call the authorities. You can’t even punch the person in the face, no matter how much you want to. Even when you believe in your heart that what you are witnessing is a form of torture.

This was a week for crying over brutality, real and perceived. For practicing compassionate communication inside my head. For piling on new experiences of safety. For remembering that Now Is Not Then. It was a lot.

And identity stuff, related to the anger and grief.

Because then Crusader Me, Impassioned Defender of the Weak and Vulnerable Everywhere makes her way to the front of the V, even though this also doesn’t help.

So then I also had to do a lot of negotiating with her, so that she could realize that we practice doing things differently now.

We are changing both the external and internal worlds (and our experience of them) through love and play instead of through anger and blame.

This is hard to remember.

Forgetting to set expectations.

Lots of unclear agreements and arrangemenets.

Again, now is not then.

Even when now is reminding me of then.

Separating out from then. Making safe rooms in my heart.

People not owning their stuff.

Hilarious, of course, as I was in my stuff so much this week.

Lots of experiences of people being in their stuff. And completely abdicating responsibility for their stuff, and not even recognizing that they’re in it.

And then wanting me to take on their stuff. Awesome.

Dentist.

That’s pretty much never fun.

Oh, and then they had some systems error that resulted in me getting three different calls from them, and having to call twice to be able to keep my appointment.

Grrr.

The Misunderstanding of Doom.

Yep! Fun for the whole family.

The good stuff

Oh thank god I’m back in Portland!

Home! Hoppy House!

And oxygen! Sweet, sweet oxygen! There is air here and you can breathe it, and this is the most indescribably marvelous thing.

And color! Glorious, rich, saturated color. Everywhere.

Lush greens. Red, orange and yellow leaves. Even a red traffic light is beautiful when it’s glowing against the grey skies. I instantly felt better when I was back in the world of color.

And moisture. And not having to apply lip balm and lotion every five minutes.

Oh, and not getting nosebleeds. I love that. Well, now I do. I hadn’t really thought about it before.

And the water tastes good. And doing aerobic exercise doesn’t feel like being stabbed in the heart.

(It seems that elevation is not my thing anymore? Yes, well. Lesson: learned.)

Home.

Comfort and routine.

Hiding. Blankets. Flannel. Good.

Getting ridiculous amounts of stuff done.

Which is weird, given how much of the week I spent sobbing in the bathtub.

But so much done!

Including two days of massive behind-the-scenes progress on Shivanauticon!

It’s an Unconventional. It’s going to be the most fabulous and goofy-ass-crazy-circus thing that has ever existed.

We had to invite metaphor mouse on thirty seven different occasions. Turning metaphor-mousing into an extreme sport!

Yay!

I made a neat discovery at the dentist..

Dentist: Wow, you’ve got great teeth!. And look at this, you must have an incredibly low-sugar diet.
Me: Yeah, I quit sugar nearly twelve years ago.
Dentist: Well, that makes sense because you have zero cavities even though your teeth have weird grooves and should be full of cavities, and also because your saliva is very high in calcium. It’s super basic, not acidic like most people’s. Interesting!
Me: ???
Dentist: The way you eat has changed the content of your saliva. And as a result, you have really strong and healthy teeth. But you also get build-up on your teeth significantly faster than other people do because your saliva isn’t eating away at your teeth.
Me: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. That kind of explains a lot.

What it really explained was this:

I switch dentists every year. That’s because whenever a dentist sees me for the second time, he or she will tell me that I need to floss more.

Except I’m a mad flossoholic who already veers way too far into OCD over-flossing tendencies. I live to floss!

So dentists who tell me I need to floss more when more would probably get me institutionalized? Screw those people. They shouldn’t get to hang out with my gorgeous teeth. And they definitely don’t get my money.

But here’s what’s really been happening. It’s not build-up from not-flossing. It’s because my saliva is different from everyone else’s. Now that I know this, I won’t have to keep switching dentists.

That was probably not very interesting to read, and you might also possibly be worried about me, but I assure you that this was a highlight, albeit a weird one, in my week.

Asking a smart question instead of falling apart.

The dentist made worrisome noises about wanting to take out my wisdom teeth.

And I totally didn’t start screaming OVER MY DEAD BODY, YOU PSYCHOPATH!!!!

Instead I calmly asked some questions.

And determined that this was purely an aesthetic consideration. My wise, wise teeth are not going to cause me pain or health problems. They might just make my lower teeth move a bit. Which is fine. I can live with charmingly snaggly. In fact, I think I prefer that to a boring straight line of teeth.

Crisis and breakdown magically averted by asking the right things.

Results.

People getting great results from the Kitchen Table call I did on flow yesterday. And the graduates of Crossing the Line are dong miraculous things and still having gigantic epiphanies.

And I am living by what I teach and getting what I need. This is a truly beautiful thing.

This week I used the OODs and Very Personal Ads and the Emergency Calming the Hell Down techniques, and all of it was brilliant.

Especially the Shiva Nata, which is blowing my mind and making everything doable. And now it’s Friday. Hello, Friday!

The fun part of the Chickening happens here.

Tabstravaganza! Or: what’s Havi been up to with all those open Firefox tabs?

• Oh my lord, Tortalandia! I want to eat there right this second.

From the archives.

Some old, weirdly pertinent posts that I don’t remember having written, encountered while looking for something else:

• A Tiny Sweet Thing. Always worth re-reading.

Playing live at the meme beach house — it’s the Fake Band of the Week!

Background? Ez and I make up bands. Stu (retired Bolshevik-fearing voice-to-text software) once translated “people will hate me and be jealous” to “they’ll hang out at my Meme Beach House“. It’s just one guy.

This week’s band, of course:

The Misunderstanding of Doom!

They put on a pretty raucous show. Lots of cool effects. Bring your ear plus. And yes, it’s really just one guy.

Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. Announcement time.

Picture me wearing that crazy hat…

1. Reminder: Rally prices are out of date. They’re going up. Also we can maybe-possibly sneak you in on the January Rally on a stowawayship scholarship ship.
2. I highly recommend the Art of Embarking, which is the thing I am most excited about right now. This will be the prerequisite for everything I teach in 2012.
3. Oooh, and registration for the Floating Playground will be opening later this month. If you’re not on my HAT list (Havi’s Announcing a Thing), you can sign up on the events page.

I think that’s everything? If not, I’ll add stuff to the Very Personal Ads over the weekend.

That’s it for me …

And of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments if you feel like it.

Yes? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come. Shabbat shalom.

p.s. It’s okay if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever (or not) and it’s no big deal.