Bragging & Belly Aching

Hi Darling Ones,

In 2012, after I found my biological father’s obituary, Sister #3 introduced me to the concept of ambiguous loss. This the kind of loss that’s not clearly defined by a dead body, a funeral, that kind of thing. The person doesn’t even have to be dead for you to suffer an ambiguous loss. They could be missing or cut you out of their lives.

In her memoir Horror Stories Liz Phair describes the ambiguous loss around her adoption as a piece of glass permanently lodged in her heart. I love that description because that’s exactly what this kind of loss feels like. They’re these little pieces of glass inside of you that feel like nothing until you accidentally bump up against it.

The beginning of January always pokes at the shards in my heart because it contains a trifecta of birthdays — Sister #3’s is today, Nolan’s is tomorrow, and Cade’s is the 14th. It’s been almost two years since Sister #3 unsubscribed from the Sister Club. It still hurts, especially the loss of The Tibbles. They are the collateral damage in her imaginary, toxic feud.

Writing about it makes me feel better. I was all weepy, my hindsight warped my rose-colored glasses. Then I read a few of my old posts. It’s a good reminder that Sister #3 was not good to me in any sense of the word. She used me and she gaslighted me. Now I’m angry and sad. Feelings are stupid and complicated.

You might be surprised, Darling Ones, to learn I did not come here today to bellyache about my psycho sister. I came here to brag.

This is what I came to brag about:

  1. We’re three days into 2022 and I’ve taken five naps thus far. And I read two books.
  2. I submitted the first chapter of Rock & Roll Loudmouth, aka The Beast, to Tin House.

Please control your envy at my ability to be super slacktastic while simultaneously working on my 2022 goals. I’ve had nearly fifty years of experience with this kind of dichotomy. This isn’t for beginners.

Thanks for reading,

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