Tag: trans

Interview with Dean Angeles (aka Elliott DeLine) Author of “The Stars Below.”

~ Elliott

Originally posted here.

Why do you write primarily transgender and queer characters?

Well, first off, because I write what I know. I’m a transgender man. Secondly, I think it’s important that other trans people see themselves reflected in media. I’d especially like to see more books and movies about transgender people that are written by transgender people. In this novel, like my others, the trans protagonist is very flawed. Why do I do this? Why don’t I portray ideal versions of trans people for good publicity? After all, there are enough negative stereotypes out there, why add to it? Simply put, perfect characters are not what literature is about. Especially in The Stars Below, I want readers to watch the journey of Damien, as he grows into a better person. I want them to see his humanity: that he’s struggling just like the rest of us. I think there’s a place for trans superheroes and antiheroes in media. I’m better at creating the latter.

Tell your readers about your book.

The Stars Below is about a man named Damien. He is transgender, female-to-male, and in his early 30’s. He has a drinking problem. He’s a writer, and he’s moved from living with his parents and working at a library to a farmhouse in the country to have solitude to work on his novel. When he gets there, he meets the various boarders: a woman named Michelle who is very sexually charged and seems to be constantly coming on to him. An androgynous goth named Alex. A friendly cowboy named Jesse with whom he starts a would-be-romance. A little girl named Ruby. And one starry night, a mysterious, handsome, cloaked man named Alexander. Damien gets hooked on a drug, ketamine, which is a psychedelic. He discovers eventually that all these people are actually one: a shapeshifter with multiple personalities. He begins a passionate Dom/sub relationship with Alexander, a demon who makes the shapeshifting possible. Damien’s drug use gets worse and worse, and eventually he has to decide between his new family and home with the shapeshifter or continuing to use ketamine and other harmful substances.

Click here to read the novel.

Tell your readers a little about yourself.

I live on a farm with my partner and family. We have goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits, and soon we will have horses. I’ve lived here for 3 years since the pandemic. I was born in Syracuse, NY, and grew up in the suburbs. I’m 34 years old. I’m the author of several books of fiction, memoir, and poetry including Refuse, Show Trans., and I Know Very Well How I Got My Name, and My essays have been published in The New York Times, The Advocate, Original Plumbing Magazine, and The Body is Not an Apology. My short story Dean and Teddy was published in The Collection: Short Fiction From the Transgender Vanguard, which won the Lambda Literary Award. I attended SUNY Purchase and Syracuse University and have a Bachelor’s degree in Literature.

Besides writing, my passions include photography, animal care, nature, music, snowboarding, and art. I am introverted but also thrive in communities.

What inspired you to author this book?

Mainly, I wanted to show how hellish addiction can be inspired by my own experiences. I portray a very flawed character and show how he recovers and becomes a better person. It would be great if the story gave people hope.

You’re an established author, with award-winning books including Refuse, I Know Very Well How I Got My Name, and Show Trans. Why did you go with Wattpad for this novel?

I prefer self-publishing. It allows me to have control over the process: the timeline, the cover art, the promotion….in short, everything. I chose Wattpad this time because I wanted to release this novel in installments, like a television series. Over the next few months, readers will be getting “Season One.” I also like Wattpad because it’s a community of people storytelling. I thought this would be a productive place to reach everyday readers in this modern age, where they can read on their phone or laptop. In the future, I will be publishing paperback versions of the book.

LINKS

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Elliott-DeLine/author

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4786908.Elliott_DeLine

https://www.facebook.com/authorelliottdeline

https://www.instagram.com/dean.ryan.elliott/

https://deanangeles.tumblr.com

https://www.wattpad.com/user/dean-angeles

4th Puberty (Testosterone Journey)

~ Elliott

A lot of trans people go on hormones and talk about 2nd puberty. Makes sense. I’m on my 4th. 

I was born a girl. Or assigned female. I went thru puberty at 14 and grew breasts, got wider hips, body hair, a period, etc. I didn’t like it much at all. I liked girls best but didn’t consider myself a lesbian. I was just a boy that was unfortunately a girl, if that makes sense. I heard the term Female-To-Male at 17 from a friend and it clicked. I did some old-school internet research (Hudson’s FTM resources anyone?)  and started going to a clinic at Syracuse University to work on a letter for hormones. It was…awful. Akin to conversion therapy in my opinion. You had to be binary and straight to transition. And abusive, invasive questioning. But anyway. Such was the times.

When I was 20, I went on testosterone. This was….2008. I was at SUNY Purchase College in Whiteplains, NY. It’s a pretty queer school. Gotta be the queerest SUNY school at least. It’s the definition of hipster. It’s where I learned that I was not unique but in fact a hipster.  Ouch. Also I became more of a hipster (skinny jeans, big glasses….) It’s also where I learned that actually (sometimes) we like being called queers, dykes, etc. Anyway, I rode the train to Callen-Lorde in NYC where they did Informed Consent and I got my t. After a torturous Syracuse summer, which I have chronicled elsewhere. 

After that I lived as a pretty gay, writerly loner dude for….wow….over 10 years, mostly in Syracuse with frequent trips down to NYC. Mostly with my parents. I went to SU and finished up my English BA. The trans community leaders and resources in Syracuse were FUCKED UP. I have also written about this elsewhere. There was a right and wrong way to be transgender for sure, and people of color and nonbinary people always got it wrong of course.  And were shunned. Shrug. I didn’t stand for it, neither did my future partner Joey…We shook shit up, fell in love, it was beautiful…. Also difficult. I have a lot of trauma (but also just kinda sucked sometimes). But lots of good times with my new chosen family that included the wonderful Drew, Joey’s son, and two cats. Both on the road in our RV and in the crazy, lovely/ infuriating little college town of Ithaca, NY. Also chronicled quite a bit in this blog. 

Anyway, Joey made me comfortable enough with my feminine side that I went off T, on it again, and off it several times over 6 years, usually going with a low dose. But, when covid hit, my alter ego Ellie was just like “I NEED TO EXIST DAMNIT” and so I…detransitioned? Not completely, because I never went out. And I never presented as female around Drew ( like with my breast prosthetics, makeup, wig, etc). I went with femboy. But I was a girl. “On” estrogen. And really longing to exist out in the world. But, well, covid. 

Then, this summer. moody gay transsexual Dean (featured in my first book, Refuse) was like, “I’m back and uncomfortable in my body!” and Ellie was like “Well…I can work with T. I actually think I’m nonbinary and more of a femboy and tomboy, and also girls can have beards!).” And then there was Ryan (who is currently typing) who was like…”dude I’m a stereotypical masculine trans guy who wants to lift weights… and I’m bi but I’m like really hot for fem women especially.” Everyone else was like, “Noooooo you are somehow inherently problematic with your privilege!….But then….No wait, I guess you really aren’t actually. OK. Hi Ryan! You can exist too.” Ryan hadn’t been around in, well, decades. So here he was. He was formerly named Laura in my head, which was my birth name, and I kinda just “deadnamed” him outta existence. But he’s real. And he wants to be called Ryan. 

Don’t freak out tho, you can call me Elliott or Dean or Ryan or Ellie and I won’t mind. Elliott is probably easiest for most. Or I’ve heard it’s cool to name your D.I.D. system. We are “The Angeles Family.”

Anyway.

I learned about D.I.D. and autism from Joey and that made sense of A LOT. Forgot to mention that. 

So in August, Dean went back on T. And now here I am, Ryan, on .5 cc (decent dose), living in the country, lifting weights, doing pilates, posting shirtless selfies on IG…yeeeeah. I’m a bit of a harmless bro, which drives Dean a little crazy. But that’s ok. Because I realize everything about this sounds crazy, and I don’t mind. 🙂 It’s me. And yes, Dean is around often, to write and be a sub and listen to Depeche Mode and wear eyeliner and all black, and the others pop in pretty regularly too. 

Anyway. 

I’m not sure what to say about being back on T yet again except that I’m experiencing gender euphoria and it’s beautiful. Also, my partner invented GenderCat.com and that is also largely contributing to the euphoria. Woot woot. 

Sorry if that’s TMI. Shrug. 

Anyway, if you wanna check out my posts back when I went on estrogen you can look back a little ways in this blog.. 

And if you wanna check out my books, you can look them up under Elliott DeLine. Beware, I was pretty miserable. 

And I guess that’s it for now, I’ll write another post if something comes to me. Peace.

Art-stress, and a poem about nature

~ Elliott

Aw man, tonight I’m not feeling great. I made a self-portrait and it seems to have really messed me up. I feel agitated….really on edge and spacey. I did it in my old style I used to in high school. I guess it just took me back to that time in my life. I wasn’t thinking about it while I was working, I was just sort of in a trance for hours. It’s a really good piece too. I wish I could just feel good about it.

It’s been really frustrating lately that creativity triggers me. Joey suggested that maybe I draw nature and not people if I’m going to do black and white pencil drawings. I do want to make some art of nature, but I want to be able to do all kinds of things. It’s frustrating. I really have to watch out for my mental health though.

I want to take another writing course that will help me hopefully write some short stories. I’m worried about this though, too. Can I no longer do any art that has a dark side to it? I don’t want everything I make to be light and positive. Do I? I mean, it’s a valid question. What is the point of making art that doesn’t feel good? Does it serve a higher function? Or bring a deeper satisfaction long term? I dunno.

Can I write happy short stories? I guess. It’s interesting that it seems shallow for some reason. That seems like an immature outlook, of the suffering artist. I just want to be able to express a range of things in my work. Hmm…

Well, I don’t have to figure it all out at once. What I discovered tonight is that doing portraits in my old high school style probably isn’t healthy for me right now. It doesn’t mean I have to stick with light subject matter forever. I just need to be careful of this. I think I’m going to have to develop new styles, which is actually exciting.

I’m writing this all largely in an attempt to calm myself down. I want to go to bed pretty soon, because I go to bed pretty early and wake up around 5 am. I slept a lot today though. I’m trying to just apply some self love and forgiveness. Here, also, is a new poem about nature. Typing that out will calm me down.

In The Early January Light

In the early January light

yellow-white sun with an orange halo

the song of the cardinal

Blue shadows around snowy foot tracks

mostly human

A trail of paw prints

leading across the frozen pond

to the island

where a fox beds down in the tall grasses

Spots along the bank 

where the snow is dug up

from the deer, eating the grass

The wind whistles low in my ears

I have cold hands

and the world seems just a little bit

fuzzy

Tree-covered hills in the distance

grey

while the trees in the foreground

appear almost black

Four crows

cut across that grey expanse

beneath the white-yellow orb

and the encroaching clouds. 

Some blurbs from this week

~ Elliott

It should not matter what you think of me. And yet, it does. Today I asked Joey in the car, “Do you think I look androgynous?” I knew better.

“This feels like there isn’t a right answer,” he said. “Are you asking if I’d have trouble telling your gender?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You look nonbinary. Or like a feminine trans guy.”

I pouted silently. Why? Now I realize it was, “No, what would a cis person think I am?”

The answer: male.

“I’m feeling insecure in my femininity,” I said.

“Oh boy…” he said, and he reassured me. We laughed.

But what is it I want? This thinking gets insane. I fall into what I call the “gender hole.” Is it about clothes? Make-up? Postures? I don’t want to be a trans man, and I don’t want to be a cis woman…at least not today. I don’t think. But I take so much comfort in our, dare I say, butch and fem roles. I want to be a stereotypical girl in personality. Whatever that means. I love when we are gender stereotypes and we laugh at it.

Like 90% of the time only one person sees me because of Covid isolation. So I guess it makes sense that I started quizzing this person on my appearance. I have fear of coming across as a cis het dude. I worry about my voice, my inflections….It should not matter what you think of me. But it does.

I want to create some confusion and attraction from masculine straight and queer men. Whatever masculine means. Why? To everyone else I’d like to be platonically intriguing or go unnoticed. Either way. Why is this so embarrassing? I guess it fits easily for cis people. They have the same desires to be seen correctly and be attractive to those they find attractive. They just don’t feel the need to articulate it.

In the early January light. Yellow-white sun with an orange halo. The song of the cardinal. Blue shadows around snowy foot tracks, mostly human. But there is a trail of paw prints leading across the frozen pond to the island, where the fox beds down in the tall grasses.

There are spots where the snow is dug up by deer eating the grass. The frigid wind whistles low in my ears. I have cold hands, and the world seems just a little bit fuzzy.

There are tree-covered hills in the distance that are grey, while the trees in the foreground appear dark, almost black. Four black crows cut across between the black and grey expanse, beneath the white-yellow orb and the encroaching clouds.

The body is holding all that is mysterious to the mind. The truth is in your muscles’ memories. You know it in your bones. I know things that I do not know. I remember and then forget again. What I really want to say is, there is a poem I read recently by lucille clifton that says, “every day something had tried to kill me and has failed.” I’ve thought about that line all week.

New Year’s Reading

~ Elliott

I’m so happy with how my reading went tonight. When it first started, I blanked. I was so tempted to just close out of the streaming programs and apologize later that I had a panic attack. But something made me take that leap of faith, and it wasn’t dissociation. It was bravery.

I was smart to put the poem “Joey” first because it loosened me up and made me smile. Ah man, I can’t believe there were like 10 viewers. It’s really awesome and encouraging.

I noticed a lot of patterns and themes in my writing that I hadn’t before. One of the big ones is longing to be an animal and relating with animals more than humans. I hadn’t realized how prevalent this was until I listened to the recording afterwards.

There were a few times I stumbled and lost my place but for the most part, I was present, in a way that I never used to be for my readings in 2011-2016. I feel really accomplished. And not totally freaked out now that it’s over, like I want to self harm or something. Not at all.

Woo!

I’m going to copy in a few poems I read.

Joey

He is effortlessly himself

Light blue eyes

And a messy ginger beard

His chest hair creeps

Above his white tee shirt

And I am left dizzy 

With the caress of my waist

I have been flighty

But he has been steady

Wise and kind

He is my man

We kiss among August fireflies

We laugh so hard over coffee

And when I’m in his arms

He smells like bonfires and sawdust

Like forests and home. 

A grey ambiance

Blurry winter sun

Lavender and yellow sky

A grey ambiance

Light orange mushroom

On a log that is the den

For creatures unknown

A peeling birch tree

One gunshot far away

The crunching of leaves

Black cherry towers

So heavy, tall, and dark

The creaking of pines

Birds

Bluejay lands on branch

Chickadees eat the ragweed

Sky is a pale grey

Pinetrees reach toward the sun

Needles cover the earth below

Dark green boughs; still, cold air

At home with the land

A red tail hawk flies overhead

I sing to myself.

The stratosphere breaks

Light and airy thoughts

Sky cracks of yellow, white, and orange

Brilliant sun through slate lavender clouds

Blush orange and cream horizon

Steel blue shapes, moody

Drifting whisps

Dusty rays of light descend

Ink on my cold hands

I long for community

And fear others humans

Navy hills loom

A pheasant thumps her wings

And disappears into the pines

Four crows fly overheard

Talking to one another

Humans belong to the land

Humans belong to the sky

And I have a clear vision of myself

(Writer, artist, healer, builder, animal) 

Then the stratosphere breaks

Revealing baby blue. 

Naked

My pale naked form

In the white winter window light

It’s Christmas and it’s snowing

Thick, warm air radiates

My walls are baby blue

My angled ceiling is larch wood

My blankets are soft fleece

I begin my reconnaissance

Of belly fat and cellulite

Of unruly dark hairs that poke out

Of the scars on my thighs

Whose origin I’m ashamed to recall

Of so called

Hip dips

But this time I halt

These reprimands are just habitual

Perhaps, maybe, bear with me….

My body is sacred

Male, female,

Or person on a journey

To be as I am, terrifying

But worth it

Just like my ancestors

I take this awkward, two-legged form

To the animals, we probably all look mostly the same

The ancient wisdom before Rome

That we are creatures of earth

The queer realization

That we are moldable clay

With solid frames

Our bones outlast us

This once horrified me

I read of a lesbian feminist

Who said we may parade as men

With privilege

But the archaeologists 

Will know the truth

This is absurd

But made me feel trapped

I dreamt of sanding  down my hip bones

Was there a way?

I was a frankenstein monster in my mind

Where is the border between gender affirmation

And endless dysmorphic struggle? 

I would transition, and still not feel alright

Testosterone gave me

The gift of my light beard

Fashioned me a baritone

Made me able to exist

Estrogen gives me

A shape and a softness

I now cherish

In which I feel at home, for now.

My pale naked form 

In the white winter window light

The expansive air

I breathe in deeply 

My own body

With no judgement

Just love

As a landscape

I will post the video of my

A Difficult Day

~ Elliott

I’m reading live on Zoom in a couple days. Right now I’m freaking out that what I have isn’t good enough. It was a hard day. Why am I insecure? I hold onto past events and project a negative future. I sit in a brain state of judgement, rather than just letting it be. On days like this, I forget what it feels like to even enjoy myself.

*

Sometimes when I look at the horizon I feel nothing. Sometimes I feel empty and lonely and uninspired. I don’t feel I belong. I feel sad and afraid, and sometimes I’m not even sure why. All I can do is accept this, and breathe. Fighting it makes it worse. 

When I was a child, I avoided these feelings by constantly living in a fantasy world. When I got to be a teen, that magic ability wore off and I became depressed. I still miss that escape. My Neverland. It’s what I try to return to when I’ve abused substances or lost myself in another person.

We tell these stories about who we are again and again.We form grooves in our brain. We wear down pathways. Who am I if not my trauma? It’s a very good question with which to start. 

Self-criticism is a knife with which I cross out and delete words. Heaven forbid I appear trite. When sometimes it’s these words that are most true. But I cut out what might seem like crap to others. Who? 

Forget them. What is it I need from writing this piece? 

I’m trying to focus on how much I’ve grown. My resilience is amazing. Just this year alone, I am more independent, happy, steady, calm, secure, creative, confident, and stable than I have been in a long time. I am valuing and taking care of myself. I have an awareness of my mind and body. 

What would it feel like to be secure in myself as an artist? What would it feel like to be secure in myself, period? 

Cravings are intense. For sex, for drugs, even for too much coffee and chocolate. I am still an addict, and maybe one forever. It’s learning how to ride those waves, I suppose. What to consume in moderation and what to abstain from and when.

I hope I feel better tomorrow. That is my intention. But if not, I do think I am doing a good job of accepting my state. No matter what, I’ll be okay. I learned that with the trauma of losing Joey for a while. I lived. The chickens being killed was also a horror I survived. I can deal with sadness. It’s better than the anxiety to avoid it. It will pass. I will remember how to feel good again.

*

Here’s a link to info about my reading on New Year’s Day: https://www.facebook.com/events/730537194245523

Journey with Estrogen, Pt. 3

~ Elliott

One of the first things I noticed when I went off testosterone was that I started crying a lot. It wasn’t necessarily bad. Sometimes I cried because I felt grateful. Another very interesting change, at least to me, was that I started getting goosebumps from music like I hadn’t in a very long time. Possibly before I started T. It started happening all the time and it felt really good. Music just became such an emotional, physical experience in a way it hadn’t since I had to/ decided to give up smoking weed and drinking.

I want to reiterate that this is just my experience. I imagine it is different for everyone. A lot of my reactions to estrogen fall in line with gender stereotypes, but that doesn’t mean they do for everybody.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that some of my psychosis can come back when my estrogen is higher. Could be a coincidence, because it’s also happened before on T. But I do notice a pattern that it happens more with estrogen. I started having very paranoid feelings about the safety of our pets and our family. I also started seeing these dark, shadowy shapes all the time. It was scary. Luckily we adjusted my meds and that seemed to take care of it. I was also under a lot of stress with the election and covid.

I started feeling a spiritual connection with the moon. I left crystals out under the full moon light to charge them. I built an altar in the pine woods. I’ve been drawn more and more towards the mystical. I really would like to reach out to people who are pagan and learn more about how I can develop my spiritual side and a spiritual community. I’ve been really needing that, and its something that I struggle with. My interests are Celtic paganism, with a queer and anticolonial lens as I connect with my ancestors. I also really like a lot of the teachings of Buddhism. I feel like I need more structure with this.

I’ve always loved hard, but it feels even harder with estrogen. Sometimes I just look at Joey, or even just think about him, and I’m overwhelmed. It isn’t just emotionally, but bodily. I will remember a kiss and I literally get weak in the knees and have to rest for a moment to collect myself. It was ridiculous seeming at first, but it actually feel great. I’ve been celibate for mental health reasons for about a year, so I can’t say how estrogen effects my sex life. But I can guess it will enhance it. I feel more in tune with the moment. Of course, this is due to lots of factors, but the hormonal shift is definitely when of them. Waiting for sexual attention isn’t as excruciating, and fantasizing is much more rich.

Now, a story.

On one of my ketamine treatment trips, I imagined all the people in my life as a pride of lions. Thinking of holy cat creatures is a reoccurring theme. I imagined myself, and what kind of lion I would be. I imagined a sort of female lion, with some masculine characteristics (a small tuft of mane). I would have the female responsibilities (except I couldn’t be a hunter so….well, whatever.) I would be attracted to male lions and my partner would love me best of all the female lions in the pack. I wouldn’t get pregnant, but I would be submissive in a consentsual way, and I would be joyfully protected.

I also thought about myself in a “primitive” society, more in tune with nature, and how I would be likely more accepted (well, depends, but play along) as a gender nonconforming person, and how colonialism and christianity was what messed that up. I think I’d be an artist, and also learning the art of healing, with herbs but also spiritually. Including the healing powers of psychedelics.

Anyway, lastly physical. It’s weird to know that I can get pregnant right now, if I wanted. I sometimes have longings for it, believe it or not, or maybe just freezing my eggs. I also have very strong desires to get married. I do not wish to give birth physically, and I know I am not ready. But I NEVER expected to have maternal or even parental instincts in my life. It’s very surprising.

Some more bodily changes: curvy hips. More pronounced bottom. Softer skin. My beard grows slower and lighter, as does the rest of my body hair. Slimmer stomach. Honestly, I’m just thrilled with all of it.

Oh and for the record, I still use he/him/his pronouns most the time and I’ll tell you nicely if that changes.

Ok, I guess this is all about my journey with estrogen for now. Thanks for reading this 3 part series. A lot of this stuff is invisible, and I feel like no one sees me for the real me. It’s a privilege to have the opportunity to be known. Good night.

A life worth living, pt. 3

~ Elliott

For the first time this evening, it occurred to me that I am a “recovering addict.” I guess that’s kind of a loaded, stereotyped term. I have been aware for a while that I struggled with addiction. But I went to my first groups related to the issue this week. My addictions were marijuana and alcohol. Alcohol was more problem in the past, but I would switch between the two. I am not against marijuana usage, and I haven’t ruled out that I will never use it again. It had many benefits and many fond memories attached. But at the level I was smoking, for me, it was causing psychosis. And yet I still couldn’t back off even a little. A lot of people don’t think marijuana is a serious drug, but in this case, it was at risk of really fucking up my life. I wrote more about that in a previous post.

Anyway, today I had a meeting with my partner and my drug counselor and I realized I’m really really hard on myself. I’ve realized this before. But it is to the point where I don’t believe I’m deserving of love. This was a breakthrough for me. I’ve had people suggest it to me, but it never really sank in until today. I don’t trust that I deserve a loving relationship. And that’s why I’m always scared of losing it. That was a lot of the paranoia related to marijuana, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy as I became a more and more difficult person not to love, but with whom to be in a relationship.

I’m looking back on many things differently now. There was a guy I very much wanted to be with, before I met Joey. I took his rejection very hard, because I took it as more evidence that I was not lovable- even though he was saying he did have love for me, he just didn’t want to be in a relationship with me because my life was honestly a wreck. I think about that differently now. I’m glad things happened the way they did, and I feel really lucky that I found someone who was able to be with me, through my struggles. And we’re still together.

Anyway, this is the part where I would usually berate myself for being touchy feeley or something but I don’t want to do that anymore. I feel blessed tonight and I wanted to share in writing.

The day I did nothing.

~ Elliott

Today is already difficult. It’s 8:49 AM and I don’t have plans. I’ll be spending the day alone. I tried working a bit on my novel over coffee, but it feels very strained. My interest isn’t there. I have a number of creative projects in my queue that I don’t feel like doing. I want something new.

It’s at least sunny. I struggle worse on days without sunlight. The trees are bare, but from where I’m sitting, I can see a bird nest. The light is refreshing. November through February are hard in upstate New York. I’m trying to appreciate the sunlight, rather than wish I were somewhere else.

And so, I decided today would be the day I did nothing and to try to feel good about it. It was nearly impossible to feel all that good. I spent most the day sleeping, after picking up the apartment. I read over some of my literature for my mental health-related classes, particularly DBT. “Today,” I thought, “I will just observe.” My legs were sore from walking around Ithaca so much lately anyway. I noted colors of things. I stood outside and practiced 4-point breathing.

The most that can be said about today is I haven’t gotten really upset over anything. So there is the silver lining I suppose.