I’m sure you’ll all collectively breathe a huge sigh of relief that I’m starting to come out of my funk. Oh, for crying out loud, just pretend and let me dream, Mah Peepull. Assume a caring, nurturing expression and nod a lot. I don’t care if you’re actually thinking about Chia Ninja Snails and/or switching to Bounce from Downy while you do it. Just do it. February is always the hardest month for me to get through, then March hits and I’m in the home stretch to spring.

This helped my mood brighten… When I turned in my latest Photoshop post for review at Blissfully Domestic, my editor posted it then emailed me to tell me she loved it and to eHighFive me. Which I’m pretty sure is illegal in at least 13 states and is consequentially and simultaneously 11 kinds of hawsum.

The only drawback is the subsequent testing I’m going to have to undergo at the eClinic for eSTDs. I shouldn’t worry about it too much, though. There’s probably an eShot or an eCream for that.

By the way, you should click that link up there, run over and leave a quick comment on my post. It’ll help me perpetuate the rumor that I’m popular or something.

By the way squared, even if you don’t give a rat’s patootie about Photoshop, you should comment anyway. We don’t discriminate against non-Photoshoppers, so feel free to just say anything, such as what year you discovered Britney Spears was actually pretty lame. Or maybe just apropos of nothing, name any color a la that Facebook craze that reigned for six crazy days where we told the color of our bras and giggled like sixth graders. Don’t be boring and just red. Meh. Say, Burnt Carrot! Or, Used Coffee Grounds Sienna! Or, Open Herpes Wound Crust! Or… uh…

Clearly, I have some issues. But there I go again– Thank you, Colonel Obvious! (After someone said to me a few days ago, “Wow, you look kind of tired or sad or something”  the Captain was promoted to Colonel.)

I just realized I discriminated against people who haven’t come to the realization that Britney Spears is lame. Irony, Mah Peepull, irony.

What’s your favorite smelling hair product? Mine is Garnier Fructis, and have my sister to thank for that discovery.

Biolage is a close second, and Cathy (the gal who gives the boys Mohawks) turned me onto that line.

Have you seen my Google Friend Connect toy over there in my sidebar? Have you clicked Follow yet? Why not? What did I do? Did I rain on your parade? Did I pee in your Wheaties? Did I hock a loogy in your chock ‘o hoogy? Can you tell it’s margarita night? Is it that obvious? Do you have an balcoholic average too? No? Just me? Have you clicked follow yet? Why not? If you do, will I shut up? Would you like to find out?

What is NaBloPoMo? Here you go.

All I ask is for a little linky love.

You’re welcome!

P.S. This totally counts for my daily post! I totally spent over an hour editing last year’s badge, saving as different sizes, and uploading to flickr for you.

*back of hand to forehead*

I work, and I slave, and what thanks do I get?! I spend allll this time slaving over a hot stove photoshop and where is the linky love? BOOOOO HOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“Someday I’ll fly, Someday I’ll soar
Someday I’ll be so damn much more
‘Cuz I’m bigger than my body gives me credit for
I’m bigger than my body now…”
–John Mayer, Bigger Than My Body

I’ve been blogging since 2003. I started out on LiveJournal, and used my given name. I only commented on other LiveJournal bloggers.

Then I became aware of the blogosphere. When I made the move to Blogger in 2007, I used my nickname, Dory, and I went out of my way to never use my real name, and kept mum on the rest of my family’s real names. I began commenting on blogs all over and cultivating relationships with other bloggers. 

Then I became aware of Social Networking, and that blew apart my M.O. I got on Facebook, and only used the name “Dory.” But then I began wondering how many people I might miss out on reconnecting with if they searched for me by my given name. I decided, eh, screw it; I’ll use my and Tom’s real name and still guard the boys’ names. I put my real name on my Facebook account and moved onto more earth-shattering matters such as the best buy on 85/15 Ground Beef and switching from Bounce to Downy. 

Now my Facebook has links to my blog, and my blog has links back to Facebook.

I told you that to tell you this.

I wrote a couple of posts about my experience with domestic violence, and I met Maggie, the Bonafide Innernetz Aingel who started up Violence Unsilenced. The experience of actually writing those posts was painful. I physically shook while I poured out my pain, but knowing that I may be able to give someone that little oomph to exit an abusive relationship was worth it. I mulled over writing more, but I have a couple concerns.

First of all, parts of my memory are fractured.

For instance, I remember getting into a fight with The Girlbeater over “our” money. He demanded that I sign over my wages to him, and I refused. Before I knew it, I was laying face up on the bed with him straddling me, my arms and shoulders pinned by his knees, one hand hobbling my wrists and the other fist drawn back poised to strike. The bedroom door opened and his father asked, “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business. Shut the door,” he directed in a voice low, deliberate, and strained with rage. 

And his father, without a word, SHUT THE DOOR. 

I hate to leave you hanging there, but that’s where the memory ends. My therapist explained to me that’s sometimes how our brains deal with trauma that’s just too much for us to handle. If or when I’m ready, I may receive the conclusion of that memory.

I want to write more about my experiences, but how can I possibly tell you a story like the above? Either I leave you hanging, or I pretty much make shit up. Neither option lends itself to the authenticity I want to bring. 

Secondly, the other factor in the equation is The Girlbeater himself.

A couple weeks ago when I was on Facebook, his face popped up on the People You May Know box. I almost threw up. Literally. This meant that one of my friends from my high school graduating class is friends with him. How can I handle the possibility of him finding me on Facebook and then heading on over here, if I have such a visceral reaction just to his face popping up unexpectedly? 

I have a tangled knot of thoughts and I can’t find either end.

I want to speak, to be unsilenced.

But I’m gagged by the possibility of him showing up here. I just don’t even know how I would handle it. What if he *gulp* contacted me? What if he challenged my memories to a debate? 

He’s currently awaiting trial for kidnapping and rape. It’s amazingly easy to get my physical address. What is he capable of? 

I don’t know.

He has no right to know of any details of my life, but here I am, waving them all over the damn internet and hanging big flashing neon arrows pointed towards them. 

I want to tell you a story about a young woman finding her first love and being battered by him in every way possible.

I can’t.

It’s not fair. 

Thoughts?