Rip Vera Winkle, or the Return of the Brat

Today is the first day of the last year in my 30s. I made it to age 39.

And let me tell you, Dear Reader, it feels like I got hit by a bus and just came to about 25 years later. (I should also note that I am operating on no sleep because my restless leg syndrome [RLS] medicine went jumping out of its pill pocket and into oblivion among the water pipes.)

A lot of things have changed since I left blogging and social media bantering. Folks can change the font in their usernames (which I have to figure that out meself). Also, folks are still going at other people’s jugular veins over the current American political nonsense.

In any case, it seems like now, that it is the year 2020, things should have been done fixed. But, things haven’t come to fruition. Where’s the end to all these blasted wars? Why don’t we have free medical service and free classes at universities and colleges across this country of mine? Damnit, I wanted to see them pretty flying cars like they had on the cartoon television series, “The Jetsons.” It’s 2020 already, and all I got is this platform to bitch about it.

Or, do I?

The purpose of this blog is to showcase what I am still capable of as an autistic non-binary adult with complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Yes, I do prefer they/them/their pronouns, but will allow she/her until I get of couple of these massive benign tumors off of my chest. Once they come off, so will the she/her pronouns. In 2019, I surprised myself and just about everyone else at my synagogue of me becoming a bat mitzvah (daughter of commandment), even though I was really a “brat” mitzvah (non-binary child of commandment), but I digress.

I want to do more with this blog than with my previous entries into the blogosphere (This, That, and Vera; Shaker Squared, and A Cerebral Prison). I want to show off my fictional storytelling. I want to showcase photographs I have taken of. I want to dream big and go even bigger, both with my life and this blog.

Maybe I will learn Hebrew more fluently. How about writing a thesis, just because I never had the opportunity to write one before? Yes, writing a thesis, just for fun. Fight me.

(Quick: do the hip still say “fight me?” Now is not the time for me to immediately “get cancelled.”)

So, have a seat, strap on your safety belt, and be my navigator as I drive this vehicle into the great wide open.

Post Script: thank you for the memories, Tom Petty. May your memory continue to be a blessing.

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