Problematic

 Thoughts from yesterday: I guess these are always thoughts. I inherited the worst traits of both my parents. My mother told me this often. I think I probably inherited more of her bad traits, but that's probably because I know very little about my father as a person. I don't know a lot of people that know a lot about their fathers as people, and the people that do seem to regret knowing them. The breakdown was this: my mother's bad skin, she was prone to breakouts, my father's thick black hair, that included body hair, and their general incompatibility with joy. I've probably mentioned a lot of this before. I think I definitely mentioned that I assume, if I am bipolar, that I got that from my mom who I most certainly believe is bipolar. It is also possible that I inherited her skepticism toward accepting I am mentally ill. I think I eventually inherited their fear and tendency to cut themselves off from the world. But there are things that I acquired that were less

 We live in the soft glow of a failed experiment. A little spiral tree of lights that was meant for the lawn. A lot of life in a house you care about seems to be not knowing what to do. There are half painted walls from the moments shortly after we moved in while I had motivational anxiety. Humming with ideas. Hoping to escape and make a place feel like it was a place for me. We have succeeded in making it a place for The Kitten. She has soft places to sit and watch us, to catch sunbeams for a lightly toasted Kitten, look out at a world that it seems impossible to be a part of. Same. I also feel I've picked up her habit of rotating interests. There's only so many things that are comfortable, soft, and safe I seek with regularity. It's not quite a routine. It's slipping into a modest interest. In the window as things go by I have the impulse to bark. I stare with curiosity and hope the intensity of my envy is concealed by my computer monitor. The idea of expanding my wor