Deep SHİt by Carla Bryant

Disclaimer: Those who know me best can attest: I curse like sailor, and love it. Henceforth, in all my blog entries, I will be slowly (because shy) sifting in my true language, in efforts to align my internet personality as closely as possible to my true personality. If this offends you, you are hereby invited to not read my blog, and therefore not get to know my true self. This does not mean I will begin using foul language in front of all people, all the time. I will continue, in the name of common decency, to moderate my language based on the audience I’m addressing. You don’t have to read my blog. You may, of course, but in doing so, you must accept the baby with the bathwater, because that’s what I am. A baby in a bath. End disclaimer.


It’s Friday. I have a lot on my mind. Probably would do me good to get some of it out. Before I get into the deep shit, I’ll just set the scene for you: it’s been a looooong, weird few months. Whenever I say that, I always think, “Well, heck. It’s actually been a long, weird life.” But I think the last two months have been epically weirder than the norm. I’ve made so many drastic changes to my command post, it feels like I’m living someone else’s life, almost. In a good way. Like, I’m living the life I always wanted, but always undermined because I never felt like I deserved it.

I was daydreaming about having a smoke the other day, and the thought came to me that I only, only, only, ever smoked, drank excessively, and did other bad things to my body, because I felt, on a gut level, that I was incapable of truly living. The Bible backs me up here in Proverbs: Give wine to him whose life is bitter. Let him drink and remember his trouble no more. I mean, there it is. That’s why there’s alcoholism. That’s why there’s a fucking opioid epidemic. And can we just talk for a second about social media? Holy hell. Pacify, entertain, numb, distract. We’re all dying! We’re miserable, we’re bitter, and we’re dying. Y’know – until we’re not.

Enter Jesus.

Just kidding. But not really, but that’s not what I want to talk about right now. I got a full psychiatric exam back in Albuquerque. It was an eight-hour, super-intense examination of ME. My brain, the way I think, the way I feel, the way I act. I got a big ol’ packet in the mail a while back with my test results and diagnoses. It was difficult to wrap my brain around, and still is, but I’m slowly coming around to accept what the doctor told me. I’m not going to go into huge detail, but she basically showed me.. that I need to be myself, and fighting against that will only lead me into darker and darker places. I can only imagine what lgbtq+ kids raised in unaccepting homes go through. Talk about hell. Bless them all (I just spontaneously burst into tears).

Anyway. I guess I got into deep shit already, ha! Well, here we are. Fighting against my true nature led me to deep, dark denial. I mean, still does, who am I kidding, but I think less now. It’s tough to face the lies we accepted as canon in childhood. The fun and obliviousness of my twenties had me believing they didn’t have power over me anymore. Nothing like marriage to bring out the beast in us, amiright? I mean, thank God for love. In essence, it exposes. That’s probably why I don’t do very well in long-term friendships.. ugghh, I’m going to cry again.. sigh.. but seriously. If it weren’t for love, specifically, my relationship with Adam, I honestly doubt I would be confessing all of this right now.

Over the course of my life, I’ve been told by a small handful of people I trust implicitly, that they trust my intuition and judgement. Across the board, I know what they meant was in reference to my personal perspective on life. Every time it’s come up, I’ve been utterly shocked by the affirmation. I was raised on the fear of phrases like, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, who can know it?” and, “There is a way that seems right to a man, and in the end it leads to death,” and “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Looking at these Bible bits today fills me with sadness, and a deep desire to study Biblical history to understand the context in which they were meant to be heard. To a little girl, full of emotion, creativity, and questions, they became a foreboding mantra for a life of fear. I mean, it’s one thing to live in fear of war, famine, disease, and disaster – it’s quite another to live in fear of yourself.

Gosh, I feel like I have gone on too long. I wonder if this is making any sense. I know, I know, my writing style is spastic. I’m trying to proof-read more. I just have such tiny attention span. If I start re-reading a paragraph I just wrote, I will lose ALL interest in the subject by the time I get back to where I’m writing. One of my diagnoses was mild ADHD. NOT SURPRISED. In “Sit Still and Be Quiet Class” (yes, that happened), my mom changed the rules, due to my inability to sit still and be quiet. I was allowed to draw, as long as it was what she was teaching/reading about. Good move, Mom.

So, let’s see.. Oh! I turned thirty! Yes, I did. I woke up that morning to the smell of bacon (which had not been in the fridge the night before) and coffee. Adam gave me Thomasina, the book on which the beloved Disney movie was based, and a biography with pictures on Arthur Rackham (one of my favorite illustrators). Bob and Kathy (Adam’s sweeter than sweet parents) sent me flowers and a MASSAGE. After a delicious brunch, we went up to Cedar Rapids for the first time (about 25 minutes from Iowa City) and I got myself a persimmon Fiestaware teacup & saucer. So perty. We were going to go get cake at a fancy sit-down restaurant, but a massive, tornado-bearing storm blew up, so we ate ice cream and watched Antiques Roadshow. It was great. love Antiques Roadshow. And I worship ice cream. Perfect day. This is the first birthday in a decade that I haven’t spent drunk for a week. And it feels pretty okay. Fuck hangovers. Gross.

In other neeeeews.. I got coffee earlier this week with Cortnie, the owner of an awesome boutique here in IC called The White Rabbit. I can’t believe I forgot to ask her if she was a Lewis Carroll fan, what is wrong with me. But we had a great time, and are talking currently about how we might-could work together in the future! Exciting, yes. But I’m more excited just to have met her at all. We yak like old friends; I really like her a lot. I hope we can be friends. I also met another lady, named Jill, who is the Events & Marketing Director at a sweet place called NewBoCo in Cedar Rapids (like 25 minutes from Iowa City). We’re getting coffee next week. And! I’m going to be meeting a girl named Victoria, who is the president of the UIowa’s ASL club! Hopefully, I will be able to afford to hire her as a weekly tutor for me so I can learn conversational ASL. Yay!

My work is going great. I got a new client this week, and two more potentials are on the horizon, which makes twelve clients!! That’s amazing to me. I’m beginning to think I could really do this freelance thing full-time. I mean, I technically already am, but I’m allowing myself a shit-ton of procrastination-time. Which is NOT COOL. I don’t count blogging as procrastinating, by the way. Just in case you were wondering. Anyway, I got my business cards in and they look fabulous. I have a website and a Facebook page (please “like” the latter, to make me look more credible to prospective clients), and I reached 500 likes on Instagram this week! Milestone! You can also follow me there if you want. I post slightly more risqué shit in IG for whatever reason.

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For fun, Ryan Bolton (friend of thirty years) and I did an art swap as gifts to our beloveds. I made a drawing of him and Rose (his beloved) cosplaying Spike and Buffy, and he drew Adam an ewok x-wing pilot named Kettch. An ewok would never be able to reach the x-wing controls or pedals, being that they are little stuffed teddy bears, so Ryan drew Kettch with drywall-type stilts and arm-extensions. So great. So fun. If anyone wants to do an art trade, let me know. If I have time, I would love to.

ambg print small


RyanRoseSpikeBuffy-Proof small

Okay, the last thing I’m going to say is that My Favorite Murder is the greatest podcast ever. Hooked.

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