Panic in IKEA
As the only member of my household who works from home, its crazy that I dont have a desk/workspace.
*Slight edit: I found a sick transition desk on the sidewalk a month later. TY Universe!
Thanks for reading <3
A Song For The Road:
I wrote this months ago after I panicked in IKEA because of desks and consumerism and family trauma. It is un-edited because I can. There was a lot of rage, I’ve chilled out a bit.
The month you kicked me out for "not paying rent" I had given you $600 out of $800, and it was only mid-month. We had so many conversations about where I was financially, about the business I was building. You never told me to abandon it. You never told me to go get a job. It appeared that you supported me and what I was trying to build for our family.
My business was 2-part: admin assisting for small and startup businesses, and housekeeping for folks who couldn't necessarily afford regular housekeeping rates in 2025. I wanted to help anyone and everyone achieve their goals. I started small, because I was fragile and so tired from participating in the capitalism and hustle culture my whole life. Each month as I felt comfortable with my work load, as my mind and body adjusted to the new work, I took one another client, and then another. I had just broken even - $800, solidly mine every month, even after setting aside future taxes and a bit for emergencies. I had reached my goal, $800 to give to Lynn toward the house every month, and i didn't have to answer to anyone but myself. I was so proud to be doing my part for my family, for myself, and to be building something that was going to help so many.
But Lynn, let's be real. It wasn't about money. It was about power and control. Your need to dominate a space and the people around you is sick. I hate you for throwing me out of the only place that really felt like home. I hate you for pushing everyone in the family away. I hate you for throwing everyone out and still playing the victim. I hate you for not doing the work and making our whole family pay for it. I hate the family for defending you. I don’t care that alcoholism and addiction is a sickness. You had 60+ years to deal with your own childhood and you didn't, and I hate you for making that everyone else's problem too.
I'm trying to find gratitude for all that I have right now. A roof over my head, a job that mostly covers said rent, and a few really fucking stellar friends (a chosen family) who hold me up, hold me down, and give me the grace and the space to work thru this heartbreak.
I know my family loves me and I know I love them, even Lynn. But two things can be true at the same time. I can hate them and be angry and still hope that they all land on their feet.
It took a full panic attack in IKEA at 8pm to admit to myself that I wanted to be on Mallett Dr. I wanted to be in Maine. I wanted to be with my family and I wanted to help as many people as I could. I still want all of these things, but Lynn is selling the house (psych!). We haven't spoken a word since the day I walked out in March 2025, and we probably won’t again.
This inky-cap mushroom rears it’s head in the presence of wet, decaying wood. It sheds inky black dust and within hours of sprouting, turns into black goo.
