The most poignant parts of my life happened in books. Every time I discover something great it’s with a fictional companion. Not a wonder I feel destined to write a story. In the meantime, I’m working on telling my stories out loud. I’m the Jane Austen character that wishes she was Jane Austen, not believing in myself is part of the magic. That ability to zone out and take apart the world around me. Not caring what people think and simply continuing on my mission.

I feel freer now than I ever have. The problem is it hurts to breathe. I’m not wanting for anything except more time to process things. Constant sources of entertainment and new experiences. Potential to start over in career paths I once loved. Living in denial this long is a bit like leaving a cult (or a bunker). The cost of living in my previous life was so infinitely higher than here.  Shifts in resources have been dramatic to say the least but the difference is truly the human resources.

Some family networks are too large to fail.  Fortunately, I found a great divestment option that only costs me biological children.  A prodigal soul made better by the journey, regardless of results.  I come from a fertile bunch and resisting the call of motherhood was never an easy decision. My only problem is sapiosexuality doesn’t promote good genetics.  I’m not a physical specimen that should get replicated.  That said, I’m pretty sure I gave birth to a religion recently, so I might live up to my original namesake.