Who Am I?

If you can answer that in a definitive and succinct manner then you have more insight into my life and the menagerie of mental animals occupying my brain than I do. Let me be the first to congratulate you! I’m still trying to Dr. Doolittle my way through this zoo. I can, however, introduce you to the cast . . .

Jared is my husband. Jack, Eloise, and Abby are our kiddos.

Barney and Bo are our resident Steinbeck characters in dog form. Milo, River, and Ruby are the cats that allow us to live with them.

I’m Jess the narrator, albeit a non omniscient one. My anxiety frequently attempts to submit her own rewrites in this area. She’s union and we do what we can to accommodate. Her co-writers are ADHD, CPTSD, and the occasional guest appearance by Depression.

I’m a writer, artist, mama, wife, geek, and a myriad of other things in no particular order. Everything I write is from my perspective and the events are one hundred percent gospel truth except for the parts that aren’t. It’s all relative and can evolve or devolve as life unfolds and everything is fluid.

Everything is fluid except for my love for my people. And my use of profanity. I love to say fuck. Everything is fluid except for my love for my people and fucks. Wait. . .

P.S. I have serious doubts that anyone will ever read any of this, which is why this entire, “Who Am I?” section feels self-indulgent and crazy like I’m having a conversation with the bacon and eggs that make a face on top of the pancake my kiddo won’t eat because it has a face. Which also means I’m just typing to myself . . .

Fuck it.

I’ve done worse.