January: Political Hell

The political situation: it's Hell. On toast. 

Alienation of allies and rhetoric about trying to take over other countries (!?!?). Kidnapping and murder of people by ICE. Shocking rudeness and unseemly behavior by numerous politicians. Changing of the recommended vaccine schedule which will ultimately result in the resurgence of preventable diseases, and simultaneously, a tremendous uptick in the cost of health insurance that might put it out of reach for thousands of people. Leaving the World Health Organization. Shutting down/dismantling vital departments in the government, cutting funding to necessary programs. Deliberate antagonism and punishment of people who disagree or who don't toe the party line. Neo-nazis. 

A nightmare. We are a laughingstock country. 

I cannot with all of this. It makes my (still a bit precarious) mental health shrivel. I want to take action, I feel powerless and wretchedly sad. 

Save us. 

Happy Pride

 It's Pride Month.  Happy Pride, lovely LGBTQIA+ peoples. Times are especially hard in the USA right now, for so many Reasons.  Whether or not you know where you may fall in the spectrum of sexuality or gender or attraction; whether you have told the World, or only a couple of people, or no one except for perhaps yourself; however your journey on your path of Self has progressed:  know that you are perfect -- and accepted here -- exactly as you are. 

Love, and people, come in as many permutations as there are stars in the sky. Find your star. 

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I am glad that there is so much more open information and discussion now than there ever was before. To have words to describe what one is feeling, to know that one is not alone -- what blessings for people who are struggling or are unsure about how they feel. 

For example, this website helps parse the different types of attraction. Attraction can be sexual, romantic, aesthetic, sensual, emotional, or intellectual -- each is slightly different.  Romantic attraction (the subject matter of so much of the entertainment industry) can then be broken down further -- aromantic, demiromantic, biromantic, heteroromantic, homoromantic, panromantic, and others. Sexuality can be similarly parsed: heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, more. There are other ways to describe the variety of human experience, too - nonbinary, gender/sexually fluid, queer. The permutations, as varied as people themselves.

Why do we need so many words, so many slices? People like to understand themselves and others. Sometimes, if we can find just the right word, we can understand better.  For example, if I state that I am heterosexual and demisexual/demiromantic, a clearer picture of who I am emerges. While the type of person to whom I might be attracted ultimately would matter only to people seeking to date me, the information provides context about my life. How did I grow up and what challenges do I face in expressing myself as a person? How difficult is it for me to find community? How dangerous is it for me to talk about my partner or even to make small talk about Hollywood stars I find attractive? These things are all relevant to who I am as a person. 

Some people say, people shouldn't talk about these things because they shouldn't matter. And that's true - it shouldn't matter. People should all be free to talk about who they are and who they love, without fear of rejection, condemnation, reprisal; and without danger to loved ones or to their lives. And until that point is reached, we celebrate Pride. 

Happy Pride. I am here for you, my friends. 

And Then Hell Froze Over

My current state of irate is due to the blathering of RFK Jr. regarding autism.  I don't want to link to his statements, because they are on a level of wrongity wrong wrong that boggles the mind. Briefly: his remarks include statements that are outdated and dehumanizing, perpetuate stigma and stereotypes, and undermine progress that has been made in diagnosis as well as in the development of support structures and progress in disability rights for those on the autism spectrum. The Autism Society's statement regarding RFK Jr's comments summarizes things nicely.

And now, a group of leading autism organizations has released a joint statement -- for the first time ever -- calling for science-based decision-making, investment in research, and services for the autism community, and the organizations that have signed include Autism Speaks, which historically I (and others) have considered to be problematic. Agree with Autism Speaks? Hell has frozen over. And we are OK with that.  

The list of endorsing organizations is growing. Good. More voices together will increase the chances that they will be heard, and that they will drown out the nonsense spouted by RFK Jr. and his ilk. 

Although it is hard to choose which current events to focus on right now, support of the autism community is a cause that is very close to my heart, and that I feel needs an additional spotlight at the moment. For your convenience, the joint statement is reproduced below. Take a moment, if you can, to take a look. I might be preaching to the choir, but still, I want to add my voice as well. 

April 17, 2025, Washington, D.C. – As national organizations dedicated to advancing the well-being of Autistic individuals, the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, Autism Society of America, Autism Speaks, The Arc of the United States, Autistic Women and Non-Binary Network, Autistic People of Color Fund, and partners across the disability and public health sectors stand united in our call for science-based decision-making and increased investment in the research, programs and services the Autism community needs to live fully.

While our organizations reflect a broad range of perspectives and experiences, we are aligned in the following principles:

• Vaccines Do Not Cause Autism. Decades of scientific research confirm there is no causal link. Public health messaging must be grounded in science and protect all communities.
• Autistic Individuals Deserve Respect and Support. Public dialogue and policy must reflect the inherent value, rights, and diverse needs of Autistic people.
• Evidence-Based Policy Is Essential. We call on policymakers to work in collaboration with Autistic individuals, families, researchers, clinicians, and disability organizations to ensure policy is grounded in science and responsive to community needs.

We are deeply concerned by growing public rhetoric and policy decisions that challenge these shared principles. Claims that Autism is “preventable” is not supported by scientific consensus and perpetuate stigma. Language framing Autism as a “chronic disease,” a “childhood disease” or “epidemic” distorts public understanding and undermines respect for Autistic people.

At the same time, federal proposals to reduce funding for programs like Medicaid, the Department of Education, and the Administration for Community Living threaten the very services that Autistic individuals and their families rely on. Research must be guided by credentialed experts and inclusive of the complexity and diversity of the lived experiences of the Autism community—not redirected by misinformation or ideology. As leaders in the fields of Autism and public health, we are committed to contributing meaningfully to the ongoing dialogue and initiatives led by HHS.

We urge public leaders, institutions, and media to uphold scientific integrity and work together to strengthen—not weaken—the infrastructure of support for the entire Autism community.

Hold The Line, Super Girl

In the days of yore when I was a youth in the 70s and 80s, I wore my Super Girl T shirt with pride, and we young women, in our seemingly eternal optimistic youth, believed that girls could do anything that boys could do. 

We read the articles and saw the news and were told the stories of heroines like Barbara McClintock, Mary E. Clarke, Susan B. Anthony, Sandra Day O'Connor, Elizabeth Dole, Sally Ride, Geraldine Ferraro, and Joan Benoit, to name just a few.  Woman, including women of color, making strides in science, politics, athletics, the military, and more. Fields dominated by men, particularly white men, to be sure -- look at us, we can be there, too. It was beautiful to know that we, too, had a place at the table. We could do anything. 

Sure, there were always stories. The sexism, the groping, the crude language and the arrogant dismissals of our work because of our gender. Those stories persist to this day, decades later. Because these things still happen, decades later. Don't be fooled. It hasn't ever gone away. Remember the MeToo movement? The price paid to get our seat at professional tables was sometimes very high. 

And now here in 2025, the country is under Presidential executive orders to scrub federal government websites and policies of anything relating to DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion). We can discuss what the purpose is of those executive orders, another day. The end result, though, is that pages and pages of information relating to the achievements of women and people of color are being scrubbed from the internet. Don't deny it. We can see it happening before our eyes. 

The stories that little girls like myself grew up on, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Access by the most common source of information -- the internet -- is no longer available. Yes, we can still go to the library and find a book. For those little girls for whom the library is distant, or for whom the books have been removed: what recourse do they have? Where do they go, to learn that women do, still (for now) have a place at the table? Are we to resort to Word Of Mouth? An oral history of Women? 

-----

I was flying home yesterday from a meeting. On the first leg of my trip, the pilot turned on the intercom to welcome us aboard and give us some information about the flight, and LO AND BEHOLD: IT WAS A WOMAN.  I wanted to cry.  It may seem like such an inconsequential moment to some, no doubt. But when only five percent of commercial pilots for this airline are women, it's not. 

There she was, with her soothing professional voice communicating with us, performing her job beautifully (such a smooth landing), going about her business. It might not have been a big deal for her -- just an ordinary day at work. But for me, it was a shining moment of Girl Power. We are still at the table. 

Hold the line, Super Girl in the cockpit. Your presence means more to some of us than you will ever know. 

All Squares are Rectangles (But Not All Rectangles Are Squares)

 Do you remember the expression: all squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares? It's such a great turn of phrase. I like it for its literal correctness -- few things more satisfying than a specific mirror-image definition like this. 

It occurred to me today that it could also potentially be used metaphorically. (Yes, I'm slow sometimes.)  I contemplated this morning, how it could be applied. (I was doing so, to avoid thinking about current events. Because they are all horrible. THE HORROR. Ironically, it was through mulling over current events that I ultimately came up with a situation that is analogous.) It goes like this:

When someone hurts another person through actions, an apology made through words can help.  But when an injury is caused by words, an attempt to make reparations through actions is not always successful. Even when actions are intended to show remorse or repentance or a change of heart, there will always be those previous words lingering in the background, and the thought that they may resurface again. Words can only be negated by words, not by deeds. 

Perhaps only I place so much emphasis on the value and import of words. (And perhaps that is why I spend so much time trying to explain myself with a hundred billion words.) Am I alone here? Give me the words, peoples. 

But perhaps not. Surely I am not the only person horrified by the words being used in public arenas right now. When our current President says the VERY TERRIBLE things he says, so flippantly, so carelessly, it is shocking and appalling and I cannot watch because the words stick in my head and I immediately want to argue and yet I cannot, because what good would that serve? What kind of terrible timeline are we living in, that the leader of our nation spews forth such cruel and crass verbal garbage? And it's not just him, either.  But surely I am not alone in my horror. 

Could amends be made through actions at this point? No. Absolutely not. The words need to be denounced. Better words need to be put forth. Only with Good Words, can we truly move forward. 

Nose to the Grindstone

 Herself speaks.

Whoops, it's been nearly two weeks. I have been buried in Things and Work and Extracurriculars. It's not bad, necessarily: honestly, having so many things to do keeps me from Ruminating, which is a very good thing. One of my projects in particular has required a certain amount of creative writing, which is my favorite pastime, and that has helped a great deal in building a ladder out of the Pit of Despair and Obligation where I had been dwelling for so long. 

One hard part, though, is not falling victim to the News. Because Jesus Hallelujah Christ on a bike, the news is SO TERRIBLE. I don't even know where to begin, or what to mention, because I don't want to risk thinking too much about what is happening. The state of the country's government, though, is... just Horrid. . 

It's as though the orange man is deliberately choosing individuals who are the worst possible options for every position. His neo-Nazi henchman, meanwhile, is marching around slashing and burning hundreds of government positions, cruelly, needlessly, thereby endangering our national parks and untold other government institutions and programs. The director of health and human services is an anti-vaccine, anti-antidepressant fruitcake who would like to set up 'wellness farms' for drug rehabilitation (that's not suspicious at all.)  There are newly proposed laws that would make it inherently more difficult for women and people of lesser economic means to vote. Oh, and the GULF OF AMERICA. (Eyeroll.) It is all terrible. TERRIBLE. 

And so I keep my nose to the grindstone, doing my work, trying not to hear the News, doing my best to take care of myself (still kind of poorly, but someday, I'll do better). One day at a time. 

It's going to be a really long four years, though. 

Witness Me

She was tiny. She came up from her watery depths, and her last and greatest effort was so that she could see the world bathed in a light that, for once, was not of her own making. 

And we, creatures of land and light, were privileged enough to see her final journey. 

This fish breaks my heart. 

Godspeed to her. 

Paintings by @sydbecrafty. Lovely. 

Current Events

With eternal thanks to cartoonist Scott Metzger, for capturing exactly how it is. 

Cripes. I canNOT read the news. I canNOT look away. It's like a clown car and Opposite Day rolled into one: finding the most contrarian and least competent person for a government job, and installing them in it by unceremoniously shoving the current capable person out of the position.  People with no experience, but with openly anti-science, racist/bigoted views, now having access to all sorts of information and more - all while clamping down on free speech through forbidding publication of data and reports that have previously been regularly, and more. It changes and evolves into new and more horrible forms on the daily. I can't keep up. 

It's shocking. 

Help. I am all puffy. 

I'm Already Angry

It's going to be a long four years. 

Why?! What purpose does withdrawing from WHO serve? Why be isolationist in this global economy? When one person carrying COVID-19 can get on a plane and infect another entire continent of people? It makes no sense. 

I don't think I can stand to be livid all over again for a second term. But what choice do I have?

I am nauseated already. 

Twenty-hour Triptych

I can't go back. 

Think of the Animals

 Mr. Mustache decided to try to die, yet again. He's King of Stasis, bless his heart.  

I knew it was bad when they had me go to the very back treatment room (you know the one - where they do procedures and perform surgeries) to talk to the vet after they took Mustache's x ray. He was Not Right. He had what looked like a blockage, smack in the middle of his digestive system. Too low to reach from the top, too high to reach from the bottom. Not surgically fixable. The vet, who is an absolutely lovely, kindhearted, and extremely talented vet of many years' experience, said she'd do what she could. 

And she performed a miracle. She pumped Mustache full of fluids and meds, and got his guts working again. He came home, disgruntled and fur askew, but alive and kicking. Good boy, Mustache. 

I am glad that he did not spend the day like I did while he was in treatment: worrying and wondering what to do with his companion Smudge, if he died -- should I take her to say goodbye to him? Would she understand? 

To fret about a small animal, to whom you cannot explain things, and for whom all you can do is pray and hope to minimize their suffering, is a special kind of Hell. 

Sometimes, I am not sure why I even have pets. All they do is break my heart. 

Perhaps, though, I continue to have pets because when they are safe and warm and fed and content, and have all that they need and want, I know that I have molecularly increased the amount of happiness in the world. God knows the world needs it. 

If they are happy, then perhaps I can be happy too. 

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For the past few days, terrible wildfires have raged throughout large portions of California. I have hardly read about it, because the destruction is so severe, and the scope of the tragedy so immense, that it is Too Terrible To Contemplate. 

Every now and then, though, a snippet of footage crosses my news feed on some form of social media. Endless flames. Seaplanes scooping water out of the ocean. People putting masks on their pets to walk them outside, because the air is not safe. A kind soul donating his entire collection of Squishmallows, so that children who have lost everything have something soft to hold. 

Poetry from devastated souls speaking in front of the crumbling ashes of their homes: 

I hope houses go to Heaven.
I hope it didn't hurt [when the house burned].

And the animals. Oh my God, the animals.

Posts from rescues and farms, indicating how much room they have for displaced pets of all kinds. Offers to transport animals free of charge. People turning their horses and donkeys loose, in the hopes they will somehow make it to safety. Exhausted skunks. Raccoons. An owl who was rescued, though her feathers were burnt so she could no longer fly. All the creatures. 

We cannot explain to them what is happening. They do not know. The level of fear and panic is unimaginable. 

I could barely stand one rabbit in stasis. I cannot even think about this level of Terrible. So much in ruins. 

God help them. 

Unthinkable, and yet Unsurprising

 You all know the results of last week's election. 

I... just CANNOT.

The despair, and hopelessness, and rage -- all the things that we had momentarily left behind -- are back in full force. Our only consolation is that it's unlikely he can change the Constitution in a way that would allow him another term beyond this one. 

Even if he is 'just a figurehead' for the Republican Party -- even assuming, arguendo, that he will be somehow Harmless and that the Republican Party will be running things for the next four years, this is what we know:

It was NOT a dealbreaker to over HALF of American citizens, that the figurehead of the Republican Party is a racist, misogynistic, sexist, sexually-assaulting, convicted felon; anti-immigrant, anti-intellectual, anti-environment, isolationist; an individual who mocks disabled people, who repeats lies ("alternative facts") and misinformation and ridiculous nonsensical statements ("They're eating the dogs! They're eating the cats!"); who simulates fellatio on a microphone stand at a public event; and who is crass, vulgar, and insulting to anyone who does not immediately agree with him. 

OK, then. 

Trust no one. 

Santa Fe

Herself speaks.

It's remarkable how it seems as though it takes the entire workweek, to prepare to take one work day off.  

Last week, Monday through Thursday were extremely busy, so that Friday could be spent out of the office. Beloved Husband and I took that day off, and took a leisurely drive from our usual corner of this desert southwest, to Santa Fe, New Mexico. (We went to Santa Fe at around this time last year as well -- we are looking to make it an annual pilgrimage, in honor of our anniversary which is in a few weeks.) 

It's such an interesting place: so many contrasts. Rich and poor, desert and oasis, art and mundane. We looked in all the expensive tourist-y shops; had several very fine meals at very fine restaurants; perused Art in various galleries; saw a ballet performance at the lovely little theatre. It was quite nice. 

There are some parts of Santa Fe that give me pause.  There is a lot of art in the galleries that depicts idealized Native Americans: beautiful maidens wrapped in furs or skins, waiting expectantly; stoic warriors in full regalia or war paint, staring defiantly; plump children contentedly gazing at  small carved toys, and such. I would be very surprised if any of these works were created by actual First Peoples artists.  It feels a little bit like Indian pornography -- exploitative, false, glossing over the ultimately terrible history of Native Peoples in the area (and throughout the United States). And there are the indigenous street vendors selling their wares on the weekends, on numbered spaces on the sidewalk by the center square -- there is the same vaguely uncomfortable feeling of exploitation and discomfort there, too. Is it just me? I don't think so. 

 There is also the conservative politics of some people of the region, that we strenuously avoid (particularly with the apparent assassination attempt on July 14, while we were in Santa Fe). The present state of the nation, of women's rights, of the Supreme Court decisions and other current events, fills me with such despair that I can no longer read the news. It's hard not to think about what's happening. But that's a discussion for another day.

We took the scenic way back to our corner of the desert, which was a very nice drive. Long freight trains, wind turbines, cows, a few pronghorns, and stretches of dry landscape as far as the eye could see.  It was a refreshing nothingness. I could spend forever in that interim.

Alas, we are now Back to Business As Usual.

It was a good trip, though.  We'll do it again next year. 

Memorial

Item three: while we were nearby visiting Offspring the First, Beloved Husband and I took the time to visit a few New York locations: in particular, the September 11 Memorial. 

I have always wanted to go. I feel we owe it to the people who died that day, to remember them. 

It was... even harder than I imagined. 

A locus of ghosts.

One of the first visuals is a piece of one of the original buildings, right there by the escalator leading down into the memorial. It is shocking. It brought me right back to that terrible day, twenty-three years ago, but like yesterday, fresh in its terribleness. 

It was hard to look at all of the exhibits. I went through quickly, and escaped to a bench to sit down in the quiet. Beloved Husband took far more time, digesting each bit, but I did not want to become (more) overwhelmed. 

After we looked at the exhibit inside, we went outside to the water features. They really are quite beautiful, and haunting, all at once. There's an urge to walk around the edge of each, to touch each name inscribed there, to acknowledge. To remember. You are not forgotten. 

We will always remember. 

Good Luck, Kate

 Well, we finally learned where Princess Kate has been.  She's come forward to explain that following her surgery, she was diagnosed with cancer. She didn't tell us what type, or what stage, or provide any details. (Nor is the public entitled to any of those details.) 

Oh, Kate. I'm sorry. It's hard enough to be in the public eye. To face such a diagnosis, and to have to manage your children's feelings, all while the world watches, must be very difficult. I wish nothing but the very best for you. 

Whither Kate?

 I'm not normally one to gossip or even to pay much attention to what's happening in people-related news, especially when it comes to the British Royal Family (because they and I have absolutely no relevance to each others' lives), but I'm compelled at this point to wonder: where is Princess Kate?

The British press is a weird, tabloid-driven entity, often cruel, overly prying most of the time, and weirdly tight-lipped at the moment. I'm sure there are many things we don't know about the Royal Family, and there are lies and half-truths and "alternative facts" that abound. Nevertheless, the sparse announcements about a surgery in January, a long hospital stay, an even longer recuperation expected at home out of the public eye, and her absolute absence from anything anywhere, is... concerning. 

There are other rumors that abound now, too. More nefarious. Ugly things, about domestic violence, her husband having a mistress; or worse health issues, eating disorders, mental health breakdowns; and just plain weirdnesses, such as her appearing on reality television as a masked singer. (Now that's ridiculous.) Who knows? No one is saying. Which is the strangest thing of all, really -- people aren't usually that silent.

I've always liked Kate Middleton, in a from-a-distance, she seems very nice and kind, and always looks so glamorous, sort of way -- she's a sort of woman to admire without knowing very much about her. I really hope she's doing OK. 

Thinking of you, Kate, and wishing you well, wherever you are, and whatever is happening.

Monologue

I was scrolling through the interwebs today, and I caught America Ferrera's monologue from the Barbie movie.  It's brilliant.  

And now I'm not sure I can watch the movie. Not right now.  Because right now, I am So. Very. Tired. It might just be Too Much. 

Still. This snippet is worth watching. Because this is how we feel. 

This is why we are so Tired. 

COVID 2.0

 I might be ready to talk about it a little bit. 

So - yes, I caught COVID a second time. 

My best guess at this point -- given the approximate incubation time, the beginning of my symptoms, and such -- is that I was infected at a particular doctor's appointment. I don't actually know, and there is no way of actually finding out; it's just my best guess. 

The worst part, is knowing that I was traveling and interacting with a wide variety of people during the incubation stage. Hello, I'm apparently Typhoid Mary and don't know it. The horror. And the moral quandary: what obligation did I have to notify people once I found out? How contagious was I? Ugh. The horror. 

I minimized what I could, and changed my travel plans to spend additional time ensconced in the hotel room, until I could (according to CDC rules) safely travel home, provided I was masked. I avoided people as much as humanly possible. It was all horrible. 

The course of COVID 2.0 was about half as bad as original COVID (which was good because original COVID was horrid). A few days of sore throat, a couple of days of runny nose, several days of low grade fever, several of fatigue, lingering cough. Unpleasant, but tolerable. And I tested negative about a week later. 

The worst part was the rage, because COVID interfered with several plans that must now be re-formed and re-done. And because I tried. I try so hard to keep from getting sick, and yet, there I was. 

The only silver lining, as far as I can tell, is that I will worry less about catching COVID again for a while. Oh, and I learned how to use Uber Eats, to have decent food safely delivered while in quarantine. 

Ugh. 

Stupid plague. 

Love Language: Physical Touch

Rounding out our contemplation of the Five Love Languages: Physical Touch.

What does "Physical Touch" look like?  

The key: it's not just sex.

It's about physical expressions of love, both intimate and non-intimate. Holding hands. Cuddling. Backrubs. A pat on the back. Tickling. A hug. Sitting close together. 

I have a complex relationship with physical touch. I generally like to be touched only by certain people. (Or more accurately, there are specific people by whom I do not like to be touched.) I may be very uncomfortable if I suspect that someone finds me physically displeasing (a common sentiment among those of us who don't meet societal beauty/weight standards), and will shy away from any sort of physical contract under those circumstances. I loathe tickling. I don't even like the word cuddling. Ew. 

I do like hand-holding, or a casual pat while walking by someone. I like a hug hello or goodbye or goodnight. I enjoy sitting physically adjacent to people I like. I am fond of having my hair brushed. And despite the stereotype of frigid middle-aged women, I also like... more intense physical intimacy. (Though because I am a middle-aged woman, that does require a certain amount of unhurried patience to ensure I am in the right mental space. I think that's all I need to say about that.)

Perhaps, like "Words" (without "Of Affirmation"),  a subsection of this love language would be what speaks to me. Purposeful, non-sexual touch: good, from certain people in certain ways at certain times. More intimate touch:  requires very specific permission. Nothing remarkable about this, all in all. 

Ultimately, while this language is important, it is not as vital as Words, or as Quality Time. When combined with either of those, however -- it becomes Very Special Indeed. 

Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Fourth in our contemplation of the Five Love Languages: Words of Affirmation. 

What does "Words of Affirmation" look like?  

Words of Affirmation centers around verbal and written communication that conveys love, affection, and appreciation to another person. Some of the common examples I found online include statements such as: "Everything is better when you're here." "I couldn't do this without you." "You are doing such a great job. I’m really proud of you." "Your support means so much to me." "You’re an inspiration!"

I'm half-and-half on this love language, the way it is described on the interwebs.

On the one hand, I do not enjoy statements such as, "I couldn't do this without you," because that makes a situation seem like an obligation. And I do not want to be an inspiration, or be the source of someone else's moment of pride -- those sentiments seem to me, to put pressure on a person to be a certain way, to do certain things. No one needs that. 

On the other hand, Words are extremely important to me. Perhaps excessively so. My career has been built around selecting words with precision and care; I try to use the same precision and care when I am writing for myself or to other people as well.  (This is why written communication is preferable for me, because it allows me time to think over and choose my words carefully. I don't think quickly on my feet when I am speaking, and that makes verbal communication much harder for me.)

Because I am not good at ascertaining underlying motivations or subtleties, I rely very heavily on the actual Words that are used. But then I have to use my knowledge of such Words to try to figure out full context and meaning, and I may improperly hyperfixate on particular Words and lose the whole picture. 

I get stuck on Words. It's problematic. I'm working on it. 

That being said, perhaps a subsection of this love language -- "Words" (without "Of Affirmation") -- would be the language that speaks most to me. Words -- plain, genuine, without imputation or sarcasm -- are everything. 

I am glad to see you.

I am here for you. 

Thank you for listening.