Humanity

Photo Bliss: January

Sometimes the world arranges itself to be caught by a photograph.

  • toy puzzles. color coded. bliss and joy and missing pieces. its done now, and we are sad to put it away, because man, those colors and shapes float my boat.

look what grows, and grows and grows. i know this: if we destroy the world, life will still be here. weirdly enough, this calms me.

I love these pajamas of mine. my work clothes. i used to get dressed. i probably will again, someday. today all three are home while we wait the results of the covid test. Something is being created from cardboard on the other side of the kitchen table.

When you live in a beach town you know the best days are not summer days.

Getting the chickens done. Bring a camera.

love you guys,

me.

Humanity

Re-do, January, Re-do

Its okay to start over, just clean-slate it. throw the baby out with the wash, go ahead.

(cynthia lee prompt inspired this one.)

So. If today is the first day… of the year, of the freshness, of the newest thing….

the way i begin is to look back. look at what i’ve done.

  1. i’ve survived a very questionable marriage, which was not a partnership.
  2. i’ve learned what a partner can be. happily, amazingly.
  3. i’ve started a career as a writer and proofreader and while i make zero real dollars, it is pretty freaking amazing that i’ve been working at this, and being paid.
  4. i’ve been raising my kids, with goodness and fair amounts of consistency. (only fair amounts, lets acknowledge my flawed humanity, okay?)
  5. I had to take my kid to his dad’s office yesterday. there is so damn much of me still in there, not in a sentimental way, but i recognize how much time and involvement and memory i still have, about objects, things i made, photos, things i had conversations about. he didn’t cleanse it out because he doesn’t even know, or remember or care. maybe he does, it doesn’t matter. it is a solitary experience, which emphasizes to me, the shits i don’t give anymore, deeply. almost aggressively at this point, but the aggression pleases me, it doesn’t hurt. all the stages i guess.
  6. I’ve been writing pretty solidly now for two and a half months and I’m excited for myself, proud and excited.

So, if i begin with deeply acknowledging those things, where do i step off? in which direction? where the hell do i want to go? the world is wide, deep and dark. mysterious and lit from within.

where to go? if today is day one…

  • had to test my kid for covid yesterday. waiting on results. he has no symptoms except a slight cough, but was exposed. we wait. day one indeed. (or maybe, day 6, depending on how you’re counting, for him)
  • i can see things changing in me, in what I want to do, and have some anxiousness about what that will look like, how i will take those steps, whether or not it will head me towards the financial standalone ability that i need. i’m handling it, so far, but noting it.
  • what are my baby steps? Today i will read the post-it notes i have around my work chair:
    ‘write! write! write!’ , ‘quick or slow, deep breath! Clarify!’ ‘Water you and the plants!’ ‘Get up! Go love those chickens!’ Read and do.
  • day one? I’m going to go get some clean clothes on, make a list of the phone calls i need to make this week. And then, goddamnit, I’m calling this week, however weirdly phonecalls are accomplished. ( i keep one finger in my ear to help this loaner aid function better, and man, its pretty damn funny-looking.)

Thats it guys, i don’t really feel the magic in this one, but maybe its a first day, with all its hesitancy, and thats just fine. first day jitters and all. 🙂

love love,

me.

Humanity

Who she what? January.

Cynthia Lee prompt today:

Introduce yourself.

and its time, to reintroduce myself to this new crew, here. and, happily, it can fall into list form.

  1. I am she who is a mother, to three, through and through. they consume much of my world, and i feel the skin peel off when they are not here, and the great joy that they have love in other houses, even though that is complicated and more skin peels.
  2. I am the one who compulsively defends. Compulsively. I think it is in my personality to see all the sides, the justifications, and sometimes that hurts the ones I am actually loyal to. “Who’s side are you on?” is the refrain of the hurt. I’m always on their side, though, every single time.
  3. I am one of those captured by beautiful things, and you’d be surprised at (and not) what I am caught by. Chaos, Simplicity, Complexity, Decking materials, fireplaces, typefaces, brick, deterioration, pattern, waterdroplets, owl pellets, dew.
  4. I am she who sinks deep into thought, the otherworldly, the rehash of things long done, the pitterpatter of fairy toes, the simply blanks of looking. there is a meditation in my blankness that not even i can understand.
  5. I’m of age, a weaver of my beauties, a grasp at tendrils of divine, a pull of greenlife, a beat of mothering. I cannot wait to see what comes of that.
  6. I worry. I think to prepare for the worst, and know I could not ever handle that, and know I could, too. And I am betwixt and between which one I could stomach.
  7. I am the hedonist, the seeker of pleasure, gratification and sense. Finding one to match that is proving elusive. There are so many rules I can’t understand, and stumble over. Intuition and expectation street fight in muck.
  8. I’m the eyeroller. (thank god not every call is facetime) The one who allows so much bullshit to pass without confrontation. Zero confrontation. Do not mistake my lack of confrontation for respect. It is not that. I will let you have your ego. You keep it. Tend it, love it. I don’t give a shit.
  9. I’m the one who struggles with taking care of myself beyond pleasure. I am not good at the hydration and the physical fitness. I am not. I love the donuts. I’m not on many of my lists of things to do. I am also she who works on that list, every day. I’m trying, sometimes.
  10. I am the one who loves the list, the way in which you get the small capsules to read, the bits. I wrote a story in my 20s called Bites, and I loved the format and still do, of small bits and nibbles of story, and the blanks are yours, yours to roll around in, like poetry.

love love,

me.

Woah. I am she of the up-close, too. Good lord.
Humanity

Begin again, January.

settle down.

re-start the goddamned regular. get back to it.

what are you going to do today to re-begin, after yet another discovery of the depths of white supremacy in the culture I come from? yet another being the weight here. so much fucking weight. guess it really is MY PEOPLE’s HOUSE. I can wave a gun and run right in because of how i look? oh? I never knew. all this time, a priviledge i didn’t know i had.

FUCK EM ALL.

really. i mean it. those fearful little whining losers. they are literally protesting that their candidate lost. nothing else. no grand social statement, nothing. sore losers. used to be socially unacceptable to be a sore loser. well.

today i’m grounding back down. i’ve got to write at least two thousand words of my ghostwriting job, to be on track, and i don’t know man, i need to spin and re-focus. so here’s what i am going to do. a list, of course.

  1. drink the coffee, all of it. it is your right as homeowner and kitchen cleaner.
  2. set the boundaries: men must admit they like you, in their own words, not as an answer to a question. at the very fucking least. its okay. its a reasonable boundary.
  3. call the insurance company. maybe their policies have changed. prices of hearing aides sure have. (whammy whammy whammy)
  4. drink the water, more of it.
  5. go take care of the chickens, look around at the frozen grass, notice the light on the yard. breathe deep the cold.
  6. feed the children. bagels for everyone, even me. i can worry about my rotundity another time.
  7. fold the laundry. have them put it where it goes. all the way away.
  8. write the story. mike and his girlfriend sandy. oh these names hurt sometimes. Sandy? when was the last time you knew a sandy? sigh. write it anyhow. two thousand, at least. flow.
  9. stare out the window, watch the rhododendron leaves uncurl.
  10. be broken. gather the pieces.
  11. appreciate the life i am in.

love love,

me.

angel with a broken wing, still angelic. mess and chaos and beauty, all the time.

Humanity

WHELL HELL, January.

Little did I know.

I want to tell you all about how so many people offered to give, loan, help, pay for my hearing aide problems. Because it was incredible, and I still feel sort of stunned and amazed because I typically feel very very isolated here in my home and world. covid, yes, and more. but am amazed and touched and feel now much less isolated than I thought I was. Some of the people offering, I didn’t even know they read or knew anything about me at this point. I mean, stunned.

And I also want to say, to the majority of my readers, who are whities through and through: THE FUCKING ASSWIPES WHO ASSAULTED DEMOCRACY yesterday? THAT IS OUR PROBLEM.

THE POLICE WHO FUCKING LET THEM IN? THAT IS OUR PROBLEM.

the police who can’t seem to ‘not’ shoot black and brown people? THAT IS OUR PROBLEM.

the police fucking let them go in! Because shooting a whitey is somehow problematic? Fear of the black and brown is THAT deep? You have to shoot them? Beat them? You see no other way?

Now, in my life, a gang of angry white men is way more threatening to me than a gang of angry black men. because of my priviledge and the history of our country, i am much more at risk from the white guys, they are the rapists and the beaters of women like me.

yes they are.

so when i see a swarm of them entering the capital, i am literally immediately worried for pelosi and AOC. where are they? are they okay? because they are more in danger than some milktoast politician no one can name. some fools were photographed having stolen nancy pelosi’s mail. so, looks like they went there on purpose, right?

this whole thing is terrifying. as a pacifist, i was still shouting about why they weren’t stopped WAY before they got to the doors, and if they had been black, they would have been shot. I’m not advocating that they should have been shot, but lets stop shooting black folks because they are so ‘scary’, ok?

We should all be deeply ashamed.