god, i hate bob dylan’s voice.

I really do. and while he may have lyricist cred, i cannot bear it. I just cannot. it makes me want to rip something and burn something and hear something smash.

between this experience and wanting to punch tom hanks, i mean, forrest gump, repeatedly, you can see that I am in need of an intervention.

not because either of these aggressions are WRONG, per se, but because they are so very STRONG, almost overwhelming.

and while i am being very mature about my current flux and flow, and my disappointments; I am bumping into more and more of these petty grievances as i move about my day.

So be wary.

I think its pretty common to me, and maybe, to you, dear reader. There are these little fissures in the rock of my foundation, and boiling hot steam is escaping.

Like, when I’m notified that my son has changed his viewing ability on a streaming service, so that he can see ALL the things, I get ticked. I do. And it goes like this, internally:

Does he not think I’m the boss of this goddamned house? Does he not remember that I find out EVERYTHING? I AM THE MOTHER. Yes, boys, and flatulence and boobs or whatever. BUT GODDAMNIT. Stupid, stupid. AND, of course, he does this while at his dad’s house and so therein lies an entirely separate level of capitalization.

believe it or not, I am tired of talking about porn.


Piss and Vinegar,

and love, always love.


spray bottle beside indoor plant
This is brilliant for colds, by the way. just gargle and it kills everything. EVERYTHING.
Photo by Rosana Solis on


Wild, wild pendulum.

Honestly, my moods are fucking insane.

I want to blame the hormonal shifts that come with perimenopause, I do. Fucking 47 years old.

But I am also doing a lot of things and trying to stack all the pieces just right so that nothing falls down, and its a lot anxiety provoking.

Today’s freak out was about money. I’m trying to refinance a house and since you know how profitable the blog is, I am sure you are not worried about me at all. but still, the working at farms thing isn’t really the best idea when you are trying to prove yourself to a bank. So i feel like I’m in a movie, and I’m the down on her luck salesman who just sits at the loan desk, waiting for a better answer. And I’m doing a lot of rabbit hole blame towards my ex and myself for all the latitude I have given him, which has put me in this hole in the first place. GOOD FUCKING GOD. And blame is not something I like to saddle up on. Its very prickly, and in a very bad way.


Today I did not have to go to any work places, because I had a mammogram appointment and some therapy (soon, very soon now.) And its snow/raining so I am incredibly lucky. And my old body is still creaking from the last couple of days anyhow. You really should have seen me getting up from the sofa yesterday. Really really.

However, having all the time to snuggle is no good, when things feel like they are ricocheting around the room. ‘Things’ being my moods.

Turns out this is just a complaining post. Goddamnit. Maybe I’ll come back after therapy and see whats up then?

Please hold: Part 2 will be arriving shortly. . .

Okay. well fuck. So, turns out I’m completely anxious for good reason. Right? I mean, money, and dreams and hopes pinned on bureaucracy (i had to look the spelling of that up, bureau? really?) are anxiety-provoking things.

And I was missing my dad, my right-hand man who helped me do stuff like this. He’d let me do it, but somehow I’d feel much more in control. Protected somehow from the slings and arrows. I guess we all want that. and i do.

I’m okay. I’m glad of therapy to point out what might lie beneath the annoyance of refinancing my life and dreams. I’ll be fine, refinancing or no. and thats the whole damn truth.


  • lovelove

Prompt was:

talk about the quality of light, the light where you are.

  • I’ve got two skylights in this room, and in the morning, I watch light move down the wall, into the room, fringed by whatever woodwork is up there on the outside. The windows are dirty, and the light drags their dirty shadows down into my kitchen. And I don’t mind. I never notice their dirt, except right this minute, so its not an actual bother. To clean them, I’d have to go climb on the roof, which might be fun but is certainly not anywhere on my list. At all.
  • The way in which my screen is set up into bullets is thrilling. Makes it so easy for me to transfer, share the way the light is coming through my windows. Looking out I can see the light moving into my neighbor’s yard, illuminating their hedge, lighting up their porch, or what was a porch at one point. Amazing how we don’t go into our neighbor’s houses anymore. As a kid, I swear I was in other people’s houses more than my own. At least, at a certain age. If you asked me to, I could take you right through Mrs. King’s house. Or Mrs. Almeida’s.
  • The light here is on, it always reaches that time of day when I realize the kitchen light is still on, a remnant from putting the kids on the bus in the dark. Not needed, not needed, save the money.
  • We are in the apple crisp season, the crunch of leaves, the cold ‘mom, leave me alone I don’t need a sweater’ season. It is a deep love and a melancholy ache. A melancholy age, my typo just said, before i fixed it. Maybe that’s it too, I’m in a melancholy age. Not old, and not young, the in-between.
  • I’m fine. I’ve been finer, but light, light, back to the light. And its an action, a direction to go. The shadows being slowly moved, as the light does its thing. Its funny, right? How the light directs it? Moves the darkness around by its presence. Actually showing that the darkness is not a force in and of itself. At least at this time of day, the light wins.
  • The light the light the lights, I am besieged by desires to buy Christmas décor. Beads, lights, candles, sparkles of all the kinds. I justify the spending usually but not this year and I’m trying to judge if its better to say lots of little no’s to my impulses and then break down later, or to say a little yes and move on from there. Maybe the yes will flavor the month, relax my compulsions a little.
  • Today I thought I lost seven thousand words that I’ve written. I yelled and raged and didn’t know who to tell besides my boss. It devastated me. And truly, and well.
    and then i found it, and i’m choosing to carry on, to run off to freeze my ass off at a darkening-early farm stand and just carry the joy i’ve been given, even if i want to kick it in the nuts, repeatedly, for scaring me and making me ragecry. i’m still happy it showed up. so there is a kind of light in that, right?
  • And also, while i was ragecrying and trying to save myself by calming myself and putting on more sweaters, i realized that what i do is actually hard, and creating something from nothing is a goddamned miracle. so i chilled, and calmed. and then i found it. so there is always light, and shadow-shoving. so there, man. so there.

Day two. I want to punch something still.


woman in black tank top and black shorts carrying black leather handbag
Photo by cottonbro on

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.


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,


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