FLudge: transition kicks my ass.

I’m not good at transition, I never ever have been. And here we are, in transition. again.

I went from working every second of every day and feeling like an asshole absent parent to having all the kids in school and three days off a week, in which i am supposed to fit all the writing and editing in forevermore.

i’m okay, but not okay. i’m not happy with that blank space in my income, in my adventure, anymore, as much as last year was still all tentative about schools and kids and quarantines, this year does not feel that way. So I’m a bit at a loss, and a bit afraid.

I can pivot and turn and react on a dime, yes.

but when it is an ACTUAL dime? more challenging.

i’m tidying. i’m writing every day so far. i’m reading more. these are the things that are necessary for me when I transition back to work at home, they ground me and get me all ready to go sit in front of the screen. I find that the more I read, the more there is in my brain that opens portals to all that I have ever read, and felt, and I can find it again. the words spill, the gardens are remembered and I can see the jar of buttons for the wild source of story that it is.

It will be a short transition, this, into working too much again, or being torn between what is ‘work’ and what I can be distracted from, and complaints of a sort about chauffeuring kids. They aren’t real complaints anymore, as I see the end of this chapter of my life in the air before me. Just noticings. A habit of complaint, maybe, but no honest one. I see it in its last days now, and already know I will long for such simple time spent with my kids.

Its time for me to rocket off in search of another thing to tidy. I’m not ready to face the applications for jobs yet, its my least favorite part, though I can submit in a flurry fury once I am ready.

love you guys, see you soon.


  • I’ve had two offers of an ax, by the way, so it looks like i’ll have to save my fancy outfit and candles for some other event. Maybe I’ll chop the wood in it? Or maybe hold the candles up while my boys split? I’ll decide as I go.

Pink candle to bring the light.

Its underway.

The great Yes-I-will-get-better phase of 2021 is underway. All four of us are covid positive, all getting better, though one is back in school, having already shed whatever she could shed, leaving the rest of us coughing under a pile of leaves in her wake.

So now I grapple with the fact that I have used up all my inner resources. ( Like, six months ago.) It is true that I still take baths like it is a religion and pity the fool who gets in my way. I don’t find anything on tv that thrills me anymore, because I have seen it all. I have made all the cakes, I have unfrozen all the milk. (gross) and I have talked to all the school nurses in the entire town. (god bless them, seriously, they have to be such navigators between policy, protocol and families in shock. sigh)

Ring Dings don’t really do it for me anymore and my eyes flick away from books so easily now. I really hate that.

This is a short quarantine, compared to the shutdown of 2020, and I can certainly bear it, but I am seeing red flags in my own winter forecast ahead. Something needs undoing, or doing, or my level of discontent is going to cause problems.

Working solo is a challenge, and if I’m not careful, too much of one.

I think I’m going to feed the chickens through the winter, just to keep myself interactive with forces outside of my own four walls and thirty-eight plasticked windows. I am still on the fence, because hello, rainy february mudstorm in a chickencoop for 1200? Not going to be my favorite, not at all.

Sigh. Maybe I’ll start the flower farm. Or the coaching business. The rehab of the windmill. Because seriously.


to you i pray,

love love

Back in summertime, when I loved this house, for its ramshackle abandon. There may be someone inside, as bored as I am.

February Drips

this is where I’ve been.

I started erroneously. labeling this one January Drips. Its fairly representative of the mood. A month behind. Still in the depths of winter. Its pouring cats and dogs here, and windy, almost a storm, really, and nothing could make me go outside, and i haven’t done the chickens yet.

The poor people in texas who cannot handle the freezing weather. They can’t, I mean, I get it. We can’t and we’re used to it. So, I get it. Stay home, everyone, just stay home.

My glasses are giving me headaches i think, so i have some other ones on, and i look like an old old woman. my glasses take up most of my face. and since i feel like that old woman today, it fits… i feel like i have to learn (again, sorry grammie) to crochet.

I should’ve been born in another century. yes, absolutely. although the inability for all previous generations to get truly warm in winter may make me a liar of desire. I’d say I should go south, but I mean, look at texas. I remember living in florida when it hit 50 degrees and we all just basically stayed in bed cause we hardly had real windows. I needed friends and like 50 blankets.

my kids are home from their trip. they’re exhausted but they had a wonderful time. they watched a movie about a serial killer. (so many facial expressions going on here, emojis won’t cover it.) I heard all about it over breakfast, from my 8 year old. I am aware I am still treating her like my baby, but I can’t stop. My last, my baby. Forever. So there, all you rational goobs. No.

Anyhow, I couldn’t entirely handle even the description of the movie, much less could I ever have seen such a thing. I can hardly even watch cop shows, the violence is too much, forget about gore. blagh.

this is an insane collection of drips. my apologies.

my boiler was out this weekend for maybe 30 hours. Its my own personal nightmare, this being cold and watching the house get colder. I have a woodstove, so I was practically sitting on it. I melted my cool fleece fingerless gloves. plastic really shows itself when heat is involved.

valentine’s isn’t a thing for me, single or not, so that wasn’t a big deal but i had two friends cancel on me and that was a bigger deal. i’m fond of cancelling, myself, but had been looking forward to company and diversion. Disappointment is kindof like being cold, I’m not entirely sure what to do, and it dominates my thoughts irrationally.

i’m good. its raining here, so everything is melting and cold.

i’m glad my kids are home. i can’t wait to see how this story ends.



abstract background with raindrops on misted glass
Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on