Humanity

Chump

I got stood up on a first date. I only waited fifteen minutes. I bought myself a sundae anyhow but didn’t want to pay a dollar for the slices of banana and so robbed myself of a little joy. but there was hot fudge.

(online dating bites the big one, also without banana)

i wore my yoga pants backwards this morning, to yoga. I’m not sure if anyone could tell but man, its that feeling, when you recognize that you are kinda sorta only basically functioning.

I spend a lot of time excusing people, making up imaginary scenarios in which there is a good reason for their bad behavior. I am beginning to see what a waste of my time that is. It is hard to let go of a pattern I’ve had since childhood. Some things are just inexplicable.

I’d like to tell you that I’ve been patting myself on the back for dodging a bullet but that would not be true. I wonder to myself if he saw me, and ran away, like they do in the movies. I am not 27 anymore and my exotic bird characteristics are not for everyone.

And then I think to myself I will stop looking. And then I recognize that it is possibly one of my defining traits, to be looking, seeking, curious. So then what? A break? I have fear that if i do that it will be permanent, I will somehow float off into the woods never to be seen again, disconnected entirely from the world of my body and of men.

and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. but then there’s these kids that still need to be shepherded to adulthood. and stuff. and i should probably feed the dog. yah.

CHUMP.

thats right. its been that kind of week. And i’m pretty sure its just Monday.

Humanity

Yesterday. all my troubles were… on display.

I had it all arranged. All of it. I felt like I had 38 kids. I did. I had to involve the entire community but all the kids were covered to go all the places they needed to in one afternoon. Nobody was going to miss anything. I was the Queen of the World.

One was going to another school to play lacrosse which he loves but i’m freaked out by because seriously, only rich kids play that game. or long islanders. anyhow. my issue.

but the other one was getting picked up by other parents from one sport to be taken to another sport and i was going to drag all three to watch and then bring ’em all home by 8 pm. somehow food was going to happen too.

the third one was to be picked up at school by me, taken to gymnastics and then the grandmother was grabbing her to bring her home and i was going to sneak out and try to have an in-person meeting with someone I don’t know except virtually who happens to be male. Because I actually have a place in my own life, too. I should embolden that sentence, but I won’t, because now that I’ve typed it, it would be weird.

and on the way to school in the morning, the littlest got that look.

THAT LOOK.

She’d been really grumpy and tired all morning but you know, Mom was on fire with keeping the schedule intact so that she could maybe take a shower before the ‘meeting’.

Well. THAT LOOK. the look which means, Mom, something is about to happen, I know not what… but I really don’t feel good and any end is open for evacuation.

So, Mom throws her hands up in the air, turns the car around and drives her carefully laid plans back home to tend.

no gymnastics. no go get em. Ah. whatever.

I did go meet the guy and thats a whole ‘other post having to do with my expectations and desires and how confused I am still by my own sexuality. like, Man, my fires ARE BURNING. and, yet, I don’t want someone who only wants me when I am on fire. (no, I was not showing him any flames, but still) I have not yet found a balance, or a man who has the patience to wait and watch me figure it out, whatever it is. and take me to a delicious dinner, and walk in the woods and stuff, and laugh with me. so.

today i have another one home, different stuff. so there, plans. just stuff it, already.

life.

love love,

me.

black illustration on white printer paper
FIE! I say, FIE! to you and your plans!! FIE!! Photo by Matej on Pexels.com
Humanity

Not working, and the country is on fire, and has been for four hundred years.

well. i’m supposed to be writing, for work. and i’m not. shocking, i know.

this is what i’ve done this morning instead of writing.

laundry. dishwasher. ordered seeds for the yard, calendula, valerian, zinnia, and lovage.

I’m going to figure out what to do with tons of calendula this year. You bet your ass I am.

texted with an old friend who i asked to yell at me and he did.

texted with another old friend who got saucy. it was funny but distracting and i was taken aback.

ate some crackers. made myself an instant coffee (sign of the apocalypse, yes.)

made a schedule for errands this afternoon which include finally watching one of the classes I signed up for, assuming I get another thousand words written.

I found a birds nest in the rhododendron. No eggs yet but I figured out how I can look without touching.

I have no self-bribery system set up. The floodgates are down and I’m not withholding anything and if I want candy, I go buy it, furthering the ‘not working’. This is the complete dissolution of productivity, folks. utter dissolution.

My inner core says the work will still get done. Am I doing drugs without my knowledge?

These are the things guys.

And I’m still not shot because my inspection sticker is out of date. Its’ literally not even conceivable. Right? What about you?

close up photography of zinnia flowers
Zinnias, Photo by Swapnil Chakraborty on Pexels.com

Humanity

What is in your margins, January?

  1. In response to an Isabel prompt : some of that quote that brought me to my knees last time, what is in your margins, baby? what’re you constantly underlining, again and again, like new every time?

  1. Colors, always colors. I’m downright a.d.d. when it comes to distraction by beauty. Color, shape, the painting I no longer do, the detraction of value from myself for that. Oh. So much. Slight miss, peeled off, scraped off, value gone, value gone. Not creating, not. Scrape, peel, scrape peel, bare walls left. And more, peeled, scraped down to studs. And then what? Where then? Shelter gone. Zero. And wind. The wind blows through. Again. That’s my underline, right there. the biggest one. over and over. manic. manic. manic.
  2. I keep finding these men, these men who really cannot fit a woman into their lives, and I keep thinking of their loss, to lose me, this valueless non-creator, and then I see again that I am so uncertain I can do this all again and I know I use them to distract, like pretty shiny pennies.
  3. Can I live on macaroni and cheese with an occasional tomato thrown in? Is rickets a thing for me now, on this pirate ship of a pandemic house? Am I at sea now, for months at a time, while the kids take their boats out again and again and I am home… rocking in my chair on the waves.
  4. I’m not there anymore, I’m not there anymore, my chant when I wake from the bad dreams. Still, five years out. Anxieties about something so far gone. This brain, and where she roams when I sleep. Poor thing.
  5. I stick my head in the plants. I run my hand through the rice. I light the tree until I feel the itch for space and emptiness . and it itches. And I return to dreaming of painting.
  6. I woke up at four today. I feel pleasure in this, though I acknowledge that my evening will be affected. I have added another thousand words to the work writing and I am so glad and also, sad that there is still so much more to go and I’m running down my timeclock. Sometimes I think I deserve this, this halfass pride in work that I don’t want anyone to read. You know those cheapass romances that you buy for .99 on amazon? That’s me. I write that shit. sometimes. Welcome to the ambivalence. And return.
  7. The potato bugs have moved in, must be the season of… what? Mate? Coldness? They are everywhere. Slow moving creature of prehistory. I love how peacefully we coexist. I’m not sure when we decided we could, but we did.
  8. I keep meeting addicts. I keep finding them, the sharp, the intelligent, the weak, the traumatized. I find them, I love them. I have shifted away from taking them in, housing them, and that’s the change in the margins. Just a color change, same words, but progress. Big.
  9. I understand how deeply I need winter. This return of the cold, the dark. The stay home. Pandemic or no. this is the acorn buried deep. This is the time I understand how to protect my children. Stay. Warm. Socks. Hats. Lights. This is the time I understand.
green acorn
Photo by Eriks Abzinovs on Pexels.com

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.