8000 words

Summer has blown my brain up. It was faster than I expected, this falling to pieces bit. I feel pretty flustered by the demands and the comparisons between the funhouse and the momhouse. I suppose I should just give in and do what they want, or suddenly be the person who makes plans. (not my forte)

I’m a go-along girl, always have been.

I used to judge myself for it. But I don’t anymore. And, when i need to, i can kind of make a plan. kind of. Trying to entertain myself when the kids are gone is pretty damn tough. No one to go-along with? Its been a pretty tough learning curve, and I am really not close to done.

Thankfully my eldest teen makes his own plans. So there is that. One taken care of. The other two ? They are learning.

god. I hate summer. (i mean, no i don’t.) It challenges me all day, every day, and I think I use fall and winter to rest, and recuperate.

But yesterday, my friends, with the fires lit under my ass by some friends, and the kids away with funparent, I wrote 8000 words.

8000 words. It feels like the beginning of a tidal wave, somehow. It is definitely a personal record, and was definitely necessary if I’m to have any hope of finishing my current job on time.

8000. What a fantastic number.

Don’t you want to dance around in it? Shimmy in your silver dress?

I do. I really do.

(too bad I need another few days of that kind of victory to be all done. I asked for the month of july off, with no work from this particular client. Went over like a bag of bricks. So, I have to get this done and well, and soon. And shockingly, the days are full of things, and lulls and more things, and I find it hard to sit and type, and dream and write. Shocking. BUT! I am hopeful now, because I am well underway. So hopeful. )

Its amazing to me how hung over I feel this morning. I sat down to get another few pages in, and my brain was disconnected from the process. I’m literally in another, liminal, space, half in my own katebowie mind, and half in a world of bartenders and fae spirits. Yes, that’s what this one was/is about.

So dang, my friends. 8000 words.

and tomorrow is my birthday. Shamalamadingdong.

how i keep track. It helps me to see, and begin to pick out patterns. Boy, my mornings can be busy. WTF, indeed. 🙂 Kind of like the notes I made when I was keeping track of contractions. Yeah.

love love,



Well, hell’s bells.

I’m pissed really. Today’s prompt is ‘open heart’ and I ate a ton of highly hydrogenated sugars and so I fell into a slump and started to watch tv at noon. Lets talk resistance, shall we? or should we actually tackle the subject I am loathe to address? I mean, that’s an entirely novel idea, yes?

fuck the resistance. i’m so tired of it. what purpose does it serve me right now?

i got up, opened three doors in this house, turned the heat off and let the air rip through.

the subject:

Honestly, sometimes the lonely is crushing and worry about the lonely being eternal is a real thing. BUT there is the practical, nitty gritty detail of ‘am i willing to jump into another real thing?’ (no, there are no offers on the table, but I am back on a dating app and if the suggestion of a phone call makes me want to vomit, isn’t that something I should look into?)

Maybe I’m just not ready. Its really possible. Maybe I’m letting a whole lot of things make me nervous and insecure. Body, fitness, age. Maybe I’m tolerating a level of BS from old friends because of that. Maybe I let someone gaslight me this week and I realized it only afterwards, and I should have been quicker on the draw on that one. I have had enough therapy. I’ve even seen the goddamned movie.

The air rips through, babes. I don’t have to be stuck. Let it rip. Lets allow our hearts to be whatever they are and let the air flow through us until we are ready. Deal?

The air is blowing a lot of shit around that I thought I had cleaned up. Dust bunnies galore. The metaphor is so thick you can see it. Right?

Its a beautiful day here, and you can weep and gnash and nap and hide and that is fine. and sometimes you have to fling open the doors and get some help, even if it knocks shit around.

the wind just slammed this door, chair or not. so i think i’m good for a little bit.


love love,