I’m coming in from the cold to let you know that i’ve had my most profitable month ever here at lovelove, and i want to be open and transparent with you about how i am doing, financially.
I made $1.39 from the ads that you see alongside the writing, this month alone. Those ads that i have no control over, except to allow them. This brings me to $13.27 since 7/2018. Never let it be said that writing is not lucrative, friends. I am living proof. I only have to reach $100 before they’ll write me a check, so there.
Just wanted you to know. Suze Orman, eat my grits.
Now.
I’m doing okay. I have dreams going on, and meditations, and sadness, and sacredness. I’m clearly on the cusp of some things and trying to jar myself into action, smooth bumps and load vehicles and the like.
I’m working more days of the week, outside and I love the feeling of my heart pumping as I carry feed and water for the hens. And baskets and baskets of eggs. I’ve also started at a flower farm nearby, and between the two, I am awash in beauty regularly.
Its all experimental, after all, this life. Its all experimental. I mean, experiential. exponential?
Make sure you are fed, dear ones.
Eat up your joy.
Lovelove,
me.
A word I happen to have above my stove, but haven’t photographed, so I’m stealing someone else’s …Photo by Natasha Fernandez on Pexels.com
i’m crying a fair amount, but now my eyes hurt and i’m trying not to.
i’m meditating most days. a guided meditation, so i have even less opportunity to think. thinking is the enemy.
i’m working part time in a flower greenhouse, to learn, because i’m dreaming of having my own greenhouse lately and goddamnit, those things are not cheap and are a whole big deal. they arrive unassembled, goddamnit, and empty. (laughing.)
i’m gathering all my dreams into a big pile to see what I can make of them, try to make my life something more independent, more in line with the joy and the contentment I have and want more of. fuck ‘work in the schools’. swear to god, i hear that one more time and i will buy a gun.
i’m sinking into a deep melancholy that I feel in my chest, losing one of my best supports and loves is an unbalancing force, and I am aware, and so I am doing my best to reach out and gather new supports, and use the ones I have. hello sister. nods.
i’m fine. its january. things percolate. i have a working coffee maker, and vitamins. i’ll make it.
love love,
me.
Yeah, this is NOT how I’m feeling. Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com
I’m mulling over making the attempt to write every day that many make in this month of november. the original thrust was for people to try and write a novel in a month, NANOMOPO? NANOWO? to push themselves to write every day until a body of work appeared.
i can, sincerely and without question, guarantee you that i am not producing a novel.
i’m just mulling over writing daily, here, in a public way. Let me know what you think. ok?
in other news, the car is ‘pretty much’ fixed. my mom helped me pay for it, and i know that is what family is for. and i still have embarrassment anyways, and somehow making sure that it isn’t a secret makes me feel better.
(for the life of me i will never ever be able to keep a secret about myself. for others? til death. but myself? never ever. Is this a flaw? a strength? a quirk? idgaf. yes, that.)
and i’ve taken one day off each week to just do household things like bathe myself in hot water slowly, and wash my own clothes, not just theirs, maybe clean up the front porch of summer items. a slow and easy day, and if i end up watching tv i will be sad but only a little. anything goes. its rest time, for me. no kids, and any worries that come up, i solve by washing dishes. today i washed two windows, in preparation for the winterizing plastic that is going up. and, i wrote, here, publicly.
days of rest are unpaid, yes, but they do pay dividends.
my inner hellacious bitch voice is muted by the green of leaves still holding on out there. there has been no hard frost here yet and the anne of green gables beauty is all over the place. october’s crisp apple crunch.
sigh.
november is about missing things. people who are gone, lives we thought we’d have. there is something in this northeastern light that brings us all into this melancholy, all of us, i’m convinced.
there is a reason it begins with day of the dead.
i love you. do.
-lovelove
Photo by Maria Lindsey Content Creator on Pexels.com
Honestly, I’m not sure that I’m using that metaphor right. Is there some element of mischief there? Or fraud? I can’t remember and there is no one here to ask. and honestly, i really resist searching things up on the internet that are better found out in conversation.
today is a cry day. big fat loppers, and little ones that I don’t know are coming. puddles.
I spent 1500 on a plumber yesterday to bring us up to a level with this century in terms of my well. It was definitely money well spent as we all took satisfying showers for the first time in ages, if a little bit extra iron-y. but they were the third plumber visit in two weeks. THIRD.
and this morning I had a hard time waking up, and stumbled around the kitchen to make my coffee and there was no water. there was no water dude.
humpty landed his first whallop.
so in pitch black i go into the basement because needs must. and for the love of god, it all looks like it did yesterday, for all i can tell. and so i come back to the kitchen, soothing myself that there are no spiders in my hair and that my house is not in imminent danger of explosion.
2. my mom calls. 3.boys go to school with bitchery. lots of it. showers work, other places have water. so that is a win. 3.1 i drive mom home from her car shop. 4. get a call from my car shop. next week is hopefully the last day i spend at the dealership. maybe. but thats another grand. i’m officially worried about money and whether i have enough working as i am, or if i need to just go ‘get a job’ like my kids stupidly say because they are sometimes assholes.
5.my ex offers to host the eight year olds birthday party at his house of fun and i dream of his immolation. i do not say this to him because its completely irrational but then 6. i book a party at a trampoline place that i now officially cannot afford. I hate these months. I have forgotten how much I hate these months. Two birthdays, anniversary of my dad’s death and the big holidays.
7. I’m officially in pre-menopause and I can’t tell what my hormones are raising and what the devil is raising and what my actual life is raising.
I’m having a day of official overwhelm when the worries are winning. so be it. let it be known though, that …
i fixed my damn sink guys. my own damn self.
for seven dollars.
and i’m crying some more. i’m fine. i’m fine. i am. even in the pit, i am my own fucking little candle, right?
fucking hell.
maybe its crocodile tears. is that milli vanilli or elvis or something?
Last time I was here, they handed me the keys with the caveat, ‘if it doesn’t work the first time, just try it again.’
The dealership. The guys who are supposed to know every single thing about the make that they sell.
Sigh. They also suspected that I was turning it on wrong. The car I own, and have owned for almost ten years.
Its my boobs. My boobs are so damn distracting that men of all ages are fucking idiots and think I can’t turn on my damn car because I have breasts.
So. here I am again, same place, because you know, i need my car to turn on every time, and my mechanic insists that the keys have to be programmed by the dealer. he wouldn’t do me wrong, i’m pretty sure. he probably knows i have breasts but he might not have noticed. or, it didn’t matter that much. he certainly thinks i can start my own car.
‘ Good Luck Out There’. Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com
I’m going to leave here today, hopefully, and buy myself some lottery tickets. One or more, and maybe some scratch tickets, because you know? You just can’t win if you don’t play the game.
also, the coffee machine here is out of order.
I SAY THAT IS OUT OF ORDER!!
love you.
(I’m working on my latest writing project in the waiting room here. only 20 K more to go. Did I tell you the whole place is under construction? It is. yes.)
