yesterday, smart. not smart.

it happened. i bumped into the technology wall of ineptitude.  i was crushed by debris.

look for me in the clouds, y’all.


( i should stop there, for drama, but there is, of course, more.)

honestly, the debris involved ads posting on their own, purportedly, and pointing people to nowhere and possibly hurting reputations… and guess who gets to pay for that mistake? whoowhee.  possibly, the problem is contained but it involved literal tears on my part and a text to my sister asking if i should be quitting to save my friendship with scary uncle.

she said no.

so i think that i have now erased everything that i have touched.  possibly.  if i get another email today, that tells me my ad is ready to roll out in a hot second, you will hear me… across the street (winking at L.S.) or across state lines…

i think that my frustration and tears were partly to do with the complete shock of not understanding. it is rare for me to come across something that i can’t grapple to the ground.

in a moment of grace this morning, i was able to envision looking back at my stresscake-ness and saying ‘woah, remember when i got so fruity?’… another moment,… ‘perhaps its not designed quite as organically as they believe’…

that’ll be nice. i hope that happens. its a large part of my identity that i’m a smart girl, and feeling incompetent is not something i tolerate well…

as is evidenced by the way i felt yesterday.

there was a lot of drama.

full on tears. in solitude, i keep that shit from the kids unless its spurts out uncontrollably. this was a silent, fatdropping tears time.

kids ate their dinner from the freezer. nuggets, patties, hotpockets. nary a vegetable in sight.

i yelled.  i had a hit-the-steering-wheel moment as i was driving my eldest to his spontaneous sleepover. sometimes the body just gets overloaded and has to fritz out. i fritzed.  (today they don’t have school as all good citizens will be VOTING like our lives depend on it, or our national pride, or something..)

maybe i’m just not smart in all the ways.  i mean, i already know i’m not a memorizer, i’m not a geometry girl, i’m no longer a slog-through-it heavy prose reader..(in college though? oh hell yes) … so. does it help me if i admit i can’t get this?

it feels like quitting.  and man, do i feel like quitting. and sheer stubbornness. like i’ve got something to prove to the freaking facebook ads manager. i’m going to rip it to shreds. go all wolverine broody on its ass.


I went to the beach this weekend. and dyed my hair. I wanted to put a fierce picture here, to show my grit, but I’m not there yet. i’m just pudding, no grit.

I’ll get there, don’t worry.  maybe.  highly likely. probable. possible.


Too many chairs here.

I’ve been sick. like, can’t do anything else but be sick, sick.  another time in which i feel such immense gratitude that i am home, and that my livelihood is not dependent on showing up in an office or classroom with pep.  so much gratitude.

i managed a small amount of work.  less than half normal. but whatever. i’m still astonished i could even do that.

i woke my kids up, got my kids to school every day, and games and practices were cancelled because of incessant rain. i made a roast chicken. i did the things.

as soon as the last was out the door in the morning, i went back to bed.

its a kidney infection, and its on its way out. just this morning i took five different pills to tackle the thing. one antibiotic, three urinarytract cleansers of the naturalfood store sort, and the anti-depressant that i always take.

but i’ve been forgetting the anti-depressant during the sickness, because of the brain fog.

on the weekends, the kids are with their dad all but one weekend of each month. so i was alone this weekend, and literally in bed the entire time. i’ve been wearing the same clothes to bed and to wake for three days. i’m colorful, very colorful.

i made a video this morning showing off my threads, and managed to brush my hair afterwards because oh my god.  so i’m now a rockstar.

the title here? too many chairs?

being sick and layabout has knocked my filters down, and i’m looking around at this house and its pandemonium… without any ability to see the forest for the trees…. all i see is trees… and maybe they’re not all that healthy.  from where i sit now, i can see nine different chairs.  NINE. granted, this room is purportedly the dining room, so maybe you could see your way to thinking that NINE was an okay number.

but my kids and i eat around the table in front of the fire, in the kitchen, where we actually sit on the floor.  no chairs.

so my sickness has opened the doors to the realization that chairs must really mean something to me.  what, you say?  no idea. because i am sick.

but right now?  if you offered me a chair, i’d take it.  its compulsive, i think.


hospitality? welcoming? respite? do i have to google the meaning of chairs? what the hell?

whoosh. and i have a man story to tell, which i will get to next time, because i need some of my own advice on it. involving a liar, wonderful sex, and longing…

I’m almost ready for Monday.  the kids will be back in a few hours and i might just pop back into bed … but i’m ALMOST at the point where i think the bed is not the best thing for me, and movement might be better… so maybe i’ll get back on the laundry chain, or make that leftover chicken into a soup or something… the tide is turning.. slowly, slowly now…

love you…



SICK, and tired . . .

is there a coincidence in the use of that phrase?

everyone who is sick, is by nature of sickness, also tired.

but when we are fed up, we are also SICK AND TIRED.

what is that? and what is FED UP?

food? food has done this to us?  no, of course, no.

but what then?


both zesty and pithy.

sorry its so short. i’m sick. and tired.



Hope v. Curiosity

I find myself at odds with the whole ‘as long as you have hope’ crowd.

I don’t want to have hope. I am tired of hope. Hope has wrung me out and left me hanging off the sink, dirty.

I have believed in it, pined for it, hung on to it for dear life.  and yet, it leads me to scratch tickets and fruitless frippery that is somehow related to hope.

Some friends of mine were discussing this and for the life of me i can’t really remember who it was or what wise things they said but over all, i toss hope out the window as a result. I quit.

fuck it.

art artistic black and white blank
FUCK HOPE. i said it. i really did.  Photo by Lynnelle Richardson on

Instead, I am hoping to lean into curiosity.  See the problem in that situation? but i’m just doing it to be funny, and i’m sort of too tired for the funny.

so there.

I lean into CURIOSITY.  I have a great therapist (not chakra carol who is my reiki master, but another wonder… susan)  and she makes me close my eyes and go talk to the different pieces of me.  its got a name, but i can’t remember that either.

so when i go and talk to my shame, or my fear, or my fog of shutdown, i am to approach them with curiosity.  curiosity.

when you think about it, there is no judgement in it. its an openness that i would truly like to have more of. . .

in general its something i have with the men i date… a real, abiding curiosity in who they are and how their story is unfolding.

*I think it may be the ticket as to how I am so damn successful in that arena… online dating and dating and what happens after dating… i mean, uh, nookie.

I’m curious about how the work I am doing now is going to unfold in terms of employment for me.

I’m curious to find out if I’ll ever allow myself to be truly vulnerable.  hmm. just curious. no damn judgement. for real.

ask blackboard chalk board chalkboard
Photo by Pixabay on
Divorce, Humanity

Advice For Women after Divorce

Seriously.  There needs to be more free and unrelated to me advice systems out there.  I mean, go google it. No, don’t.. I’m just kidding.  Its a mess.

Get a life. Get a lawyer, again. Get your nails done. God will forgive you.  Self-care, damnit. Ladies night. kids are resilient. Worry.  Drink. Be true and Authentic.  Don’t say anything to anyone, you might damage the kids. Screw him. Preserve the ideal for the kids. Don’t cry in front of them.  Cry in front of them. Don’t drink, but if you do, don’t tell anyone.  Get a lawyer, again. Don’t feel intimate with them anymore, don’t pretend you knew each other, ever.

sigh.  damn. there’s a lot.  I can’t ‘keyword optimize’ because i hate that shit. i can barely capitalize. there is so much, and every single couple who divorces, and woman who is part of that, is unique. so a bath every day for the first four months worked for me, but won’t work for you.  yes, yes, this is my bath.

tiles window bathroom marble
Photo by William LeMond on

No, no its not.

Numbing is great, like , fucking great.  but doesn’t actually help with grief, or devastation. its still there, lurking. the only way through it is THROUGH it.  if you put it off, its just waiting for you. might as well hit it with a bat again and again… get the mugger out of the freaking equation.

so says i.

my kids were freaked out by my bathing so often. but it was so warm. and solitary. and i was clean.

which is more than i am today.