Humanity

Silver or gold. A prompt.

I wrote this in twelve minutes, you try.

Silver or gold? Is it a question, or a statement?

What do you think? Is it the wealth of the boat ladies down by the shore, you’d expect gold but it’s the class, the class of the plain silver, the ‘I’m so wealthy and have been for so long, that I don’t need to do anything ornate. I’m a New England Smith for goodness sakes.’ the gold is for the Italians, the Jews, the flash.

Silver or gold? The friendships, the new ones, the old ones? I don’t know which is which, I think I probably have some of the new England boat lady in me, although I’m sure they’d dispute me, but heavily mixed with the chicken shit and mud of the maine dairy farmer, and my friendships range but none are pure. None.

Silver or gold? On the tree, a mix of both. It’s the sparkle for me, the way in which the light catches and is reflected and yet also stays in place, static and kinetic.

My kids sparkle.the dog does not. He’s a solid peace of lead. Lovely for what you need, but leaden. Don’t put your tongue on him.

Silver or gold? Both. A slurry, that molten mercurial slither. Harry potter on audio. A night alone to make a fire and look at a tree and watch truly terrible but pretty movies.

Silver or gold? snowflakes hang around the kitchen . I think they are the evergreens, despite their whiteness. Did she just call snowflakes the evergreens, despite all evidence to the absolute contrariness of that sentence? Absolutely. (third person self-referencing just temporary, i swear)

Silver or gold? The singing snowman puts them together, no ‘or’, but an ‘and’. Both, inclusive.

Silver or gold? Maude is in here somewhere? The slurry perhaps. The mixing of metals and the melt into a new form.

The visiting room at the facility, the ways in which the lovers of the newcomers cling to their patients, not knowing anything but relief that the crisis is past, that they have survived it, unlike all the people who were not here. Who didn’t make it, who didn’t get found in time.

Silver and gold? The earrings that dangle in the ears of women, the bells, the come see me, the decoration at the heart of womanhood. What is it to refuse them? to not have silver or gold, anywhere, just flesh and fabric covering bones and blood. Nothing more.

Silver or gold? Working? Plaid shirts and Vermont in mind. Mountains and old guys in pickup trucks. Which one is that?

Hey there. Do a prompt. See what you get.

love you, do.

-kate

person holding gold and silver round coins
Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com
Humanity

five minutes, the first.

I’m struggling lately, with grief, loneliness, the feeling that I’m not doing enough, that things are too busy, too slow, that my thoughts and feelings are not what I am proud of. I’m having flashes of bitterness, and want everyone to know it, so I feel less of a sham and a liar. I can tell you to find the beauty out there, but if I’m all pestilence and shame, who am i?

so yes, this is extreme but I’ve given myself the task of five minutes to write and post it. why? i can’t find the reason in it, myself, but I’m going to force it, force the five-minute higglepiggle of words and hope that I find something in it to truly put my attention on.

believe it or not, it’s only been a little under two minutes and my fingers can fly.

I’ll go back before posting and fix the typos. (in coming back, now, i figure to explain: i can do absolutely anything for five minutes, so maybe this will help me get my fingers back in order…I’m not saying I’ll produce anything more exciting than limp lettuce, but it’ll be OUT of me, and that is a good place for some of this sh*t to be…)

but this is what i’m looking at: my slippers, looking prim and pointing themselves at the fire. maybe i should make one. its rapidly getting dark, and while i can still see the gold leaves on the tree outside the window, it is technically night and i won’t leave the house again.

the kids are away, so the candy wrappers next to my slippers are mine. there is no excuse. no one to roll my eyes at for their slovenly ways. who raised them anyhow? who raised me? have i been raised, in truth? have i ?

there’s a small soccer ball under the table and I’m thinking about ted lasso, and how it’s so sweet to watch what might be an actually good character, on tv, like, as something we should emulate or something, rather than a Kardashian or her fucking insane ex-husband.

why we feed the bad and angry wolves rather than the sweet curled up ones? i will never know.

such as it is,

love love,

kate

white chick on cabbage
And this photo? Why not? Photo by Toni Cuenca on Pexels.com
Humanity

self-effacing humor.

oh god, i am so good at it. making less of myself, in a very funny way. always so funny. if there weren’t funny there, you might get concerned, and god knows, i don’t want any attention.

i was pawing through the junk corner to find a notebook to make a grocery list. It used to be just a junk drawer, but things have spread.

I found one, and in flipping to an empty page, i found some old writings, from back when i had time and a brain that was fluid and beautiful. there is no date but subject matter declares it to be several years old.

i’m going to quote from my own self here, there is no way to humbly quote oneself, so give me a pass today. context: i must’ve had an ugly/tense exchange with the ex via text, and was having the ugly/tense reaction privately in ink. It is not funny, as private doesn’t need that bit, does it? but I do love the imagery. Here it is:

Damnit. the time flows already, that wine river of regret. these things i want to be finished with, the list goes on and murders me firsthand with little to no hesitation.

the ex of course, i want to be done, to have no time in which i still have to cajole and negotiate with his ego.

to be done with doubt, to be done and finished and finally grown up, to be finished. my impatience is legion, doubts sway my progress and i fold and fold and fold in, like origami layered, no swan but a tank of layers, a solid block of onion skin. seems so doubt enters when i am self-effacing.

self-effacing. what a term. a thinning one does to oneself and how transparent will i allow myself to become as i go?

me.

Right? it seems an opposition, this tank of folding and self-effacing humor, but it isn’t… its just another game of hiding. Ooh boy, yes.

Humanity

Just give me a few hours in the morning.

I’m in my hammock, i’m typing in my hammock. Technology is confounding. it enables everything, and sucks everything dry. It has turned my brain to literal mush. but, i digress.

Its summertime. I mean, june used to be kind of spring-like, but with climate chaos and all, its summer. woohoo. kind of, right? its a little bit of a downer, really, but if you are running yourself into the ground, you don’t really have time to think about it.

But i do want to tell you this. i am typing in my hammock, and its the morning, and my kids are all at school and i’m done with most of what i need to do . … i even took care of a bunch of logistics, concerning their overnight stay at their dad’s tonight, permission slips/checks all left on the table to be collected and etc. etc.

I am a genie, but in nobody’s bottle baby.

I don’t need to be anywhere until 1:30, and I should be writing smut, or romantic erotica, if you feel like it, but the laundry is swinging on the line, my feet are happy to be at rest, and its all good, man.

I have a lot of things to say, and a lot of questions to ask, I really do.

One of my sons is mortified that i ask him to get rides home all the time. He says no one else does it. Is this true? Am I scandalous in my inability to drive all three all the places? Am I really? I can’t really do anything about it, but man, it feels shitty. I can’t tell if its just him or if he has a legitimate beef. He does not like me all the time these days.

But mostly, its an amazing time here. Summer. Kids will do a lot of fending for themselves this summer as I will be working six days a week. I feel unprepared but am making small motions towards getting them entertained. we will see. Summer is not really my favorite season. I know you are shocked and appalled but damn, its really true.

its hot, and getting hotter and i’m now full circle so i’m going to stop. here’s a photo of my hammock.

Yes, i know how sexy i am,. yes i do.

Love you guys. wish you all the love and support you need for whatever season you are in.

Humanity

Sweeps

I’m at a baseball game in the middle of the day. I mean, I guess they are all in the middle of the day. Fair enough.

I spent the morning trying to arrange rides for all the kids. It was successful and everyone is going to have a good time and that makes me feel all glowy, while i feel like shit at the very same minute because I am absent. this is not good. (goddamned school vacation, and all) and then i drove to my mom’s so that she could drive me to work.

Then, at work, I spent the morning walking my boss’s dogs because one of them was having surgery and my boss was feeling crazy stress and worry and so I went with her to the vet.

And now I am here, having gotten my car out of the shop for an insanely large amount of credit card usage. Its another one of those splits. 1.I am thrilled to have my car back and I would throw any amount of debt-incurring at it to have it back. who cares? and 2. I am feeling nauseous about finances.

But i have my car, and i made it to the game to see him play. I’m good. Its all good.

And I’m sitting in my car, looking at the greens and the golds, and the faintest blue of the sky, and being swept with meloncholy. I feel watery.

I don’t see a way out of some of where I find myself, well, not a way that I like.

Sigh. You know what new phrasing has arrived in our american language that I really like?

I am feeling some type of way.

I am.

I am feeling some type of way.

But I have my car, and I made it to the game, and I am sitting in my car doing something I really love to do, write, and think, simultaneously.

So there.

I am going to find a pigpile of joy today, never you fear. But for now? Watery.