1. I was outside watering my garden and a young buck came strolling through. I called out to him as he came close, asking if he saw me, checking in to see if he was alright, thinking, I think, that I’d go get him a carrot. He was close enough that i could see the fuzz on his antlers and count the elk spots on his flank. When I called to him, he just looked at me for a minute and then moved along. No beef.w
He came through near to the chickens, and then my dog noticed him and lunged towards him and he ran off through the bushes. There was no real emergency, my dog is a member of the cowardly lion crew.
2. I turned fifty. My lovely man got me the gift of my best friend for the week, and i took all those days off. It was a real joy bomb and I’ll take it, again and again.
3. I’m wearing booty shorts, at my daughter’s painfully awful softball game because it is in the 90s and humid and if I could lie down until the fall, I would. Welcome to my booty.
4. i will write more. I got myself a little bitty keyboard that sits on my lap so i can type onto my phone. I’m using it now. I’m a tech-genius and now I can write anywhere I want to, pen or no pen.
See my cute keyboard? And my barely theres?
5. 50. It might be time to get a job that can sustain me and the kids. I’m going to have to sell the house, and the more I say it, and share it aloud, the more okay I’m going to be with it. There is time still to get along with it. But it must and will be done.
6. I’m very stubborn. Very. Very. Very. It is very hard for me to handle number 5 and I rail against it. So small and demeaning, and it activates my stubborn nature, and none of this is helpful or practical or rational. Digging in for the sake of digging in is idiotic.
7. I’m 50 now. I should grow the fuck up. And write more. I hate feeling sheepish about coming here. That’s utterly ridiculous.
I’m about three skin layers away from hysteria. And they are transparently thin sometimes.
And I’m back to smoking, and there is, in the addiction, the belief that if I could just go outside and have a minute to myself, everything would re-set itself, and I’d be fine, it would ease my mind somehow. and it’s a lie, every time, it’s a lie. I’m sitting here with minutes to myself right now, inside, and at the typer, and I am not escaped, and I am not even needing escape. It’s a trick of the mind, and I resent the bastards who’ve encouraged the ‘on the road’ shit that tells me I need to wander in order to find. Without and within, you know what I’m saying? I’m not a badass because I smoke, I am a craven addict.
My boys are both teaching themselves to play guitar. There is much to say about that. pride and cringes and whatnot.
Tissue paper thin. My eleven year old daughter suddenly resents me. It is a hard change to swallow, no matter how well I can identify and depersonalize.
I just planted the last of the dahlias. Saving something over the winter to plant again and have hopes for, is possibly my pride moment of the year, aside from the guitar thing and the fact that my daughter is a flaming badass.
I’m trying to get my ducks all lined up to lower some of my expenses this year. Everything takes time, especially when you add in my fearful procrastination. I had to make two cold calls to gather appointments this morning, and it made me unable to go in to my most part time job. Too many things.
The nerves and anxieties of having to ask a stranger for help? An appointment? When that is literally their job, to field these calls? And still, I am crippled? Why am I still 11 years old and of the middle school innards?
These steps. Get the trampoline listed on the giveaway page. Wait for someone to come and get it. They cancel. List it again. Finally goes, to become a chicken run for someone else. Heavens to Betsy.
Find policy. Wait three weeks to gather the nerves to call what I actually know will be a good resource. Wtf.
I had to wait for my tax return to fix the leaking upstairs bathtub. So, had to first do taxes, then get quote, then bleed from the eyes in horror and refuse to use said bathroom until I got another quote. Got refund. Then called friend of friend, young young young and he did it for 150. All done. No ceiling teardown, no mold remediation and suddenly I am at two working bathrooms and I didn’t even have to do my damn taxes for anything afterall. Which of course, is a lie. Hello school systems! Hello working highway departments! Hello bridge repair! I love you, of course you can have my taxes! Thank you for your service!!
Call the garage that will handle the car once its towed. Mother of god, I am ridiculous. Does anyone specifically pray to mary? I always found that easier, but felt like I was sneaking around or being a cheat somehow or that maybe she wasn’t a real choice, and that, in the face of my wavering beliefs in anything other than the big dad figure in the sky. and my less wavery belief that we all get what we dream of in the end anyhow, as long as we try not to do harm. I’m extremely lucky to have had the dad I did. Even with his questionable rage practices. As a parent now, I am less confused by fits of rage.
All these multiple step processes and they’ve been with me for weeks or months and yes, I know the ‘break it into baby step’ methods but hell gods, that only works if you can take steps at all. I’ve got to go register my kid for a soccer camp in the summer. This, she will resent me for also, but at least i will cut down on her screen time for one whole week while i am incessantly working. sigh. all hail summer.
love you guys. hope to get out the writing bugs more often…
me.
*The fact that now I have to wait for a call back is breaking me. I’ll have a whole ‘nother breakdown when it arrives. This is probably unsupportable materials.
today is another day to miss and mourn my lively senses and their formerly rich role in my life. perhaps.
I’ll still wave my hope flag in the world despite all that is happening and the ways in which the bad guys seem to win all the time. bigger guns, fat wallets, less compassion and zero empathy. fuck ’em all and dig your little garden. or bunker, what have you.
why haven’t the mega-rich all been set on fire?
It is not my hope that they get set on fire, but that I regain my sense of wonder, my ability to find the sparkles amongst the drudgery.
I’ve got these free hours and i’m trying to take care of all the little buggers, the paperwork the health insurance people want, the bill from the eye appointment, the slowdown on paying off the credit card, these small little important things. but i have the time and finally, the will, to pigeonhole the papers. i’m hoping to be able to clean off my kitchen table entirely sometime this week, and the paper piles may be the end of me.
its too soon to garden and i’m craving it. i just keep telling myself its too soon, and i’m spitting at myself. at the farm i am seeding hundreds upon hundreds of babies. kale and choy and many many rainbow chard. it is beautiful in there. but at home? i must wait. sigh.
this is just me, trying to write more, and not all drama-like. the mundane probably has beauty in it too, right?
right?
the beauty of the paper pile? the majesty of the bills?
I’m a pleasure seeker. For reals and at all the levels. The beauty, the words, the touch, the smell, all of it. My senses explode minute to minute, most of the time.
In my head.
Because when I get bored at work, and sometimes when I parent, and when I worry, I lose this wild appreciation for the senses. And I am working and parenting and worrying all the time right now.
My finances were fucked up these last three weeks. I had a couple surprising plumbing problems, and a refund that has not yet arrived, and a payment that was made before the refund was not arriving that threw everything off, and the chaos made the bank fee kings very happy, and if I can’t be proud of my credit score anymore than I just do not know what to do.
I’ve started a new job at a new salary and its another 15 hours a week and I’m thrilled, it will satisfy my need for little people and simple things but I have yet to be paid there too, and its just a flat pile of cards right now, when there is meant to be a house.
so what do i do with this hedonism, this lust, when it’s a boring office building of a life? when my teenaged boys don’t share with me because they idolize their father? what a waste of all this work I’ve done, is what runs through my brain. a flat white wall of a house showing.
The daffodils have arrived, and the grocery store flowers, so maybe the spring of spring will help.
but where am i? Dunder Mifflin?
(yes, a loving boyfriend with a high libido is helpful, so there is at least one outlet. don’t tell my kids.)
I just feel like I’m not making it, you know? Like, I’m losing my appreciation for the beauty and can only see the clutter. That is no good. I’m going to go now and do some more laundry, visit the basement again and move the everlasting sumppump, and maybe make some more coffee. I used to paint. I used to stare out the window.
I’m fine. Don’t worry. I do enough of that already. Today I’ve got a few hours between works, and I’m wearing slippers, so there is a touch of luxury to the day. Things will be fine. I’ve got a ‘read it already’ bookpile, so there is hope.
I did some writing yesterday, about how I don’t really let go of things. There were pieces of it that were downright beautiful, and that was a real delight. I’m sure I’ll share it eventually. It was a little bit storytelling and a little bit metaphor and a little bit imaginative. but tangibly imaginative, if that makes sense. Things dirty and worn, and dragging on the ground.
It was a snowfall, a quiet one, and I’m really glad I had it.
My college-aged son went back to school yesterday too, and everything feels off again. This time, I know it’ll reset back to me and the two, and our ‘just fine-ness’, but there is a gentle tearing, as we perforate. It was so good and heartwarming to have him home. It is a change of many relationships to be getting used to letting him go.
When was the last time you called your parent’s home yours? I’m feeling my age when I think about how many years that has been, and where i have been all that time.
I’ve got a fire going, and earlier I mostly cleaned off the kitchen table to use the candle holder that i love. the shape is thrilling and I suppose is probably resonant of Naruto, the anime my kids loved for so damn long. Or maybe you want to say its Nordic? Maybe that’s classier, I don’t know anymore. As my kids say about everything, that’s racist, and I think they may be right, most of the time, even though they think everything is a joke.
I’ve broken the charger on this laptop, inside of the laptop somehow, so now I’ve got to figure out the whole world of hardware vs. software and do a backup while i wait to get it fixed. For now, I’m just waiting for an appointment, and for the battery to die, both. Somehow it seems meaningful, to invest in my typing machine. Also, I may have to look into how I treat my tools, because it is broken because I stepped on it, because I store it on the floor. And what is that?! ??
